Джеффри Арчер - The Prodigal Daughter

‘Yes, fine’ was all Jessie said.

‘Around eight suit you?’

‘Around eight,’ said Jessie.

Richard left Bloomingdale’s with what he wanted and it wasn’t a pair of gloves.

Richard couldn’t remember a time when he had spent all day thinking about a girl, but from the moment Jessie had said ‘Yes’ he had thought of nothing else.

Richard’s mother was delighted that he had decided to spend another day in New York and wondered if Mary Bigelow was in town. Yes, she decided, when she passed the bathroom and heard Richard singing, ‘Once I had a secret love.’

Richard gave an unusual amount of thought to what he should wear that evening. He decided against a suit, finally selecting a navy-blue blazer and a pair of gray flannel slacks. He also spent a little longer looking at himself in the mirror. Too Ivy League, he feared, but there wasn’t much he could do about that at short notice.

He left the house on Sixty-eighth Street just before seven. It was a crisp, clear evening and he arrived at Allen’s a few minutes after seven-thirty and ordered himself a Budweiser. Every few moments he checked his watch as the minute hand climbed up toward eight o’clock, and then every few seconds once it had passed the agreed hour, wondering if he would be disappointed when he saw her again.

He wasn’t.

She stood in the doorway looking radiant in a simple blue dress that he assumed had come from Bloomingdale’s, though any woman would have known it was a Ben Zuckerman. Her eyes searched the room. At last she saw Richard walking toward her.

‘I am sorry to be late—’ she began.

‘It’s not important. What’s important is that you came.’

‘You thought I wouldn’t?’

‘I wasn’t sure,’ Richard said, smiling. They stood staring at each other. ‘I’m sorry I don’t know your name,’ he said, not wanting to admit he had seen it every day at Bloomingdale’s.

She hesitated. ‘Jessie Kovats. And yours?’

‘Richard Kane,’ he said, offering her his hand. She took it and he found himself not wanting to let go.

‘And what do you do when you’re not buying gloves at Bloomingdale’s?’ asked Jessie.

‘I’m at Harvard Business School.’

‘I’m surprised they didn’t teach you that most people only have two hands.’

He laughed, already delighted that it wasn’t going to be her looks alone that would make the evening memorable.

‘Shall we sit down?’ suggested Richard, taking her arm and leading her to his table.

Jessie began to study the menu on the blackboard.

‘Salisbury steak?’ she inquired.

‘A hamburger by any other name,’ said Richard.

She laughed and he was surprised that she had picked up his out-of-context quotation so quickly, and then felt guilty, because as the evening progressed it became obvious that she had seen more plays, read more novels and even attended more concerts that he had. It was the first time in his life he regretted his single-minded dedication to studying.

‘Do you live in New York?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she said as she sipped the third coffee Richard had allowed the waiter to pour. ‘With my parents.’

‘Which part of town?’ he asked.

‘East Fifty-seventh Street,’ Jessie replied.

‘Then let’s walk,’ he said, taking her hand.

Jessie smiled her agreement and they zigzagged back across town on their stroll toward Fifty-seventh Street. To prolong their time together, Richard stopped to gaze into store windows he would normally have passed on the trot. Jessie’s knowledge of fashion and shop management was daunting. Richard felt sorry that she had not been able to finish her education but had left school at sixteen to work in the Baron Hotel before going on to work at Bloomingdale’s.

It took them nearly an hour to cover the sixteen blocks from the restaurant. When they reached Fifty-seventh Street, Jessie stopped outside a small, old apartment house.

‘This is where my parents live,’ she said. He held on to her hand.

‘I hope you will see me again,’ said Richard.

‘I’d like that,’ said Jessie, not sounding very enthusiastic.

‘Tomorrow?’ asked Richard diffidently.

‘Tomorrow?’ queried Jessie.

‘Yes. Why don’t we go to the Blue Angel and see Bobby Short?’ He took her hand again. ‘It’s a little more romantic than Allen’s.’

Jessie seemed uncertain, as if the request was causing her a problem.

‘Not if you don’t want to,’ he added.

‘I’d love to,’ she said in a whisper.

‘I’m having dinner with my father, so why don’t I pick you up around ten o’clock?’

‘No, no,’ said Jessie. ‘I’ll meet you there. It’s only two blocks away.’

‘Ten o’clock then.’ He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. It was the first time he was aware of a delicate perfume. ‘Good night, Jessie,’ he said, and walked away.

Richard began to whistle Dvorak’s Cello Concerto and by the time he arrived home, he had reached the end of the first movement. He couldn’t recall an evening he had enjoyed more. He fell asleep thinking about Jessie instead of Galbraith or Friedman. The next morning he traveled with his father down to Wall Street and spent a day in the Journal ’s library, taking only a short break for lunch. In the evening, over dinner, he told his father about the research he had been doing on the stock exchange into reverse takeover bids and feared he might have sounded a little too enthusiastic.

After dinner he went off to his room. He made sure that no one saw him slip out of the front door a few minutes before ten. Once he had reached the Blue Angel he checked his table and returned to the foyer to wait for Jessie.

He could feel his heart beating and wondered why that had never happened with Mary Bigelow. When Jessie arrived, he kissed her on the cheek and led her into the lounge. Bobby Short’s voice was floating through the room: ‘ “Are you telling me the truth or am I just another lie?” ’

As Richard and Jessie walked in, Short raised his arm. Richard found himself acknowledging the wave although he had seen the artist only once before and had never been introduced to him.

They were guided to a table in the center of the room and Jessie chose the seat with her back to the piano.

Richard ordered a bottle of Chablis and asked Jessie about her day.

‘Richard, there is something I must—’

‘Hi, Richard.’ He looked away.

‘Hi, Steve. May I introduce Jessie Kovats — Steve Mellon. Steve and I were at Harvard together.’

‘Seen the Yankees lately?’ asked Steve.

‘No,’ said Richard. ‘I only follow winners.’

‘Like Eisenhower. With his handicap you would have thought he had been to Yale.’ They chatted on for a few minutes. Jessie made no effort to interrupt them. ‘Ah, she’s arrived at last,’ said Steve, looking toward the door. ‘See you, Richard. Nice to have met you, Jessie.’

During the evening Richard told Jessie about his plans to come to New York and work at Lester’s, his father’s bank. She was such an intent listener he only hoped he hadn’t been boring her. He enjoyed himself even more than the previous night and when they left he waved to Bobby Short as if they had grown up together. When they reached Jessie’s home he kissed her on the lips for the first time. For a moment she responded, but then she said ‘Good night’ and disappeared into the old apartment building.

The next morning he returned to Boston. As soon as he arrived back at the Red House he phoned Jessie: Was she free to go to a concert on Friday? She said she was, and for the first time in his life he crossed days off a calendar. Mary phoned him later in the week and he tried to explain to her as gently as he could why he was no longer available.