A Novel Romance

[SweetAsSuga]

Closed for DanFS

Was there anything worse than a blank document? The cursor sat there blinking, mocking Jane from its position – the same position it had been in for the past two weeks. Every day, five hours a day at least, Jane had sat in her office religiously staring at the same blank screen until she wanted to rip her hair out and scream loud enough to rattle the windows. Writer’s block was a part of life for any writer, but Jane had never suffered such a bad case of the wretched thing. She did not like it.

Running a weary hand through her dark, mahogany hair, Jane winced as her fingers hit a tangle. When was the last time she’d washed he hair? As soon as she’d come home from work on Friday she had sequestered herself in the little office in her apartment, locking herself away for the weekend with the sole purpose of getting the next five chapters of her book down on paper. It was Saturday afternoon already – or was it Sunday? Jane had lost all sense of time – and she hadn’t typed a single word. Watched hours of videos with kittens playing the piano and dogs riding skateboards, yes. Logged countless minutes on Pinterest, of course. But written any of her new novel? Not even one letter. She’d only moved from her chair to go to the bathroom or get food. She hadn’t even changed from the yoga pants and Villanova t-shirt she’d put on when she got home on Friday. Instead, she’d let that little bastard of a blank page mock her and make her feel even smaller than that blinking cursor.

A heavy sigh spilled from her lips. Jane’s bottom lip had been chewed raw as she sat there hour after hour with nothing to write. She was, to put it simply, a wreck. The meeting with her publisher was in less than twenty-four hours and Emma would not be happy if Jane didn’t have at least one more chapter to show her. But how could Jane write anything when she just wasn’t feeling the heat between her two protagonists? Writing scintillating romance was harder than people imagined. It wasn’t just plugging names into a basic plot and coming up with imaginative euphemisms for penis and vagina. It was hard work. Plus, Jane didn’t want to be just another romance writer. Her first novel had been on the New York Bestseller list for nearly a year. There was no way she could let her second novel fail. She did not want to be just another one hit wonder.

A clump of hair fell in her eyes and Jane hastily brushed it behind her ear. But the pesky strand would not stay and fell, once more, brushing against her glasses. Frustrated at herself, Jane took that frustration out on her hair, angrily yanking it up into a messy bun. With a fortifying gulp of her cold coffee – how long had it been sitting there? – Jane forced herself to focus.

“Okay, here goes,” she said, sitting up alertly in her chair with spine straight and shoulders back. “I am going to write something in three…two…one…” Her fingers, poised above the keypad, remained stubbornly motionless. “Let’s try this again.” She said with a shake of her head, as if the motion could get words flowing. “Three. Two. One.” Slowly, her fingers moved over the keys until one word stared back at her:Something.

*****​

“You were supposed to have at least another hundred pages to me by today.” Emma looked down at the five measly pages that Jane had forced from her brain over the weekend. And they were the worst five pages that she had ever written. As soon as she’d printed them to hand into Emma, Jane had deleted every last word, knowing that she would never be able to salvage them.

From the way Emma twirled a strand of her short, copper colored hair around her finger, Jane knew she was not pleased. The two had known each other since college, both of them English majors at Villanova. Emma had been one of a handful of friends that Jane had made during her four years there. Now, Emma worked at a major publishing firm and had handled Jane’s first book. She was desperate to help Jane with her sophomore attempt, but both of them knew many authors struggled after their first novel.

“I’m sorry,” Jane’s eyes were focused on the scuffed tips of her sensible black heels. She had to go in to work after this meeting and was carefully dressed in a blue pencil skirt and black, turtle neck sweater. Her mass of dark hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, showing off the antique diamond earrings that had once belonged to her grandmother.

“I tried, Emma, I really did, but the words just weren’t there. I just can’t seem to find that spark between Laurel and Ethan.” Smoothing an invisible wrinkle on her skirt, Jane pictured her two protagonists. Spit fire Laurel with her flirtatious smile and reckless approach to men should have paired so nicely with Ethan, a good boy with a bad boy persona. But the chemistry just wasn’t there. Or maybe it was Jane’s own lack of romance that was bringing her novel to a standstill.

