One Wish In Manhattan (A Christmas Story) (11 page)

‘Don’t feel bad. It was my fault I didn’t remember to remember.’

‘You mean you forgot.’

‘Something like that.’

‘Do you think Nanny would have liked this museum?’ Angel asked.

Hayley smiled. ‘I think she would have moaned about the toilet facilities and the prices and she would have hated that painting of the dustbin.’

Angel laughed. ‘Shall I send her a postcard of it?’

Hayley closed the book and put her pencil down. ‘Angel Walker, that’s something I would do. And if you turn out like me, Nanny will call the vicar and get you exorcised.’

Angel frowned. ‘Like make me go running?’

‘Ah ha! Special dictionary required. E-X-O-R-C-I-S-E-D’

Angel picked up her rucksack and dug her hands inside.

Hayley smiled, picking up her coffee cup.

‘Exorcise. To free a person of evil spirits.’ Angel grinned and waved her fingers across the table. ‘Wooooo!’

‘Attagirl. Want to ride the subway?’

‘But we haven’t finished here yet!’ Angel folded her arms across her chest. ‘I want to see a piece called Grosse Fatigue.’

‘Just imagine me with bed hair and mix it together with fizzy wine and jet lag.’ Hayley grinned. ‘I’ll show you tomorrow.’

O
liver was buzzing
. Getting the fundraiser off his back first thing had set him up for the rest of the day. The meeting with the design and development team had been the cherry on top. Now the only thing hanging over him was the takeover of Regis Software. Maybe Clara had been right. Maybe he had taken his finger off the pulse with respect to that. Perhaps he needed to do more. He’d had an email from Mackenzie this morning saying the lawyers were dragging their feet over some moot point.

What would his father do? He shifted in his seat as that thought went through his mind. Why was he thinking that? Hadn’t he been telling everybody he wasn’t his father, that he was his own man? He shouldn’t need an eighties businessman’s guidance to manage a twenty-first-century company. Did he really need or want this merger? What were the benefits for both companies?

He picked up the phone on his desk and pressed a key. He waited for Clara to answer. ‘Clara, could you get Andrew Regis on the phone?’

Hayley’s eyes went from the dark grey street, the snow having been worn away, through the chrome and glass entrance doors and upwards, scanning the many floors to the spiral top of the offices.

The building of Drummond Global was like a real-life Lego construction, only made of metalwork and windows, not plastic bricks. It was a complete world away from the architecture of the Guggenheim.
This
was industry. People inside this multi-million-dollar organisation were all part of important decisions, deal-breaking negotiations, creating and selling vital technology. Dean was a global hardware genius, fitting right into this high-stakes world. It was another universe when compared to fresh-pressing and stain removal at the cutting edge of the dry-cleaning industry.

‘Is this where Donald Trump works?’ Angel asked, her eyes following her mother’s, her hands occupied with a giant hot dog. Hayley had devoured hers in thirty seconds and moved on to a pretzel that hadn’t taken much longer to finish.

‘No,’ Hayley said, her eyes following the line of the building and back down again. ‘This is where Uncle Dean works.’

‘Wow, it’s huge,’ Angel said through splutters of bun.

‘Yeah, it is.’

The sound of ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ came bursting out of a boom box on the sidewalk, a breakdancing reindeer busting some moves. Hayley reached a hand out to Angel. ‘Come on.’

‘Hot-dog hands,’ Angel said, shaking the bread-covered sausage up and down and following.

‘We won’t be here long. We’ll just leave this jacket for Mr Meanie and we’ll go and get milkshakes.’

Angel answered with an indecipherable noise through sausage chomping.

Hayley pushed at the door and the warm air from inside buffeted her hair as she passed through the entrance. She heard another
wow
escape from Angel’s lips as they stepped into the foyer.

It was the grandest office Hayley had ever been in and looked more like a high-tech hotel. There was a cream tiled floor that had been polished so well you could almost use it as a mirror, a central terminal with a bank of screens dominated the rest of the area and at the far end of the room was the reception desk, a sculpted metal affair with three women – scratch that, three models – in matching grey and pale blue uniform sat behind it.

