The Proposal by Tasmina Perry Page A

in the first-class cabin; an air of expectation that such a level of luxury was normal. Perhaps it was; she still really didn’t know that much about Georgia Hamilton. Of course, the first thing she had done upon leaving Georgia’s flat that rainy afternoon was to run another Google search on her. There wasn’t a huge amount – she had worked in the pre-internet age – but what snippets she did find were fascinating. This old lady who’d had to advertise for someone to travel to New York with had once been a hugely successful businesswoman. The label ‘publishing legend’ barely covered it. According to the features Amy read, throughout the eighties and nineties Georgia had been one of the most formidable forces in the industry, scoring numerous literary and commercial hits, prize-winners and runaway bestsellers. Amy realised she had even read some of the books Georgia had published. The final news piece she found, announcing Georgia’s retirement, detailed the eye-watering sum one of the Big Six international publishing houses had paid for her business. No wonder she looked so comfortable in these surroundings.
    ‘You know what I find so odd?’ said Georgia, staring out of the window as they sped along the expressway. ‘It’s the size of the cars. I mean, the motorway could be anywhere, but the cars are so wide.’
    She pointed to a truck. ‘The lorries too, they are enormous compared to anything you’d see in England. But then the country is so vast. I suppose that’s why everyone drives.’
    ‘Not in New York,’ said Amy. ‘We’re different here.’
    ‘I heard that,’ said Alfonse.
    Amy gazed out the window. She could feel her heart in her throat. The irony of accompanying Georgia to Manhattan was that they had to pass through her own borough to get there; the freeway cut right through Queens. She could see buildings and street signs that brought memories rushing back: that was the hall where her cousin had tap lessons, that was the pizza place that delivered to her neighbourhood. She was almost home, but not quite.
    ‘Heavens,’ said Georgia quietly as the Manhattan skyline reared up ahead of them – a cityscape of glittering towers before a golden setting sun.
    ‘Mm-hm,’ nodded Alfonse. ‘It’s one hell of a sight. Never tire of that one.’
    ‘Makes me wonder why I haven’t come home sooner,’ sighed Amy, knowing that although she had seen this vista many times before, it was impossible not to be moved.
    Georgia nodded her head tightly, but her eyes were melancholy.
    ‘Okay, folks, have you at the hotel in just a few minutes,’ said Alfonse as they turned into the Midtown Tunnel. Amy could feel herself holding her breath as the tunnel lights spun away past them – and then there they were, as if by magic right in the centre of the city. Coming into Manhattan via the tunnel always had that jolting effect: one moment you were on the expressway, the next you were surrounded by fifty-storey buildings and fire trucks and steam and everyone was honking and yelling.
    The car turned up the wide thoroughfare of Park Avenue, where tall Christmas trees were planted all the way up the centre of the road and every business window had a holiday-themed display, and pulled up outside a building with red awnings over its ground-floor windows.
    ‘Is this the hotel?’ asked Amy as Alfonse helped them out. ‘Looks more like one of those upscale apartment buildings.’
    ‘I think that’s the idea, miss,’ the driver smiled. ‘There are plenty of those look-at-me hotels on the island, but the Plaza Athénée is the sort of place you come for somewhere a little more discreet and elegant, shall we say? I believe Elizabeth Taylor and Princess Diana both liked to stay here and I think you’re gonna like it too.’
    He handed her a card. ‘Here. If you or Miss Georgia need anything, day or night, you give Alfonse a call, okay?’
    Amy nodded gratefully.
    ‘Thanks.’
    Alfonse’s description was pretty