“Seems to me like you’re trying too hard,” Emma sat back in her chair and Jane’s eyes flicked to the cityscape just behind the redhead. Emma’s office had one of the best views in Manhattan, a view which said that she excelled at her job if she warranted such a look at the city. Jane could see the entire city from that window as she stared out, afraid of meeting Emma’s gaze. It was truly breathtaking.

“Maybe you just need to get into Laurel’s headspace.” Emma’s voice brought Jane back into the present. “It seems like she’s the one that you’re having the most disconnect with. Perhaps getting to know her better would help you out.”

Jane did not care for the gleam in her friend’s eyes. It was the same one that said Emma had some big master plan in mind and no matter what Jane said it would not deter her. Best to just grin and bear it.

“Alright,” she said with a sigh, “I’m all ears, what’s your big plan.”

 

[DanFS]

Mark Burgess-Allen

NYPD Detective Sergeant Jennifer Monroe was reviewing a list of Private Security Consultants located within her precinct.
This file was interesting....

Name: Mark Burgess-Allen.
D.O.B.: 5 January 1974. Current Age: 40

Height: 6’3” Weight: 196lbs.
Hair: Red/Brown Eyes: Blue.

Status: Currently self-employed as a Private Security specialist, offering both electronic and physical security solutions to clients.

History:
Emigrated from the UK five years ago, after leaving the British Army. Served as an Officer with Coldstream Guards before volunteering for Special Air Service selection. Served with 22nd. SAS Regiment for rest of career.
Took early retirement with the rank of Major.
Retired with basic military pension December 2008.

She thought to herself:
'Now why would an English ex-SAS soldier, be working in New York?'
She sipped her coffee, looking at his picture. he was good looking in that reserved way some English guys have. His short cropped red hair showed that you could take the man out of the country, but not the soldier out of the man.

'Well until he screws up, I can't touch him.' She thinks, putting the file onto the reviewed pile, and picking up the next.

....Cut across town to ....

Mark sat at his desk in the rented office in New York’s Fifth Avenue, with a window overlooking the busy street with many people walking, and taxis driving past.

He was reviewing a survey he had carried out of a client’s property and he was due to meet with them tonight to make his recommendations to improve their security arrangements.

His telephone rang, and he picked it up, and placed it to his ear without looking up from the printed page in his hand.
“Hello?” the cultured woman’s voice at the other end said. “Is this Major Burgess-Allen?”
“This is his Office, he’s not here right now, can I help?” Mark replied.
“Oh dear.” The woman said with a hint of despair in her voice.
“I was given this number by my son. He served with the Major in the SAS in Iraq.
He said that if I ever needed help, the Major would help me, if he could not. He was killed last year in Afghanistan.”
“I am sorry for your loss, madam. Who was your son?”
“Robert Jones.”
Mark knew Rob Jones. They had spent many days together in the deserts of Iraq and Afghanistan, fighting the enemies of democracy and freedom.
“Mrs. Jones – I apologise for any subterfuge, you are speaking with the Major. I was not told of Robert’s death. I would have come to his funeral.”
“No, it’s quite alright – we just wanted a small family service, and the Army respected that. However, that is not why I called.”
She suddenly seemed to have some steel in her voice.
“How can I help?”
“It’s my daughter, Naomi, Robert’s sister, you see…she has fallen in with some bad people and she is now in quite some amount of debt.”
“So, why involve me, she could go to a debt counsellor and be helped that way?”
“These people are involved with some kind of criminal gang – Russians, I think. She isn’t strong enough to break ties with them. I see you're in New York - it's one reason I called you. Could you meet us please?”
“Of course, when & where?”

The way Mrs. Jones emphasised the word you, reminded Mark of a debt to be repaid.
Ten years or so ago, they had been on a patrol, only four of them, and stumbled across a platoon of Iraqis.
Rob had shouted a warning to Mark, as a Republican Guard soldier had fired at him, and Rob had thrown himself into the line of fire, taking the bullet meant for Mark in his chest, fortunately stopped by his body armour.
The short but fierce firefight that followed showed that their enemy could not, must not, be underestimated.

