Fifty-seven

For a few seconds, silence descended. With all the stone and dark wood around us, it felt like we actually were in a cathedral. At last, Addy flatly said—

“Oh, my, that is exciting news. You must be quite close to Jensen to know about it, Esther.”

“I certainly care about him, and I think—”

I bumped Esther’s foot under the table. “Mr. Van Dyne hasn’t told us much—”

“Yes, he has!” Esther declared. “He says his book is going to make news. He told me his story will shake up the whole city!”

I finally stomped on Esther’s Doc Martens hard enough for her to get the message.

“Perhaps I can help,” Addy said. “Can you get me the manuscript to read?”

“Isn’t that something you should get from his publisher?” I quickly replied, remembering his contract. “Do you know his editor, Joan Gibson?”

“Joan Gibson, you say?” She shook her head. “I never heard of her…”

Addy pushed her plate aside. “But if and when Jensen recovers from his unfortunate injuries, I hope he’ll be up to the task. Publishing is a very different business than it was when he wrote his short story all those years ago. Success is much more difficult to attain these days.”

“A good book is a good book,” Esther countered. “And a good book will always find an audience.”

Addy scoffed. “If only it were that simple. Sales require promotion, and the publisher can only do so much. For any hope of success, Jensen will be asked to give interviews, make appearances, and have a vibrant social media presence. I’m not sure he has the emotional stamina to withstand the attention or meet the demands of the publisher and the public. Those demands are why I have an entire publicity team in place and ready to go for next summer.”

Once again, Addy had managed to derail the subject of our conversation.

“What’s happening next summer?” Esther asked.

“Two things.” Addy turned to me. “As a fan of my novels, Clare, you should be especially excited to learn that my New Amsterdam series is being adapted—all six of them—into a Netflix streaming event.”

“That is exciting,” I said (even though I didn’t have Netflix).

Addy signaled for the server to clear the table. “With this streaming series, my New Amsterdam novels will find a whole new audience.”

“I haven’t read your novels yet,” Esther confessed. “What’s the premise?”

Seeing Addy’s grimacing reaction to that request, I jumped in.

“They’re excellent reads, Esther. Addy’s heroine is Tabitha Sloan, a young engineering student who falls into a pit at a Lower Manhattan construction site. Ancient forces in an underground stream pull her into the ocean and she washes ashore in another time, when New York was called New Amsterdam and ruled by the Dutch. But though she’s stuck in the seventeenth century, she still has her modern knowledge and uses it to help the community that becomes her new home.”

Esther nodded. “Like Mark Twain’s Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court.”

“Exactly,” Addy said. “Twain’s time travel story was one of my early inspirations. But my heroine rescues her newfound community from the scourge of cholera. She finds romance with a dashing sea captain, battles pirates, and with her engineering knowledge outmaneuvers the king of England.”

Esther looked impressed. “Sounds like a strong STEMinist character.” She tapped her chin. “Did someone make a movie out of your book at one time? I ask because I think I saw it.”

“Oh, that was a dreadful film.” Addy shuddered. “I never got over the trauma. The one consolation is that they didn’t call it New Amsterdam and sully the brand forever.”

“Time After Time, right?” Esther said.

“That’s what they wanted to call it, until I reminded the studio executives that my colleague Nicholas Meyer had already made a movie called Time After Time.”

“Oh, right. Was it Time and Time Again?”

“Close.” Addy grimaced. “You’re missing a third Time.”

Esther winced. “Really?”

“Yes. Some genius executive decided the title should be Time and Time and Time Again. He said the third Time was the charm. At that point I washed my hands of the project and walked away.”

Elena was back to serve dessert. This time Addy introduced the dish herself.

“I rode the Venice Simplon-Orient-Express three times before I wrangled this recipe out of Executive Chef Christian Bodiguel. He’s passed on now, but his superb cuisine lives on in my memory. This delectable little Cherry Clafoutis is my only weakness.”

“You have a lot of weaknesses,” Esther cracked. “At least four by my count.”

“Aren’t you an observant one,” Addy said. “You’d be quite good as a kick-ass girl assassin, wouldn’t you, Esther?”

“Nah, I’d rather save people than off them.”

“Well, as far as enjoying the good life, I’m guilty as charged. I paid my dues to get here, and I intend to enjoy every fringe benefit—la dolce vita! Sample your desserts, ladies, and see if you don’t agree.”

I had to admit, these cute little ramekins offered a nice taste of Addy’s sweet life. The unique treat—part custard, part cake—blended perfectly with the fresh cherries, splash of kirsch, and scoop of vanilla bean gelato on top.

