Brendan came to the middle of the room and stood about twenty-five feet from him.

‘The Japanese tourists are always here, Sir, but more so on this date.’

Cormac was studying the beauty of the ornate windows that dominated the entire right side of the room.

‘Why this date?’

‘Because it’s December 8th, Sir.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘The day John Lennon was murdered in front of the building.’

Now he understood.

‘This is the Dakota Building?’

‘It most certainly is, Sir.’

‘Harry Crossan has an apartment in the Dakota Building?’

‘In my opinion, it’s the best apartment in the entire building, Sir, although Harry’s only stayed here on three or four occasions since he bought it.’

After he finished shaking his head at how much money could be made from shit, his thoughts turned to Bernadette.

‘How far is Broadway from here, Brendan?’

He came and sat three spaces away from him.

‘Which theatre are you after, Sir?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know?’

‘Sorry, Brendan, I’m not actually looking for a theatre as such, more a person who works in a theatre. I just don’t know which theatre she works in, you see.’

He scratched his chin.

‘Well, in that case, Sir, I’d say you’re in for a long stay.’

He pointed to the blizzard attacking the windows.

‘You may as well be looking for a snowflake in that!’

Cormac felt his enthusiasm drain at the same pace as the colour from his cheeks. How bloody stupid was he to travel all this way to try and find someone in one of the most populated cities in the world, based on one drunken conversation with Harry three months ago? What if she didn’t even work on Broadway? What if she had worked on Broadway but now she didn’t? What if she’d met somebody and moved away?

What if she’d met somebody?

Oh Jesus! He hadn’t even thought of that, had he? She was a beautiful woman whose husband had left her alone and lonely here in a strange city three months ago. Of course she’d met somebody! Of course she had! It was blindingly obvious! Even on the remote chance she hadn’t, how the hell was he going to find her? If on the slightest chance he did find her and she was not with someone else, what’s to say she’d want to be with him? What had he based that on? One day in Dublin and one fraction of a dance when he’d imagined she felt something. He felt an all too familiar stirring.

‘Where’s the bathroom, Brendan?’

Brendan was where he’d left him when he returned forty minutes later.

‘I’m sorry Sir, but I think I may have let my big mouth go before. You obviously need to find this person pretty badly. I know this city like the back of my hand, and if you’ll let me, I’d love to help you find her.’

He felt a tiny sensation in his stomach; a momentary flicker that all was not as hopeless as he thought after all.