by Lucy Hepburn
“It’s looking good in there. You coming to the party later?”
Will raised his eyebrows. “No. I’ll be back home by then. A long way from here.”
“Be a great party. You should come.”
Will, breathing heavily, was now unsure whether to walk away or spontaneously combust in fresh fury at his father’s flippancy. Why had Nina’s party gotten him out of his office when his own flesh and blood hadn’t? Why, after a conversation like they’d just had, was his dad telling him to skip along to the party? Was he so wrapped up in himself that he’d genuinely failed to spot Will’s frustration?
But just then, saving him the trouble of replying, Christy’s phone began ringing in his pocket.
His father eyed the phone with amusement. “Hop to it, son, before she gets mad.”
Will could only glower at his father before reaching for the phone and walking back outside.
“Will?” The sound of Christy’s low, gentle voice was so soothing as Will turned and stormed back toward the exit. “I’m at the dry cleaner’s.”
“Uh-huh?” Will was still gathering himself, reeling from what had shaped up into yet another failed encounter with his dad.
“Will, are you okay? What’s up?”
He reached the front entrance again and took a deep gulp of fresh air to calm himself. “It’s fine. Did you say dry cleaner’s? I thought you were going to pick up your eyelift lady?”
“We were, but we’ve got a few minutes in hand, thanks to you, so I’ve stopped back at the dry cleaner’s to pick up the rug while we’ve got the use of Mrs. Ledger’s car. It’s genius!”
“Good idea,” Will said dully. “Anyhow, what can I help you with?” He tried to shake his father’s presence out of his head, to focus back on Christy, but it took an effort. Once again, his dad had knocked the stuffing out of him.
“What, right now?” Christy sounded surprised. “Oh, nothing right now. I’m just sitting here waiting for the guy to bring out the rug and I thought I’d call. You know, to shoot the breeze a little.”
“You did?” Will pressed the phone closer to his ear. Had he heard her right? “You just called to talk?”
“Yes—um, is that okay? Is it a good time?”
“Sure it’s okay! It’s…nice.” Will smiled, despite his black mood. “It’s really nice, Christy.”
There was a pause on the line before Christy spoke again. “Something is wrong, Will! Tell me what’s up.”
Will sat back down on the same step he was on before and raked his fingers through his hair. He found himself longing to tell her, yet holding back—surely she had enough on her plate today? She didn’t want to hear about his emotional baggage.
“Will?” Her voice was gentle, yet persistent.
“It’s my dad,” he admitted with a sigh. “I’ve just had yet another fight with him.”
“Oh, Will, I’m sorry. Want to talk about it?”
“I just don’t get him! It’s like, he’s looking at life through his own tinted glass, on his own terms, and nobody else gets a look in!” He realized he was chewing his thumbnail, a habit of his since he was a tiny child. So he chewed it even harder.
“I guess a lot of people are super focused,” Christy said, clearly searching for a conciliatory angle.
Will laughed bitterly. “Oh, sure they are, but I don’t know anybody who is as divorced from reality as he is, Christy. Sometimes I think he despises me—”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” she cut in.
“…and you know what? I despise him, too.” It was a relief to say the words, I despise him. There, out in the open!
“He’s your dad!”
Will was sure she must hate him now. What kind of person despises their own father? But then again, not many people had to put up with a father like his. Still, he didn’t like her thinking less of him. He tried to explain himself. “He’s not much of a dad, Christy. He never has been. Okay, maybe I don’t despise who he is, but I despise what he is and how he is—does that make sense?”
“I don’t know.”
He shook his head. “Me neither.”
“At least he never left you.”
Christy’s words were so low Will had to press the phone close to his ear to pick them up. “Sorry?”
“He never left you, Will. He may not have been the father you always dreamed he’d be, but he was there.”
“He wasn’t really…” Will began to protest but then tailed off. He was thinking hard, wanting to prove Christy wrong. His dad was always close by—or when he went away, Will went, too—those retreats, the research trips. It hadn’t exactly been Disneyland, but…
“Okay,” he said after a while, “so maybe he was there, in physical form…just not…there.”
