I’ll Take New York. Miranda Dickinson

Party planning definitely had its perks, not least in Manhattan, and he congratulated himself on the fortunate position he found himself in. He could quite happily do this every day for the rest of his life.

      ‘It looks wonderful,’ he smiled, noting the pride of the chef standing beside the table. ‘All of it.’

      ‘Please,’ the chef invited, keen to see his potential customer sample the dishes laid before him.

      Every tiny mouthful was an explosion of flavour, layer upon layer of taste experiences that delighted the palate and seemed designed to excite every one of Jake’s senses. Eric had been right about this place. Chez Henri’s food could rival the best in the world and was definitely the hot ticket in New York. No wonder the chef was rumoured to be on his way to achieving a Michelin star for his creations.

      Feeling a little uncomfortable with the scrutiny of the chef and attendant waiting staff, Jake turned to Henri DuChamp. ‘Why don’t you join me and talk me though your dishes?’

      The waiter and three waitresses exchanged looks of surprise, but Chef Henri’s expression didn’t flicker. With a gesture of his hand the waiting staff retreated to the kitchen and he sat down.

      ‘Merci, Monsieur.’

      ‘Call me Jake, Henri, please.’

      Henri laughed. ‘Thank you, Jake. This is unusual, but I must confess I prefer it.’

      ‘You don’t get to do this often?’

      The chef shook his head. ‘Most people like to be waited on.’

      ‘Ah,’ Jake smiled. ‘Well, I am not one of those people. The thing is, I’m organising an engagement party for my brother and his fiancée. They’re very special to me and I want the event to be relaxed, happy and characterised by awesome food.’

      ‘Then in my opinion, these dishes here would be the best for the occasion,’ Henri replied, pulling plates from the far side of the table. ‘We will begin here and you tell me what you like. Together, we will create the perfect menu.’

      ‘Sounds good, Henri.’

      The chef beamed and then, checking that none of his staff were listening, he leaned closer to Jake. ‘But you know what would make the tasting even better?’

      Jake expected Henri to recommend a fine wine, expensive champagne or rich cognac. ‘What?’

      Henri chuckled. ‘An ice-cold beer.’

      ‘A beer? Henri, I like your thinking.’

      ‘And that, Jake, is why we are going to become firm friends …’

      ‘Bro, this is too much.’ Ed shook his head as he read the list of dishes Jake had selected for the engagement party. ‘Rosie and I would’ve been happy with a bar somewhere …’

      ‘I know you would. But if it had been left to you guys to plan this party it wouldn’t have happened. Which is why you asked me. And which, Eduardo, is why you’re having what I decide you’re having.’

      Ed whistled and leaned against the florist store counter. ‘Rosie will flip out when she sees this. I haven’t been able to take her to dinner for months; it’s like you’re bringing all the food we’ve missed to one party.’

      ‘But you think she’ll like it?’

      ‘Like it? She’s likely to forget she’s engaged to me and marry you instead.’ He put the menu on the counter and shook Jake’s hand with the handshake they had devised as teenagers: hands clasped low, switching to holding thumbs, finished with a fist-bump. ‘Thanks, man.’

      ‘Hey, my pleasure. Now all I need from you is a list of all the people you forgot in the initial guest list.’

      Ed’s sheepish expression confirmed how well his brother knew him. ‘There were a couple I missed off …’

      ‘What’s this?’ Ed and Rosie’s multi-hued assistant picked up the list, her other hand protectively resting on her considerable baby bump.

      ‘It’s the menu for the engagement party on Friday, Marnie,’ Ed said.

      ‘Goat’s cheese? Brie? I can’t eat this, Ed!’

      Ed stared at her. ‘Who says you’re invited?’

      Marnie stuck out her chin. ‘Rosie did. And Jake. And you for that matter.’

      ‘When?’

      ‘Yesterday.’

      ‘Ah.’

      ‘Exactly. I can’t believe you wouldn’t consider the needs of your very important pregnant friend.’

      Ed groaned. Jake jumped in to save his brother from the terrifying fury of Marnie Andersson’s pregnant indignation. ‘But we did, Marnie.’ He took the paper gently from her clenched fist and drew her attention to an extra set of dishes printed on the reverse. ‘These are specially designed with the specific needs of your pregnancy diet in mind. No unripened soft cheese, no egg yolk, no rare meat or fish, no alcohol.’

      Marnie squeaked and hugged Jake as best she could around her belly. ‘You’re a darling! If I wasn’t with Zac …’

      ‘And almost eight months pregnant,’ Ed pointed out.

      ‘That wouldn’t matter.’ She shrugged off the suggestion. ‘He looks like Henry Cavill, only with blue eyes. The twins would love him.’ Happy, she waddled away to greet a customer who had just arrived.

      Jake felt his cheeks burning. ‘Wow.’

      ‘She’s an original,’ Ed agreed. ‘And, thankfully for you, very in love with Zac, otherwise known as the Fit Guy.’

      ‘Can you tell I’m relieved?’ Jake’s heart was thudding nevertheless. Despite the growing acceptance of his new single status, he wasn’t quite ready to be propositioned by a heavily pregnant woman. He grinned at his brother, who handed him a mug of smoky coffee from Kowalski’s ancient-looking coffee machine. ‘Hasn’t Rosie retired that thing yet?’

      Ed feigned offence. ‘Shh! That’s a very valuable member of our staff you’re abusing. Trashing Old F would be sacrilege. Besides, as long as he makes great coffee, who are we to judge how he looks?’

      ‘I hear you.’ He tasted the coffee and was again surprised by how excellent a brew could come from such a dubious coffee maker. ‘OK, what?’

      Ed was looking at him intently and the instant sinking sensation Jake experienced could only herald one thing: he was about to receive a ‘concerned older brother chat’. He had learned it from their father – a past master at the serious Steinmann conversation switch – although Ed would vehemently deny it if Jake ever pointed this out to him.

      ‘Have you dealt with – it – yet?’

      Jake folded his arms. ‘It?’

      ‘Come on, man, you know what I mean. The letter. From Jessica’s lawyer. That, I’m guessing from your expression, is still in the envelope it arrived in?’

      Jake wished his brother didn’t know him quite as well as he did. Of course he hadn’t replied to the letter. He’d told himself he was too busy and had made sure the engagement party preparations demanded as much of his time as possible. Between that and his to-do list for establishing his new Manhattan practice, what time was there left to deal with lawyers who only wanted to fleece him anyway?

      ‘I’ll deal with it.’

      ‘Yeah, sure. When do you reckon that’ll be, hmm? Five years? Twenty? You need closure on this. As soon as you can.’

      Irritation rising, Jake prepared to face him down. ‘Easy for you to say. Before you met Rosie you never had a relationship last long enough for lawyers to notice. Apart from the ones you were bedding, that is.’

      ‘Ouch.