Читать книгу I’ll Take New York - Miranda Dickinson - Страница 15

The loft apartment looked like a movie set. As the owner gave Jake a tour, he couldn’t help but be impressed by the space. Architect-designed and full of light, the apartment smelled of money – every detail an indicator of taste and expense. Frosted glass met industrial slate and polished cherry wood floors. Generous couches in neutral tones were arranged around exposed brick walls. Glass and brushed steel staircases rose from either end of the room to a mezzanine above, with bedrooms situated off it. Two-storey glass windows provided the most amazing view of the Upper West Side – at night the lights of the city would meet the stars and guests could wander out onto the slate balcony to admire the view. It was perfect.

‘And you don’t mind if we clear some furniture for the party?’ he asked.

Eric Reynolds, the owner of the gorgeous living space and an old friend from Jake’s Yale days, nodded. ‘No problem. We do it often, actually. My practice holds all its business functions here so we’ve become old hands at furniture removal.’ He slapped a friendly hand on Jake’s back. ‘You know, it’s good to see you, man. I thought we’d lost you to the West Coast forever.’

Jake laughed, but his heart was heavy. ‘Me? Never! Always an East Coast fella.’

‘Good. We should do a weekend at the Hampton house some time. Laura would love to see you.’

‘How is the family?’

Eric chuckled. ‘Growing. Suddenly I’m the father of three teenagers and I have no idea how it happened. The boys are good, though, even if they have relegated me to “old man” status in backyard basketball matches. And Laura hasn’t changed in twenty years. So, what do you reckon?’

Jake looked up at the light flooding in from the glass roof of the apartment. ‘It’s perfect. Ed and Rosie will love it. And I hope you and Laura can join us?’

‘Unfortunately, we’re out of town that Friday. But we’ll expect you all at the house soon, OK?’

In a coffee shop around the corner from the apartment, Jake pulled out his Moleskine notebook and ticked ‘VENUE’ off his to-do list. Remembering that Eric Reynolds had an apartment he let out for events had been a masterstroke this morning and a large part of Jake’s planning conundrum solved. Now what remained was a bar, waiting staff and a caterer, perhaps a DJ, maybe some mood lighting. Jake looked at his list and congratulated himself. This party planning was easier than he’d imagined.

He sipped his flat white and glanced around the coffee shop interior. A long line stretched along the counter towards the door but the speed of service meant that even those at the back of the queue weren’t visibly rattled by having to wait. That said, compared with San Franciscan coffee shop customers, this queue would appear uptight. Jake shuddered as a familiar thud of reality echoed through him. Everything had seemed easier on the West Coast – the sunshine and laid-back atmosphere permeating every aspect of life. Except for his marriage, which should have been the easiest thing of all. Why did Jessica leave him? What happened to change how she felt about him?

Jake groaned. Speculation was pointless. Jess had her reasons – whatever they were – and he was powerless to change her mind. He could go over and over the situation until the end of time and never find the answers. Jessica simply didn’t want to be his wife any longer. The unsigned divorce papers in his still-unpacked apartment were irrefutable evidence of that.

He turned his attention back to the neatly written to-do list. This was what he should focus on, something removed from his marriage situation.

Make this a success, he wrote in bold, confident letters, and the rest will follow.

Alongside the list of engagement party tasks, Jake had written an extensive list that would take even longer to complete. When he moved from San Francisco he had left more than his marital home behind. Along with his friends and lifestyle he had also left his business – a thriving psychotherapy practice that he had built from scratch. Even now, he regretted having to leave his hard work on the other side of the US. Still, at least the money from its sale would go a long way to seeing him established in New York. And, as Ed had joked, there were fewer places in the world more in need of mass therapy than Manhattan.

‘It’ll be a goldmine,’ he’d assured Jake. ‘They’ll be lining up outside to dump their neuroses on you.’

Jake hoped Ed was right. Certainly their father and eldest brother Daniel had profited handsomely from dealing with the minds of the Big Apple, so there was no reason to suppose he wouldn’t do the same.

If only it were that easy. Finding the right premises was a challenge. Too close to the centre of New York and he could be lost in the city blur; too far away and he would just be lost. He needed to be where people needed him and were willing to pay for his services, so affluent areas were preferable. But affluent areas spelled expensive rents and to place his fledgling business in the wrong area would prove costly indeed.

Deep down, Jake hated that money was always the bottom line. When he graduated from medical school he had entertained lofty aspirations to treat everyone, regardless of income. And, for a couple of years, he had worked in volunteer practices, offering psychological assistance to the police and community outreaches in addition to his junior partner position at a local psychotherapy unit. He had almost burned himself out in the process, but had felt a deep sense of pride to be doing the right thing.

Then, he met Jessica. And everything changed. Her father was a powerful businessman in the city and only too happy to send wealthy colleagues Jake’s way. With the profits from his new clientele, Jake was soon able to set up his own practice, moving wholesale to San Francisco a year later when Jessica was offered a position at a West Coast interior design agency. Since then, Jake’s business had focused solely on private clients – and he had become comfortable with the safety and security it afforded him.

Maybe he had become too comfortable with everything. Maybe that was why Jessica left …

He shook the thought away. He hadn’t changed: she had. He needed to focus on rebuilding his business. Premises and good staff, definitely a great PA, maybe a practice partner in time – all of these things he had control over and could ensure he made a success of.

He spent the afternoon calling recruiters and realtors, his list getting longer as appointments to view premises and meet potential staff built up. Back in his apartment and pleased with a productive day’s work, Jake closed his notebook and stretched his aching arms above his head as the light began to fade over the Williamsburg skyline. He poured a glass of bourbon and relaxed back in his favourite leather chair – one of the few pieces of furniture he had brought from his previous home. The apartment grew dark as streetlights flared into life, casting an eerie orange glow around the bare walls. A single shaft of white light from a neighbouring building’s security lamp illuminated the table by the window – and the dreaded brown envelope confirming the end of his marriage. Taking a long sip of bourbon, Jake let pain wash over him as he closed his eyes.