“He had to be a father and a mother to you, Will, that’s tough for anybody.”
“He failed, Christy! Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do—”
“Okay, so he messed up. How long do you punish a person for failure?”
“Punish him?” Will repeated. Had she got hold of the wrong end of the argument?
Christy was silent.
“Sheez, Christy, I don’t think I punish him—he punishes me!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes! I’m so much more like my grandfather than him, and he can’t hack that…oh, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”
“It obviously does matter, Will!”
Will sighed and rubbed the back of his head. He didn’t know what to think anymore.
“I didn’t realize you were having such a rough time, Will,” Christy went on. “You sound so sad.”
“Well,” he shrugged, “everyone loses grandparents. I should be glad I had Grandpa for as long as I did, I guess.”
“It’s more than that, though, isn’t it?”
Will found himself blinking back tears. Christy had put her finger on something, and he didn’t know if he was ready to acknowledge it.
He decided to try to change the subject. “I’m not going to change Dad now. It’s too late. I just need to come to terms with it, accept it, and move on.”
“You’re not dumping more motivational-speak on me at a time like this, are you?” Her voice was teasing, and, despite himself, he smiled again.
“Aw, come on, you’ve got to let me have that one. I’m having a rough day, remember?”
She giggled. “Okay, maybe just that one.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Hey, how’s my dog?” Will could hear Bouvier’s whimpers in the background gradually escalating into a full-blown yapping session. “What’s the Italian guy doing to her?”
“Shh, Bouvier!” Christy hissed. “She’s bored here, I think. The dry cleaner man is trying to find extra packaging to put around the rug. Won’t be long now.”
Will gazed about him as they lapsed into silence. Christy’s voice seemed to have become warmer as the day had gone on. Maybe she was beginning to trust him, to open up a little. It was a nice thought.
“What makes you happy, Will?”
“Excuse me?”
“I think you heard me.”
“Do you want the clean answer?”
He heard her catch her breath on the other end of the line, and his heart jolted.
“This makes me happy,” he said eventually, breaking the electric cord of tension between them. “Days like today. Helping you out. It’s been awhile.”
“You need to focus on that thought, you know,” Christy said. “Forget about your dad being the cause of all the earth’s misery for a while, and spend some time exploring what fulfils you.”
“Well, Christy, I don’t recognize the manual you got that one off, but I like it.”
“Cheek! That was all me, my friend. And you know something? I’m right, too. And I’ve got more, you ready?”
“No,” he murmured, smiling.
�
�Maybe you’ve spent so long trying to prove you’re nothing like your dad, you’ve moved away from what really makes you happy…oh, Bouvier!”
“What’s up? Sounds like the dog’s being murdered!” In the background, Bouvier’s hysterical yapping had turned into a cacophony. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, Will, here comes my rug, and Bouvier’s taken a dislike to it—can you talk to her?”
“What? Talk to the dog? Christy? Hello?”
He heard a click as Christy must have laid down the phone, swiftly followed by close-up yappings and splutterings; Bouvier was messing with the phone.
“Hey, girl,” Will said a little uncertainly. “It’s me, your old pal Will.”
As if by magic, the furious barking toned itself down to general whimpers of what may well have been delight.
“So, what do you want to talk about? The weather? Bones? The Super Bowl? Or do you think the Super Bowl is what your food comes in? Yes?”
Will was speaking as quietly as he could to avoid attracting the attention of the people walking into the hotel.
“Or are you one of those Manhattan trophy pooches that lives in a bag? You like music, Bouvier? How about some Christina Aguilera? No? Oh, I got it! Try this…”
Furtively he lowered his voice even more and began murmuring ‘dontcha wish your girlfriend was hot like me, dontcha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me, dontcha,’ moving his shoulders to the rhythm while the little dog made whimpering noises of delight at the other end of the line.
“Will?”