‘Fashion alert at twelve o’clock,’ Hayley whispered to Angel. ‘Grey and pale blue. What were they thinking?’

‘They need some tangerine in there,’ Angel replied. ‘Or some deep plum.’

‘Nice work.’

‘Wow! Look!’

Before she could say anything else, Angel was skating across the slick floor. Her daughter stopped just in front of a giant Christmas tree. It was easily three feet wide and its star topper almost touched the ceiling. The annual spruce in Trafalgar Square had nothing on this. Then she creased her brow at the scene. Two men in overalls were working deftly with the swags, baubles and bells but it looked like they were taking the decorations off rather than putting them on.

‘Don’t touch anything,’ she called to Angel.

She went up to the reception desk, undoing the zip of her backpack as she moved. Smiling at one of the blonde-haired receptionists, she pulled the jacket out of her bag. Angel arrived at her side.

‘Hi, good afternoon. Could I just leave this for Oliver Drummond?’ Hayley draped the jacket over the desk and watched the receptionist’s friendly smile turn into misunderstanding.

‘He left it in a restaurant last night and I’m just returning it.’

The receptionist didn’t look like she wanted to take ownership of the jacket or do anything about it. ‘I’m afraid Mr Drummond is out right now.’

‘That’s fine. I don’t need to see him. I’m just dropping off the jacket,’ Hayley said. She pushed the item a little nearer the receptionist.

The woman nodded and then picked up the telephone. ‘I’ll just give his PA a call.’

‘That’s OK, I don’t need to see anyone, honestly. I’m just doing a favour for my brother.’

‘Clara? I have someone here for Mr Drummond.’ The receptionist paused for a moment. ‘With an item of clothing.’ She then looked at Angel. ‘And a child.’

What on earth was going on? Why couldn’t she just leave the jacket and be on her way? She should have just said the jacket was for Dean and let him sort it out. She was stuck now, waiting for a personal assistant who probably had a heap of important computer stuff to get on with.

‘Thank you,’ the receptionist said into the phone before replacing the receiver. ‘Clara will be right down. Would you care to take a seat?’

Hayley let out a frustrated noise and moved towards a selection of dark grey leather sofas that looked like they’d been manufactured out of
Jurassic World
models.

‘Your face is all red and blotchy,’ Angel remarked as they sat down. She started to finish her hot dog.

Hayley put her fingers to her cheeks, feeling the heat there. An errand for Dean was going to make her look like a stalker. One of those obsessive types that wanted to drink the victim’s pee or roll in their bed sheets to be close to them. Actually the rolling in the bed sheets held a certain appeal.

The only saving grace was Oliver Drummond was out. He need never know she was here. She could be any anonymous woman with a child bringing back a jacket he’d mislaid.

The entrance doors opened, an icy breeze whipping through into the reception and, along with it, the man whose jacket she had on her lap. There he was. The rich guy she’d helped escape down an alley. Oliver Drummond. He was unbuttoning a black woollen coat as he entered, revealing a well-fitting charcoal-coloured suit. Highly polished leather shoes were on his feet, but her eyes quickly moved upwards, over the width of his chest, his brown-blonde hair spiked and scattered with snowflakes and those unmistakeable eyes.

‘That’s him!’ Angel stage-whispered, hot dog bun specks falling from her mouth.

Hayley swallowed, watching him make his way across the floor, another man at his side, engrossed in conversation. She needed to stop looking at him. If he turned his head, even one inch, he would see her. And then it happened. He looked to the bank of sofas where they were sitting and their eyes connected. She felt the look deep in her belly and hated herself for it having any effect at all. Drooling over Channing Tatum was one thing, this, especially when the business pin-up was only metres away, was another. Just as quickly as their eyes had met he turned back to his companion, still walking to the elevators at the end of the room. He’d dismissed her. Looked and then looked away. He really was the fickle philanderer she’d first pegged him as. Unwanted disappointment struck.

