Chapter 1Clary Sage. An essential oil with a warm, nutty scent, it has euphoric properties which promote a sense of wellbeing When Carey Browne stepped out onto w34th street she stopped in surprise. Not that she should have been surprised, she said to Ben, who was standing beside her holding at least half-a-dozen Macys bags thanks to her indulgence in a sudden frenzy of last minute shopping; after all, last night's report from the weather channel had shown a shocking weather system heading from the mid-west and they'd said that there was a likelihood of snow on the east coast. It was just that – despite the bitingly cold morning air temperature which had caused their breaths to hang in little puffs in front of them when they left the hotel – there hadn't been any signs of snow as they walked into the store over an hour earlier. Now it was falling in a slow-motion frenzy of heavy white flakes and was at least an inch thick on the sidewalk. 'Sorry,' said Ben who'd told her that the weather channel wasn't always accurate and that January snow-storms often blew themselves out. 'I wanted to be optimistic.' She linked her arm through his and snuggled closer to his fur-lined leather jacket. 'It doesn't matter,' she told him. 'I believed the weather channel. It's far too accurate. Though because it wasn't snowing earlier I kind of hoped that it mightn't start until after we left.' But she frowned because if the snow continued falling at this rate their flight was sure to be delayed. She did some mental calculations about the time in New York and Dublin and hoped that, even if they were delayed, she'd still manage to get home in time for her shift the following day. If the worst came to the worst she could always phone, let them know she'd be late and get someone to cover for her. But she didn't want to phone Ireland because, if she did, she'd have to tell them everything that had happened in the last few days and she wasn't ready to tell them yet. She'd hardly got her head around it herself. Besides, she wanted to tell them face to face. It was the sort of thing that you told people face to face. 'We'd better leave ourselves a little extra time to get to the airport,' she told Ben as they walked down the street, carrier bags bumping against their legs. 'I've never been here in a snowstorm before but whenever it snows at Dublin there's always problems with people getting delayed.' 'I do my best to be optimistic because you always look on the worst side.' He grinned at her. 'I bet you anything we get away on time.' 'I've never been more certain of anything in my life.' He brushed melting snowflakes from the mass of nut-brown corkscrew curls that framed her face and from the pair of tiny, dark-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. 'You're a wonderful woman, you'll certainly be the best dressed woman in town when we get home if today's spree is anything to go by, what's not to love?' 'Nope.' 'Disport yourself like that,' he told her. 'You're taking my mind off the task in hand.' |