The receptionist nodded her head. ‘Are you expecting someone, sir?’
‘No,’ said Joel, his face wrinkling with distaste. He didn’t want to deal with any of Colton’s clients face to face if he could possibly help it, particularly the way Colton kept pulling out of their marketplaces without warning. Plus they were blowhards that went on about clean eating too much. He sometimes wanted to make them try some of Mure’s very best carbs and fats, just to see their faces recoil in horror. The receptionist of course knew fine well he wasn’t; she’d just wanted to see the expression on his face. It gave her some satisfaction.
‘Well, there’s someone here to see you. Maybe it’s a surprise?’
When Joel first told Flora about his upbringing she never really realised its import.
He had told her in such a matter-of-fact way and felt no need to expand on the issue. There had been no tears, no histrionics. He had simply told her that his parents couldn’t look after him and he had been brought up in the care system. Flora had always, looking at him, found it difficult to imagine that of Joel, who was so sorted, so handsome, so confident, so seemingly impregnable. He didn’t seem broken about it, didn’t seem even particularly fussed. It was his reality, and that was all it was.
In later years, Flora was to realise how na?ve – how dangerously na?ve – she had been to think like this. Of course, her upbringing hadn’t been perfect – whose was, when you thought about it? Nobody’s. But she’d had two parents, who had stayed together, who had loved her and encouraged her to the best of their abilities, sometimes successfully, sometimes less so. That was what family was: everyone muddling along.
She didn’t get it. Not really. Not properly. She felt the sadness in the abstract, of course – not having a family, how awful. But she had had Joel on such a pedestal for so long, had seen him always when he was her boss as a great epitome of triumph and success and everything she longed for.
He had told her, but she had not understood, and would not for a long time.
If you have ever known a child in care, the one thing you do not do – you never do – is spring surprises. They have known surprises. They have known all the surprises they ever need to know. Surprises like: you won’t be seeing your parents again. Or you won’t be staying here any more. Or you’re moving schools. Or we’re so sorry, this placement hasn’t worked out quite as we’d hoped.
If you want to show your love to a child of difficult fostering, be entirely predictable. In every way. Tediously and relentlessly. For ever.
Flora didn’t realise this even as she started awake, not knowing at all where she was or what time it was. She was surprised, in fact, to find herself in the lobby of a very upmarket New York hotel, still in her Mure overcoat on this hot day, feeling bleary and completely discombobulated, only to find Joel looking down on her with an expression of abject horror on his face – the sum of her worst fears.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Hey,’ Flora said weakly.
She rubbed her eyes. He didn’t say anything. Behind him, Flora gradually realised the receptionist was watching, hungrily.
‘Hey,’ said Joel eventually. There was no embrace. He was staring at her like he didn’t know what the hell she was doing there. And she didn’t either, she realised. She didn’t know what the hell she was doing there. Why hadn’t she obeyed her first instincts? Suddenly she wanted to cringe, to fold herself up or vanish into the ground.
‘I thought I’d surprise you,’ she said timidly.
‘Consider me surprised,’ said Joel shortly. He cursed himself for the look in her eyes: so disappointed in him. What the hell did she expect him to do? He was at work, trying to get through it, so he could come home. He wasn’t over here playing up with other women or whatever she seemed to think if she was checking up on him.
‘I just thought … I’ve never been to New York.’ Flora couldn’t believe how lame she sounded, like she wanted to be his girlfriend so she could go on a school trip. ‘So here I am!’
‘And you’re staying here?’
Joel said it without thinking. He was very tired, at the end of a long couple of weeks, and as soon as he’d said it he could have kicked himself. He didn’t even know what he meant, but even so.
Flora’s face went very white and very still. ‘I’m sorry I inconvenienced you,’ she said, and she went to grab her bag and leave.
After a second, Joel realised that she meant it and headed after her. The receptionist wished she could follow him. This had to be the end; he was absolutely furious with her. Obviously this was nothing serious. She definitely had an in.
‘Flora!’ he shouted as she headed through the bustling lobby. ‘Come back. Sorry. I’m sorry. You just … you just took me by surprise that’s all. I hate surprises.’
Flora’s voice was trembling and her eyes were full of tears. ‘Well, I hate being an annoying idiot so I guess we’re even,’ she said.
‘Don’t … I’m the idiot,’ said Joel. ‘I am. I’m sorry. Please. Please. Come upstairs. Let’s get a drink. Let’s … I just wasn’t expecting to see you here.’
‘Really?’ said Flora. ‘Well, you dealt with it very gracefully. I’m going. I can stay somewhere else and I’m flying back on Sunday.’
‘Don’t be … don’t be ridiculous. Come on. Please. Come on. Come upstairs.’ Joel glanced around. They appeared to be making a scene, which he absolutely could not bear. ‘Please,’ he whispered urgently under his breath.
All the way up in the elevator – the receptionist had huffily made up a spare key for Flora, her displeasure very clear – they were silent. Neither of them wanted to talk about what had just happened. It was as if the first – of how many? – barriers had been held up in front of them. And they had both failed, in ways that weren’t clear to either of them. And now they were like strangers.
Flora almost unbent when she saw the suite – not one of her nobler instincts, as she would have been the first to admit. It was large, with a huge sitting room overlooking the whole of Manhattan, glowing pink in the early evening spring light: south to downtown and the new spaceship of the World Trade Center site; east to Brooklyn.
All the furniture was cream and grey: sofas and cushions, floor-to-ceiling windows and, oh my goodness, the terrace … Flora was drawn towards it. It was utterly entrancing.
She thought of how it was exactly what she’d dreamed it might be like … and how she and Joel would be sitting on that terrace, laughing at how brilliantly secretive she’d been, ordering cocktails …
She rubbed stubbornly at her eyes. ‘I’m tired,’ she said. ‘It’s 1 a.m. for me. Can I go to bed please? I’ll sleep on the sofa.’
Joel didn’t like crying women and he didn’t like being emotionally manipulated. He’d drawn back; she was here. That was enough, wasn’t it? Or was he going to have to feel guilty the entire evening? He was sick of feeling guilty. Feeling guilty was his default. ‘Fine,’ he said, going over to his desk and setting down his briefcase. ‘Are you hungry? You can order something.’
Flora was starving. ‘No, I’m fine.’
‘Good.’ His fingers strayed towards the briefcase.
‘Are you … are you working?’ said Flora.
‘I have a major conference with Colton. There’s a lot he needs done. That’s why I’m here.’ His jaw was set.