Two Days in Biarritz (44 page)

* * *

Conor pulled the collar of his leather jacket up over his ears. The February wind was sharp and he’d known that morning they were in for a cold one as the snowflakes fell on the window of his Greenwich Village apartment. The subway was on the corner of Prince Street and as the snow fell harder he quickened his pace and plunged underground. He had to be midtown in half an hour to check on a venue for his next day’s work. He had arranged to meet a friend of his who had told him about a cavernous restaurant that would be a perfect backdrop for the indie band he had to photograph – they hadn’t a big budget but their manager was hot and liked to tip Conor off when he had a talented new act to market. 

Conor had given up wearing a watch since a shoot with
The Pixies two years before. He knew the constraints of time affected the quality of his work – and that was such a big job he really needed to get absorbed in the present and forget about how little time he had. He had taken his watch off and experienced the longest and most productive hour of his professional life.

So far doing without a timepiece had worked very well during the creative process but obviously not when it came to being punctual.

As he approached his platform he thought he heard a rumble in the distance but it was only the after-effect of a train in the next tunnel going in the opposite direction. The station was busy today – bodies everywhere. He could improve his chances of getting on by moving down the line a bit so he would be ready to jump off when he reached midtown.

Head and shoulders above most of the commuters on a busy Friday morning, he stopped short of a little old lady. She could only be from one place in the world with that lilac hair –
Brooklyn. She lifted her head up and stared at the tall Irishman. It was the mixture of crystal-blue eyes and jet-black hair that made him stand out – even in New York.

He knew that she was looking at him but didn’t mind. He was very lucky. Living in the most exciting city in the world with one of the best jobs, he got to go to all of the best parties and hang out with famous people. He had it all as far as his family in
Ireland were concerned and this was one of those mornings where he had to agree with them.

Conor glanced over at the other side of the track. Above the heads of the other commuters he could see shiny white tiles on the wall opposite.

Then his head swung left as out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed a woman flop off the edge of the platform. His heart gave a great leap. Was she a jumper or had she fallen? 

The old lady with the lilac hair screamed, “My God, somebody help her!”

All around people were looking down onto the track – staring at the woman who was now lying face down on the steel girders.

Conor pushed through the crowd. He felt a rush of adrenaline through his body as the sound of the train in the distance started to rumble from the dark tunnel. It was too late to stop the train. Something had to be done – and fast.

At the edge of the platform two dudes laden with gold chains – boys in the hood – looked on, shaking their heads.

“She’s a goner, man!” one of them said to Conor.

A force from deep inside swept over Conor like a wave. He didn’t think he had the time to do what he was about to do but he didn’t have a choice. He was in autopilot mode as his feet hit the steel girders. The vibrations from the approaching train rumbled down the track. Shockwaves shot through his legs as he felt it getting closer and closer. He could feel them running through the woman’s body as he gathered her into his arms. She was out cold. He heaved her onto the edge of the platform, head first – it took every ounce of his energy to lift her legs. It was the elderly lady and a public transport worker who pulled her to safety.

A shrill whistle blew down the tunnel and the lights from the front of the train were approaching quickly. He tried to get a grip on the side of the platform but his palms were sweaty and he rolled off and back onto the track.

“Here, man, give me your hand!”

One of the dudes reached down and grabbed Conor’s wrist. The other guy joined his friend and they heaved Conor up and onto the platform with less than a second to spare before the train swept by.

A commotion gathered around the still unconscious woman. Conor stood up and brushed his hands clean on his jeans. All he could think of was whether the woman was all right. The little lady with lilac hair held the woman’s head in her lap and stroked it gently. The majority of those around boarded the train. The dudes gave him the thumbs-up from behind the doors of the carriage as it pulled away. He hadn’t had a chance to thank them for saving his life.

“You’re gonna be all right,” Lilac Hair whispered to the woman.

Conor moved closer as the old lady brushed the strands of auburn hair from the face of the woman who was now starting to show signs of coming around. She was definitely a looker, the kind of intelligent businesswoman that he would be slow to approach in a bar – but would like to. He didn’t have problems meeting women but it was usually the enigmatic and more serious type of woman that really caught his interest – so different to the models and singers that he usually dated. Her hair was pulled back in a roll and her expensive-looking full-length coat had come open to reveal a smart suit underneath. Conor wondered for an instant why she had taken the subway at all – she was more the type of woman who would be taking a courtesy car to work.

Suddenly her eyelids lifted and exposed a pair of dazed green eyes, as her head rocked from side to side. She seemed vaguely familiar but after living in the great ethnic melting pot that makes up
New York for twelve years he felt most people on the planet looked familiar.

The sound of the next train rolling to a standstill disturbed his thoughts. He was going to be late.

A subway guardsman pushed his way past Conor and leaned over the woman as she pulled herself up onto her elbows.

“I have to go now,” Conor said to Lilac Hair. “Will you make sure she’s all right?”

“You go on. I’ll see she gets home.”

As the doors of the train opened, Conor reluctantly boarded it. Another subway worker was running over to the woman with the auburn hair and he knew that his part in the saga had been played. The memory of her green eyes stayed with him as the train followed the line uptown.

* * *

Eve pushed the guardsman away as he tried to help her to her feet. She grabbed her left arm as a dart of pain shot up it.

“You gotta be careful, honey,” the old lady with lilac hair said kindly. “You’ve had a bad fall – you were nearly killed!”

