'In the Village?'
'Greenwich Village.' He nodded. Dave looked at me as though afraid I might run off or something. It was just taking some time to get my head around the location change. All of last night I had pictured what my life might be like in a penthouse apartment. How that would work, what it would be like to make a place with sharp modern corners safe for what would eventually be a toddler. I had analysed every detail and now the rug had been pulled out from under me. Again.
I sighed. 'Is there anything else I should know before walking through one of these front doors?'
Dave laughed, lifting my suitcase out from the boot and setting it on the pavement. 'Yeah, it's number sixty-five.'
Chapter Six
The house was a classic federal-style building on a quiet block in the heart of the historic Greenwich Village, a far cry from Lafayette Street. A house that belonged to Ben Worthington – apparently.
Certain I would be greeted by a staff member, I was surprised when the door was pulled open by Ben himself. Gone was the classic-cut suit – he wore a thick-knit navy V-neck jumper and tan trousers. His hair was damp and, if the nick on his chin and the smell of aftershave were anything to go by, he was freshly shaved. He seemed on edge, like my presence was an inconvenience to him.
'You're late,' he said, stepping aside and allowing me to enter.
I wanted to argue traffic, or remind him I wasn't the driver, but I said nothing; something told me there was no use. I dare say few people disagreed with him.
Ben waved me into a parlour where long, graceful windows looked out onto Washington Street. A gas fireplace with handsome marble detailing anchored the room that was, thankfully, not completely white, like Penny Worthington's cold home. This felt warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the owner, who stood next to me with his hands in his pockets, as if he didn't know what to do with me.
'Your house is lovely,' I managed to say, inwardly cringing at myself. Really, Sarah? You've seen one room.
'Well, I'll give you the tour. You can leave your bags here if you want.'
Ben led me down the hall in silence. At the back of the long, narrow house light from the garden filled an elegant, double-height living room and spacious kitchen, which featured every modern convenience known to man. My gaze drifted up the crisp white walls to the ceiling. Wow.
My new home was a four-bedroom, two-and-a-half bathroom townhouse, with a lower-level media room; Ben merely pointed to the descending staircase, so I guessed that was his man cave and out of bounds to me. A beautifully intricate oak staircase led to the third floor, which was dedicated to the master suite. An entire bloody floor – talk about luxury. This was also obviously a no-go zone as we continued to the fourth floor, where two large bedrooms and a bathroom were located. One bedroom was a plain, sparse area with a queen bed and next to it was a gorgeously decorated nursery, all in soft pinks and whites, a plush chair near the window overlooking the garden. The only thing noticeably absent was a baby, a question that Ben read on my blank face when I looked at him.
He shifted a little, seemingly uncomfortable about having to talk. 'We thought we would give you a chance to settle in, get your bearings, before Grace comes home.'
We? As in his wife?
'That's very thoughtful, thank you.'
If he was pleased by my gratefulness he didn't show it and, when my gaze roamed past him to the doorway of the spare bedroom, his eyes followed.
'So this is my room?' I asked.
'Ah, not exactly.'
I turned to him, my interest piqued, and he pointed to the ceiling.
'One up.'
A smaller, poky staircase led to the fifth and final level, to a room that was smaller than the fourth-floor bedroom, but filled with light coming through large bi-fold doors that led out onto a roof terrace.
'This is my home office, I guess, but I think it will probably serve you better, give you some extra space.'
'It's beautiful. Can I take a look out here?' I asked, indicating the terrace door.
Ben shrugged. 'It's technically yours.'
Stepping out onto the roof terrace was like entering a hidden urban oasis. I could already picture myself lounging out here on the built-in seating among the potted foliage, drinking coffee and snacking on a bagel as I read leisurely in the New York sunshine. I resisted the urge to bounce.
'Are you sure? I mean, if it's your office, I don't want to -'
'I'm sure. I can set up anywhere, and I don't want to be traipsing through the fourth level and disturbing Grace, so it's yours.'
