‘It wasn’t a school friend. And it looked intimate. You need to have an honest conversation with Peter about where he was on Friday afternoon and who he spent it with.’
‘She’s poisoned your mind, you know that.’ It was Juliet’s turn to let rip. ‘You neglect your marriage, and instead of working out how you can improve it, you just lash out at other people. If you have to be miserable, then so does everybody else,’ she mocked harshly. ‘You need to grow up.’
She slid out of the booth and summoned the waitress.
‘Put that bar bill on my room,’ she said, and walked out without looking back.
Chapter 26
Amy pushed her hands into her pockets and stepped out onto the street, unable even to raise a smile for the bellboy who held open the door as she left.
In a city of ten million people she had never felt more alone. She was barely speaking to her husband, and now her best friend had every right to cut her out of her life completely.
Josie. It all came back to that girl. Her influence was creeping everywhere, like poison ivy taking over a country garden, twisting its roots around flowers and trees, choking, suffocating, infecting.
Juliet had had a point when she said that Amy wanted to lash out. True, she didn’t want her friend to feel foolish if it came out about Peter’s affair; after all, she would hate to think that Claire, Max or Juliet knew something about David’s private life and were whispering sympathetically behind her back but not telling her about it. But there was also a little part of Amy that didn’t want to be alone in her marital suffering. Telling Juliet about Peter had been a way of offloading her own troubles, as if sharing them with her friend might make it a little less painful.
She quickened her pace, wanting to get back to her own hotel, where the minibar was waiting. She hated drinking alone, but she needed to block out her pain and frustration somehow.
It was a few moments before she recognised the man coming out of the St Regis, the smart hotel on the corner of Park Avenue.
Marvin Schultz was a legend in magazine publishing, rarely seen but much whispered about in the corridors of Genesis. The son of the original founder, and the current CEO, he’d launched half of the glossies you saw pinned to the outside of Manhattan street-corner newsagents, and acquired half a dozen more ailing vintage titles that he’d brought back to life with hand-picked editors and millions of dollars’ worth of investment.
Amy had met him only once, at the company’s fiftieth anniversary party, shortly after she had got the Verve editorship. Marv, as he was affectionately known, didn’t do social lunches, certainly not with editors from the satellite territories, although she’d received the odd missive from New York: handwritten notes that commended particularly good covers or features that garnered buzz.
The root of an idea began to take hold, and she quickened her pace without thinking to stop and wonder if what she was about to do was wise. Marv was on his phone, but it was clearly his driver waiting for him on the busy street. He was only feet away now, and Amy knew she had just seconds to strike, seconds to try and claw back her dream job.
Her heart was pounding. She was not naturally very assertive. When she had first arrived in London and realised she would need more push and polish to get on in the glamorous and judgemental world of magazine publishing, she had hung a framed picture in her flat that said ‘Feel the fear and do it anyway’. It was schmaltzy and American, but those words had served her well, helped chip away at her insecurities and boost her self-worth.
When he ended his call, she made her move. ‘Mr Schultz? Amy Shepherd. I’m the editor of Verve magazine in London.’
He looked momentarily surprised, but then extended his hand. ‘Of course. Amy, how are you?’ She wasn’t sure if he recognised her, but he had the good grace to be the epitome of charm.
‘I’m fine, thank you. I’m in New York for the shows.’
‘Have fun. I hear Ralph Lauren’s is going to be on the High Line.’
His driver opened the car door.
‘So, à bientôt.’
‘Actually, I was wondering if we could have a word. About Mode.’
‘What about it?’ He gave a small smile, toying with her. He was old, but he wasn’t stupid. Far from it. ‘I’m going as far as 75th Street. If you’re heading to that part of town, how about I give you a lift and you can tell me what’s on your mind.’
Amy hopped in, grateful.
‘Where to?’ asked the driver, starting the engine.
She couldn’t face telling him that her own hotel was less than fifty yards away. Besides, that wouldn’t be long enough to say what she had to say.
‘I’ll get out where you’re going,’ she said.
‘We met once before, am I right?’ said Marv, taking a seat beside her. ‘Genesis dinner at the Savoy, maybe three years ago?’
Amy nodded gratefully. ‘I didn’t think you’d remember.’
‘We spoke about how the internet was killing journalism, right?’