“I’m in New York,” she said, smiling. “And you’re not waking me up.”

“I’m disappointed. I figured you were in Nepal, or Vietnam, or someplace scary and disgusting. I’m surprised you’re here.” He knew how much she hated holidays, and all the reasons why. She had good reason. But she was a remarkable woman-a survivor-and a dear friend. He liked and admired her enormously.

“I figured I’d stick around for a while. I was sitting here watching the snow. It’s pretty. I might go out and shoot for a bit later. Some nice old-fashioned stuff.”

“It’s freezing out,” he warned her. “Don’t catch cold.” He was one of the few people who worried about her, and she was touched by his concern. She had moved around too much in recent years to stay in contact with her old friends. She had lived in Boston since college, but when she got back from India, she decided to move to New York. Hope had always been a solitary person, and was even more so now. It concerned him, but she seemed content with her life as it was.

“I just got in,” she reassured him, “and I was having some chicken soup.”

“My grandmother would approve,” he said, smiling again. “So what do you have planned at the moment?” He knew she hadn’t taken any assignments, since nothing had come through him.

“Nothing much. I was thinking about going up to the house in Cape Cod over the holiday. It’s pretty there this time of year.”

“How cheerful. Only you would think it’s pretty. Everyone else would get suicidal there this time of year. I have a better idea.” He had on his “have I got a deal for you” voice, and she laughed. She knew him well and liked him too.

“Like what? What crazy assignment are you going to try and talk me into now, Mark? Las Vegas on Christmas Eve?” They both laughed at the prospect of it. Occasionally he came up with some wild ideas, which she almost always turned down. But at least he had to try. He always promised the potential clients he would.

“No, although Vegas for the holidays sounds like fun to me.” They both knew he loved to gamble and took occasional trips to Las Vegas and Atlantic City. “This is actually respectable and quite dignified. We got a call from a major publishing house today. Their star author wants a portrait sitting for his latest book cover. He hasn’t delivered the book yet, but he will any minute, and the publisher needs the shot done now for their catalog and layouts for advance publicity in the trades. It’s all very proper and on the up-and-up. The only problem is that they have a tight deadline. They should have thought of it before.”

“How tight?” Hope asked, sounding noncommittal, and stretching out on the white wool couch as she listened.

“They need to do the shoot by next week, for their production schedule. That means you’d be shooting around Christmas, but he requested you, and said he won’t do it with anyone else. At least the guy’s got good taste. And the fee is pretty hefty. He’s a big deal.”

“Who’s the author?” That would have an impact on her decision, and her agent hesitated before he said the name. He was an important author, had won the National Book Award, and was always at the top of the best-seller lists, but he was a bit of a wild card, and had appeared in the press frequently with assorted women. Mark didn’t know how Hope would feel about shooting him, particularly if he misbehaved, and he could. There were no guarantees that he wouldn’t. She usually preferred to work with serious subjects.

“Finn O’Neill,” he said, without further comment, waiting to see what she’d say. He didn’t want to influence her or discourage her. It was entirely up to her, and it would be perfectly reasonable if they declined since it was on short notice, and Christmas week.

“I read his last book,” she said with interest. “Very scary, but an amazing piece of work.” She was intrigued. “He’s a smart guy. Have you ever met him?”

“Honestly, no, I don’t know him. I’ve seen him at a couple of parties, here and in London. He seems like a pretty charming guy, with a penchant for beautiful women and young girls.”

“I’ve got nothing to fear from him in that case,” she said, laughing. She was trying to remember what he looked like from the back of the book she’d read, but couldn’t.

“Don’t be so sure. You look half your age. But you can handle him. I’m not worried about that. I just didn’t know if you’d want to go to London this time of year. On the other hand, it sounds less depressing than the Cape, so maybe that would be a blessing. They’ll fly you first class, all expenses paid, and put you up at Claridge’s. He lives in Ireland, but he has a flat in London and he’s there right now.”

“That’s too bad,” she said, sounding disappointed. “I’d rather shoot him in Ireland. That would be more unusual than London.”

“I don’t think that’s an option. He wants to meet in London. It shouldn’t take you more than a day. You can be back in time to get really depressed at the Cape. Maybe for New Year’s.” She laughed at what he said, and thought about it. The idea had some appeal. Finn O’Neill was an important writer, and would surely make an interesting subject. She was annoyed that she had no recollection of his face. “How do you feel about it?”

At least she hadn’t turned him down flat, and Mark thought it would be good for her, particularly if the other option was going to Cape Cod by herself. She had a house there, and had spent summers there for years. She loved it.

“What do you think?” She always asked his advice-although she sometimes didn’t take it. But at least she asked. Some of his clients never did.

“I think you should do it. He’s interesting and important, it’s respectable, and you haven’t done a portrait for a while. You can’t spend all your time taking shots of monks and beggars,” Mark said in a light tone.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” She sounded pensive. She still loved the portrait work if the subject was intriguing, and Finn O’Neill certainly was. “Can you get me an assistant over there? I don’t need to take one with me.” Hope was not a demanding person.

“I’ll line someone up, don’t worry about it.” He held his breath, waiting to hear if she’d do it. He thought she should, and in a funny way, so did she. She was dreading the holidays, as she always did, and a trip to London might be a perfect distraction for her, particularly right now.

“Okay. I’ll do it. When do you think I should go?”

“I’d say pretty quickly, so you can be in and out by Christmas.” And then he realized again that it didn’t matter to her.