‘Did you know Oliver Drummond is one of the richest men in America?’

‘I’ve told you lots of times before, Angel, money isn’t everything,’ Hayley snapped. She was annoyed at herself. How fickle she was!

‘I know. Uncle Dean says he’s nearly always miserable,’ Angel followed up.

‘Yes, well, right now I know how he feels.’ What was she doing with this damn jacket? She should have strode across the reception area and thrown it at him. Then he might have remembered her. Not that she was bothered that he hadn’t.

Hayley got to her feet the second she realised a woman wearing a black business suit that was a little too small for her, a coral statement necklace at her décolletage, was heading past Oliver Drummond and his companion towards them. A poker straight expression was on her face.

‘Hello,’ Hayley greeted, gathering the jacket in her hands. ‘I’m sorry about all this. I just …’

‘Hello. I’m Angel.’

Hayley watched as Angel held her hand out to the woman, a beam of a smile on her face.

The woman reached out, took Angel’s hand in hers and shook it. ‘Hello, I’m Clara, Mr Drummond’s personal assistant.’

‘Wow,’ Angel said, as if she’d just announced she was the first female Pope.

Hayley pushed the jacket towards Clara. ‘I think the receptionist got the wrong end of the stick. I don’t want to see Mr Drummond I just … my brother works here, and Oliver … I mean Mr Meanie … Drummond, sorry, Mr Drummond, he left this jacket in a Chinese restaurant last night.’ She shook her head at the scenario. ‘He forgot it this morning … Dean, my brother and … he asked me to drop it in.’

‘Chinese food again, huh?’ Clara remarked, folding the jacket over her arm. ‘One day he’s going to turn into a deep-fried noodle.’ She smiled at Angel who grinned, all eyes and teeth. At least one of them was functioning like a normal human being.

‘Right, well, we’ll be going. Come on, Angel,’ Hayley said, grabbing her daughter by the sleeve of her coat.

‘Did you know that as well as being one of America’s richest men, Mr Drummond is also one of the world’s most eligible bachelors?’ Angel piped up.

Hayley wanted the ground to swallow her up. For someone who was so intelligent, Angel had no idea what might not be appropriate in polite conversation.

‘I didn’t know what it meant at first but then I Googled
bachelor
and …’

Hayley put an arm around Angel and stifled her into her coat. ‘We’ll be going now.’

Clara smiled. ‘What was your name again?’ The question was directed at Hayley.

Hayley stroked Angel’s hair, pressing her face into her side as her daughter attempted to struggle her mouth away to freedom.

‘Lois,’ Hayley croaked. Angel let out a stifled noise that sounded like a gagged hostage.

As she turned them both away from Clara and headed rapidly to the door, she was already cringing. She didn’t let Angel go until they were outside, sucking in the frozen winter air.

‘Why did you do that?’ Angel moaned, rubbing at her lips with her fingers.

‘Why did
I
do that? Why did you come out with the top ten amazing facts about her boss?’

Angel shrugged. ‘I only know two.’

‘Thank God for that.’

‘You were acting all funny,’ Angel carried on. ‘And why did you say your name was Lois?’

Hayley pointed down the street. ‘Oooo look, a bodega! Let’s see if they have Yorkshire puddings and a Terry’s Chocolate Orange.’

O
liver splashed
some water onto his face, letting the beads of moisture take away the heat there. The conversation with Andrew Regis today had been a little odd. When he’d tried to get out of the man exactly what the outstanding issues with the merger were, Andrew hadn’t had much to say.

Oliver stood up, palming his face, letting the excess water fall into the square basin in front of him. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, catching the last drips off his chin then planting his hands down on the bench, steadying himself.