And so it came to be, that Mark found himself in a Yellow Cab, heading towards the Upper East Side, for a meeting at the Carlyle Hotel.

 

[SweetAsSuga]

Mindlessly, Jane wandered along Broadway towards West 55th, her mind running at a million miles an hour as she thought about Emma's suggestion. Engrossed in her thoughts, Jane narrowly missed walking into an elderly couple as they walked out of a restaurant. Jane's nose scrunched as the smell of curry wafted through the open door. She'd never really liked Indian food, it tended to make her apartment smell for weeks after on the very rare occasion that she forgot how much she detested the food.

"Watch where you're fucking going." The older man spat, his voice thick with a Brooklyn accent. He turned to his wife, a lady whose shoulders were hunched with old age. "Kids these days," he muttered a the two walked away, their steps surprisingly quick given that he used a walker and she barely lifted her feet from the pavement as she walked.

The situation was so absurd that it left Jane stunned. Speechless even - though that wasn't hard to do when one was given to incurable bouts of shyness.

Now if Laurel had been in your position, she would have sworn a blue streak at that bastard, Emma's voice whispered in her ear. Jane's mind instantly went back to their meeting just moments before.

"Just think about it, Jane." Emma was nearly bouncing out of her chair with the excitement of her suggestion. "It's the perfect plan, really. You have to get inside the head of your character and what better way to do that than to become her! "

Swept up in her idea, Emma hadn't noticed the color drain from Jane's face.

How could she ever hope to act like Laurel Conway? Jane had created her heroine to be feisty and outspoken with vocabulary that could make a sailor blush and she jumped into bed with any man that struck her fancy. Jane, on the other hand, was quiet and introverted, she shied away from any type of confrontation and had only ever been with one man in her whole life - and they'd only ever done it with the lights off. How was Jane Park supposed to morph herself into Laurel Conway? There was just no way it could happen.

Yet, the thought did intrigue her. When else would the mousy librarian-turned-writer ever get a chance to really step out of herself and observe life in a whole new fashion? If Jane knew herself as well as she thought, the occasion would never present itself so clearly ever again. But could she really do it?

"No, just forget it." Jane shook her head, dark curls brushing vehemently against her cheeks.

But the thought was there, just beneath the surface of her mind, dogging her steps and her every thought.

Why not? Why shouldn't I? Why? Why? Why? The idea nagged her, poking and prodding like an inquisitive two-year-old. Why? Why? Why? It was enough to drive Jane insane. Why not step outside your box, what can it hurt? Why not live a little for once in your life?

Jane paused mid-step, her foot hovering centimeters over the pavement. Men and women in suits bustled past her, a briefcase smacked her ass.

Thinking hard, Jane couldn't recall the last time she'd actually done something that wasn't already in her planner, carefully scheduled months ahead of time and every little detail jotted down in her crimped handwriting. Like every woman in the Park family, Jane was insanely detailed and never did anything that could be considered remotely spontaneous. Until then it had never bothered her, never even dawned on her how dull her life must seem to people. She'd never seen anything wrong with the way she lived, if it was good enough for her mother, grandmother, great-grandmother and on down the line, why shouldn't it be good enough for Jane. But maybe Emma had a point. Maybe it was the lack of living, lack of experience, that was stalling her work and making it nearly impossible to really connect with her characters.

Consumed with this new revelation, Jane didn't notice the light change as she stepped into the street. Nor did she see the taxi cab that was steadily barreling towards her.

 

[DanFS]

Mark stepped out from the Taxi a couple of blocks short of the Hotel. He had decided it would be quicker and probably better for him to walk the final part of the journey and so he strolled towards the Hotel, where he was due to meet Mrs. Jones & her daughter.

He crossed the street and was heading towards the Hotel, which he could clearly see a block ahead. His attention was drawn closer to him, to a young brunette woman, about thirty metres ahead of him, who was clearly absorbed in her thoughts, as she walked slowly amongst the crowds which flowed around her like flood waters over rocks.

