Whispering Hearts (House of Secrets #3) - V.C. Andrews Page 0,17

other picks pockets or whatever. It almost happened to me on a subway in Rome once. A couple across from me began to get hot and heavy with their kissing while an older lady beside me was moving her fingers into my pants pocket. Luckily, I looked down and saw it happening.”

“I didn’t,” I said a bit mournfully. I hated sounding so pitiful.

“Yes, obviously not. You should report it to the police. How much did they get?”

“A little over three hundred U.S. dollars and my English driving license, passport, national health cards, and pictures of family.”

“Except for the dollars, the rest is in some garbage bin for sure.”

“Yes, well… what did you do when you saw the elderly lady’s fingers in your pocket?”

“Looked at her. She withdrew them quickly, and I kept my mouth shut. I wasn’t about to accuse an elderly Italian lady of pickpocketing me. Not in that subway.” He smiled. “You still look pretty shaken up. Where do you live?”

I hesitated. It was like a blinking marquee on the entrance to Heathrow: Don’t Talk to Strangers, Especially in New York. Was naive, trusting little fool written on my face? I had within hours of arriving suffered one disaster. Was I about to suffer another?

“Not far. Thank you for your concern,” I said, and started away.

“Hey. Wherever you’re going, you’re in my neighborhood. I’ll walk with you, if you like.” He saw the hesitation in my face and smiled. “Okay, I’ll give you references.”

He shifted his bag of groceries to his left arm and reached into his inside pocket to produce his wallet. Than he flipped it open and showed me his driver’s license. His name was Jon Morales. He moved a wallet insert to show me he was an assistant investment manager at the UVE Group. The card had his picture on it. He put his wallet back into his pocket and shifted his grocery bag back to his right arm.

“Is that a bank, UVE?”

“No, it’s an investment managing company. I’m training to be a CFP, a certified financial planner. I’ve been living in New York for only two years. My family lives in San Juan, where my father is in banking.”

“So is mine. He’s a loan officer.”

“So we’re practically related,” he said, widening his smile.

I had my first real laugh since I had arrived. Suddenly, however, I was feeling quite tired. The jet lag and emotional experience had taken its toll. My body felt like it was sinking in warm mud.

“I’m just around the corner,” I said, even though I really wasn’t in the mood for company the rest of the way. I just wanted to get to my apartment, have a cup of tea and my muffin, and go to sleep. I’d start cleaning tomorrow after I worked my first day at the restaurant.

“Works for me.”

We started down the sidewalk.

“So what career are you beginning?” he asked.

“I’m a singer. But tomorrow, I start in a restaurant.”

“Which one?”

“The Last Diner.”

“I know it. Have lunch there from time to time. I have a potential client who invests in Broadway shows.”

I looked at him suspiciously again.

“You’ll never hear me make a promise that’s not supported with substantial collateral.”

I stopped at my stoop.

“Substantial collateral? Well, what do you know,” I said. “I never left home after all.”

He had a broad smile smeared across his face. I hadn’t looked before, but now I did. His shoes were clean and shiny, one of my father’s first tests of a young man’s quality.

I started up the steps and turned at the doorway. “Thank you for escorting me, Mr. Morales,” I said. “Good luck on your career.”

“Good luck on yours,” he called when I opened the door.

I nodded. Yes. If I didn’t believe it before, I believed it now. I would need lots of that.

Tons, in fact.

And from the way I was introduced to New York, I knew that luck, like money, didn’t grow on trees.

Thanks for that one, too, Daddy, I thought, and went into my new home, right now like someone condemned to it.

THREE

Even though I was exhausted, when I finally laid my head on the pillow, I remained with my eyes wide open for at least an hour. The sounds from the street did calm from what they were when I had first arrived, but for me they were still close to the noise of a holiday parade in Guildford. I couldn’t shut them out. I had to leave the window open a little, or else the stale odor in

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