In a jazz bar on the last night of 1937, watching a quartet because she couldn’t afford to see the whole ensemble, there were certain things Katey Kontent knew: the location of every old church in Manhattan, how to sneak into the cinema, how to type eighty words a minute, five thousand an hour, and nine million a year and that if you can still lose yourself in a Dickens novel then everything is going to be fine.By the end of the year she’d learned:how to live like a redhead and insist upon the very best;that riches can turn to rags in the trip of a heartbeat,chance encounters can be fated, and the word ‘yes’ can be a poison.That’s how quickly New York City comes about, like a weathervane, or the head of a cobra. Time tells which.
‘A delicious and memorable novel that will leave you wistful – and desperate for a martini.’ Stylist
‘Elegance and hardship drip off the page’ Daily Mail
Publication date: 05/01/2012