Читать книгу Manolos In Manhattan - Katie Oliver - Страница 22

Chapter Thirteen

“So how was it?” Chaz demanded on the phone late Monday afternoon. “I want all the details. Where’d you and Ciaran go? What did you eat? Did he try anything? Ooh, please tell me he did.” He paused. “No, on second thought, don’t. I don’t want to know. Did he like your outfit?”

Holly, sprawled across her bed, said, “If you’d let me get a word in, I’ll tell you all about it.” And she did, except for the part where Ciaran kissed her in the limo and she kissed him back.

Some things were probably best kept to herself.

“So he took you to The Russian Tea Room, a carriage ride through Central Park, shopping on Fifth Avenue, and you had a drink at the Café Carlyle,” Chaz repeated, unimpressed. “Romantic, yes; but it’s a textbook ‘New York day out.’”

“Oh, quit being so snarky. That was the idea, if you recall. Not everyone thinks a burger at Rudy’s Bar and Grill followed by body shots at a drag club is the ideal evening out,” she retorted.

“It sounds pretty perfect to me.” He paused. “Speaking of ideal evenings out – I have news, too.”

“Really? Is it news of a romantic nature?” Holly asked.

“It could be,” he said mysteriously. “Guess who asked me out to dinner?”

“I don’t know, and I hate guessing games. Just tell me.”

“Karl von Karle, that’s who,” he trilled.

She stared at her phone. “You mean the same Karl von Karle who designs shoes and carries the tiny little dog everywhere he goes, like a furry accessory?”

“Maximilian,” Chaz told her, and nodded. “I went to your desk to see if you were free for lunch – you were nowhere to be found, by the way – and Karl was talking to Alastair, and he introduced us, and one thing led to another, and...well, he asked me out.”

“Well, um, congratulations. Wow.”

“You don’t sound very happy for me,” Chaz accused her.

“Of course I am.” Holly hesitated. “It’s just – well, he’s famous, Chaz. I don’t want to see you get hurt. And he’s a lot older than you. Besides, he’s been with that Belgian fashion designer forever—”

“They broke up. Jean-Paul was too possessive. And so what if he’s famous? You’re dating a famous guy.”

“We’re not dating. We’re friends.” She paused. “I’m happy for you, Chaz, truly.” She glanced down at her watch. “But I have to go.”

“Oh? Where?” he demanded. “I thought Ciaran was flying back to London today. Has he asked you out again? And where’s Jamie?”

“He has, he’s flying back on Sunday. Jamie’s working.” As usual, she thought. “Ciaran asked me to come with him and look at apartments.”

Chaz let out a soft whistle. “Wow...he’s a fast mover. He’s known you exactly one day and he already wants to look at apartments together?”

“It’s not like that,” she said, annoyed. “He starts filming soon, and he needs a place to live. He wants my input.”

“More like he wants to put it into you,” Chaz muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing. What are you doing tomorrow? Isn’t Tuesday your day off?”

“No, I’m working full time until the launch ends. But I don’t mind – I’m hoping to learn more about the flapper.”

“Okay, I’ll bite – what flapper?”

“I don’t know who she is, yet. I found her portrait in the attic yesterday.” She had a sudden idea. “Why don’t you come over at lunch and help me? You can meet her, and help me find out who she is.”

“Meet her?” he echoed. “You make it sound like she’s still alive and living in the attic.”

Holly almost told him about sensing her presence; but for some reason, she didn’t. He probably wouldn’t believe her, anyway. And he’d think she was bat-shit crazy.

“Well, the painting’s so lifelike, it’s almost as though she’s real,” she explained, and added, “So, are you in? Feel like rummaging through a bunch of dusty boxes with me tomorrow?”

“Ooh, what fun,” Chaz deadpanned. He sighed. “Okay, why not? It’s not like I have anything better planned for lunch tomorrow anyway.”

“Gee, thanks for that,” Holly retorted. “Love you too. I’ll see you then.”

Although Holly and Chaz spent an entire hour in the attic the next day, sneezing and shoving boxes around, they found nothing of interest, only more junk, and plenty of cobwebs.

“I’m not surprised,” Chaz said as he leaned back on his heels. “I mean, why would this flapper’s journals and personal stuff be stashed up here, anyway? You said this place was a speakeasy back in the day.”

“It was. But why is her portrait here in the attic, then?” Holly wondered, frustrated. “Who shoved it under the eaves, and why?”

“Who knows? My advice? Find out her name first. Then you can figure out where she lived.”

“Right,” she agreed. “And how do I do that, exactly?”

Chaz stood and brushed the dust from his pants. “Well, I’m no Nancy Drew, but I’d start with the local library and check old newspapers. Or maybe the chamber of commerce?”

“You’re brilliant.” Holly kissed him impulsively on the cheek and followed him to the door. “That’s just what I’ll do. How’d you like to go over there with me later?”

“No, thanks,” he said firmly. “I can think of lots of things I’d rather do with my evening. And none of them involves the library or the chamber of commerce. Enjoy yourself, sweetie.”