2. New York, New York!
   

Sir Harry Mortimer stood on the top deck of the great Cunard liner Mauretania in the early morning sea breeze, watching as the massive ship glided by the Statue of Liberty on the port side, tiny figures visiting the monument, waving in response to the echoing ship’s horn.

Of course, at his side, was his American wife Lady Mortimer – though much better known in her home town of New York, he guessed, as Kat Reilly.

Harry always loved hearing about how Kat had grown up here in the Bronx, much of that time spent serving beers to customers in her father’s bar the Lucky Shamrock.

This trip, with Kat in charge? It was going to be wonderful fun!

“You okay, Harry?” she said, pressing close and looking into his eyes.

Harry could guess why she was asking.

The very last time he had been in the city, he’d been just a boy.

Bereft. Suddenly an orphan. Shipped from Nova Scotia to New York with hundreds of other survivors of the Titanic, ready to be quickly despatched back to England on board the Carpathia.

His mother and father still officially “missing”. Among – according to some estimates – 1500 people.

Missing...

Though Maggie, his nanny, had been honest with him and had told him, through tears, that the worst had almost certainly happened.

He turned to Kat.

“You know – I’m fine,” he said, smiling at her. “Surprisingly so. I thought I’d have all those dreadful feelings again, but, it seems, perhaps their time has passed. And, I must say, I’m glad.”

“Time does heal, dear husband,” she said. “Maybe it is true what they say.”

Then she held him tighter as they both turned again, peering through the excited crowds clustered at the ship’s rails as the thrilling skyline of New York loomed just ahead of them.

“Let me guess,” he said, after a minute, nodding to the immense, shining tower in the centre of what he knew to be Manhattan. “That building must be the marvel of the age – the Chrysler Building?”

“Biggest marvel – for now. The new Empire State Building will tower over even that, when it’s done in a year or two.”

“Extraordinary,” said Harry. “I definitely want to visit... see the city from there too!”

He realised that he sounded as excited as a kid.

“Oh yes. We may be able to get our own private tour,” said Kat. “I put some feelers out before we left.”

“Oh, did you indeed? And what other surprises do you have planned for our little ‘home town’ holiday – or vacation as you prefer to call it?”

“Well then, if I told you they wouldn’t be surprises, would they? But first stop: the Plaza Hotel. Always good to leave a little room for spontaneity.”

“Ah yes, spontaneity. Don’t we always do that so well?”

“Gotta warn you though, there is a compulsory get-together at the Shamrock so you can... meet the family.”

“Oh, I can’t wait,” said Harry, then seeing the expression on her face, he grinned and lowered his voice. “No really – I mean it – I can’t. I want to hear all the stories. How the scrawny kid from the wrong side of the tracks got out of the Bronx—”

“Scrawny?” she said, facing up to him, her fists mock raised. “Excuse me. I’ll have you know I was a match for any of them Broadway hoodlums!”

Harry laughed and continued: “Still are, I’m sure. And, as I was saying, I’m keen to hear how, you, fresh out of the Bronx, ended up doing diplomatic work of the most dangerous kind for your Uncle Sam.”

“Hmm, think we better keep quiet about that last bit,” said Kat. “As far as the Reilly clan are aware, I was but a humble secretary, who just happened to get posted round the world more than most.”

“Oh yes. Mum’s the word,” said Harry.

“Good. And we’ll definitely keep mum about our recent little escapades back in England.”

“Indeed. No, I shall tell them all how wonderfully you now play the lady of the manor, opening summer fêtes, cutting ribbons and holding lavish tea parties on the lawn.”

“I wish. There’s a lot to be said for the quiet life.”

“And this jaunt? Nobody needing our help? Perfect. Though I do expect to return home with a trunk full of souvenirs.”

“Aha, well, speaking of trunks, Sir Harry I do believe we should make sure that ours are ready to be disembarked.”

And she took his hand as they went below decks, and the great ship approached the Chelsea Piers.

*

As their cab drove up through the early Saturday morning streets of Manhattan – destination the Plaza Hotel – Kat hoped that the classy hotel was well equipped with fans.

The heat was stifling, a muggy, steamy heat, and a ripe smell that took her straight back to her years living and working here during what were called the “dog days of summer”.

Not that it seemed, so far, to bother Harry. Maybe during his stint in Cairo he had learned how to ignore heat.

Now, during this ride, he twisted and turned in his seat, excitedly pointing out landmarks he recognised – as well as amazing new buildings that weren’t even there last time she was home. And everywhere, street vendors, kids playing, hawkers, slick automobiles, trolleys clanging their way – all bustling, even on a Saturday.

The smells and the sounds of the city – almost hypnotic.

Outside the Plaza, as bellboys efficiently transported their cases and trunks inside, she and Harry stopped – nearly cricking their necks to look up at the absurd top storeys, before rushing in through the hotel’s grand doors like a honeymoon couple.

As they rode up in the enormous elevator, Kat said to Harry that she’d always dreamed of staying right here, in the famous hotel.

And Harry said that yes, he remembered her saying that once, which was why he’d booked them...

... a suite on the seventh floor.

Then, as the bellboy took his tip and left, and they stepped through into the luxurious sitting room, with ceiling-to-floor windows that looked out onto Central Park, a floor fan churning away, she turned to Harry and gave him the longest hug ever.

“Isn’t this just perfect?” she said. “This is going to be a week to remember.”

At the very moment Kat said those words, there was a polite tap on the door and an envelope slid under it.

Harry shot her a look, walked over, picked it up.

“To Lady Mortimer,” he said, reading the envelope and handing it to her. “Strictly private and confidential.”

Kat looked at the envelope. On the back the words: Sean O’Driscoll, Attorney at Law.

“Oh. From my old mentor, Sean,” she said. “I cabled him to say we were coming. It’ll probably be an invite to some stuffy old lawyers’ reception. Don’t worry, I’ll find a nice way of saying ‘no’.”

But when she opened the envelope and took out the letter, she immediately saw this was no invite.

She finished reading the brief note and handed it to Harry.

“My dear Kat,” he read aloud. “My apologies for interrupting your vacation. But I have a very personal favour to ask. At my suggestion, your presence – and that of your husband – is urgently needed by Mr Randolph Crowther, address below, within the hour. I would not request this of you were it not – quite simply – a matter of life and death.”

Harry looked up. And said, simply, “Well...”

“Well indeed. What do you think?” she said, staring at Harry and shaking her head in surprise. Or maybe shock.

The vacation suddenly off to a bumpy start.

“Life or death? With those words, I think we don’t have a choice.”

“I agree.”

“This Crowther chap. Mean anything to you?”

“You bet he does,” said Kat, “Randolph Crowther is one of the grandest of this city’s many grand old businessmen. And that address? One of Wall Street’s finest.”

“Indeed?” said Harry. “An American tycoon? In which case, I do believe I had better unpack and find my best suit and tie.”

“So much for the holiday away from it all,” said Kat, as she headed for the bedroom to dress – not at all sure what would be best to wear.

Thinking, What’s the dress code for a matter of life and death?

And also feeling that old thrill... when it seemed a case might be about to start.

*

Harry opened the cab door for Kat, then paid the driver and stood on the sidewalk for a moment to look at the Crowther Building, all marble pillars and granite carvings, stretching what seemed like twenty floors up into the morning sky.

“I do see...