Brooke jumped into David’s car and kissed him wildly on the lips.
‘Hey, hey!’ he laughed, gently pushing her back. ‘What’s all this about?’
‘Portico is number seven, David!’ she said breathlessly. ‘It’s number seven on the New York Times best-seller list!’
‘Honey, that’s amazing. Does Eileen know?’ he said with genuine delight, giving her another kiss before gunning the engine and setting off along Lexington.
‘Yes, of course. She screamed down the phone for about three minutes and then begged me to come shopping with her for a Chanel handbag.’
David chuckled. ‘What is it with women and handbags?’
Brooke reached over and squeezed his knee. ‘Please, you’ll have to understand that before you even think about marrying me,’ she teased him.
While David called his assistant on his hands-free phone to make a reservation for dinner at Raoul’s that evening, Brooke gazed out of the window, thinking about the excitement of the last hour. Yellow Door’s managing director Edward had come into her office to tell her the news privately, and had to quickly shush her when Brooke had squealed. That had been swiftly followed by an impromptu champagne toast in the boardroom when everyone had told her what a visionary she had been to rescue Portico from the slush pile. For once, Brooke hadn’t contradicted them; everyone needed a few moments of glory, didn’t they? In truth, Brooke hadn’t exactly been surprised about Portico’s high chart position – not after Eileen’s brilliant, modest, and funny appearance on Oprah the previous week. The next day Brooke had spent her lunchtime loitering in the big Borders at Columbus Circle, just watching as the books disappeared before her eyes.
And now, as a perfect end to a perfect day, she and David were off to see an apartment that Brooke had been dreaming about all week. She had been aware of the building on Riverside Drive long before the realtor had called her to say ‘a very special apartment’ was coming on the market. She had once been to a party in the building many years ago and had always fantasized about one day being able to live there.
‘Hang a left and go across the park,’ said Brooke excitedly.
‘West side?’ said her fiancé, raising a brow.
‘Just trust me, okay?’ she smiled.
The car traversed Manhattan and wound up Riverside Drive, the most westerly point of the island.
‘Pull up just over there,’ she pointed. David looked increasingly uncertain as they walked towards a grey stone Beaux Arts apartment block, but she linked her arm through his and pulled him in tight. She had anticipated that he’d be surprised about where she’d brought him, especially as so far they’d been looking in the ‘best buildings’ on Fifth Avenue and Sutton Place South and at houses around West Tenth and Eleventh Streets. The west side of the island was a part of town that they rarely came to, but something about it had become more appealing of late. Perhaps it was the disconnection from where they worked and where their friends and family lived. Perhaps it was the views over the river, a reminder that they were on an island, and the fact that there was a whole wide world beyond it. Perhaps because fewer celebrities lived here than in the smart streets of the West Village – not to mention fewer paparazzi. Or maybe it was because the air smelled slightly less of overt social snobbery. Whatever it was, Brooke felt more at home here than any of the areas they’d looked at so far, and she was hoping David would feel the same.
The agent was waiting for them at the elevator and they rode up to the triplex on the top floor in silence. The apartment’s front door opened into a hallway, then a sunken living room surrounded by a wraparound balcony, the lights of New Jersey twinkling beyond the dark river ahead.
‘I think this place speaks for itself,’ smiled the realtor, clearly giddy with anticipation of a fat commission cheque. ‘I’ll leave you two alone to explore.’
‘I love it,’ whispered Brooke, squeezing David’s hand as they walked up a wide staircase into the master bedroom.
‘Yeah, it’s a find.’
He was trying to please her, but Brooke could detect the forced enthusiasm in his voice.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ said David, not looking her in the eye.
‘David, what’s wrong? You’ve been acting weird all week when I’ve mentioned stepping up the apartment search.’
‘I just don’t think we’re going to be needing another apartment in New York,’ he said, opening a closet door with little interest.
‘Honey, I know you love the loft, but you know I want to start afresh.’
‘Maybe we should talk about this over dinner?’ he said, walking back to her. ‘In fact, maybe we shouldn’t. Tonight we’re supposed to be celebrating Portico, aren’t we?’
‘Well, I was rather hoping to end the biggest day of my working life finding our new home as well,’ she replied, turning towards the window, her arms folded.
‘Let’s not be greedy.’
She couldn’t understand his attitude. ‘David, what is the problem? I thought you’d love this place too.’
He paused, then looked at her seriously.
‘I’ve kinda had a big day at work too.’
She suddenly felt guilty; she’d been so excited by her own news she hadn’t bothered asking about his day. And, from his expression, this was serious.
‘Oh wow, I’m sorry,’ she said, stepping forward and touching his hand. ‘What’s happened?’
‘I’ve been offered my own talk show,’ he said simply.
‘What? Like David Letterman?’
‘Kind of,’ he smiled. ‘A little more political.’
Brooke threw her arms around him and squealed. ‘Honey that’s amazing! Why didn’t you tell me? Oh that’s brilliant – and of course you deserve it, you’re so good.’
‘The problem is …’ he said slowly, ‘it’s based in Washington.’
‘DC?’ said Brooke.
‘A five-night-a-week gig, ten p.m. slot on NBS, very serious,’ he said excitedly. ‘It’s a brand-new show replacing that tired old political debate format. They’re really getting behind it and the exposure will be incredible.’
