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Authors: Danielle Steel
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leaving the next day. After London, it was going to seem very dull now to go up to the Cape for Christmas.
Chapter 4
I t was snowing again when Hope got back to New York. The next morning she looked out her window at six inches of snow blanketing Prince Street, and decided not to drive to Cape Cod. Being in London had reminded her of how much fun it could be in the city, and when everyone else went shopping that afternoon, the day before Christmas Eve, Hope went to the Metropolitan Museum, to see a new medieval exhibit there, and then walked back down to SoHo through the still-falling snow, which by then had been called a blizzard.
The city was almost shut down. There was no traffic on the streets, cabs were impossible to find, and only a few hardy souls like her were walking home, trudging through the snow. Offices had closed early, and schools were already on vacation. Her cheeks were red and her eyes tearing, and her hands were tingling from the cold when she got back to her loft, and put the kettle on for tea. It had been an invigorating walk, and a delightful afternoon. And she had just sat down with a steaming cup of tea when Mark Webber called her from home. His office was closed till New Year’s. There were no assignments likely to come up between Christmas and New Year.
“So how was it?” he asked, curious about O’Neill.
“He was great. Interesting, smart, easy to shoot, terrific looking. He was everything you’d expect him to be, and nothing like his books, which are always so complicated and dark. I haven’t started editing the shots yet, but we got some great ones.”
“Did he try to rape you?” Mark asked, only half-joking.
“No. He took me for a very civilized dinner at Harry’s Bar, and to Annabel’s afterward for a drink. He treated me like a visiting dignitary and great-aunt.”
“Hardly. Going to the most fashionable restaurant and nightclub in London is not exactly what you do with a great-aunt.”
“He was very proper,” Hope reassured him, “and wonderful to talk to. He’s a man of many interests. I almost wish I’d shot him in Dublin, it sounds like he’s more in his element there, but I’m fairly certain we got the shots his publisher wanted. Maybe more than they need. He’s cooperative and very pleasant to work with.” She didn’t add that he looked like a movie star, which he did. “His London house is the size of a postage stamp, which was a bitch with the equipment, but we managed. The one outside Dublin sounds like Buckingham Palace. I’d have liked to see it.”
“Well, thanks for doing it on such short notice. His publisher is damn lucky. What are you doing over the holiday, Hope? Are you still going to the Cape?” It seemed unlikely in the blizzard, and unwise. He hoped not.
She smiled as she looked out the window, at the continuing swirls of snow. There were nearly two feet of it on the ground now, and it was still coming, while the wind blew it into towering drifts. They had promised three feet by morning. “Not in this weather,” she said, smiling. “Even I’m not that crazy, although it would be pretty once I got there.” Most of the roads had been closed by that afternoon, and getting there would have been a nightmare. “I’ll stay here.” Finn had given her his latest book to read, she had some photographs she wanted to sort through for a gallery in San Francisco that wanted to give her a show, and she had Finn’s shoot to edit.
“Call if you get lonely,” he said kindly, but knew she wouldn’t. Hope was very independent, and had led a solitary, quiet life for several years. But he at least wanted her to know that someone cared about her. He worried about her at times, although he knew she was good at keeping busy. She was just as likely to be taking photographs on the streets of Harlem on Christmas Eve, as shooting in a coffee shop for truckers on Tenth Avenue at four in the morning. It was what she did, and how she loved spending her
Chapter 4
I t was snowing again when Hope got back to New York. The next morning she looked out her window at six inches of snow blanketing Prince Street, and decided not to drive to Cape Cod. Being in London had reminded her of how much fun it could be in the city, and when everyone else went shopping that afternoon, the day before Christmas Eve, Hope went to the Metropolitan Museum, to see a new medieval exhibit there, and then walked back down to SoHo through the still-falling snow, which by then had been called a blizzard.
The city was almost shut down. There was no traffic on the streets, cabs were impossible to find, and only a few hardy souls like her were walking home, trudging through the snow. Offices had closed early, and schools were already on vacation. Her cheeks were red and her eyes tearing, and her hands were tingling from the cold when she got back to her loft, and put the kettle on for tea. It had been an invigorating walk, and a delightful afternoon. And she had just sat down with a steaming cup of tea when Mark Webber called her from home. His office was closed till New Year’s. There were no assignments likely to come up between Christmas and New Year.
“So how was it?” he asked, curious about O’Neill.
“He was great. Interesting, smart, easy to shoot, terrific looking. He was everything you’d expect him to be, and nothing like his books, which are always so complicated and dark. I haven’t started editing the shots yet, but we got some great ones.”
“Did he try to rape you?” Mark asked, only half-joking.
“No. He took me for a very civilized dinner at Harry’s Bar, and to Annabel’s afterward for a drink. He treated me like a visiting dignitary and great-aunt.”
“Hardly. Going to the most fashionable restaurant and nightclub in London is not exactly what you do with a great-aunt.”
“He was very proper,” Hope reassured him, “and wonderful to talk to. He’s a man of many interests. I almost wish I’d shot him in Dublin, it sounds like he’s more in his element there, but I’m fairly certain we got the shots his publisher wanted. Maybe more than they need. He’s cooperative and very pleasant to work with.” She didn’t add that he looked like a movie star, which he did. “His London house is the size of a postage stamp, which was a bitch with the equipment, but we managed. The one outside Dublin sounds like Buckingham Palace. I’d have liked to see it.”
“Well, thanks for doing it on such short notice. His publisher is damn lucky. What are you doing over the holiday, Hope? Are you still going to the Cape?” It seemed unlikely in the blizzard, and unwise. He hoped not.
She smiled as she looked out the window, at the continuing swirls of snow. There were nearly two feet of it on the ground now, and it was still coming, while the wind blew it into towering drifts. They had promised three feet by morning. “Not in this weather,” she said, smiling. “Even I’m not that crazy, although it would be pretty once I got there.” Most of the roads had been closed by that afternoon, and getting there would have been a nightmare. “I’ll stay here.” Finn had given her his latest book to read, she had some photographs she wanted to sort through for a gallery in San Francisco that wanted to give her a show, and she had Finn’s shoot to edit.
“Call if you get lonely,” he said kindly, but knew she wouldn’t. Hope was very independent, and had led a solitary, quiet life for several years. But he at least wanted her to know that someone cared about her. He worried about her at times, although he knew she was good at keeping busy. She was just as likely to be taking photographs on the streets of Harlem on Christmas Eve, as shooting in a coffee shop for truckers on Tenth Avenue at four in the morning. It was what she did, and how she loved spending her
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