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- Kurzbeschreibung"Rich both in twists and period detail, this tale of big-city ambition is impossible to put down." - People <br>Fiona Davis's stunning debut novel pulls readers into the lush world of New York City's glamorous Barbizon Hotel for Women, where in the 1950's a generation of aspiring models, secretaries, and editors lived side-by-side while attempting to claw their way to fairy-tale success, and where a present-day journalist becomes consumed with uncovering a dark secret buried deep within the Barbizon's glitzy past.<br>When she arrives at the famed Barbizon Hotel in 1952, secretarial school enrollment in hand, Darby McLaughlin is everything her modeling agency hall mates aren't: plain, self-conscious, homesick, and utterly convinced she doesn't belong-a notion the models do nothing to disabuse. Yet when Darby befriends Esme, a Barbizon maid, she's introduced to an entirely new side of New York City: seedy downtown jazz clubs where the music is as addictive as the heroin that's used there, the startling sounds of bebop, and even the possibility of romance.<br>Over half a century later, the Barbizon's gone condo and most of its long-ago guests are forgotten. But rumors of Darby's involvement in a deadly skirmish with a hotel maid back in 1952 haunt the halls of the building as surely as the melancholy music that floats from the elderly woman's rent-controlled apartment. It's a combination too intoxicating for journalist Rose Lewin, Darby's upstairs neighbor, to resist-not to mention the perfect distraction from her own imploding personal life. Yet as Rose's obsession deepens, the ethics of her investigation become increasingly murky, and neither woman will remain unchanged when the shocking truth is finally revealed.<br>From the Hardcover edition.
- AutorFiona Davis
- VerlagPenguin LCC US
- Seiten304 Seiten
- Gewicht340 g
- LeseprobeThis excerpt is from an advance uncorrected copy proof<br>Copyright © 2016 Fiona Davis<br>Chapter One<br>New York City, 2016<br>She'd forgotten the onions.<br>After all of the preparation, the lists, the running out of work early to finish shopping and buy everything she needed for their special dinner, Rose had forgotten a key risotto ingredient. She checked the pantry, but the basket was empty save for a few remnants of the papery outer layers.<br>Griff had raved about her risotto soon after they'd started dating, and she remembered how proud she'd been listing off the more surprising ingredients.<br>"The coconut milk is the secret to it," she'd confided.<br>"Why coconut milk?" He sat back in the rickety chair she'd bought at the thrift store on Bleecker, his long arms and legs far too unwieldy for her small studio apartment.<br>"I find it makes the texture especially creamy." She said it lightly, as she collected their plates, as if cooking was easy for her, just another thing she did well, rather than a panic-inducing race to the finish line. "I slowly add the chicken stock and coconut milk to the rice and spices until all the flavors have melded."<br>"I like the way you say that. Melded . Say it again."<br>She did so, the way she would on camera, her pitch slightly lower than her conversational voice, clear and sure.<br>Then he'd swept her up and made love to her on her bed with its tasteful handmade quilt. She'd stifled the impulse to sweep it to the side, so as not to have to send it to the dry cleaners tomorrow, and had instead surrendered to the enormity of him, all muscles and sinew, an athlete's body even at forty-five.<br>She missed the simplicity and the heat of their life back then, before the angry ex-wife and the surly children punctured their cocoon of happiness. Before she'd given up her apartment and they'd moved into the Barbizon condo on the Upper East Side.<br>Of course, his ex-wife and children wouldn't share her perspective. To them she was the interloper, taking up Griff 's attention and love. She checked the clock on the oven. Almost six. If she was fast, she could run out to Gourmet Garage and pick up white onions before Griff got home from City Hall.<br>Her cell phone rang. Maddy again. The fourth call this hour.<br>"What, Maddy?" She tried to sound irritated, but laughed before Maddy could reply.<br>"I know, I know. You don't have any time to talk to your best friend right now. You're far too busy doing the dutiful housewife thing, right?"<br>"Yup. And you're off to the Soapies?"<br>"Daytime Emmys, if you please. I wish you were coming, Ro. What shoes go with the Michael Kors? Nude or gold?" Maddy's career as an actress had taken off since they'd met in college
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