For the first time, Esther didn’t whisper a complaint. In fact, this classic French indulgence was based on a crepe batter, which is why I pointed to her ramekin and mouthed—

“See that? You got your fruity pancake with ice cream topping!”

After we all took a few silent, blissful bites, Addy picked up the conversation where she left off.

“You know that first adaptation of New Amsterdam was not at all faithful. The budget was miniscule, and it lacked an epic feel. The whole thing looked cheap, which is why I’m thrilled about the Netflix production…”

Addy set down her spoon and licked her lips.

“This time, I’ll be consulting, and with the latest developments in special effects, we’re going to do it right. This series will be on the scale of Outlander, Shōgun, and The Crown. Its launch will coincide with the publication of my seventh New Amsterdam novel, which will start a whole new cycle in Tabitha’s saga.”

“A new New Amsterdam book?” I honestly gushed. “That’s even more exciting than the streaming series. I’ll be first in line to buy it.”

“It’s tough to give up writing, isn’t it?” Esther said. “There are always new stories to tell.”

“Yes, Esther, and more ways to tell them. One simple tweak can turn an old idea into something fresh and new.”

“What do you mean?” Esther asked.

“Decades ago, when I first conceived my New Amsterdam series, I made my protagonist a man, like the engineer Hank Morgan in Twain’s Connecticut Yankee. But after my Hollywood success, I changed my mind. Flipping the genders had worked for She Slays Me when I thought, Who needs another James Bond? So I decided to try the same gender switch for New Amsterdam, and look what it’s got me…”

She gestured to the room with the view—and when she did, my attention was drawn to the activity outside.

During the meal, we were able to watch through the arched windows as people strolled the promenade. Now, as Addy continued to talk, I spotted a familiar-looking young man on an electric scooter. He had a receding hairline and wore round Harry Potter glasses, and he was slowly cruising down the walkway in a clear violation of park rules about motorized vehicles.

As he passed Addy’s brownstone, he stared right at us from over the hedges. Though he was thirty feet away, I was sure I’d seen this young man before—and recently.

I kept watching, and a few moments later he rolled by in the opposite direction. Once again he stared directly at us. This time he slowed down enough for me to get a long look at him.

That’s when I knew where I’d first seen him. He was that timid young man in the basement of the Grand Maison hotel, standing deferentially behind the white blond Ice Woman while a furious Addison Ford Babcock lashed out at her.

“Look!” I cried.

Addy stopped talking mid-sentence. “Look at what, Clare?”

“Outside!” I pointed.

Abby turned her head—the wrong way.

“No, over there!”

Addy turned again, and this time she seemed to look right at the man as he raced out of sight.

“Don’t you recognize him?” I asked.

“Goodness, Clare. Who?”

For a moment I did not reply, my mind working. Did the Ice Woman send her assistant to spy on Addy? If she did, then why? What did he, and presumably the Ice Woman, expect to see by watching Addy’s home?

“Clare, do you feel all right?” Addy asked.

The answer was no. The man’s appearance was disturbing enough to prompt me into asking an uncomfortable question:

“I wonder if you could shed some light on the argument you had last evening at the Grand Maison.”

“Argument?”

“I was moving through the kitchen and saw you speaking to a woman with white blond hair. She had a young man with her—he might have been her assistant. The reason I’m bringing it up is because I just saw that same man riding a scooter on the promenade, peering through your windows. Do you have any idea why?”

“My goodness, Clare, what you witnessed last evening was simply a discussion between two old acquaintances. I don’t know the man whom you’re describing, and I saw no one when you pointed.”

“I saw him,” Esther cut in. “Harry Potter glasses and a prematurely receding hairline—”

Addy was now clearly annoyed. “Frankly, Clare, you sound a little paranoid, and I don’t appreciate hearing that you were spying on me.”

“I wasn’t spying. I just happened to see—”

“Oh, no!” Addy said, suddenly checking her watch. “Where did the time go? I’m sorry, ladies, but I have a scheduled call with my West Coast agent, and I’m afraid it cannot wait.”

With crisp steps, Addy escorted us to the front door.

“Thank you for lunch,” I said sincerely.

“You’re more than welcome, Clare. This was my small way of thanking you for your help with my nephew’s awkward situation last evening—”

I was about to give Addy a polite reply when she aggressively added, “—and I do hope, since we’re friends now, that I can rely on you to keep the particulars of that incident private?”

“Of course.”

“Oh, you’re a treasure!”

As Elena handed us our coats, Addy asked me for a final favor, one that left me mildly stunned.

“Now if you don’t mind, Clare, I’d like to have a little private chat—”

“With me?”

“No. With Esther.”