He’d suggested another meeting to iron things out, talk about the future for the companies and then Andrew had hit him with it. Talk about the past. Tales of his father’s avant-garde approach to business back in a time where firms were struggling, the economy was in a sticky patch and unemployment figures were higher than ever. Weekends in the Hamptons and barbecues on the beach. Andrew had brought all those images flooding into focus and, along with it, every ounce of pain, regret and anger Oliver felt. Plus the giant sceptre of fear that was always hanging over him.

There had been times, wonderful, care-free times, when death hadn’t lurked in every corner of the Drummonds’ lives. There had been laughter, so much laughter, a childhood Oliver wished he’d been more appreciative of at the time. Their beach house at the Hamptons had been sold but he still remembered everything about it. The way his mom had decorated it in a nautical, seaside theme. Cool blues and greys, driftwood sculptures on the dresser, photos in bare wood frames, shells and sand in pots, nothing uniform. He and Ben had spent endless days on the sand, chasing each other, chasing girls when they were older, and running after every last sunset before they had to come inside. Then it was movies with popcorn, wrapped up in striped rugs, their hair still wet, sand sharp between their toes. Richard always wanted comedy so he could laugh out loud. Cynthia preferred romance so she could cry. Ben liked action movies and if Jackie Chan was in one he’d loved it even more. Oliver had never minded what they watched as long as they were all together.

He swallowed back the memories and stared at himself. What was he doing? Looking for all the answers like they were etched on his face? There was nothing there except the eyes he’d inherited from his mother, the long straight nose of his father and the hard, tense jaw which was all his own. He needed to get it together. Just because it was
that
time of year again, didn’t mean he could fall apart.

He sucked in a breath, trying to ignore the pull of his chest wall and the spasm of an ache that happened when he straightened his shoulders. He shrugged them up and down, trying to release the tension. Maybe it
was
stress. Perhaps it was better to believe he was weak than face the notion he was going to drop dead at any moment. He scoffed. Tony would be chastising him if he was here now.

As if the reminiscing hadn’t been enough, Andrew had also mentioned the McArthur Foundation fundraiser. The businessman had bought two tables and he was taking his top performing employees. Oliver remembered opening his mouth to tell Andrew he wouldn’t be attending but something had stopped him from committing to the sentence. It was plain and simple guilt over his non-attendance, over his mother’s disappointment and disapproval, over everything in his damn life right now. Fucking guilt he shouldn’t have to bear. At this rate, guilt was going to kill him sooner than any heart attack.

H
is suit jacket
was lying across his desk when he got back to his office. He approached it, gingerly, with caution, as if it might contain an incendiary device. Who had put this here?

Only now was he able to put two and two together. Slowly it was all falling into place. He’d seen her. Earlier today, when Cole had been giving him a running commentary on a charity project they’d been looking into. He’d looked for just a second, acknowledged an attractive woman sitting there and a girl eating something. Then he’d looked away again. It had been Lois. The woman who had rescued him from a night being eaten alive by the woman in the red dress. Why hadn’t he paid more attention?

The door of his office opened and Clara stepped through.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were back in here.’

‘Clara, did you put this here?’ Oliver asked, holding the jacket up.

She nodded. ‘Yes, a woman brought it into reception.’

‘Did she leave her name?’ Oliver asked.

‘She did,’ Clara said. ‘If only I could remember what it was.’

He folded his arms across his chest. He knew what Clara was doing. She had picked up on his shift in body language from fractured to intrigued and she was spinning this out.

‘Do you want to work the whole weekend?’ he asked.

‘You wouldn’t dare.’

‘Try me.’

Clara toyed with one of the beads on her necklace. ‘Her name was Lois.’

He smiled, shaking his head. She still wasn’t giving up her true identity. Even under his PA’s scrutiny, he couldn’t stop the flicker lighting up his eyes. This was interesting.

He made a grab for the stress ball, closing his fingers around it hard. He nodded at Clara. ‘What was it you wanted?’

‘The latest contract for the Regis Software project. Mackenzie emailed it. It came in after your phone call with Andrew Regis.’ She placed a file on the edge of his desk. ‘And here are the supporting documents.’