She seemed to hesitate, as if she had seen the lights change and as traffic started to move, she stepped into the road.
If you asked Mark how he knew it was going to happen, he couldn’t have told you, but he just knew.

He darted forward and plucked the woman out of the road, just as the Taxi which would have hit her skidded to a stop.
The driver yelling obscenities from behind the wheel, cursing the woman’s stupidity.
“Go easy, Mate!” Mark replied, calmly. “Can’t you see she’s had a hell of a scare?”

The Taxi drove off, blaring his horn, and Mark took a better look at the woman, now terrified, as she absorbed the fact that she had come so close to being knocked down by a New York Yellow Cab.

“Are you OK?” Mark asked her.
As he took a closer look, he saw she was actually quite pretty, in an understated kind of way, and presently, a little pale, probably due to the fright she just had.

He noted they were stood outside a coffee shop, and gestured to her to shelter inside, and recover from the shock...

 

[SweetAsSuga]

Strong hands gripped her arms, pulling Jane from the road as a cab skidding to a stop right where she had been standing not seconds before.

"Watch where you're going! Fucking bitch!" The cabbie screamed at her, his head poking out of the window as he flipped her off. No love was lost when it came to New York cabbies.

“Go easy, Mate! Can’t you see she’s had a hell of a scare?”

A scare? Okay sure, Jane hadn't seen the cab and hadn't been paying attention to where she was going. Was she shocked to be pulled out of the cab's path - of course. But a scare? Can you be scared of what you didn't see coming?

Jane turned her head to thank the person who had saved her as the cab sped off down the road, the cabbie still muttering under his breath about 'damn pedestrians'. Her eyes were level with a strong, square chin that had the lightest bit of stubble. Slowly, her gaze moved up the man's face until she was staring right into the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. Rarely did Jane have to look up at people. At five feet ten inches she usually felt like a giant, but this man dwarfed her.

“Are you OK?" His voice rumbled from deep within his chest, a nice manly voice with a sexy as hell accent that nearly made Jane weak in the knees. What was that British? Jane had never been very good with identifying accents.

He watched her closely, expectantly, and Jane realized she'd never answered him. Her tongue felt knotted, her mouth dry as cotton.

"Ye...yes. Fine. I am." Jane squeaked. She closed her eyes as the familiar heat of a blush crept up the back of her neck and covered her face. Great, she sounded like Yoda going through puberty. Figures. Jane never had been very good when it came to talking to strangers, let alone strangers who were drop dead gorgeous. Taking a deep breath, she released it slowly.

Were Laurel Conway in this situation she would have flirted with this stranger, offering to give him a special thank you for saving her. She would have known exactly what to say to this man. A flip of the hair, a flirtatious wink and he would have been putty in her well-manicured hands. But Jane Park was no Laurel. Jane suffered from an often times debilitating shyness. She was forever tongue tied and, when she could talk, often ended up with her foot in her mouth. She wasn't a flirt, she didn't know the first thing about getting a man to want her.

At some point during her inner monologue, Jane found herself being ushered into a nearby coffee shop.

Okay, so Jane wasn't Laurel. But that didn't mean she couldn't be. Emma's suggestion came into her mind with all the subtlety of a freight train. Maybe Jane could do this, maybe she really could channel her inner Laurel. After all, if she could create such a vivacious character didn't that mean that there had to be something of Laurel within her? Taking another deep breath, Jane put on her brightest smile.

"Thank you," she said, holding her hand out to the alluring stranger, trying not to focus on the way her nail polished was chipped and her right thumbnail had been chewed down to the skin. "I'm Laurel. Please, let me buy you a coffee while we discuss plans for me to take you to dinner as thanks for saving my life."

 

[DanFS]

Mark could tell she was still reeling from the near miss, by her squeaky voice.
He kept the smile from his face, to avoid insulting her, until she smiled - as she accepted his suggestion to recover inside the coffee shop.
He was slightly surprised at how quickly she regained her composure, as she offered to buy him coffee, whilst she invited him to dinner.