I turned from Ben, smiling as I looked over the neighbouring buildings that sliced into the skyline. I didn't know how much downtime I would be afforded, or how demanding this baby would be, but surely it couldn't have been any worse than the time Oscar was a baby, and I had a two-year-old to contend with then as well. Still, that was at home, where support was only a phone call away. Here I was on my own, with a family I didn't know. But if I was going to make a go of it and get everything I could out of this amazing opportunity, I would have to put on my big-girl pants and do all the things that were expected of me, even if it didn't come naturally. And even though we hadn't gotten off on the greatest foot, I would give Ben Worthington the benefit of the doubt; giving me this amazing room was a great place to start. To think how happy I'd been when the Liebenbergs allowed me to put cheese on the grocery list that one time. Now here I was with my own little piece of New York paradise.
'Well, I better show you how the security system works before I go.'
'You're leaving?' I said, perhaps a bit too high-pitched.
'As I mentioned yesterday, I have to go out of town for work.'
'Oh, okay, but you'll be here when Grace arrives – wait, when is she arriving?'
'Emily will bring her home in the morning. I won't be here, but she'll give you the rundown.'
Was he serious? His sister was about to hand over the responsibility of his baby daughter to me and he was acting as if she was about to teach me how to use a television remote.
'But you'll be back? Or will Mrs Worthington be here?'
I regretted it the moment Ben's stare locked with mine. A sudden chill swept over us on the rooftop and it was more than just the morning sun moving behind a cloud. This was bitter cold. Penny Worthington had stated, rather firmly, that there were to be no questions. This was clearly one of them.
'No,' was all he said, as he stepped back through the doorway and went inside.
I followed him down the stairs, watching his straight spine as he led me down the hall. I could tell he didn't know what to do with me, that he hadn't planned out the part where this creature would be residing in his house. Not that he knew what to do with himself. This was his home, but he seemed just as much a stranger in it as I was. The home had no photos, no bills magnetised to the fridge, let alone an indentation on the couch. It was a show home, and at a guess, I'd say he lived mostly on Lafayette Street – that was where he belonged.
'Have you lived here long?' I asked, thinking it more a matter of small talk than prying into his affairs.
'Not long,' he said, standing at the kitchen bench, tapping on his iPad, not even lifting his attention to me.
Turned out Ben didn't do small talk either.
'Did you renovate it yourself or … '
He sighed. 'What?' Only then did he look at me. He was clearly annoyed, but I continued regardless.
'I said, did you renovate?'
'Yeah, it's what I do,' he said bluntly.
'Oh, you're an interior designer?'
His brows lowered as if I had somehow insulted him. 'No, I'm an architect.'
Okay, so I was getting the picture, slowly. I couldn't imagine him dealing with clients and collaborating with others. He practically screamed hermit, like a best-selling novelist or something. Maybe he was a real dreamboat at work and just abrasive with strangers who asked questions in his home.
I figured there must be a broken home situation, that would explain his mood, and why he didn't stay here: bachelor penthouse on Lafayette, and a family home in the Village. As long as there wasn't a Jane Eyre situation with a crazed wife locked away in a secret room somewhere, I was sure everything would be fine.
Ben passed the iPad to me. 'Okay, this operates everything you need in the house: lighting, heating, cooling, alarm system, television. Food delivery and home maintenance services are there too, and they're linked to my credit card should you need to buy anything, which you will.'
My eyes widened at the apps before me; long gone was the good old list of emergency numbers on the fridge.
He touched a button. 'Here are the contacts for emergencies,' as if he had read my mind. 'This is mine. Don't call it unless it's absolutely life or death, do you understand?'
'Okay.'
It was unbelievable; I had the world at my fingertips. Penny's and Emily's contacts were there as well, which I sure as hell would not be calling, but Nikki's was there too, which made me feel a little more at ease. There was also ambulance, police and fire department, which I prayed I would not need.
'And if I should want to go out, and do some physical food shopping? How do I -'
'I've programed the local area in maps, so you can get an idea of what's nearby.' He pulled out his wallet, thumbing through an impressive collection of hundred-dollar bills. He handed me a couple.
'Use this for incidentals until I link you with a credit card. I don't have a full-time maid, but the cleaners come once a week. Just take care of the house and I'll let you know if I'm going to be in for dinner.'