The sister of Sir Philip Green loves the Big Apple, but finds the men a big disappointment
I'm in Macy's in New York, trying on shoes, and the grey pair of Calvin Klein's are divine. I look at others, but this is the pair I want, and suddenly the feeling is familiar. Wait - I know, I've had this feeling before: shoes are like men. You know straight away.
This trip to New York, alone, was a birthday treat to me, a kind of Israel tour after GCSEs, a belated 21st birthday present. People said I was brave or crazy. But I'd done my homework: I had a list of restaurants where single girls can sit at the bar and eat alone. Not that I did any night.
The caring, sharing Tribeca Grand hotel offered me flowers, fruit and a goldfish in case I was lonely. I chose to sleep alone. No kids, no dogs, no cooking, no driving and definitely no goldfish.
What was I doing there? I had pretended culture and shopping had called me there, but of course dating was on the cards as well.
So it was Elizabeth and the City.
I had put myself on JDate as if I lived in New York. I received emails saying "Have we got a match for you?" with never-ending supplies of single New Yorkers, many of whom looked quite tasty.
The men listed themselves as adventurous and ready for love, but most of them weren't even ready to reply to an email.
That is, except for Scott. Scott, jet lag and I went out to dinner on my first night in the city. But he was unhappy and the sight of me did not seem to lift him. When I took my high heels off in Canal Street to relieve my aching feet, he was despairing. He did deliver me safely to my hotel and then managed to walk, not run, away. First-night jitters for both of us.
Next day I was ready to explore the city and the shops, to walk in the sunshine and gaze at the skyscrapers. Next night at Bread, a lovely restaurant next to the hotel, I had my first watermelon mojito and met Brad at the bar. I'd first seen Brad with his American chiselled chin in my hotel where he was telling the concierge of his major problem.
"What was the problem?"
"Dinner alone."
"Is that it?" I gasped. "You mind dining alone?"
"I do."
"And I thought only girls did." So men hate dining alone, whereas I was revelling in it. He was happy to talk. In this city, everyone talks, and they're not "on the pull", as my teenage son would say.
The best thing about Saturday's date was seeing Central Park - oh, and Avi the Israeli was there telling me all about his ideal woman. Being an Israeli he was not shy, nor delicate, nor interested in anyone other than himself.
He talked and talked. I listened patiently as he gave me his list of ideal qualities in a woman. I was sure I fitted most of them, sitting on the grass looking delicious in the sun, but did he notice, and did I care? Not really.
I decided after that to play ad-hoc. I met an old friend, Jim. Five years ago, when we first met, he was single, I wasn't. This time the tables were turned. In a romantic gesture, he took me back to the same restaurant where we dined five years ago. As a gift, he gave me his finished film script. We laughed and hugged and reminisced.
Next night at Odeon, drinking my cosmopolitan, I met George from Uruguay. We talked and drank and he walked me back to my hotel with the promise of a future dinner. But I'm still waiting.
It's so carefree in New York it didn't matter - it wasn't even about flirting, just chatting. And I made new girlfriends, took the subway to Brooklyn for lunch, waved to the Green Lady as I rode the Staten Island ferry, and gazed back fondly at Manhattan through the waves - beautiful even without the Twin Towers gracing the skyline. If only my grandfather had stayed on the boat one more stop, I'd have been American.
Jacob, my youngest, texted after three days. "Sorry, what's the time difference? Is it hot? Did you leave money for food shopping? Have ordered books off Amazon with your card. Is that OK?"
So it was only my credit card he was missing, not me.
I bought him a lilac shirt and nervously texted to ask him if he liked lilac. "What's lilac?" he asked. Is there no hope for men?
No wonder the biggest love affair of my trip was New York - the men didn't even come close.
As I left the hotel, the cute doorman laid a red rose on my bag. It must be love.
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