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there was a moment when she wanted to say, ‘Ask me again why I look sad?’ Instead, she quipped, ‘I’m not a girl, I’m a woman. Besides, “smart girls” wear blue, woollen stockings, and as you can see that’s not really my style.’
    Joy could have stopped the game of verbal cat and mouse but she didn’t. This man had noticed the sadness that lay beneath her beautiful veil. Frank Fitzpatrick knew who she was and that was enough for Joy. More than enough.
    At the end of the evening, Frank told the Trumans he would accompany Joy home, on the short walk across the park, to her parents’ apartment. All the way down in the elevator, walking out through the glittering, holidaying busyness of the Plaza lobby and negotiating the wide car-honking craziness of Park Avenue on New Year’s Eve, Frank was the perfect gentleman. He held her slim hand in the wide arm of his cashmere evening coat with the formal care of a benign uncle, but Joy could feel the undertow of passion simmering beneath the surface. She knew he wanted her. Joy met men who wanted her all the time – young, handsome men. She was usually either disinterested or disgusted by their attentions, but tonight she liked being wanted. However, Joy knew Frank would never make a move, so when they had walked a hundred yards into Central Park, fuelled by fresh-air and champagne and the presumption of her beauty and youth, she turned to him and said, ‘Kiss me!’
    Frank laughed. They were standing under the shelter of a huge oak. The cold, damp air smelt fresh and mossy. Like home.
    â€˜What makes you think I want to kiss you?’ he said.
    â€˜Of course you want to kiss me.’
    Although in that moment Joy felt her fragile confidence plummet, she added defiantly, ‘What are you afraid of? My parents?’
    â€˜I don’t know who your parents are,’ he said, ‘but I’m afraid of no one.’
    That was true. Joy felt a shiver run down her spine as he said it. Nonetheless, she could sense he was afraid of her, or rather, afraid of his own desire for her.
    Joy let her cape drop from her shoulders and, revealing the bare flesh underneath she moved close enough that she could smell the alcohol and cigar smoke on his breath. Her face reddened, her breath was coming out in white, frosty puffs of air and she said, again, ‘Then go ahead and kiss me.’
    Frank leaned down but just as Joy closed her eyes he suddenly lifted her slim body up and held her at arm’s length, pushing her against the tree.
    Frank was determined to get a grip on himself but she was just as determined to stop him. Joy arched her back against the oak until the damp bark seeped through the velvet of her cape and she coquettishly whispered, ‘Coward.’
    â€˜They call it “gentleman” where I come from.’
    His hands on the smooth skin of her arms felt firm. It thrilled her to be held by him, even at bay like this. Joy’s eyes flashed triumphantly. But Frank had remembered himself and now he loosened his hold.
    As soon as he did so Joy shrugged off her damp cape and let it fall to the ground so that she stood there, brazenly, with nothing but a flimsy evening gown between her bare flesh and the cold night air.
    â€˜I’m cold,’ she said.
    â€˜Put your coat on,’ Frank said. ‘I’m taking you home.’
    Joy shook her head. ‘Not until you’ve kissed me.’
    Frank smiled, shaking his head, and picked up her cape from the ground. His hand lingered as he placed it around her shoulders and Joy closed her eyes as she felt the warmth of his breath on her neck. It was more delicious than any kiss.
    He held out his arm for Joy to take and as they walked in silence through the park Joy knew she had met the man she wanted to be with for the rest of her life.

5
    London, 2014
    Millions of Americans have the name Fitzpatrick and of them many hundreds of thousands must