The master bedroom was on the third floor, facing to the back of the house. The FDR Highway was down there, but thanks to the trees in the park between the back of the house and the road it wasn’t actually visible and surprisingly, not really audible at night, either. It had been loud enough to hear on the terrace, so it must be that the French doors were sound-proof enough to block the sound.

The furniture absolutely had to go- it was the kind of stuff someone my great grandmother’s age might have bought if they had money, and wanted to show it off. I’m pretty sure most of it was actually antique, but it looked like expensive reproductions to me. Sleeping in that big four-poster bed amongst all that granny furniture was alright- it was very, very comfy. So maybe we should find out who made the mattress and get a new one.

The rest of it, though… Emmy suggested that someone might want it, and the interior decorator we were going to meet with might know where to unload the stuff. Heck, as far as I was concerned it could all be donated to the nearest dumpster. Rationally I knew that it was all expensive, reproductions or not, but still- all that toile, velvet, gold paint and high polish was just, well, hideous.

Thankfully, Emmy agreed. The master bath, with its glass and green and white marble and gold fixtures, struck me as really tacky, but Emmy summed it up best when she described it as the kind of bathroom someone would have who wanted to remind themselves that they were rich. It screamed ‘I have more money than taste’.

As far as I was concerned, most of the house was like that. The giant commercial kitchen in the basement was fine and could stay (in fact, Emmy admitted to me that the idea of a kitchen suitable for entertaining on a large scale was one of the reasons she liked the house) and the parts of the house that had been left in the Pre-War style were O.K. too, but unfortunately the previous owners had remodeled about a third of the house in atrocious style.

Emmy and I were discussing the basic structure of the house when the doorbell rang exactly at nine in the morning. “That must be Wally!” exclaimed Emmy.

“I’ll get the door,” I said, remembering Emmy’s thoughts on security. I guess I was going to have to think that way when it was just the two of us and Eddie wasn’t there to make sure Emmy was safe.

I ushered Wally in, happy to see he had a couple of coffees as well as the bag of bagels. The three of us went up to the sunroom, and Emmy invited Wally to sit with us.

“Have you had breakfast?” Emmy asked him as we sat down.

“Yes, Miss Emmy,” he replied. “I’ve been up for several hours now.”

A bit downcast that he wasn’t going to eat with us, Emmy brightened when he started pulling bagels from the bag.

“I didn’t know what you might want,” he explained, “So I bought a selection.”

I was content with the plain toasted bagel with cream cheese, but Emmy went for the everything with cream cheese and lox, even though she could only eat half of it.

“This is probably the best bagel I’ve ever had,” I admitted. “I’m never going to get another chain bagel again!”

“This is actually not my favorite bagel shop,” admitted Wally, who had finally agreed to have one after all. “My favorites are from a place in the Bronx, but this bagel shop is close, so the bagels would get here fresher.”

“Good enough for me,” I said, taking a second on from the bag.

“This bagel shop was mentioned on several episodes of Seinfeld,” Wally said, finishing off his bagel. "It’s the best in this part of Manhattan.”

“Wally, thank you for the excellent breakfast,” Emmy said. “That was perfect. We have the day open and no real plans. What would you recommend for a day like that?”

“Have you seen the 9/11 Memorial?”

“Yes, we saw it the last time we were here, a few weeks ago,” Emmy replied.

“Empire State Building?”

“Yes, we have both seen it, but not together,” Emmy answered.

It went back and forth like this for a while until Emmy and Wally finally settled on a museum I’d never heard of at the far north end of the island.

While Emmy went upstairs to get dressed, I sat and talked with Wally a little bit more. It turns out I was mostly right- Wally was actually Jordanian, and had moved to the U.S.with his parents when he was five years old, so he really had no memories of Jordan and hadn’t ever been back

“I’m American,” he shrugged. “My parents might have been Jordanians once, but that changed when they came here. My Arabic is terrible, and my kids don’t even speak it at all,” he continued. “My son’s two best friends were born here from parents that immigrated from China and Venezuela. My daughter’s best friend has ancestors that came over with the Pilgrims in the Mayflower. My belief is that being American is a choice, you know?”

“How old are your kids?” I asked.

“My son is twelve now, just about to turn thirteen. My daughter is nine,” he said, pulling out his phone to show me pictures, like any proud dad would.

Looking at the family photos, I asked “Wally, does driving pay well?”

“It’s a living,” he said, shrugging. “Honestly, it’s the overtime that really makes a difference.”

“Emmy and I aren’t going to live here in Manhattan full-time. Realistically, we might only really spend a month or two here a year, but if this works out this week, being the way she is, Emmy will probably want to retain your services every time we’re here. Is that a thing that could be arranged?”

“Our company deals with a lot of demanding clients, Miss Leah, and requests like that aren’t unusual. I’m sure it could be arranged.”

“Would it help you out?”

“Absolutely,” Wally replied. “The pay for on-call is nearly double normal.”

“O.K., then. Let’s see how this week goes, and if it works for you as well as us, we’ll make the appropriate arrangements. I just have one other question- what security training have you received?”

The drive to Fort Tryon Park was surprisingly quick, mainly because we didn’t go through the city really at all but just jumped on the FDR Highway right behind the house and drove along the East River to the Harlem river and on up the length of Manhattan that way.