He leapt to his feet and spun around to see Nina standing behind him with an expression of sheer disbelief on her face. “Were you singing a Pussycat Dolls song just then?”
Will’s face betrayed the guilty truth. He hung up in a hurry, figuring he’d be able to explain to Christy, and Bouvier later. “Of course. Doesn’t everyone do it when they’re talking to their lawyer?”
“Um…” Nina didn’t look so sure.
“Look, Nina,” Will felt embarrassed that she had seen him and his dad at their worst. “I’m sorry you had to witness yet another spat with my dad. I hope it doesn’t spoil your special day in any way.”
Nina sighed heavily. “Well, thank you for that. It certainly hasn’t improved it much. Look, Will, your dad’s a good guy. It’s none of my business, but it hurts me that you both don’t give each other the chance to see the good in one another.”
Impulsively Will stepped forward and kissed Nina’s cheek. “You are a sweet person, Nina, and who knows, you may even be right, but…” he shook his head. “I don’t know…families, hey?”
Nina looked Will in the eye, wearing a very serious expression. “You know my wedding invitations?” Nina said. “Your dad wrote all of the verses for me, as a gift.”
Will looked at her in surprise. “He did that?”
Nina nodded.
Will turned away. A stab of jealousy had shot right through him, and he was struggling not to let it show all over his face. He’d always thought of his dad as being totally self-absorbed—who’d have believed he’d found the time to do that for Nina? Could there be another side to him that Will, in lifelong child-mode, had never allowed himself to acknowledge?
“Well, what can I say? That’s…amazing, Nina.”
Nina was about to say more, but her cell phone rang out, so she smiled at him and skipped off to answer it.
Will turned away. Was Christy right—was it time to forgive his father?
Chapter Fourteen
CHRISTY
3:30 p.m.
3:30 p.m. Collect Mrs. Ledger from the clinic – just made it!
Drop off Mrs. Dallaglio’s rug – without Mrs. Ledger noticing.
Drop off Bouvier – without Mrs. Ledger noticing.
2:30 p.m. Pick up Mrs. H’s item from photoshoot – one hour late.
Mrs. Ledger’s top-of-the-range Mercedes-Benz was a joy to drive. Christy had driven it before, a few months back, after Mrs. Ledger’s bungled bout of plastic surgery. She loved the luxurious feel of all that expensive German engineering working so beautifully beneath the glorious, metallic-blue bodywork. With warm afternoon sunshine streaming through the windows and a ridiculously handsome man sitting beside her cradling a designer dog in his arms, Christy almost felt like a movie star. And the easily deciphered directions to the clinic oozing out of the Sat Nav system helped her to relax, too. The only slight imperfection in the otherwise picture-perfect scene was the presence of Mrs. Dallaglio’s rolled-up rug sticking up through the sunroof, its flimsy cover in the process of being ripped to shreds by the stiffening New York breeze.
Her mind was a whirl of jumbled thoughts and plans, capped by the troubling realization that the only way she was going to manage to fit in the remainder of her appointments was by deploying a tiny bit of deception involving Mrs. Ledger.
Was that so bad? Mrs. Ledger was a lovely, lonely old lady. Christy respected her sharp mind and her gentle nature, and she tried to tell herself that, so long as she got her safely home, was it really such a crime if the journey was a little longer than it might have been?
Probably. Although Mrs. Ledger wouldn’t be harmed by taking a longer route home, surely she’d be tired and wobbly after her hospital ordeal?
Then again, Christy reasoned to herself, maybe a little extra time in the company of other people might be a good thing, just to make sure she’d be okay once they dropped her off? The poor woman lived a solitary existence in her palatial Fifth Avenue penthouse; she only had Silvia, her part-time maid, waiting for her at home.
It wasn’t ideal, nor was it totally honest, and, well, Christy knew it. But she was going to go through with it—she had to. And it all depended, crucially, upon Mrs. Ledger being completely unable to see a thing after her surgery.
