The Algonquin Hotel didn’t disappoint with its lush Edwardian styling and sumptuous lobby filled with potted plants and leather sofas. All the time Lucie had lived in New York she’d never paid a visit, and she took a moment to explore the Round Table Restaurant and the Blue Bar, imagining Dorothy Parker holding court and the literati who’d debated and partied there for more than a century.

As befitted a hotel for writers, her small, elegant room had a work desk beneath a black-and-white photograph of 1920s New York. After showering then changing into a pair of warmer slacks, multilayered tops and fur-lined boots, Lucie headed onto West 44th. The wind whistled up the street, and she tamed her hair into a makeshift knot. She stood on the sidewalk, tugged on gloves, and gazed up at the towering buildings. The years dropped away, taking her back to the turn of the century, her life ahead of her, in love with Mr Right, and planning a glittering future where anything was possible and everything an adventure…

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