Eve looked down at the old lady, clad in woolly hat and matching thick cable-knit sweater with a basket in the crook of her arm, and winced. This was definitely the last time she was ever getting the subway – what was she thinking of?

“Where’s my bag!” she demanded.

The old lady looked around and picked the cream leather Gucci bag off the ground.

“Here you go, honey. I don’t know what happened to your hat.”

Eve grabbed the bag and with her other hand brushed back the stray auburn tresses indignantly.

“Thank you!” she said to the old lady – without meaning a word of it.

The attempts of the subway workers to calm her down were in vain. Eve wasn’t sure exactly what had happened but remembered staring at the tiles on the other side of the track, feeling faint, and then one instant later falling forward. Not only her left arm but her whole body ached and felt like it was covered in bruises. Lucky it was winter and she had been protected by her voluminous coat and padded gloves. The palms of the gloves were torn – she must have broken the fall with her hands. Gridlock or no gridlock she would stick to a cab in future – and for now a quick shower in the Soho Grand was called for to wash the unfortunate episode out of her life.

“Ma’am, you need to see a doctor,” the subway worker said gently. “You fell on the track – you need to get checked out.”

The track! Eve put her right hand up to her head and smelt oil on her glove. She had fallen onto the track!

“You’re in shock, honey!” the old lady said with a shake of her head.

“How did I get back up?” Eve asked as the realisation of what had happened to her finally took a grip.

“That handsome young man risked his own life and jumped down after you!” said the lilac-haired woman. “He was only just back on the platform when that train pulled in!”

Eve steadied herself. Did a complete stranger risk his own life to save hers? She felt uncomfortable in the presence of these people – she had to get as far away from this nightmare situation as quickly as possible. Her six-figure salary meant that she never needed to take public transport again and after this fiasco she had no intention of doing so. The entire experience was surreal.

But she was curious about this strange man who had rescued her from death. She didn’t generally believe that knights in shining armour existed – especially as she was in the matchmaking business. 

A pain shot through her left arm and she looked at the sleeve of her coat. She pulled it back to study her watch as a trickle of blood dribbled along her wrist and onto the back of her hand. It was only then that she noticed the huge rip in her coat.

Chapter 1

Three months later

May

“I can’t believe we’re really here!” Rachel exclaimed as she slipped off her four-inch heels.

She watched her companion Nicky nervously strip as she herself had done a few seconds earlier. She was down to her shirt and jeans, and her watch was resting in the blue container.

The man in the crisp white shirt and dark tie nodded at her waistline and grunted.

“Your belt as well, madam.”

Rachel leaned over and whispered in her friend’s ear. “Knickers and bra also, please, madam!”

The security guard grabbed the pan filled with metal objects and shoes from Rachel and glared at them with furrowed brows. She smiled at him and gave a flick of her long blonde curls as she breezed silently through the security gate.

Nothing could dampen her mood – she hadn’t been at
Dublin Airport with Nicky for sixteen years. On that occasion they were students coming back from a long summer working in London to pay for their college expenses. They were both in completely different situations now and the break was well earned.

“Would your brother like us to bring anything over?” Nicky asked.

Rachel clicked the roof of her mouth with her tongue – remembering stories of fellow students begging for Tayto crisps and Lyons tea from across the Atlantic Ocean. There was little nowadays that couldn’t be got in either country. Except …!

“Damn, I forgot to get a couple of Swiss Rolls!” she groaned. “Hang on – we’ll get a few Crunchies – that will do him!” The preparations required before leaving her three children with their father for the next four days had left her little time to think about a gift for her brother Conor.

Nicky beckoned as the doors of the bar in Boarding Area B opened. “Come on – let’s have a little tipple before we board!”

“But it’s
ten o’clock in the morning!” Rachel exclaimed.

“Exactly, and when do we ever get a chance to drink a nice crisp Sauvingnon Blanc at this hour?”

Rachel nodded in agreement – there was no way that she could admit to Nicky that she often had an early morning tipple after taking the kids to school and before facing her day in suburbia. But that was part of Rachel’s secret world and there was absolutely nobody that she could confide in about the insecurities attached to being a stay-at-home-mum.

“What would you be doing if you weren’t here?” she asked.

Nicky smiled. Normally she would be sitting at the desk of Virtue Publishing Ltd, studying the finishing touches of this week’s magazine.

Leaving the final editing to her PA made Nicky nervous as she knew that the young girl was chomping at the bit to slip into the assistant editorial position. But it couldn’t be helped. The last time she took a break was five years ago and even now the thought of leaving her son Daniel with his friend’s family was heart-wrenching. But she had dedicated many years of her life to keeping him and his needs fulfilled and the time had come to do something for her
self. Besides, her fourteen-year-old son would rather spend time with his friend’s family. There was a lot more on offer there – a father figure for a start. Daniel needed more men in his life and Nicky realised that painfully – even more so now that he was hitting puberty. Her own father had died when she was only fifteen so Daniel had never known him. At times Nicky was riddled with guilt and fears about the way she was bringing him up but she could only do her best as a single mum and her wages as assistant editor for a women’s magazine left them both with little choice about it.

“I’m glad I’m not sitting behind my desk – that’s for sure!” Nicky lifted her glass and clinked it off the side of Rachel’s. “Cheers – here’s to a great four days in
New York!”