“Hello, Laurel – I’m Mark.” He answered, smiling. “I’d love a coffee, Thank You.”
He knew he had a few minutes spare, and this woman could use some company for a few minutes. Besides, he wanted to learn more about her. He hadn’t really had time to meet anyone since he arrived in New York, and she was offering him a free drink!

He appraised her again, and she seemed to have something different about her now,
a hint of self-confidence that wasn’t apparent before.
He had become a good judge of people over the years.
Hell, his life had depended on it more than once, and he now saw a quiet self-assuredness, that made him like her, even though they had just met.

She led him to the Counter, and he ordered his customary skinny cappuccino, when prompted by the barista. She paid and they took a table in the corner, away from the crowd.

“Are you sure you’re OK? That was a close shave, back there. I thought you knew the cab was there, but when you stepped off the kerb, my heart leapt into my mouth and I just grabbed you.”

He sipped his coffee, and leant forward, wanting to hear what she had to say.

 

[SweetAsSuga]

Standing at the counter, Jane's fingers started to tap a frantic, staccato rhythm on the green formica, an unconscious nervous twitch she'd developed in middle school. Suddenly aware of the twitch, Jane pulled her hand from the counter quickly and clutched both her hands behind her back. Hoping Mark hadn't noticed, Jane cast a glance at him through her long lashes. He was looking at her in a way that made Jane's heart jump into her throat.

Stop it, she chastised herself, think what Laurel would do in this situation. She would not act the wallflower. She would be strong and flirtatious and self-confident.

Everything that Jane was not.

Squaring her shoulders, Jane forced a smile to her lips.

Fake it till you make it.

Their coffees finally ready, Jane wrapped a slightly unsteady hand around hers. A real, contented smile graced her lips as she felt the warmth of the cup seep into her skin. There was nothing better than a nice, hot coffee.

"Oh I'm quite all right." She reassured him with a carefree wave of her hand as they settled at a table in the back. The cacophony of the shop was dulled slightly, but the hiss of the espresso machine and the frantic chatter of caffeine buzzed New Yorkers still rattled around them. "Honestly, I didn't even realize the cab was there until you pulled me onto the curb."

Downplaying the situation, which could have ended disastrously had Mark not been there, Jane wondered if this was how Laurel would handle it? Of course it was, Laurel was anything but a Damsel in Distress. Laurel was an Amazon, she believed men were only really useful for one thing...and even that was something Laurel could do with a little battery operated assistance.

Jane drew in a deep breath and pushed her own personality into a little box in the back of her mind. She was Laurel now; strong, confident, self-assured.

"Now I have been dying to know," she leaned forward, her fingers gently brushing against Mark's hand, "where is that delicious accent from? I'm a sucker for a man with a sexy accent."

 

[DanFS]

Mark was surprised at the sudden transformation before his eyes.
She had seemed almost like a deer in the headlights, when he grabbed her and pulled her away from the cab; and seemed unsettled when ordering their coffees, but now she was like a different woman, self-assured and if he didn't know any better, she was trying to seduce him!

He was game though, she was attractive, and obviously at least fairly well educated.

"Well, Laurel, you can already tell I'm from the UK, by my accent. London, to be precise."

He paused to sip his cappucino - it really was very good! He'd never been in this coffee shop before, but he would return here, and soon. Particularly if the lovely Laurel worked nearby, it gave him an excuse to see her again.

Her touch against his hand was enticing. He didn't move his hand, telling her to continue, if she pleased.
In fact he hadn't enjoyed female company for a little while now, and as she spoke, her brunette curls cascaded over her shoulders in a hypnotic manner.

"Perhaps we could swap histories over dinner? I love to dine with an attractive, witty woman, and you strike me as such a woman. Maybe you'll discover that not all London men are brash, and that some of us have other redeeming qualities other than our accent."

He looked into her eyes and saw a flicker of doubt, maybe, but it was soon replaced with a smouldering heat, which made him feel momentarily like prey in front of a lioness.
She had a feline grace about her as they had taken their seats, and he couldn't help wonder if she was as graceful in other ways.
Perhaps, after his meeting, if she was willing, they would meet up for dinner, and he could explore more possibilities with her?

