I closed the phone and tossed it back across the table to Ricky, then fished my own from my pocket. Ten minutes later my Nice flight was cancelled and I was on the two-ten British Airways shuttle to Heathrow, connecting to JFK. I’d brought enough bloody luggage for two nights, maximum, and I was going to New York: happily I also had all my credit cards and fifty thousand in readies, which for some blessed reason I’d brought with me, possibly because Susie’s parting words, not entirely in jest, had been ‘Don’t come back until you’ve found this woman and got her out of our bloody lives!’
39
It was tight, but Ricky got me to the airport in time; I was the last person to board the flight and got the usual friendly glares from my fellow passengers, but I ignored them all. I called Dylan’s mobile from the devil’s playground that is Heathrow on the move between terminals.
When he answered, I could hear more background noise. ‘Benny, where are you this time?’
‘The Carnegie Deli, having a late breakfast.’
‘I thought you lived in the Village.’
‘I do, but I’m with the friend I told you about. She’s staying in the Algonquin.’
‘You got a spare room?’
‘No, that’s why she’s in the Algonquin.’
My favourite New York hotel. ‘Okay,’ I said, ‘book me in there too, for tonight, maybe tomorrow as well. Meet me in the Blue Bar at seven thirty.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Of course I’m fucking serious. See you later.’
When I called Susie from the departure gate a few minutes later the idea that I might be kidding never crossed her mind. ‘You’re taking me at my word, aren’t you?’ she said.
‘I always do, love, I always do. But I promise you now: when I get home this time, we’re going away. Maybe Los Angeles, maybe Spain, but wherever it is, we’re not going to tell anybody, not even family, where the hell we’re at.’
The New York flight gave me plenty of thinking time, if I’d been able to take advantage of it, but to be honest my brain was numb. All I could focus on was number thirty-three West Fifty-fifth Street, and whether Maddy January was still there. Eventually, as a distraction, I tried to watch Star Wars III: Revenge of the Sith, or Taking the Pith, as a perceptive critic christened it. Ten minutes of that and I was asleep.
The immigration queue at JFK can be a real bugger, even when you have a permanent visa like me, but when you travel upstairs in a jumbo, you’re first off the plane so I got through quickly. I rated a ‘Have a nice day, Mr Blackstone,’ from the desk officer. She didn’t even ask me about the fifty grand declared on my landing card: she probably thought it was just walk-about money for a movie star. (To some I know, it is.)
There were the usual guys outside touting limos, but they can take you anywhere, and very often anywhere other than the place you want to go, then charge you a few hundred dollars for the privilege. I chose an ordinary Yellow Cab, and the driver had me at number fifty-nine West Forty-fourth in just over half an hour.
Mike had booked me a suite, more than I needed for a short stay, but it was pretty classy so I didn’t mind. I dumped my stuff, shaved, and rode the lift down to the Blue Bar. There was a table with a spare Budweiser; Dylan was there, and so was his friend.
‘Hi,’ she said, her cheeks turning a nice shade of pink beneath the Mediterranean tan she’d acquired.
‘Primavera.’ I chuckled as I picked up the beer and took a long swig. ‘Why am I not surprised?’
‘I was bored up in Perthshire.’ She pouted. ‘I’ve been here since Tuesday. Our Benny got a hell of a shock when I called him.’
‘I’d a notion it was you when he mentioned the Algonquin.’ When we were together, Prim and I had a couple of holidays in New York, and we’d stayed there. ‘How did you get into the country?’ I asked her. ‘They’re a bit fussy about admitting convicted felons.’
‘No problem,’ she replied cheerfully. ‘I lied on the landing card.’
‘Imagine,’ said Dylan, mournfully. ‘I get home midday Wednesday, jetlagged and full of hell, and at five o’clock this one phones me, to be taken out on the town. I’m glad to see you, pal, for lots of reasons.’ Then he looked me in the eye, serious all of a sudden. ‘Has she surfaced?’
‘Right here in good old New York.’ I glanced at the Breitling. ‘About twelve hours ago, eleven blocks away from here.’ I drained the Bud in a second pull. ‘Fancy seeing if she’s still there?’
‘Sounds interesting; I’ll go along with it.’
‘Me too,’ said Prim, ‘whatever it is you’re talking about.’
‘Maddy January,’ I told her.
‘Then I’m definitely coming.’
‘I’m not so sure. She might turn nasty.’
‘It won’t be anything you two big strong boys can’t handle, I’m sure. Come on.’ She slid out from behind the table and headed for the door.
‘Eh, honey,’ I called after her, ‘I hate to point this out, but you don’t know where we’re going.’
We followed her, though.
It was a powerfully warm evening, more humid than Monaco but nothing like Singapore. We started walking, on the look-out for a lit-up taxi but at that time on a Friday evening they can be hard to come by. We’d reached Sixth Avenue and Forty-eighth by the time we spotted one, but by then we were half-way there, so we decided to continue on foot. We strolled on, past Radio City. I was astonished to see that the Moody Blues were scheduled to appear there on the following Thursday. I found myself wondering if they’d written any new stuff since I was five years old. I said as much to Dylan.
‘Who the fuck are the Moody Blues?’ he muttered. Back from the grave, but still a Philistine.
West Fifty-fifth was as narrow as most of the trans-avenue streets are in Midtown Manhattan. The Shoreham Hotel wasn’t hard to find; its sign hung out over the street and a modern, fairly tasteless steel canopy hung over the entrance. I caught Prim frowning. ‘Hey,’ she exclaimed, ‘we were near here this morning. The Carnegie’s just round the corner.’
‘Too bad Maddy didn’t fancy chicken soup and matzoh balls for breakfast,’ I grunted back at her, ‘or you might have saved me a trip.’
We went into the bar by mistake before we found the reception desk. When we did, it was staffed by a couple of young ladies who seemed to be doing their best to bristle with efficiency.
‘Hi there,’ I said, giving them my best smile, ‘we’re looking for a friend. I believe she may be staying here. The problem is, we’re not sure what name she’s travelling under. Her Christian name, though, is Madeleine, Maddy for short. You can’t miss her: she’s tall, looks mid-thirties, although it may say different on her passport, and she has sensational auburn hair, like in the L’Oreal ads.’
The older of the two receptionists, a chubby black girl, nodded. ‘From the description, that would be Mrs Lee.’ She broke off for a few seconds to refer to a computer terminal. ‘Yeah, that’s Mrs Madeleine Lee, travelling on a Singapore passport. She was our guest.’
‘Was?’
‘Yes, sir, I’m afraid she checked out midday.’
‘Damn,’ I whispered, and then I saw her smile.
‘Would you be Mr Blackstone?’ she asked. ‘The movie star?’
I gave her my Gary Cooper. ‘Yup.’
‘She left something for you.’
‘She did?’
‘Yes, sir. She said that if Oz Blackstone came looking for her, I should give you this.’ She took a hotel envelope from under the desk and held it out. ‘I thought she was maybe a little crazy,’ the receptionist confessed, as I took it from her.
‘This is New York,’ I reminded her. ‘It takes a lot to count as crazy here.’
Mike and Prim watched me as I turned my back on the desk and opened Maddy’s gift. It was lightly sealed and peeled back at the touch of a finger. There was a single sheet of paper inside, folded twice. It was only rough, a file that most probably had been copied on to a computer, printed, then, I guessed, deleted. It had been done on ordinary paper, not high quality, but I knew what it was, almost before I glanced at it. When I did I saw red robes; that was enough. I refolded it quickly and slid it back into the envelope, then pocketed it.