Brooke wanted to share David’s excitement, but instead she felt cold. Of course she’d been to Washington before, and each time she’d tried to make herself enjoy its European majesty, see it was the centre of the nation, feel the energy of change all around her. But she couldn’t. She found it a sterile, pompous, one-industry town where people seemed to grow old and cynical before their time.
‘Are you sure this is the right thing for you?’ she asked.
‘How could it not be right?’ said David, holding out his hands.
Brooke lifted her shoulders. ‘I mean, you certainly don’t need the exposure. You have media requests coming out of your ears and you turn ninety-nine per cent of them down. And anyway, won’t your father think that sort of exposure is vulgar?’
‘My father has mixed feelings,’ said David. ‘He knows it would be a heavyweight show interviewing heads of state and so on – that he likes. What he doesn’t like is the fact that it would mean putting the Congress run on the back burner.’
‘You spoke to your father about this before me?’ said Brooke, unable to hide her disappointment.
‘I was with him when I got the call, Brooke,’ he replied impatiently. ‘I wanted to wait until I saw you in person to tell you.’
The agent was hovering at the door. David flashed her a look and then closed the oak door behind her with a thump. He looked back at Brooke and his expression softened.
‘Honey, I don’t want to be doing the news forever. And this is a move away from it, a new avenue to explore.’
Brooke was aware that her arms were crossed again. ‘I thought you loved doing news,’ she said.
‘Hey, I thought you said you hated me running off to Beirut at the drop of a hat.’
‘I do.’
‘Well then. This is an honour, Brooke, can’t you see?’ he said, his dark-blue eyes pleading with her. ‘Ever since that human trafficking report I did, they’ve been lining me up for something really big. You say I’m travelling all the time; well, here’s my opportunity to stay in one place.’
‘A different place from our home, our friends, our family – and, let’s not forget, my job.’
‘Well, that’s something we’ve got to talk about …’
‘You’re damn right we do,’ she said hotly. ‘Last time I looked there were no major children’s publishing houses in Washington.’
‘Come on, Brooke, you could easily do something else. In fact, you don’t have to do anything.’
She curled her hands into fists. ‘And that’s exactly what you want, isn’t it?’
She thought of Robert Billington in the gardens of Cliffpoint, telling her how David just wanted a good wife. Well, screw them, she thought angrily.
‘Brooke, calm down …’
She looked at him, feeling her bottom lip tremble.
‘I have a career, David,’ she said. ‘I have a book at number seven on the New York Times best-seller list, destined for number one. Do you know how rare that is for a children’s author? Do you know how good that made me feel?’
She shook her head at his silence. ‘You know my achievements to date have been unremarkable. People thought I was another rich girl playing at a career until I got married off. Sure, I’m the company golden girl, but not because they take me seriously. Because I’m Brooke Asgill, engaged to David Billington, not because I’m Brooke Asgill, talented commissioning editor. Until today, that is. Today, I published a great book, a fantastic book that everyone is talking about – everyone is reading all over the country. That’s why I couldn’t “easily do something else”, because – and I’m sorry if it’s inconvenient for you – I think I’ve found something I’m good at.’
She looked at his face. He was looking down, his eyes seemingly focused on a small point on the expensive walnut floors.
‘A marriage is about two people, Brooke.’
‘Exactly,’ she said bitterly, and suddenly she realized what Washington represented to her: second place. If they went there now, she would be a TV host’s wife. In a few years, a congressman’s wife; somewhere down the line, maybe even first lady. And that was the irony of it: there was nothing first about life with a man like David Billington. She was always expected to come second.
‘You sound resentful,’ said David quietly, his eyes still on the floor.
‘Do you blame me?’
‘Brooke, my career is the most important thing in my family’s life.’
‘Of course,’ she said tartly. ‘Your family. Not me, not even you. Your family.’
‘Yes, I knew that was the deal when I agreed to marry you,’ said Brooke. ‘I’ve always known the deal.’
Finally he looked up. His eyes were sad.
‘Sounds like you don’t want the deal, any more.’
Brooke didn’t say anything. She blinked as fat tears began to roll down her cheeks.
‘I’m sorry, baby,’ said David. ‘I want this opportunity. I really want to do it.’ She could see how much this meant to him and it broke her heart.
‘I thought you wanted Congress,’ she said. ‘The Connecticut seat.’
His handsome face looked awkward, confused. ‘I’m thinking I could do this and then go straight for Senate, or maybe a governorship somewhere.’
Brooke bit her lip until she tasted blood. She could barely believe that, only an hour ago, she had been thinking this was the happiest day of her life. She covered her face and gulped at the air.
Slowly, she realized that David’s arms were around her.
‘I want to take this job, but I do want you to be happy too,’ he said urgently into her ear. ‘If it means that much to you, I can turn it down. I will turn it down.’
Gently, she pulled away from him. ‘I never said I wanted you to do that,’ she said softly, wiping her face.
The agent knocked on the door and entered cautiously.
‘So what do you think?’ she smiled.
‘I think we’ve got a lot of thinking to do,’ said David, looking at Brooke.
Brooke nodded. ‘Yes, we have.’