Clara was still standing by his desk, scrutinising his every nuance. His shutters rose back up.

‘Is that all?’ he asked her.

Clara smiled and headed for the door.

‘Come on, Randy! Here, boy!’

Angel went haring off through the falling snow, chasing after a dog that looked as if it had had its hair professionally styled. The mutt was more pampered and preened than Hayley. She pulled at her hair self-consciously, tucking it into the collar of her coat.

The park was like a winter wonderland. All the grass, trees and bushes were coated with white powder, making them look like a picture-perfect snow globe scene. The air was chilly and snow had started to fall again, already thickening the few inches laid the night before. Outside the park the high-rises towered over the vast island garden like giant gatekeepers. It was like nowhere else on Earth and, with every step Hayley took, it brought back memories of her last visit.

She’d been as slim as she’d ever been then, slim enough to feel cool and comfortable in skinny jeans. She’d lived in her jeans and a pair of black platform boots with diamantes and buckles. She must have looked halfway between a biker and a party girl. Her hair cut in a no-nonsense bob, she’d felt like she could own the world if she wanted to. She had dreams, aspirations, ideas that could fill her book ten times over, and nothing was going to stop her.

She had laid out on the grass of Central Park, her eyes in the sky, watching the clouds drift from the roof of one high-rise to another, letting herself become part of it all. New York was going to charge her passion and inspire her. It was the city of dreams and she was going to grab at every possibility it offered.

She sighed. Too much grabbing in the wrong place had set her off on an entirely different course. ‘So, Hayley, did you enjoy your first night in New York?’

The question came from Vernon, Dean’s boyfriend. The dog’s appearance hadn’t been the only shocker. She could only imagine that was why Dean wasn’t keen on showing her photos of his boyfriend the night before. Vernon was tall, like her brother, but he was older – a
lot
older – at a guess at least fifty. He had the salt-and-pepper hair and brown eyes of George Clooney, with a tanned complexion that hinted at an Italian heritage. When they’d first met, he’d hugged Angel straight away and kissed Hayley on both cheeks. He was easy and relaxed, warm and open. She wondered why her brother thought she might have been judgemental – she wasn’t their mother! What were numbers anyway? As long as he treated Dean right, nothing else mattered.

‘We were both suffering a little from jet lag and I had to watch my daughter burst into tears over the death of a lobster.’

‘Lyndon,’ Dean added.

Vernon looked bemused.

‘You really don’t want to know,’ Dean said, linking his arm through Vernon’s and smiling. He looked to Hayley. ‘How was the Guggenheim?’

‘Interesting. I’m not entirely sure I understood every piece, but Angel sucked it up like the little sponge she is.’ Hayley kept her eyes on her daughter, watching her ruffling the dog’s mane of fur. Her daughter was having a ball in New York already. A warm glow invaded Hayley’s chest as she continued to look across the park. This was what she wanted. Her daughter laughing, happy and carefree.

‘Well, I hate to talk business but you’ll never guess what happened today,’ Dean said, scuffing up some snow with his shoe as he walked.

‘Hold up, let me guess … um, your tyrannical boss told you the Globe isn’t anywhere near ready and it’s back to the drawing board?’ Vernon said.

The mention of the tyrannical boss shifted Hayley’s stomach lining as the jacket incident came to mind. She put her hands in her pockets. She really needed to buy some more gloves.

‘Would you believe it if I said it was the complete opposite?’

‘You’re kidding me,’ Vernon said in shock.

‘It gets even better,’ Dean continued.

‘You’re getting a pay rise?’ Hayley offered.

‘Not quite that good. I’m in charge of the project.’ Dean wore a grin from ear to ear.

‘Dean, that’s amazing news.’ Vernon stopped walking and clapped his arms around him.

‘I’m lost. Explain please,’ Hayley said, feeling a little left out.

‘Oliver Drummond signed off on the Globe today. We’re launching in March and it’s my job to coordinate the whole thing, to make sure it happens,’ Dean explained, still smiling.

