Miranda Dickinson 2 Book Bundle. Miranda Dickinson

laughter. ‘Oh, yeah, go ahead. Laugh. But I’ll have you know I turned down two—that’s two—offers of dinner for tonight from a couple of very lovely ladies who are impatient to date me. Because tonight, my friends, I am going to a Broadway show with a certain lady by the name of Yelena Ivanova.’

      His careful emphasis was wasted on Marnie and me. Our blank expressions revealed that we had absolutely no idea who this was.

      He groaned. ‘Yelena Ivanova—you know— “The Face of Jean St Pierre”?’

      ‘The model?’ Marnie asked incredulously. ‘How did that happen?’

      Ed smiled. ‘She’s going out with my best friend, Steve, who’s a photographer for several big fashion houses. He got called away to a shoot in Hawaii but he was supposed to be taking Yelena to see Kevin Spacey’s latest play on Broadway tonight. So there was a spare ticket. So I offered to step in.’

      I grinned. ‘Ah, Ed Steinmann, Kowalski’s resident chivalrous knight in shining armour.’

      Ed shot me a sly smile. ‘That’s Sir Ed Steinmann to you, peasant! Although, maybe not so chivalrous. See, I heard Yelena’s on the verge of breaking up with Steve so I’m hoping to catch her on the rebound.’

      ‘What?’ Marnie exclaimed. ‘Ed, you’re awful!’

      ‘I know,’ he said happily, disappearing into the workroom, ‘but that’s why you love me.’

      The morning continued with more calls and customers than on a usual Thursday. Kowalski’s was obviously still benefiting from the Mimi Sutton Effect.

      At eleven the door opened and Brent Jacobs strolled in. His extra-wide smile appeared as soon as he saw me.

      ‘Rosie! Hi! Hope I’m not too late?’

      ‘No,’ I reassured him, ‘you’re right on time. Welcome to Kowalski’s.’

      ‘Do I smell coffee?’ Brent beamed, his eyes wide and innocent as a child attempting to win sweets with charm.

      ‘You most certainly do. Milk and sugar?’

      ‘Black with two, thanks.’ A sudden sheepish look temporarily usurped the grin. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

      ‘Not at all.’ I smiled, handing him a hand-painted blue and white mug bearing the store’s name.

      ‘Cute mugs. You do these yourself?’

      I laughed. ‘No, my friend Lucy has a ceramics store in West Village and she made them for me.’

      We sat down on the sofa and I presented my design books for Brent to view. After much discussion, he decided on a large hand-tied bouquet of yellow and cream roses, lilies and gladioli, accompanied by dark green foliage, eucalyptus and rosemary sprigs. Yellow was, I discovered, his wife’s favourite colour and the hue of her bridesmaid’s dresses on their wedding day. Rosemary was her middle name and the name Brent called her when nobody else was listening. On their honeymoon they had visited his relatives in Australia and had been taken to see koalas munching eucalyptus in a local nature reserve…I filled out the order form and arranged delivery for the following morning at ten thirty.

      ‘Have you spoken to Celia recently?’ Brent asked.

      ‘Yes, I saw her last night,’ I replied, not looking up from the counter.

      ‘Did you hear about Jerry?’

      I stopped writing and looked at him. ‘Yes—how did you…?’

      ‘I heard. Word gets around. My wife works for his old company. How did Celia seem to you last night?’

      I decided to be noncommittal. ‘Like her usual self, I guess. Maybe a bit quieter.’

      Brent’s concern remained etched across his face. ‘Hmm. I care about her, Rosie. And I don’t think she’s coping as well as she shouts out to the world.’

      My discomfort was increasing. ‘Brent, maybe you should talk about this with Celia, not me. I’m not sure how much of her situation she wants others to know.’

      Brent smiled his reassurance. ‘Listen, kid, Celia and I go back a long, long way. You needn’t worry. If you speak to her again before I do, just tell her that Old Bee Jay is still there for her, OK? She’ll know what I mean.’

      Still in the dark, I smiled. ‘Fine, I’ll do that.’ I handed Brent his copy of the order.

      ‘Thanks. So, did you hear what I saw at the Lincoln Center, Tuesday night?’

      My interest level jumped up a few thousand notches. ‘Celia told me. Have you heard any more?’

      ‘Ah, we’re always ready for gossip here,’ quipped Ed as he walked past with an armful of roses. ‘Who’s the object of rumour today?’

      Brent grinned. ‘A certain young man who was very impressed with Ms Duncan a couple of weeks back at Celia’s soiree.’

      Ed raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Oh? You didn’t tell me about that, Rosie.’

      My heart had begun a bid for an Olympic sprint record and I tried to change the subject. ‘Ed, have you phoned Patrick’s with our order for the weekend yet?’

      ‘Did it earlier.’

      ‘Good…um…then isn’t there something you should be getting on with out back?’

      Ed leaned against the counter, obviously revelling in my discomfort. ‘You know, as a matter of fact I’m just taking a break. So I have a moment to listen to any extremely interesting information Mr Jacobs cares to share. So, this young man…?’

      Brent could see my embarrassment rising and honourably declined to conspire against me. Gossip thus denied for the second time that morning, Ed groaned and returned to his work.

      As he was leaving, Brent inclined towards me and whispered, ‘Rosie, right now I’m working on further details. But let’s just say Nate isn’t as in love as certain journalists would have you believe.’

      He said his goodbyes and left the store.

      Brent’s last comment buzzed around my head all through lunchtime and well into the afternoon. Which was annoying and intriguing in equal parts.

      At two o’clock Marnie left early for her art class and I joined Ed in the workroom to begin an order due to be delivered at close of business. Any illusions I may have had of Ed forgetting about Brent’s comment dissipated like steam from Manhattan drains when I saw the tell-tale sparkle in his eyes. Mr Steinmann was determined to have his fun and nobody would stop him.

      ‘Nice guy, that Brent.’

      I drew up one of the wooden stools around the workbench and started stripping leaves from a carnation stem. ‘Yes, he is. I told you that you’d like him.’

      ‘Great guy. Very observant.’ He pulled a length of ribbon from a spool on the bench and began looping it skilfully into a bow. ‘Especially when it comes to certain guests at Celia’s events.’ He lifted his gaze and winked at me.

      I shook my head, adding vivid orange lilies to the cream carnations and greenery held in my left hand. Much as I didn’t want to rise to the bait, I had to concede that the subject was unavoidable. ‘So, ask me.’

      His eyes returned nonchalantly to the Cellophane he was arranging around the large bouquet before him. ‘Ask you what?’

      I let out a long groan. ‘About the guy? He’s nobody, Ed, really. Celia’s been stirring again, that’s all.’

      ‘I see. Sure, OK…So, this Mr Nobody…is he a special Nobody?’

      ‘What? No! He’s just a guy I met at the Authors’ Meet the other week. He seems perfectly nice, I suppose. I’ve only spoken to him twice, so I don’t know any more.’

      ‘Twice,