"And - if dinner is on you," He paused, not entirely sure if that phrase over here meant something sexual. He continued a little abashed,
"er, by that, I mean you're paying, so much the better. I'd love to see how you'd pay me back for saving your life."

He knew it sounded crass, but he did enjoy playing a bad boy occasionally, and she might actually want him to do ungentlemanly things to her.
Oh God, he could hope, that her touch mean she wanted the same thing, couldn't he?

Unbidden - an image came into his mind, of her laid out across a dining table, and he, drizzling chocolate sauce across her bare breasts and licking and sucking it off.

He felt himself begin to harden, as he brought himself back to reality from that lovely image.
"I'm afraid, Laurel I have to go to a meeting shortly, but I would love to see you later. What do you say to that, what would you like to do?"

voice sample:
(Listen to 'Dream of Something Bigger')
(Tom Hiddlestone)

 

[SweetAsSuga]

"Holy crap," Jane breathed as she collapsed on her couch, "I cannot believe I just did that." Laying back, she stared up at the ceiling, the events that had just transpired racing through her mind. She couldn't believe it, she couldn't believe that she actually had the guts to go through with it. For a brief moment she had been Laurel. Strong, confident, wise-ass Laurel. Her hands shook as the adrenaline slowly left her system.

"What a rush." Her voice felt hollow in the empty apartment and she felt like an idiot for having a conversation with herself. But, at that point, who the hell cared?

Pulling the elastic from her hair, Jane let the dark waves tumble around her shoulders. She shook out the tangles and ran her hands through the thick locks a few times. Suddenly, with her hair loose and her heart still pumping frantically from the sheer audacity of what she'd done, Jane felt like she couldn't lose. The knowledge that, yes, she could do this, filled her with a renewed energy.

Jane walked into her bedroom, an extra bounce in her step, and surveyed herself in her vanity mirror.

"Good-bye, Jane Park." She said, hands on her hips as she lifted her chin defiantly. "Hello, Laurel Conway."

~*~*~​

The restaurant that Jane and Mark had agreed upon was in Hell's Kitchen. A place far too trendy and crowded for Jane to ever have a desire to go to, but one that Laurel would have been on the reservation list for. As it was at all the top New York spots, getting a table for that same night had been a laughable experience. It had cost Jane nearly every single favor that Emma owed her in order to get a table. But, after filling Emma in on the details and why she needed her help, her intrepid publisher had made a few calls and reserved an intimate table for two under Miss Laurel Conway's name.

Now, Jane waited at the bar for Mark to arrive, her heart pounding frantically in her chest as a case of last minute jitters overwhelmed her. The martini in her hand did help to calm those nerves a bit, especially after she downed half of it as soon as the bartender handed it to her. After handing the bartender a sizeable tip and ordering him to keep the martinis flowing, Jane felt a bit better.

Leaning against the bar, she surveyed the restaurant. The who's who of New York society was there. Investment bankers hobnobbing with clients, Broadway stars and producers discussing the latest shows, and the ever present socialites and trust fund babies who were the markers of a hip and happening New York scene. Jane felt completely out of her element. Looking at all the flash and style, Jane was like a fish out of water in her thrift store dress. Okay, it was vintage and in excellent condition, but the salmon lace sheath dress with the cinched in waist made Jane feel like she stuck out like a sore thumb. And what if this wasn't the type of thing that Laurel would wear? Maybe she should have gone shopping for something new and edgy?

Before a renewed panic could set in, Jane reached for her refreshed martini and, with a thankful smile to the hottie behind the bar, downed its contents in one gulp.

Mark better get here soon, she thought, before I completely lose my nerve.

 

[DanFS]

Mark & Laurel chatted for a while, but eventually Mark had finished his coffee and offering his apologies and a swift peck on the cheek, left the Coffee Shop for his Meeting at the Carlyle Hotel.

This was only after Laurel had given Mark the name & address of the Restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen.

