‘I thought you looked very nice,’ said Margot, pointedly.
Josh appeared at the open front door, having made his way up behind me. ‘Oh, she does. She looks great. I just – I just want her to be talked about for the right reasons.’ He laughed. Margot didn’t laugh back.
I rifled through my wardrobe, throwing things onto my bed, until I found my navy Gucci-style blazer and a striped silk shirt dress. I threw that over my head and slid my feet into my green Mary Janes.
‘How’s that?’ I said, as I ran into the hallway, trying to straighten my hair.
‘Great!’ he said, unable to hide his relief. ‘Okay. Let’s go.’
‘I’ll leave the door unlocked, dear,’ I heard Margot mutter, as I ran after Josh, who was headed out. ‘Just in case you want to come back.’
The Loeb Boathouse was a beautiful venue, sheltered by its position from the noise and chaos outside Central Park, its vast windows offering a panoramic view of the lake glinting in the afternoon sun. It was packed with smartly dressed men in identikit chinos, women with professionally blow-dried hair and was, as Josh had predicted, a sea of pastels and white trousers.
I took a glass of champagne from a tray being proffered by a waiter and watched quietly while Josh worked the room, glad-handing various men, who all seemed to look the same, with their short neat haircuts and square jaws with even white teeth. I had a brief memory of events I had been to with Agnes: I had fallen into my other New York world again, a world away from the vintage clothes stores and mothballed jumpers and cheap coffee I had been immersed in more recently. I took a long sip of my champagne, deciding to embrace it.
Josh appeared beside me. ‘Quite something, isn’t it?’
‘It’s very beautiful.’
‘Better than sitting in some old woman’s apartment all afternoon, huh?’
‘Well, I don’t think I –’
‘My boss is coming. Okay. I’m going to introduce you. Stay with me. Mitchell!’
Josh lifted an arm and the older man walked over slowly, a statuesque brunette woman at his side, her smile oddly blank. Perhaps if you had to be nice to everyone all the time that was what eventually happened to your face.
‘Are you enjoying the afternoon?’
‘Very much so, sir,’ Josh said. ‘What a truly beautiful setting. May I introduce my girlfriend? This is Louisa Clark, from England. Louisa, this is Mitchell Dumont. He’s head of Mergers and Acquisitions.’
‘English, eh?’ I felt the man’s huge hand close over mine and shake it emphatically.
‘Yes. I –’
‘Good. Good.’ He turned back to Josh. ‘So, young man, I hear you’re making quite a splash in your department.’
Josh couldn’t hide his delight. His smile spread across his face. His eyes flickered to me and then to the woman beside me, and I realized he was expecting me to make conversation with her. Nobody had bothered to introduce us. Mitchell Dumont put a paternal arm around Josh’s shoulders and walked him a few feet away.
‘So …’ I said. I raised my eyebrows and lowered them again.
She smiled blankly at me.
‘I love your dress,’ I said, the universal smoother for two women who have absolutely nothing to say to each other.
‘Thank you. Cute shoes,’ she said. But she said it in the way that meant they weren’t cute at all. She glanced over, plainly wondering if she could find someone else to talk to. She had taken one look at my outfit and deemed herself way beyond my pay grade.
There was nobody else nearby, so I tried again. ‘So do you come here a lot? To the Loeb Boathouse, I mean?’
‘It’s Lobe,’ she said.
‘Lobe?’
‘You pronounced it Lerb. It’s Loeb.’
Looking at her perfectly made-up, suspiciously plump lips repeatedly saying the word made me want to giggle. I took a swig of my champagne to disguise it. ‘So do you cerm to the Lerb Berthouse often?’ I said, unable to help myself.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Although one of my friends got married here last year. That was such a beautiful wedding.’
‘I’ll bet. And what do you do?’
‘I’m a homemaker.’
‘A herm-maker! My merther is also a herm-maker.’ I took another long sip of my drink. ‘Herm-making is perfectly lervely.’ I saw Josh, his face focused intently on his boss’s, reminding me briefly of Thom’s when he was pleading with Dad to give him some of his crisps.
The woman’s expression had become faintly concerned – or as far as a woman who couldn’t move her brow could express concern. A bubble of giggles had started to build in my chest and I pleaded with some unseen deity to keep them under control.
‘Maya!’ Her voice tinged with relief, Mrs Dumont (at least, I assumed that was whom I’d been talking to) waved at a woman approaching us, her perfect figure neatly pinned into a mint-coloured shift dress. I waited while they air-kissed.
‘You look simply gorgeous.’
‘As do you. I love that dress.’
‘Oh, it’s so old. And you’re so sweet. How’s that darling husband of yours? Always talking business.’
‘Oh, you know Mitchell.’ Mrs Dumont plainly couldn’t ignore my presence any longer. ‘This is Joshua Ryan’s girlfriend. I’m so sorry, I missed your name. Terribly noisy in here.’
‘Louisa,’ I said.
‘How lovely. I’m Chrissy. I’m Jeffrey’s other half. You know Jeffrey in Sales and Marketing?’
‘Oh, everyone knows Jeffrey,’ said Mrs Dumont.
‘Oh, Jeffrey …’ I said, shaking my head. Then nodding. Then shaking my head again.
‘And what do you do?’
‘What do I do?’
‘Louisa’s in fashion.’ Josh appeared at my side.
‘You certainly do have an individual look. I love the British, don’t you, Mallory? They are so interesting in their choices.’
There was a brief silence, while everyone digested my choices.
‘Louisa’s about to start work at Women’s Wear Daily.’
‘You are?’ said Mallory Dumont.
‘I am?’ I said. ‘Yes. I am.’
‘Well, that must be just thrilling. What a wonderful magazine. I must find my husband. Do excuse me.’ With another bland smile she walked off on her vertiginous heels, Maya beside her.
‘Why did you say that?’ I said, reaching for another glass of champagne. ‘It sounds better than I house-sit an old lady?’
‘No. You – you just look like you might work in fashion.’
‘You’re still uncomfortable with what I’m wearing?’ I looked over at the two women, in their complementary dresses. I had a sudden memory of how Agnes must have felt at such gatherings, the myriad subtle ways women can find to let other women know they do not fit in.
‘You look great. It’s just it makes it easier to explain your – your particular … unique sensibility if they think you’re in fashion. Which you kind of are.’
‘I’m perfectly happy with what I do, Josh.’
‘But you want to work in fashion, don’t you? You can’t look after an old woman for ever. Look, I was going to tell you after – my sister-in-law, Debbie, she knows a woman in the marketing department at Women’s Wear Daily. She said she’s going to ask them to find out if they have any entry-level vacancies. She seems pretty confident she can do something for you. What do you say?’ He was beaming, like he’d presented me with the Holy Grail.