I’ve been very restrained.”
“Right,” he agreed, his voice dry, “restrained, if you don’t count the roomful of stuffed animals from FAO, enough onesies and jim-jams and nappies to stock a baby store, or that ridiculous pram you insisted on buying—”
“It’s not ridiculous,” she protested. “It’s a Silver Cross Balmoral, meticulously handcrafted in Yorkshire.”
“Natalie ‒ it costs $3,000! For a bloody pram.”
“Well, yes, because it has a C-spring suspension for a smooth and unrivalled ride.”
“Which is all very well and good,” he retorted, “if one’s buying an Aston Martin ‒ not a pram.”
“And the lady at the store said I might exchange the navy-and-white model for a pink-and-white model if we have a girl,” Natalie went on. “So nice of her, don’t you think?”
“I think for $3,000, she ought to give you a different model pram for every day of the week and throw in a nanny and free nappies for good measure.”
“Oh, Rhys, honestly. Don’t you want our baby to have the best?”
He turned onto East 47th Street and glanced over at her. “Of course I do. I just don’t want you to bankrupt us in the process.” He reached out his free hand and laid it atop hers. “We’re nearly there.”
“You don’t mind, do you?”
“Mind what?”
“Detouring to the apartment on our way home to deliver the painting.”
“Not at all. I wanted to stop and check that the security system’s on in our apartment anyway. I told the movers to activate it, but I want to be sure. I also thought,” he added as he slowed the car, “that we could have a look at our new home for the next few months before we officially move in tomorrow.”
“I can’t wait to have a place of our own here in Manhattan. Although,” Natalie added, “I’ll really miss room service, and those lovely chocs they put on our pillows every night.”
“Sir Richard thought it made sense to keep a place near the store, where I can stay whenever I’m here on business. Now that Alastair’s bought that townhouse in Gramercy Park, I doubt he’ll ever use the apartment.”
He brought the Jaguar to a stop in front of an impressive building. The Dunleigh was located on the Upper West Side, just across from Central Park and a stone’s throw from the Dakota. As they got out of the car and Rhys gave instructions to the valet, Natalie glanced up at the imposing turn-of-the-century building.
Stone griffins and winged cherubs cavorted around the perimeter of the Mansard roof; a uniformed doorman stood guard at the canopied entrance. It looked like something out of Rosemary’s Baby.
“Well, what do you think so far?” Rhys inquired as he tucked the portrait carefully under his arm and escorted her inside.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s all a bit...scary looking, isn’t it?”
He laughed. “That wasn’t exactly the reaction I was hoping for. Wait till you see the apartment.”
“Right,” she murmured, and gripped her husband’s arm as she took in the marble-floored lobby with its potted palms and elaborate Victorian staircase. “It’s lovely.” Lovely, she thought, if you were the Addams Family, or a guest at the Overlook Hotel.
The concierge behind the counter to the left smiled at them and nodded imperceptibly. “Good evening, Mr and Mrs Gordon.”
Rhys nodded. “Good evening. We’re just going up to check that the security system is armed.”
“Very good. Let us know if there’s anything you need.”
As she and Rhys made their way across the lobby to the lift, Natalie frowned. “That was a bit odd, don’t you think? How did he know who we were?”
“It’s his job to know who we are. I’ve been in and out of here enough that the staff all know me by name.”
A few minutes later, they arrived at the tenth floor and proceeded down a long, thickly carpeted hallway.
“Here we are. Number 1010.” He inserted the key and swung the old-fashioned panel door open, then stood back to let her through. “Welcome to the Dunleigh, darling.”
Natalie brushed past him and stepped inside. She was beyond curious to see the apartment they’d be calling home for the next few months. As Rhys switched on a lamp on the table by the front door, she made her way down the hallway and let out a soft gasp as she rounded the corner into the living room.
Plush white carpeting cushioned her feet as she came to a stop, transfixed by the tenth-story view of Central Park.
Nothing – not her aching feet, or her tiredness, or the distant honking of horns on 72nd Street below, even at this hour - could mar the perfection of the night-time panorama before her.
“Oh, Rhys – it’s gorgeous,” she breathed as he joined her.
In the darkened room she glimpsed sofas upholstered in white, flanking a fireplace of dark-brown marble veined with black. Although the furnishings were modern, the high ceilings and paneled walls lent the apartment a distinctly old-world feel.
And the night-time view of Central Park was spectacular.
“I’m glad you like it,” Rhys said as he set the painting down near the sofa and tossed his keys aside. “The Dunleigh’s almost as hard to get into as the Dakota.” He frowned. “It’s a good job we stopped by. The alarm wasn’t armed. Bloody movers.”
Natalie barely heard him as she tipped her head back to admire the high, elaborately molded ceilings. “How many rooms are there?” she asked as she stood, rapt, before the window.
“Ten. There’s a master suite, two guest bedrooms, living and dining rooms, a study, the kitchen, and three bathrooms.”
“My word,” Natalie murmured. “Dashwood and James must be doing better than I thought.”
“We’re getting there. Once we launch the New York store,” he said, “we plan to expand further – Miami, Los Angeles…”
“Ooh, can I go with you?” Natalie implored as she slid her arms around his neck.
“Of course you can.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her. “But I won’t get a thing done with you around.”
“That’s the whole idea,” she said, and kissed him back. “I’ll have my wicked way with you in every major city in America before I’m done.”
He raised his brow. “Well, at least we needn’t worry about getting you pregnant – since I already have.”
She smirked. “Well done, you.”
“I’ve an idea,” he said, his lips moving from her mouth to the column of her neck. “Let’s
