Manolos In Manhattan. Katie Oliver

regarded her with an upraised brow. She wore jeans and a T-shirt and had a carton in her hands.

      Holly straightened. “Oh, sorry – Catherine, isn’t it? Am I in the way?”

      Although she didn’t reply, the fact that she hefted the box she held on top of the grill in the spot Holly had just vacated made it plain she was, indeed, in the way.

      “Oh, hi, Cat. I see you’ve met my fiancée, Holly James,” he said. “Holly, this is Catherine Morgan. She’s my new sous chef.”

      “We’ve met. Apparently,” Holly added, “I’m in the way.”

      Catherine managed a tight smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude; but New York is full of crazies, and right now, anyone can walk in off the street.” She stuck out her hand. “Nice to finally meet you.”

      So, Holly thought as they warily shook hands, she’s just met me and already she’s comparing me to a crazy street person.

      Catherine turned back to Jamie. “I thought I’d run out and grab a bite to eat while I have a few minutes. Can I get you anything?” Her glance flickered to Holly. “Either of you?”

      “Thanks, but we’re headed to lunch ourselves. I promised,” Jamie said, and grinned as he took Holly’s hand and swung it up to his lips.

      “Okay. I’ll stay and take delivery of the stove and the broiler, then. They should be here any time.”

      ‘Oh, shit – I forgot!” Jamie exclaimed. He turned to Holly. “Sorry, Hols, but I should probably stick around for a bit longer—”

      “Don’t be silly, Catherine assured him. “I can handle it. That’s what I’m here for, after all – to have your back.”

      Or to stab you in it with a nice sharp knife, Holly thought irritably.

      “Catherine’s right, Jamie,” she said, and took his arm. “She’s got it covered. Come on, let’s go – I’m starving.”

      But he shook his head. “I need to stay, there’s too much going on today. I can’t leave Catherine to deal with it all. Maybe tomorrow?” He drew away and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

      Holly opened her mouth to protest, to tell Jamie he was being ridiculous and that Catherine was a Machiavelli in chef’s whites, but what was the use? She knew he wouldn’t listen.

      “Sure,” she said, and turned to go. “Maybe tomorrow.”

      But Jamie didn’t hear her. He’d already turned away to consult with Catherine about the dinner menu for opening night.

       Chapter Fifteen

      Natalie was sprawled on the sofa, watching the Today Show featuring Christa, the pop singer who’d nearly destroyed her best friend Gemma’s marriage, when her mobile phone rang.

      She switched the TV off. “Hello?”

      “Nat? Hi – Holly here. Are you free for lunch? Jamie just bailed on me. I have so much to tell you.”

      “Not half as much as I have to tell you,” Natalie assured her. She glanced at her wristwatch. “Where shall we meet?”

      “How about Nico’s, on Third Avenue?” Holly said. “One o’clock?”

      “Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

      As Natalie waited for the lift a short time later, she wondered what Rhys was doing. Perhaps they could do something together on Sunday. She’d scarcely seen him since they’d arrived in Manhattan.

      With a discreet “ding,” the lift doors slid open, and she stepped in and nodded politely at the elderly gentleman standing inside.

      “Good morning,” she said.

      He inclined his head. “Good morning.” Although silvery-gray, his hair was thick and springy. He held a trilby in one hand and an ebony walking stick in the other.

      As the lift began its descent, he tucked the hat under one arm and stretched out his hand. “Morris Holland.”

      “Natalie Dashwood-Gordon.” She took his hand and noted the firmness of his grip.

      “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs Dashwood-Gordon. I’ve already met your husband, Rhys.” He smiled, and there was a twinkling in his eye. “It’s quite a mouthful, that hyphenated name of yours, isn’t it?”

      “Is it a bit pretentious?” She regarded him doubtfully. “Rhys thinks so. But I like my last name. Both of them,” she added, and smiled. “And please call me Natalie.”

      “It’s not pretentious in the least,” he assured her. “I’m very glad that we shall be neighbors.”

      “Do you live here, too?”

      He smiled, amused. “Yes, my dear. I do.”

      With another discreet “ding” the lift arrived at the first floor, and he waited as she got out. “It was a great pleasure meeting you, Natalie,” he said, and lifted her hand to his lips. “I look forward to our next meeting.”

      She blushed, charmed by his old-world manner. “Thank you, Mr Holland. It was lovely chatting with you.”

      He left, thrusting on his trilby and touching the brim as the desk clerk called out a deferential ‘Good morning, Mr Holland,’ and as he disappeared through the front doors, Natalie walked across the lobby to the reception desk.

      “Excuse me,” she said, “could you call me a taxi, please?”

      “Of course.” The clerk picked up the phone and made the call. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked as he rang off.

      She rested her forearm atop the polished mahogany. “Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “There is one thing. Can you tell me who the elderly gentleman was? The one who just left?”

      “That’s Morris Holland, the art collector. He’s the head of the Dunleigh’s co-op board. In fact,” he added with a conspiratorial wink, “he owns the building.”

      Natalie blinked. “Oh. I’d no idea.”

      No wonder he looked amused when I asked if he lived here, Natalie thought, embarrassed. He not only lives here – he owns the bloody building

      She thanked the clerk and sat down in the lobby to wait for her taxi.

      “So – tell me,” Natalie said as she and Holly followed the waiter to a table at Nico’s, “how are you and Jamie getting on? Another restaurant...you must be so proud.”

      “I am. He’s worked hard for this. He never stops.” She hung her handbag over the back of a chair and sat down.

      “He stopped long enough to ask you to marry him.”

      Holly reached for a menu and pretended to study it. She remembered the night Jamie had proposed, at a charity ball at Mansfield Hall, under a starry sky on the terrace. She’d recently broken up with Alex Barrington, a member of Parliament and her first interview assignment for BritTEEN magazine, and Jamie had been there to put the pieces of her broken heart back together.

      “The truth is,” she admitted as she looked up from the menu, “Jamie’s so busy with the restaurant that we hardly see each other. He spends more time with his sous chef than he does with me. And she’s gorgeous,” she added glumly. “I barely know Catherine and I’m jealous already.”

      “Well, not to worry. Jamie would never fall for someone else. He loves you, Holly. Speaking of which – have you set a date?”

      She shook her head. “We agreed to wait until the new restaurant’s established.”

      “And how long will that take?”

      “Oh,