snapping and plunging to your death.
I slow my breathing and stare fixedly ahead. I’m being ridiculous. I bet if you told a New Yorker you were scared, they’d think you were crazy.
I glance at Mikey for reassurance, but he’s staring at his feet and muttering something under his breath. I notice he’s wearing a small gold cross round his neck. And he’s clutching it.
Fuck.
This is not good. This is not good. This is—
The elevator suddenly comes to a halt and the doors spring open.
Wow.
My fear instantly evaporates as I’m hit with the most breathtaking view of Central Park. Stretching out ahead of me, as far as the eye can see, is a vast carpet of trees. On and on it goes, as if someone just plopped a big piece ofash bigost br of the English countryside in the middle of Manhattan.
‘Holy shit.’
As we step out into the apartment, with its huge floor-to-ceiling windows, I turn to Mikey. Eyes out on stalks, he’s gripping on to the trolley as if for support. ‘I’m not good with heights. I get dizzy,’ he mutters gruffly, a queasy expression on his face as he gazes out at the skyline and the towering skyscrapers we’re now rubbing shoulders with.
‘I would recommend putting the crates here in the hallway,’ the doorman is saying in the background. ‘That way, they’re not causing an obstruction.’
‘Sure, good idea,’ nods Mikey. Immediately he gets underway unloading the crates in an eager bid to get out of here.
‘It’s very important not to cause an obstruction,’ continues the doorman sombrely. ‘Fire regulations, you know.’
‘Um, yes.’ I nod distractedly, my eyes flicking around me. Gosh, this place is enormous.
Wow. In my head I hear Lloyd Grossman’s voice. Who lives in a place like this?
‘Fire?’ repeats Mikey. His voice sounds a little strangled. ‘Did someone just say “Fire”?’ He starts unloading faster, his biceps popping like pistons.
And white. Everything’s white, I notice, glancing around at the white rugs, white sofas, white walls. I feel nervous just looking at it. Like I’m going to get this sudden impulse to chuck a glass of red wine everywhere.
Not that I go around chucking glasses of red wine everywhere, but I have been known to spill things occasionally. Not that I’m clumsy, I’m just—
Oh, who am I kidding? If I lived here, I’d have to take out shares in Vanish.
Anyway, I don’t need to worry about that, I reflect, thinking about my cluttered little shoebox downtown with its clashing colour schemes and eclectic mix of East-meets-West-meets-thrift-shop. Which is something, I suppose.
‘I like art, you know.’
I drag my eyes back to the doorman. ‘Oh, really?’ I nod politely.
‘Van Gogh, he’s my favourite,’ he confides. ‘Got any of his stuff?’ He jerks his head towards the paintings.
‘Er, no.’ I smile apologetically.
The doorman’s face drops with disappointment.
‘OK, well, I’m all done here,’ interrupts Mikey, straightening up. Digging out an invoice from his back pocket, he holds it out for me to sign.
‘Great. Thanks.’ I scribble my signature and pass it back.
Unknown
‘Right, I’m outta here.’ Diving back to the elevator, he...
‘If you’ll excuse me, miss . . .’ Clearing his throat, the doorman adjusts his peaked cap and strides into the elevator, like a pilot climbing into his cockpit. ‘Any problems, buzz down.’ He jabs at the button with a white-gloved hand. ‘I’ll be straight up.’ And with that, he and Mikey disappear behind the sliding door.
I listen to the hum of the lift as it descends, gradually getting quieter and quieter. Then it’s gone.
Chapter Seven
OK, so now what?
Alone in the penthouse, I stand motionless for a moment, looking around me. The owner might not be back for ages. What am I going to do now?
Out of the blue I get an image of Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone, rushing wildly from room to room, opening cupboards and jumping on beds.
Not that I’m going to do that, of course. I’m a professional twenty-nine-year-old woman, not an eight-year-old child.
Saying that, I’d love a quick snoop . . . Er, I mean a look . . . around.
Tentatively I venture down the hallway and into the spacious living room, still marvelling at the incredible 360-degree view. Quite different from the one you can see from my apartment, I muse, gazing at the Empire State, which is right there, as if someone moved it specially – a little bit to the left, a little bit to the right – so it’s smack bang in front of the window.
To think I got all excited about cricking