The Best Is Yet to Come - Rilegato

Gould, Judith

Rilegato

ISBN 10: 0525946594 ISBN 13: 9780525946595

Casa editrice: E P Dutton, 2002

Riassunto

Carolina Mountcastle has everything she could ever want: a sexy, attentive husband, a terrific teenage son, and a successful career as a florist and decorator in New York. Then, without warning, tragedy strikes. Carolina's husband, an international business executive, suffers a fatal heart attack. Reeling from grief and shock, Carolina receives an even more devastating blow: He was having a long-term affair with a woman in Amsterdam. They shared a home-and a child. Shattered by her husband's betrayal, and obsessed with this "other woman," Carolina travels to Amsterdam to find her, intent on revenge. But forced to confront the truth about her marriage and the man she thought she knew, Carolina discovers her own inner strength-and opens her heart to new possibilities.

Poignant and passionate, this is Judith Gould's richest novel yet-the tale of a woman who finds the courage to heal, to forgive, and to love again.

Su questo libro

L'autore:

Judith Gould is the New York Times bestselling author of twelve novels, including Sins, Love-Makers, Dazzle, Never Too Rich, Forever, Till the End of Time, Rhapsody, Time to Say Good-bye, and A Moment in Time.

Estratto. © Riproduzione autorizzata. Diritti riservati.:

The shrill buzzing of the alarm clock was an unrelenting and joyless sound to Carolina's ears this morning. She groaned aloud as she slid one arm from under the sheet and reached over, slapping in the general direction of the harsh, unwelcome intrusion. Her fingers grazed glass and, too late, she jerked her hand back.

The sound of her water glass crashing against the floor brought her struggling up and out from under the covers into a sitting position.

"Damn," she said aloud, her voice barely audible. Her throat was dry and scratchy. With a decisive push of her thumb, she hit the button that turned off the offensive instrument.

The instant it was quieted, the raucous early morning sounds of Chelsea replaced it. It wasn't even daylight yet, but delivery trucks rumbled loudly on the streets, shaking the windows in their frames. A workman was yelling at the top of his lungs. In the distance, the sound of an ambulance siren wailed frenetically.

Carolina smiled slightly at the reassuring cacophony and pushed her bangs away from her face. She eyed the clock as if it were an enemy: five a.m. Yawning loudly, she stretched her arms and legs, trying to fully awaken her leaden body. She fell back against the pillows again, but only momentarily.

"Oh," she groaned as she finally slid her feet off the side of the bed, "this is torture. Why did I stay up watching that DVD with Richie last night?"

But she knew why. She had been working long, hard hours, and Lyon was out of town for a couple of weeks, and she didn't feel as if either of them had been paying enough attention to their sixteen-year-old son. That is, when he could free himself from his friends to pay attention to her.

She stood up, careful to avoid the broken glass, and padded into the bathroom on bare feet. My mouth! she thought, grimacing with distaste. Why on earth-? Then she remembered. Last night she and Richie had eaten a mountain of popcorn, which they'd buttered and salted lavishly. Ugh! Never again! she told herself, knowing full well that she couldn't wait until next time with her son.

She quickly performed her morning ablutions in the shiny marble and glass bathroom, and then dashed to the loft's big open-plan kitchen. She smiled wryly, remembering how the cost of renovating this one room had given her such a shock. Sub-Zero refrigerator, Garland stove and ovens, all the stainless steel and black granite surfaces. Lyon had insisted on the best, and she hadn't argued with him. Now it was practically as new as the day it had been finished, it was so unused. The coffeemaker was a different matter, however, and she headed straight for it. All she had to do was push the button. She'd filled it with water and ground the beans last night before turning in.

She rushed back to the bathroom and quickly brushed her wildly tinted red hair, not a difficult job, considering her severe Louise Brooks do with its razor-straight bangs and razor-straight cut all the way around her head, the length just to the bottom of her earlobes. She quickly and expertly applied eyeliner, mascara, lipstick, and blusher, and then looked at her reflection in the mirror.

Not half bad, she thought, knowing that she looked quite snazzy for a sleep-deprived thirty-five-year-old. She tried a bright smile. A face to meet faces, she told herself. Much better. Smoky eyes. Bright crimson lips.

Most of Carolina's friends chuckled at her careful grooming, no matter the hour of day or night or the occasion. But Carolina had always reasoned that you never knew who might be around the next corner, and she always wanted to look her best-in case. Even she had to admit that the likelihood of running into anyone she'd want to impress at the wholesale flower market in the early morning hours was highly unlikely, but she'd long ago discovered that the vendors working in the market-the Georges, she called them, because they all seemed to be Greek and named George-loved to see her coming and often commented on her early morning outfits and cheerfulness.