“Toni?” she said, pulling up in a conveniently empty parking space next to the clinic and turning toward her friend. “I need your help. Can you please listen very, very carefully?”
3:45 p.m.
Fifteen minutes later, she was escorting Mrs. Ledger, frail, stooped, and with her eyes completely shrouded in thick bandages, out of the clinic and onto the sidewalk.
“Okay,” Christy said, “it’s bright sunshine!”
“Take your word for it,” Mrs. Ledger replied ruefully. “I can’t see a thing.”
Christy breathed a sigh of relief and then, hating the deception, led Mrs. Ledger toward Toni, who was standing a short distance away, and launched into the start of her plan.
“I have a new assistant, Mrs. Ledger! His name is Toni, and he is right here.”
She nodded at Toni, who stepped forward and very gently took the old lady’s hand.
“Mrs. Ledger,” he said, his voice warm and soft. “My pleasure to help you today.”
Christy gave him an approving thumbs-up as he delivered the phrase just as she had primed him to do, and he winked his response.
“Well, Christy, you must be doing well for yourself! An assistant, hey? Nice to meet you, Toni.”
“Thank you,” Toni replied.
“Mrs. Ledger, there’s a problem,” Christy went on. “I don’t know what’s going on in this city today, but I’ve had to park, like, six blocks away! Do you think you could manage a little walk if Toni acts as your guide?”
“Six blocks?” Mrs. Ledger repeated, stopping in her tracks.
“I know! Must be sample sale day at Bloomingdales or something!”
“Well, I guess I could do with moving around a little after being cooped up in that place…will you promise you’ll keep a good hold of me, Toni?”
Christy signaled to Toni that it was time for the second of the phrases she had just taught him.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Ledger, I will be here for you, every step of the way!”
“Well, I must say, you sound perfectly charming, young Toni!” Mrs.
Ledger reached out her free hand and made contact with Toni’s torso, pausing to give it the tiniest rub. “Great abs, too!”
Christy marveled once more at the effect Toni had on women—even those who couldn’t see his glorious face.
“I’m going to run on ahead and see if there’s anything I can do about getting the car a little closer,” Christy lied. “See you soon!”
She motioned the final signal to Toni, and he gently took charge of tiny Mrs. Ledger. “Shall we proceed?” he asked, and together they began a super-slow procession, which, if Christy had instructed Toni correctly, would take them around the same block another five times. Meanwhile, she jumped back into the car, which had been parked on the curbside all along, shushed the furiously yapping Bouvier, and zoomed off in the direction of Greenwich Village.
Pulling up outside the achingly trendy converted warehouse that housed the world-famous Axnick Photographic Studios, she turned her sternest glare upon the thoroughly overexcited little dog. “Now listen, Bouvier, I’m going to go in here and pick up a very, very precious package. I won’t be long, okay?”
Bouvier cocked her head for an instant, then resumed her frantic yapping.
“You’ll be home soon, I promise. Here, have this.” Fishing in her handbag, Christy found a couple of forgotten Gummy Bear sweets, which she guiltily fed to the little dog before dashing into the studio.
“Oh, sorry!” In her haste, she pushed open a heavy swing door and ran straight into the super-skinny frame of a model who had just stepped off some sort of ballroom photographic set.
“De nada,” the model assured her with a dazzling smile. Christy squinted up at her flawless features. It couldn’t be! Was that…Gisele Bündchen? And there, over there—Amber Valletta in a pink fur coat, a twinkling tiara and—oh! Nothing else underneath!
“May I help you?” A bored-looking girl of about nineteen had intercepted her progress, preventing her from damaging any more supermodels, at least.
“Ah yes, I’m Christy Davies from Doorman dot com. I have an item to collect for Miss H.”
The girl narrowed her eyes, then scanned the clipboard that she had been clutching to her chest. Christy waited patiently. She knew exactly what was expected of her. She had delivered and collected assorted items and treasures for Ms. H for some time now, each one involving an elaborate ruse to protect her super-celebrity status.
