Lacey didn't exactly know why she was standing in a snowstorm outside the Fifth Avenue apartment building. The only excuse she could think of was that it had seemed like a good idea at the time. It was twenty degrees outside. No one in their right mind was venturing outside unless they really, really had to … especially not with a baby in tow. She'd seen very few people on the streets, on the subway. Even the usual Saturday shoppers seemed to have felt it wiser to stay home.
'Mr. Gold's expecting me,' she told the doorman; trying to sound self-assured even though the man gave the impression that she wasn't fit to spit on his shoes. Lacey tugged at her skirt, trying to drag it down to a more respectable length. There was certainly nothing of the holiday spirit about the man. He hadn't even offered to help her with the stroller as she'd struggled up the steps. Lacey stood tall … or at least as much as she could, and glared at the man. Poppy, it seemed, was similarly unimpressed and spat her pacifier at him
'If you'd be so kind?'
He opened the door.
Once inside, Lacey felt her confident façade crumble a little. She'd never been in place like this before. Compared to where she'd come from it felt like a castle. Even the elevator that took them up to the penthouse had a touch of luxury about it. The mirrors were framed with fake gold. Lacey couldn't help but stare at her reflection. She'd changed so much in the past few months; skin like paper, the first flecks of grey in her hair, the wrinkles around her eyes had deepened even though she didn't seem to laugh that much anymore. It was only the thought of facing the snooty doorman again that made her step out of the elevator and kept her walking towards the door to Gold's apartment.
Gathering all of her courage, she knocked.
'Miss French?'
'Surprise,' she said.
'Bah bah!' said Poppy.
He didn't open the door any further and Lacey suddenly realised how pathetic her behaviour actually was. It was the weekend before Christmas. Of course he'd be with friends and family. Or Gods … even worse … maybe he did have a wife hidden away in there?
'We were … uh … just in the neighbourhood so we thought we'd stop by and say hi and … uh … happy holidays.'
Was he wearing pyjamas? Was that why he wouldn't open the door?
'I'm afraid I won't be very good company, Miss French.'
Lacey should have taken that as her final push to leave but somehow she couldn't. It had taken all of her courage to get this far. She should have brought a proper gift or a card or something … anything to prove that she wasn't some kind of crazy stalker woman. But all she had was…
'We made cookies.'
'We?'
Poppy raised a tiny hand towards him, the bear with the Santa hat clutched in her fist. He sighed, stood back and waved them into his apartment.
Gold really didn't look well, she noticed. Moving with more than his usual hesitancy, his face was quite grey. He rubbed his left shoulder, wincing slightly. Perhaps he was tired?
It wasn't a home, Lacey realised as soon as she walked in. The hardwood floors, high ceilings and big windows gave an impression of elegance but the place was furnished like a page in a catalogue. Even the dark jacket slung casually over one of the bentwood chairs looked as if it had been carefully placed to play into the illusion that this wasn't just a living space. It told her nothing about the man. He had exquisite taste - that much was certain but Lacey couldn't help worrying that Poppy would do something unspeakable to the gleaming white couch.
Lacey released Poppy from the stroller and set her daughter down on a small, expensive looking rug. Poppy immediately pushed herself up looking around with interest.
'I must apologise for my state of undress… If you'll excuse me for a moment…'
She suddenly felt smaller and shabbier than ever. Somehow, in his dressing gown, he'd been far less intimidating … even though it had been made of silk and probably cost more than her entire collection of clothes. She took a bite of a cookie, dismayed as the crumbs scattered on the shining floor. Poppy picked one of them up and tried to shove it in her mouth.
Lacey found herself unable to relax, wandering about the large room, trailing her fingertips over the ornaments, the works of art. A single rose stood alone on a low table. Red as blood. Fresh not fake, the petals were fading slightly and Lacey wondered if he replaced it each day. She wandered over to the window. The view was stunning, the harsh edges of the city blurred by snow. A perfect picture.
She heard the tap of his cane against the wooden floor.
'It's beautiful,' she whispered.
'Yes it is.'
His voice was rough, the accent more pronounced than usual. To her surprise he wasn't wearing a suit. He had on dark pants paired with a white shirt that was un-tucked, open at the neck. Undeniably handsome. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair.
'Tea, Miss French?'
'Yes please.'
The tea was served in bone china cups, so delicate that she could almost see through them. The misshapen cookies looked out of place on the matching plate.
'Darjeeling,' he said, 'first blush. I hope you like it.'
It tasted glorious. Lacey wanted to kick off her shoes curl up on the couch and spend the afternoon just watching the snow fall. He had a shelf of intriguing looking books that she wanted to read; artwork that she'd love to study and debate. Lacey realised that she'd kill for an adult conversation that wasn't related to burgers or pancakes. The reality of her life came crashing down around her. Sooner or later Poppy would need changing or feeding or bathing or putting down for a nap… Lacey knew with certainty that a Fifth Avenue penthouse wasn't for the likes of her. She gulped down her tea, almost scalding herself in the process.
'We should go.'
She scooped Poppy up in her arms, ignoring her daughter's protests at being distracted from her self appointed task of pulling the rug apart. Looking out of the window Lacey could see that the snow which had looked so pretty a few moments ago was building itself up to a blizzard.
'Miss French …'
Poppy started to cry in earnest, fighting Lacey's attempts to wrestle her back into the stroller.
'I'm sorry. We shouldn't have come. Have a lovely Christmas, Mr Gold.'
Acting on an impulse she didn't quite understand, Lacey pressed her lips to his pale cheek. He caught her hand.
'Stay,' he said.
'The snow… If we don't leave now we'll never get home.'
'Please.'
He gave a soft tug, bringing her into his personal space. Catching the scent of his cologne, Lacey felt her resistance start to crumble. Poppy gave a little whimper.
'She'll poop on your couch.'
'It's a risk I'm prepared to take.'