So maybe none of them were Rockefellers or dot-com billionaires. So what? Impressing them and gradually developing a rapport with them had translated into countless favors and sweet deals for Carolina over the years. One George might hide away an unusual bunch of lilies until Carolina was able to see them, giving her the first chance at them before a competitor had the chance to come in and sweep them up and away. If a certain type of greenery was in critically short supply, it might be found stashed away in the back of another George's cooler, just waiting for Carolina's use. If she needed a last-minute delivery, one George or another was sure to make the short rumble down to her shop in Chelsea with whatever it was she had to have, only too glad to accommodate one of their steadiest, friendliest, and best-looking customers.

She hurried back to the bedroom and shrugged out of her nightie-one of Lyon's old, worn cotton tee shirts-and tossed it on the bed. She went to the spacious dressing room they shared-all built-in cabinets and closets-and quickly grabbed a navy blue linen tee with long sleeves and cream nylon clam diggers, and then snatched a bra and panties from a lingerie drawer. Finally, she picked up her tiger-striped high-heeled Gucci mules. In five minutes or less, she was dressed. Almost. She put big gold hoops in her ears and slipped enormous matching ivory cuffs on each wrist; then she hung a gold chain around her neck. Hanging from it was the catch of the day, a group of different size fish, some gold, a few silver. Quickly dabbing Caron perfume that had been especially formulated for her, then slipping on her watch and rings-engagement, wedding, and three pinkie rings, one set with a ruby, one an emerald, and the other a blue sapphire-and she was set to go.

Back to the kitchen she went, moving like a cyclone now. She quickly filled an insulated plastic container with coffee, stirred in the usual, and then snapped on the lid. She loathed the look of the insulated container-it had been a freebie from Amazon.com for all of her book and CD ordering on-line-but she had to admit it had come in very handy. She would finish her coffee in the taxi, and then hide the ugly container in her carryall.

She gathered up her keys and canvas-and-leather bag. All set, she thought. Except for one very important thing. She set her things back down and went down the hallway.

She crept to Richie's bedroom door, opened it a crack, and saw that he was sleeping soundly. Skateboards, his bicycle, in-line skates, and tennis rackets were strewn about the room helter-skelter. The light from his computer's screen saver seemed to preside over the scene like a watchful protector. Richie changed it periodically, and she glanced over to see what it was today. Her lips spread into a wry smile when she saw the picture of a little girl-the little sister Richie had always said he wanted. He still talked about it sometimes, but only jokingly these days. He'd finally come to terms with the fact that his mom and dad wanted only him.

She tiptoed over to the side of his bed, where she stood staring down at her son. Her heart surged with pride and joy and a love that threatened to overwhelm her as she looked at his handsome, still boyish face. It was blissfully peaceful and innocent and sunburned from his outdoor activities. He's so untroubled and unspoiled, she thought gratefully, her eyes still lingering on her son's features. And I'm the luckiest woman in the world.

Finally, she reached down and brushed a lock of shiny chocolate hair-identical to his father's, as were his blue eyes-off his forehead, and then brushed her lips across that very spot. I love you, she whispered. He didn't stir.

She straightened up, turned, and tiptoed back out of his room, leaving him to sleep. His alarm wouldn't go off for another couple of hours. She retrieved her carryall and keys, and as she walked to the elevator, she thought about last night and all the wonderful, silly laughs they'd shared.

In the vestibule, she checked her makeup once more in the huge elegant mirror over the Art Deco console. The Georges are going to like it, she thought.

"Carolina!" one of the wholesale flower vendors called. "You look beautiful this morning!"

"And you're a handsome devil yourself, George," she called back cheerfully, blowing him a kiss. Heels click-clacking loudly on the sidewalk, she continued up Avenue of the Americas.

It wasn't yet six o'clock, and the wholesale flower district was thronged with shoppers, as it had been since before daybreak. These days Roxie or Antonio, her right-hand helpers, did the marketing most of the time because Carolina was too busy with planning and designing the flowers for parties. Today, she'd decided to come up herself to find something really special for the important dinner party she was doing tonight. Roxie and Antonio would soon be at the shop, if they weren't there already, putting together some of the arrangements she'd designed. They would be taken uptown for the party later in the day.

Carolina felt exhilarated making her way among the bustle of the early morning crowds. She was reminded of the days when she'd first worked in a little Greenwich Village shop that Jonathan Muller, a newfound friend, had owned. She and Jonathan would sometimes go straight to the flower market from the clubs after they closed at four a.m., still dressed in all of their fancy regalia. Those had been heady days, full of very hard work and equally hard play.

"Carolina! What are you, deaf?"

One of the many Georges finally penetrated the veil of memories that had preoccupied her, and she snapped out of her reverie. "What?" she asked, fixing him with a gaze. "Sorry, George, I was on another planet. Daydreaming."

"I told you," George said, exasperated, "I've got something really special stashed away. They're yours if you want them."

"Oh, what?" she asked excitedly, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "What is it you've got that's so s...

Su questa edizione

• Editore: E P Dutton
• Data di pubblicazione: 2002
• ISBN 10: 0525946594
• ISBN 13: 9780525946595
• Rilegatura: Copertina rigida
• Numero di pagine: 308