“I could go tomorrow night. I have a few loose ends to take care of here, and I promised to call the curator at MOMA. I could take a night flight tomorrow and sleep on the plane.”

“Perfect. I’ll tell them. They said they’d take care of all the arrangements, and I’ll find you an assistant.” It was never a problem finding people to assist her. Young photographers were always dying to work for Hope Dunne, and she had a reputation for being easy to get along with, which was well deserved. Hope was pleasant, professional, and undemanding, and what students or assistants learned from her was invaluable to them. Having freelanced for her as an assistant, even for a day, looked good on their résumés. “How long do you want to stay?”

“I don’t know,” she said, thinking about it. “A few days. I don’t want to rush. I don’t know what kind of subject he is. It could take him a day or two to loosen up. Maybe book me for four days. We’ll see how it goes. That gives us time if we need it. I’ll leave as soon as we finish.”

“Done. I’m glad you’re doing it,” he told her warmly. “And London is fun this time of year. Everything is all decorated and lit up, they’re not as PC as here. The Brits still believe in Christmas.” In the States, it was becoming a taboo word.

“I like Claridge’s,” she said happily, and then she sounded more serious. “I might try to see Paul, if he’s there. I’m not sure where he is. I haven’t talked to him in a while.” It was odd to think that they had been married for twenty-one years, and now she didn’t know where he was. Her life these days always reminded her of the Chinese saying, “That was then, this is now.” It certainly was. And what a difference.

“How’s he doing?” Mark asked gently. He knew it was a sensitive subject for her, but given everything that had happened, she had adjusted remarkably well. As far as Mark was concerned, she defined the terms “good sport” and “incredible human being.” Few people survived what she did as well as she had.

“Paul’s about the same, I think.” She answered Mark’s question about her ex-husband. “He’s on some experimental medication from Harvard. He seems to be doing pretty well.”

“I’ll call the publisher, and tell them you’re taking the assignment,” Mark said, changing the subject. He never knew what to say about Paul. Hope was always gracious about it, he knew she still loved her ex-husband, and had accepted the hand Fate had dealt her. She was never bitter or angry. Mark didn’t know how she did it. “I’ll call you tomorrow with more details,” he promised her, and a minute later they hung up.

Hope put her soup mug in the dishwasher after that, and went to stare out the window, at the steadily falling snow. There were already several inches on the ground, and it made her think of London. The last time she had been there, it had been snowing too and looked like a Christmas card. She wondered if Paul was in London now, but decided not to call him until she arrived, in case plans changed, and she had to see what kind of spare time she had. She didn’t want to see him on Christmas, and risk either of them getting maudlin. She wanted to avoid that at all costs. They were best friends now. He knew that she would be there for him if he needed her, and she also knew that he was too proud to call. If she saw him, they would both be careful to keep it light, which was what worked best for them these days. The rest was too hard to talk about, and served no purpose.

Hope stood at the window and watched a man leave footprints in the snow, followed by an old woman slipping and sliding as she walked her dog. Watching them, she couldn’t resist. She put her coat and boots on, and went back out, with her Leica in her pocket, not the fancy new one that everyone coveted, which she had too, but the old one she loved best. It was a faithful friend and had served her well.

Ten minutes later, she was walking down the street with the snow falling all around her as she prowled along, looking for the right shots. Without planning it, she arrived at the entrance to the subway, and hurried down the stairs. She’d just had an idea. She wanted to get some shots in Central Park at night, and after that, she was going to head for some of the rougher neighborhoods on the West Side. Snow had a way of softening people’s hearts and faces. For Hope, the night was young, and if she felt like it, she could stay out all night. It was one of the advantages she had discovered of being alone. She could work whenever she wanted, for however long she cared to, and she never had to feel guilty. There was no one waiting for her at home.

Later that night she walked back down Prince Street at three A.M., smiling to herself and content with her night’s work. The snow had just stopped as Hope let herself into her building, and walked up the stairs to her loft. She took her damp coat off and left it in the kitchen, and reminded herself that she had to pack for London in the morning. Five minutes later, she was in her cozy nightgown and tucked into her narrow bed on the sleeping balcony, and she was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. It had been a very enjoyable, productive night.

Chapter 2

When Hope got to the airport, the flight to London was two hours late. She had her cameras in her hand luggage, and sat reading in the first-class lounge until they called the flight. She had picked up another book of Finn O’Neill’s and wanted to read it on the trip. It had started snowing again, and after they left the gate, they had to de-ice the plane. In all, they were nearly four hours late taking off, after waiting on the runway for two hours. Hope didn’t really care, she always slept on long flights. She let the flight attendant know that she wouldn’t be eating the meal, and told her what time she wanted to be woken up, exactly forty minutes before they landed at Heathrow. That would give her time for a cup of coffee and a croissant before they began their descent, and also time to brush her teeth and hair. It was all she needed in order to look respectable enough to go through immigration and go to the hotel.

As she always did, Hope slept soundly on the plane, and was happy to see that they landed without difficulty despite the morning fog. As it turned out, the delay had served them well and had given the winter weather time to clear. And as promised, the car from Claridge’s was waiting for her as soon as she cleared customs carrying her camera bag. She had already ordered the rental of all the equipment she needed, and it was being delivered to the hotel that afternoon. She was meeting her subject at his home the following morning. She wanted some time to get to know him and they were going to shoot in the afternoon.