The museum wasn’t what I’d expected at all- it looked like something from Medieval France, which is exactly what it turned out to be. Apparently a French monastery had been brought over stone by stone and reconstructed for this museum of European art. I thought it was amazing, but Emmy seemed a bit underwhelmed by it. When I asked her why she seemed bored, she explained that this was the kind of thing she’d seen plenty of back when she was growing up.

“The chapel in the chateau has stained glass windows like these,” she said, pointing to the circular window with images of knights and saints. “And we have tapestries like those on the walls, too,” indicating a woodland scene tapestry from the fifteenth century.

“Well, I guess that would take a bit of the novelty out of all this, wouldn’t it?” I laughed.

“I do have to admit that ours aren’t as, um, clean and nice as these, though,” Emmy said. “It may be that we need to get them restored.”

After the museum turned out to be a bit of a bust (as beautiful and amazing as I thought it was) we went for a walk in the park. We strolled the paths through the leafy trees, enjoying the late May weather, eventually finding ourselves on a stone walkway that ended in a sort of projecting viewpoint. It was high above the Hudson River, with views to the south of one of New York’s many bridges, but directly across were nothing but tree-covered shoreline and rocky cliffs. We stood there, holding hands, enjoying the view and the beautiful day.

It was at this moment I actually fell in love with New York a little bit- the moment was perfect. Perfect weather, perfect place, perfect company.

We hadn’t seen all that many people walking through the park, and luckily there was nobody there at the overlook with us, so I seized the moment and pulled Emmy into my arms for a long, deep kiss.

Wide-eyed, she asked “What was that for?” Keeping her arms wrapped around me, she added “I am not complaining!”

“It’s just, well, I love you so much, Em, and this is a a beautiful place, and it got me thinking how lucky I am to be married to the most beautiful woman in the world, you know?”

“I am not certain I do. You may need to tell me some more,” Emmy replied with a saucy grin.

“Sometimes silence is golden,” I said, capturing her lips with mine and holding her tight. We kissed for what seemed like forever, but really couldn't have been more than an hour or two. Actually, just kidding. But it was a solid ten minutes, long enough for several other park parsons to come and go while we sucked face and completely ignored everybody.

After a quick lunch at a cafe inside the park, Emmy texted Wally to come pick us up, and ten minutes later we were back in the limo, headed back.

“Wally, could you please take us through the city? I would like to see New York,” Emmy said as we started off.

“Broadway goes all the way through the heart of Manhattan, north to south,” Wally said. “It’ll take us a long time, but if you want to get a feel for the city, it’s a good place to start.”

Checking to make sure I was alright with the idea, Emmy said “That would be lovely. Thank you, Wally.”

He was one hundred per cent correct- it did take a very long time. Nearly one hundred and fifty blocks of Broadway would have been a bit too much, but Wally proved to be a good tour guide. He told us about the neighborhoods we were passing through, the names of the churches and other large, notable buildings, and explained a bit about the history of the different parts of town.

When Emmy remarked on how knowledgable Wally was, he explained that there is an actual city license for tour guides, and it has a very hard exam that must be passed in order to qualify, and he kept his current.

“I’ve been a citizen of New York almost my entire life,” he said, “And still find the city fascinating. I enjoy it here, and honestly couldn't imagine living anywhere else.”

Back at the house, Emmy went upstairs for a nap while I excused Wally for the day. “I don’t think we’ll need you this evening, but if we do decide to go out we’ll give you plenty of lead time,” I told Wally. “Thanks for the suggestion of The Cloisters. It was really nice,” I said, leaving out how Emmy thought the museum was boring. “If we don’t call you tonight, could you please bring more bagels tomorrow at the same time?” I asked. “I’ll pay you back.”

Laughing, Wally said “Don’t worry about that. The company issues us charge cards for incidentals like that, and it all goes back on your bill.”

“Well, alright then,” I said, chuckling. “Since I probably won’t see you again tonight, have a good afternoon. Thanks again.”

Emmy was already out like a light by the time I got to the bedroom, so I changed my clothes and went out for a run. I thought I’d cross the Queensborough Bridge to Roosevelt Island and run around its perimeter, but halfway across the bridge it became obvious that there was no way to get down to the island we were crossing high above. A pedestrian explained that I need to cross into Queens and then go north to the Roosevelt Island bridge, which seemed odd but she pointed out the route I’d have to take and I could see what she meant from that high vantage point. All in all, it wound up a longer run than I’d expected, but nice nonetheless.

Emmy was still out when I got back, so I took a quick shower, once again appalled by the gold fixtures in the bathroom- they were so unbelievably crass.

I accidentally woke Emmy with the noise of me getting dressed.

“What time is it? she asked, rubbing her eyes.

“Almost four,” I said, leaning down for a kiss. “Why?”

“The housekeeper is supposed to be here at five,” she replied, stretching in that slow, graceful way of hers. “I am glad I did not oversleep.”

“What’s her name?” I asked watching Emmy climb out of bed, admiring her in nothing but a pair of white panties.

“Luisa,” Emmy replied, hunting in the drawers for something to wear. “She comes highly recommended.”

“Highly recommended by whom?” I asked.

“Jacqui gave me her name and contact information, and Luisa gave me the name of her last employers. I spoke to them and they had nothing but praise for her work.”

“Why isn’t she still working for them, then?”

“The Daltons decided to sell their house here in Manhattan and stay in London full-time. Mrs Dalton told me that they tried to find Luisa another good position before they left, but nobody they knew was hiring.”