New York_ The Novel - Edward Rutherfurd [423]
“Lost in the crash and the Depression?” Gorham asked.
“Maybe some of it was. But I think we were just a big Irish family. Lots of children, for another three generations. It soon gets watered down. My father’s worked all his life, and he still has a mortgage. What can I say?”
Once or twice toward the end of the meal, Maggie had discreetly glanced at her watch, obviously thinking about getting back to work. But the rain was falling so heavily that the chances of finding a taxi didn’t look good. As they were having dessert, however, the storm withdrew to the north. The thunder could still be heard rolling up the Hudson, but the rain had slackened off. It was nearly nine thirty.
“Well,” said Maggie, “this has been really nice, but I’ll have to be getting back to work soon.” A huge flash of lightning in the distance seemed to confirm the urgency of her mission.
“Won’t you have coffee first?” said Gorham. “It’ll help you work.”
“Good idea,” said Maggie.
And then all the lights went out.
It wasn’t just in the little restaurant. The entire area abruptly went dark. There was a silence, followed by laughter. There were candles in little glass jars lighting the tables; after a few moments, the owner appeared from the kitchen and started lighting more. The coffee was already made, she told them, so they could have that, anyway.
“I expect it’ll be over in a little while,” said Gorham. “Con Ed has massive backup capacity.”
“Or maybe it’ll be like ’65 again,” said Juan. “A population explosion.” It was a statistical fact that, nine months after the last big blackout, back in 1965, there had been a short, sharp increase in the local birth rate. Gorham turned to Maggie.
“I’m afraid you may have difficulty getting to work now.”
“I’ll find a taxi. It’s not raining any more.”
“But there’s no light.”
“Maybe the office has a backup generator.”
“And if not?”
“I’ll get some candles.”
“What floor is your office on?”
“The thirty-second.”
“You’re going to walk up thirty-two floors?” Gorham asked. Maggie seemed to hesitate. “I guess this is how firms like Branch & Cabell test the commitment of their associates.”
“Very funny,” she said drily.
They drank their coffee. People passing in the street told them that every light in the city was out. Fifteen minutes went by and then Juan and Janet said they thought they’d be getting back. After Gorham and Juan had insisted they split the check between them, and Maggie had thanked Gorham, they all came out onto the sidewalk, and Juan and Janet turned northward.
“So,” Gorham said, “are you really going to your office?”
Maggie stared south at the total blackness of Midtown. “I need to. But I guess not.”
“Suggestion. We walk down Park toward my apartment, which is in the Seventies. If the lights come on, you can proceed. If not, I will give you a drink and then walk you safely home. Is that a good deal?”
“You are suggesting I enter a darkened building with a man I hardly know?”
“A Park Avenue co-op. One of the best.”
“When has that ever protected a lady?”
“Never, as far as I know.”
“Just a drink. You have candles? I’m not sitting in the dark.”
“You have my word.”
“What floor? The elevator won’t be working.”
“Third.”
Twenty minutes later, she started laughing. “You said you were on the third floor.”
“No I didn’t, I said fifth. We’re almost there. Look.” He pointed the flashlight the doorman had given him. “Just ahead.”
When they got into the apartment, he put her in the living room and returned a few moments later with a pair of handsome silver candlesticks. Placing these on a table and lighting them, he then went to the closet near the dining room and pulled out every one of the large number of silver candlesticks that Charlie had inherited from his mother. Soon the hall, kitchen, living room and dining room were filled with bright candlelight. Maggie sat on the sofa watching him.
“Nice apartment.”
“Thank you. I inherited it. What would you like to drink?”
“Red wine.” In the candlelight, Maggie’s red hair took on a magical glow. Her face looked softer.