Alice-Miranda In New York 5 Read Free

subway, Daddy?’ Alice-Miranda asked.
    â€˜Oh, I don’t know about that,’ her father replied. ‘I’m not sure that it’s safe.’
    â€˜â€œThe subway is a perfectly good option for getting around the city”,’ Alice-Miranda read from her guidebook.
    â€˜But darling, we have a town car at the store,’ hermother frowned. ‘And there’s the Highton’s limousine as well.’
    â€˜That’s lovely, Mummy, but I want to experience the real New York and I’m certain not everyone has a town car or a limousine. Please, can we go on the subway?’ Alice-Miranda begged.
    Hugh glanced at his wife and then at his daughter in the rear-vision mirror. ‘I’m game if you are.’
    â€˜And I think we should go to the Empire State Building and the Top of the Rockefeller Center and Staten Island and . . .’ Alice-Miranda began.
    â€˜Slow down, darling,’ her mother laughed. ‘Why don’t we take a proper look at that book of yours on the plane?’
    Hugh parked on the edge of the tarmac. ‘Looks like we’re nearly ready to go.’ He hopped out of the car and was greeted by Cyril, their multi-skilled pilot who not only flew the family helicopter but also Kennington 1 , the company jet.
    â€˜Good afternoon, sir, good to see you,’ said Cyril, offering his hand.
    â€˜And you, Cyril,’ Hugh replied. ‘How are we looking?’
    â€˜Very good, sir. Should be ready for take-off inabout thirty minutes.’
    Alice-Miranda leapt from the car and raced over to her father.
    â€˜Hello!’ She rushed forward and gave Cyril a hug.
    â€˜And hello to you too, miss,’ the pilot smiled.
    â€˜Come on, sweetheart,’ Cecelia called as she collected Alice-Miranda’s suitcase from the back of the four-wheel drive. ‘Let’s hop on and get settled. Dolly must be on board already. Ambrose was dropping her off. Daddy and Cyril need to talk.’
    â€˜Leave that, ma’am,’ the pilot nodded at the luggage. ‘I’ll take care of it.’
    â€˜Thank you, Cyril.’ Cecelia took Alice-Miranda’s hand and mother and daughter boarded the plane.
    Alice-Miranda couldn’t wait to get to New York and start their adventures, although she had a strange feeling that there was going to be a lot more excitement on this trip than she had first imagined.

L ucinda Finkelstein glimpsed her reflection in the hall mirror. Despite an hour of torturous straightening, her hair was already rebelling back to its natural state of frizz. Lucinda’s mother Gerda had silken black tresses, which her older brothers, Tobias and Ezekiel, had inherited. Lucinda, on the other hand, took after her father. Morrie Finkelstein was proud of the fact that he had never owned a hairbrush or a comb. His wiry greying locks sat atop his head like a Brillo pad.
    â€˜Lucinda, hurry up, your father wants to seehow beautiful you look,’ her mother called from the sitting room.
    Lucinda tried in vain to flatten the rogue ringlets that were appearing around her forehead but the more she pulled, the more they escaped, mocking her with their springiness.
    â€˜I’m coming, Mama,’ the girl sighed, and headed for her appraisal. But she didn’t need to anticipate her father’s reaction. Morrie Finkelstein was nothing if not predictable. Lucinda would walk into the room where her father would be drinking a strong cup of tea with today’s New York Post on the side table next to him. He would look up and gasp and then he would say the exact same thing that he said every Saturday at 2 pm, just before Lucinda and her mother took the town car to the store for afternoon tea in the Salon, with the usual gaggle of twenty or so of her mother’s friends and their daughters.
    Each week her father would say, ‘Oh, Lucinda. Look at you, my gorgeous girl. That’s a lovely dress – you know, I picked it out