Miranda Dickinson - I’ll Take New York

Bea couldn’t remember the last time she had been able to think only of herself. Between her final year of university and the start of this week she had lurched from one doomed relationship to another, with barely time to catch her breath in between. On one hand it proved she was a woman in demand – as Stewart had often said – but the problem was the kind of men lining up to date her.

She caught sight of her reflection in the vintage mirror she had bought last year at the Brooklyn Flea market. Well, no more , she told herself. From now on, it’s all about me.

She meant it, too. Why should her life revolve around relationships? Who wrote that rule, anyway? More than anything, Bea wanted to be known for who she was, what she could achieve. Placing the responsibility for her happiness on someone else was only going to lead to more heartache. Her family might have the monopoly on successful relationships, but she didn’t have to join them. It was her time to be whoever she wanted to be. And right now, she wanted to be happy being herself.

Her reflection started back, singularly unconvinced. Otis Greene still had a heavy hold on her heart. She let out a sigh. Clearly this was going to take some getting used to.

The shrill ring of her 1950s red Bakelite phone made her turn from the mirror.

‘Hi, Bea James?’

‘Sweetheart! It’s Mum. Can you hear me?’

‘Loud and clear.’ Bea smiled and all of a sudden wished her parents hadn’t set off on their long-planned trans-American adventure the day after the family meal. ‘How are you both?’

‘Your dad is driving a forty-two foot Winnebago, so he’s like a kid, as you can imagine. And I’m a happy navigator with my lovely new maps. More to the point, how are you?’

‘I’m good.’ She hesitated, wondering how much to tell her mother, before reasoning that Stewart would most likely fill her in on all the details even if she didn’t. Better to bite the bullet. ‘Single, again. But it’s the right thing.’

‘Good.’ Her mum’s reply didn’t miss a beat. ‘I’m sorry we had to leave so quickly, darling. Thing is, your father has a list as long as your arm that he wants us to get through before we fly home.’

‘It’s fine; I know you’ve been dreaming about this trip for years. Where are you now?’

‘Philadelphia. Next is Boston and New England. I suspect he has the historical tour worked out for every place we visit, but that’s what I get for marrying a history lecturer. Are you sure everything is OK?’

‘Yes, I’m sure.’

‘Because if not I can tell your dad to turn the Winnebago around right now.’

Bea could hear a muffled retort from her father and missed him incredibly. ‘You’re not getting out of Dad’s magical history tour that easily.’

‘Rats. Oh well, you can’t blame a girl for trying. I’ll check in next week, though. That’s if your dad hasn’t bored me off the face of the planet.’

‘She loves it, Bea-Bea! Love you!’ Bea’s dad called out.

‘Love to you both. Tell Dad to drive safely and let you have a day off for shopping in Boston.’

‘I will. That’s why I love you! Bye, Bea!’

When the call ended, Bea looked around her book-strewn apartment, which suddenly seemed too quiet. I’m fine , she told herself. Absolutely fine .

‘Smoked salmon with wilted spinach and cumin,’ the waiter announced, placing a small tasting plate of beautifully constructed canapés in front of Jake. ‘We also have gazpacho and lime shots and bourbon-marinated beef with wasabi glaze.’

Jake stared at the table covered in white plates with sumptuous edible art and sighed contentedly. 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?’