‘You don’t even know sign language, Cohen,’ Esther carried on firmly. ‘This is a bad idea. Everything about this is a bad idea.’
‘This is the best idea I’ve ever had. And I told you, I’m learning BSL.’
As if to prove his point, he gestured to his cup.Coffee,he signed.
Esther, to her credit, didn’t roll her eyes. ‘You know I can’t approve of this ... this marriage, Cohen. The whole concept is ridiculous.’
Cohen shrugged. ‘I don’t need your approval, mother. What I would like is your blessing, though.’
‘My blessing? She’s not evenJewish,’Esther nearly whined.
‘No, she’s not. But honestly, just spend five minutes in her presence. Then you’ll understand. I promise you that, mother.’
Esther snorted. ‘Idon’t speak sign language, Cohen. That will be a long five minutes.’
‘Come to London with me, Mother. Bring Marilyn. I’m only asking for five minutes.’
Esther sat back and considered his words. He could almost see the cogs moving in her brain as she thought.
‘Alright,’ she finally agreed. ‘I’ll come to London and meet this ... thiswomanof yours.’
‘River,’ Cohen corrected her. ‘Not woman ... River.’
‘River, fine. But five minutes is all I’m giving her. And if after five minutes I still don’t understand, I want you to promise that you’ll sit down with me and talk this through before you rush into any drastic decisions.’
Cohen nodded. It was an easy promise to make, after all. No one who spent five minutes in a room with River could fail to be charmed by her.
It only took him around thirty seconds to fall in love with her, after all.
‘You know, my old friend Rushi de Luca’s adopted daughter is deaf,’ Esther mused suddenly. ‘You remember her? The one who owns the ice cream place in London? Maybe I’ll give her a call. She could probably teach me a few signs in BSL – because I am going totrywith this, Cohen. I promise to try.’
Cohen stared at his mother, who clearly hadn’t figured everything out just yet.
‘Mother …’
‘Mmm.’ Esther reached for her diary and a pen, thumbing through the book absently. ‘Yes, here’s Rushi’s number.’ Her eyes scanned over the entry. ‘Her daughter’s name is River and —’ Suddenly, Esther looked up. ‘Oy gevalt,’ she whispered, and Cohen grinned.
‘Yes.’ He nodded, answering her unspoken question.
Both the pen and diary fell from Esther’s hand with a clatter.
‘Yes,’ he said again. ‘Yes, Mother. I’m going to ask Rushi de Luca’s daughter to marry me.’
Cohen went into the office early the next morning. He was tired, still suffering slightly from jet-lag, as well as the fact that his mother and Marilyn kept him up late the previous evening, asking him to recount – again and again – his romance with River before lighting thehanukiahcandle. The more Esther heard the softer her face had become, and when he’d finally gone home for the night – because he refused to sleep in his mother’s guest room like an errant teenage boy – she’d kissed him very tenderly.
He loaded up his computer and logged into the mainframe. He went into the company access files, looking for a BSL interpreter.
Five minutes later, he stormed into Tarquin Fowler’s office.
‘You speak BSL,’ he said, making it sound almost like an accusation.
‘Yes,’ drawled Fowler with absolute disinterest.
‘You could’ve said so yesterday,’ Cohen said, wavering still with disbelief.
‘Why on earth would I do that?’ Fowler replied, his eyes still glued to his screen. ‘There’s no fun in it if you don’t sweat a little bit, is there now?’
‘This,’ Cohen hissed. ‘This is an important merger to me.’