‘That’s … so cool. It is cool, isn’t it? It’s not going to be too much for you? Have you got enough time to take it on?’ Hayley asked.

‘Hay, I’ve been waiting so long for something like this. As much as I like Peter, he hasn’t exactly been pushing me towards running projects like this. It’s a huge opportunity,’ Dean told her.

Of course it was. It was what her brother was good at. Managing. Being utterly competent and clever. He was in his element. And he was such a lovely person he deserved every ounce of his success. Unlike her, with her lack of full-time job and a mission to track down an ex-lover.

She broke, bursting into heavy, hot tears.

‘Hayley?’ Dean said, as Hayley turned away from him, her hands up to her face.

She was so embarrassed, yet she couldn’t stop. ‘I’m OK,’ she forced out, as thick, wet streams fell from her eyes and almost froze on her cheeks.

‘I’ll catch up with Angel,’ she heard Vernon say softly.

She felt Dean take a step towards her and she wafted her hand in the air. ‘Don’t hug me. I’m being an idiot.’

‘You’re not being an idiot,’ Dean said in a consoling voice.

‘I am. It’s the jet lag, that’s all, or maybe looking at paintings of pigs with three tails.’

‘Are you sure? Has something happened at home?’

Hayley shook her head, turning finally to face him. ‘Nothing’s happened. I just …’ She stopped.

‘Tell me, Hay, please,’ Dean begged.

She looked across the park at Angel. She was throwing a stick for Randy, getting encouragement from Vernon. She needed to talk to her daughter, properly. She deserved to know the truth now. She raised her eyes to meet Dean’s anxious expression.

‘I quit my job and Angel wants to find her father.’

There. She’d told someone. A slight lightening of her shoulders occurred and she blew out a breath as if she’d been holding it in her whole life.

It was Dean’s turn to exhale. ‘Well, you know what I think about your job? I think you can do better than a dry-cleaning company. I’m glad. And you’ll find something else. Hey, maybe this is a chance to pick up your college course again? Get back into fashion?’

Hayley thought about her ideas book with the beginnings of a couture dress shaped like the Guggenheim. It was hardly Vivienne Westwood.

‘So what has Angel said about her father?’ Dean asked.

‘Nothing. I mean, she hasn’t spoken to me about it at all. And half of me wishes she would and the other half hopes she doesn’t.’

‘Then how do you know she wants to find him?’

Hayley sighed, remembering the very moment she’d made the decision to come here.

‘Because she made a wish to God and Father Christmas. And I was standing outside her bedroom door.’ Hayley paused. ‘I heard her. She tagged it onto the end of her prayers, Dean. She said, if Father Christmas or God were listening, there was only one present she really wanted …’ The emotion was trying to get the better of her again. She took a breath. ‘She would like to meet her dad.’

This time when Dean moved to comfort her, she let him. She buried her face into his woollen coat, sniffing hard to control the tears. Dean’s hand was in her hair and she let his warmth and his love wash over her for a moment.

‘This was always going to happen, Hay. And to be honest, she’s so bright, I’m surprised she hasn’t asked before now.’

‘I know.’ She lifted her head up. ‘And that’s half the issue. She hasn’t actually
asked
, Dean. She’s made a wish she thinks I don’t know about. Because she feels she can’t talk to me about it.’

‘And that’s why you’re here this Christmas,’ Dean added in.

She nodded. ‘I’ve been trawling the internet looking for him and there’s nothing! And today, before we went to the Guggenheim, we went to a gallery he mentioned.’ She shook her head. ‘Nothing again, but the man was nice. He’s going to email some other people.’ She stepped back from Dean’s embrace, wiping at her eyes. ‘Sorry, I think I dribbled on your coat.’

‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘Sorry,’ Hayley said again, her gaze falling back to Angel and Vernon who were chasing Randy round and round in circles.

‘Stop apologising,’ Dean said. ‘You’re not Superwoman. You can’t do it all.’