'Fabulous' Observer'Achingly stylish' Guardian'Irresistible' Daily Telegraph'Gripping' The Sunday TimesIn 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 Manhattanhow to sneak into the cinemahow to type eighty words a minute, five thousand an hour, and nine million a yearand 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 redheadand 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