Theo was in the lobby, tapping his feet like Fred Astaire as he waited for the elevator, the burning sensation in his toes barely easing. He’d insisted on walking to work, despite the frost, and a crowd of equally numb-looking workers grew around him, not even their Brooks Brothers coats and hats insulating them against the unseasonably low temperatures. The long winter had brought the worst storm in decades when more than seven feet of snow had fallen in one day, then an onslaught of sleet had brought New York to a standstill. Everyone was looking forward to spring.

When the elevator arrived, Theo stood aside for the other office workers to file in before squeezing in next to the smiling operator, unexpectedly pleased by the proximity of other warm bodies.

“Good morning, Mr. Bloom,” said the operator.

“Morning, Kenny. How’s the world treating you?”

The Irishman’s smile beamed even wider, brightening his already shiny complexion, his pristine gray uniform and its polished buttons. “Couldn’t be better, Mr. Bloom. I’ve got a new grandchild.”

“That’s wonderful, congratulations. Another boy?”

“No, our first granddaughter. She’s a pretty wee thing, but ever so noisy—I thought boys were trouble.” He shook his head. “Boys are less demandin’ until they get to about ten, and then it switches, you need a good set of lungs for makin’ them listen and ears that don’t work right so you can ignore the back talk!”

Theo laughed. “I’ll remember that.”

“Yes, you’d do well to,” Kenny said, becoming serious. “How is Miss Virginia?”

“She’s very well, thank you, although these temperatures don’t agree with her.” His fiancée wasn’t part of the skiing crowd; she preferred to stay hot and dry, vacationing in Miami and Bermuda, something he would have to get used to after years of family vacations on Long Island.

“Have a good day, Mr. Bloom,” said Kenny as they reached the seventeenth floor.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal a bright reception of seamless cream marble, and chrome and leather furniture that appeared to float in midair. The feathers of an oversized partridge were etched into a large glass panel along the facing wall; the words partridge press—new york & london were suspended below in metal letters. On the walls to either side were large framed posters: eye-catching covers of their American bestsellers.

A striking blonde wearing glasses looked up from behind the reception desk as Theo and the other workers stepped out. “Good morning, Mr. Bloom.”

“Good morning, Janice.” He picked up the latest editions of Publishers Weekly and The New York Times, then headed to the left of the reception desk and the partition that led through to the offices.