Mark walked the short distance to the Hotel and made his way to the room number that Mrs. Jones had given him.

She quickly opened the door and she invited him inside.

“Thank you for coming, Major.” She said simply, offering her hand to be shaken. She was every inch the stoic Mother as Mark had pictured her in his mind, wearing a conservative dress, and shoes with a set of pearl around her neck and matching earrings, and her hairstyle immaculate.

“My condolences for your loss of Robert. I know you are asking me, only because he cannot help. I shall not fail you, as he did not fail me in my hour of need – Oh, and please, call me Mark.”

She smiled, and indicated the armchair for him to sit, whilst she poured tea for them both, a ritual which seems to stand the passage of time. She passed him a cup and after a brief sip of her own, explained the situation.

She started with how Naomi, her daughter had got mixed up with Vasili, who turned out to be connected to some people she would rather not owe money to.

Naomi had only borrowed a couple of hundred dollars to see her through a gap between paychecks when her bank messed up a payment which left her short, and the interest she was having to pay was making it hard for her to do anything else other than work. She barely had enough money to be able to eat. Mrs. Jones showed Mark a photo of Naomi, a couple of years ago, and she looked an attractive, carefree young woman. Barely out of her teens.

Once Mark had made it plain that he would help, another door opened in the side of the room, apparently to an adjoining room, and in stepped Naomi.

She was a shadow of her former self from the photograph, very thin, with shadows under her eyes, which seemed to be red from crying.

She stepped up to Mark and rested her hand upon his forearm, saying softly: “Thank you.” Then she sat next to her mother.

She then explained that the Russian men with Vasili had threatened her if she did not pay the two-thousand dollars she owed them, as the balance, they said - within ten days. She could not hope to raise that kind of cash so fast.

Naomi gave Mark an address for a Café where she knew Vasili could be found. Mark would have a talk with him and settle her debt for her. He said it was the least she could do.

Mark was warned the Vasili would not be alone. There would likely be many other men with him and they may make life difficult, and extort more money from him, as they had her.

Mark just smiled, and told her not to worry. Men like Vasili never stayed alone. That was their weakness. He would settle her debt, and let her know when it was done and she was free of worry.

She stood and hugged him, before retreating silently back into the other room, and Mrs. Jones then stood, and shook his hand.

“Thank you, Mark. Robert was right – you are a man of honour.”

“I try, Mrs. Jones, I try. I shall be in touch soon, when this has been cleared up.”

He left the Carlyle hailed a cab back to his apartment, thinking about the events of the afternoon, the near miss that led to his meeting Laurel, and the meeting with Mrs. Jones and Naomi. He shook his head in wonder. Life could be so unpredictable!

One minute all action, the next few days, nothing at all happens.

<Fast forward to early evening – his Apartment>


After a lengthy shower and a leisurely shave, Mark opted to wear a black suit, and a pale blue shirt with a blue striped tie to soften the overall look. He paired it with a pair of black Oxford shoes, with he felt where smart, but not overly so.

The Restaurant in hell’s Kitchen wasn’t one he had been to before but he had read reviews in the local press and it seemed to be the place to go to eat, so Laurel must be a real mover & shaker.

Just then, the cab he had called pulled up outside.

After checking himself over in the mirror, he went to the cab, and was on his way.

He arrived calm and collected and upon entering the Restaurant, spotted Laurel leaning casually against the bar almost as if she owned the place, sipping a Martini, by the look of the glass.

He spoke briefly to the Maitre’D, who asked him for his name, but he explained he was dining with Ms. Conway. The older, grey haired man nodded and invited Mark to join her at the Bar.

Mark smiled, and made his way over to her. The salmon pink dress hugged her curves and against all the other drab blacks, and greys of the other patrons only served to enhance her beauty.

He made his way over and smiled broadly.

“Good evening, Laurel – you look amazing!”

The bartender approached, and Mark asked him:

“Do you have MacAllan’s Whisky?” The bartender nodded, “Yes Sir.”

“Good! I’ll have one with ice, please.”

He turned back and looked at Laurel – she really was stunning.