Finally, I chose a soft grey flannel pencil skirt I hadn’t worn since Gareth had left, pairing it with a red polo neck. The red was cheery against the muted colour of the skirt, and the outfit looked pulled together yet upbeat. After jamming on my black pumps, I twisted my hair into a chignon, jabbed on some mascara and blush, then grabbed my trusty turquoise coat and pushed out into the cold grey London morning.
Almost an hour later, I swung through the door of the museum. It was still early, but already the lights were on and the scent of coffee hung in the air.
‘Honey, I’m home!’ I called out, grinning.
‘Thank you for coming.’ Heath’s voice drifted down from his office. Oh, oops. I hadn’t realised anyone else was here – Heath must have arranged a breakfast meeting with someone.
A man in a dark suit with a briefcase was making his way down the stairs, Heath following behind. I nodded as the man went out the door, clocking Heath’s anxious expression with dismay.
‘What’s going on? Who was that?’ I bit my lip. Whoever it was, I could see that it certainly wasn’t something good.
Heath sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. ‘That was a council member. Apparently, even though I’d been assured our planning permission for the museum would go through in plenty of time, it’s been held up for some reason or other.’
‘What does that mean? We might not be able to hold the opening on the fifteenth?’ My heart dropped as I thought of the many journalists and officials Heath had already invited – all for that specific date. The Christmas season was so busy that if the opening didn’t come off as planned, it would be almost impossible to reschedule before New Year’s.
‘I hope not.’ Heath’s tone was grim, and his lips tightened. ‘If you can think of any way to hurry along a group of councillors, please let me know. For God’s sake, there’s only a week until our opening. Guess we’ll have to cross our fingers and hope for the best.’ He shrugged on his jacket. ‘Right, I’m off to the bank. I’ll see you around lunch-time.’
I nodded and watched him go, my mind racing. Could I think of a way to hurry along the councillors? All it needed was someone influential; someone with a bit of business clout . . . someone like Heath’s mum. As a big businesswoman, she could put pressure on the council somehow, right? ParteePizza did have quite a few outlets in East London.
Yes, this would be perfect. I’d tell her Heath still cared, and that assisting the museum would be the ideal way for them to make up again. It would, too – it’d show Heath his mother cared about more than money. No matter what had happened between them, she couldn’t refuse this chance to get her son back again, I was sure. I might have been hesitant to head to ParteePizza earlier, but with the perfect opportunity for closure falling into my lap, I was certain now this happy ending was destined to be.
Adrenaline shot through me and I rushed out the door, hurrying along the street toward the Tube. If everything went smoothly, I could visit Heath’s mum and be and back again before he even noticed I was gone.
Two hours and one major Tube delay later, I emerged from the Hounslow Tube station. The map I’d Googled told me ParteePizza’s headquarters were nearby – thank goodness, because my pumps were killing me. Navigating through a gaggle of teenage mums and their prams, I trotted down the street, my heart beating fast. What if Heath’s mum was out of the office? What if . . . no. I pushed away the flicker of doubt and took a deep breath. I’d come this far. There was no stopping now.
Ah, here it was. I paused in front of a metal and glass building, the windows emblazoned with the giant red and yellow ParteePizza logo. Smoothing down my skirt and jamming my curls back behind my ears, I fixed a confident smile on my face before opening the door.
‘Hello,’ I said brightly to the security man behind a desk. ‘I’m here to see Liz Hough.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Name?’
‘Er, um, Rose. Rose Delaney.’ God, why did I sound so unsure about my own name? Come on, Rose, I told myself sternly. Get it together. ‘I don’t have an appointment,’ I added hastily, as he picked up the phone. ‘It’s, it’s about her son. Heath.’
The security guard’s other eyebrow flew up and he threw me an inquisitive look. ‘Jess?’ he said into the receiver. ‘A lady is here to see Mrs Hough. No, no appointment. About Mrs Hough’s son, she says. Heath.’
Silence fell, and my heart beat so strongly the vibrations almost knocked me off my feet.
‘Okay, I’ll send her up,’ the man said finally, and a whoosh of relief swept through me. Major obstacle cleared! From now on, it would be smooth sailing.
‘Top floor.’ The security guard handed me a visitor’s badge in the corporate colours (bonus, it matched my top) and motioned me toward the lift.
Okay, deep breaths, I told myself. Soon, I’d face Heath’s mum and deliver the best news an estranged mother could dream of. I couldn’t wait.
The lift dinged at its destination. I wiped my sweaty palms, then strode over to the receptionist’s desk.
‘I’m here to see Liz Hough? The CEO of ParteePizza?’ Duh. I wanted to smack myself as soon as the words left my mouth. Of course the receptionist knew Liz was the CEO of bloody ParteePizza! I could see by the woman’s condescending expression that she agreed I scored high on the idiot factor.
‘Mrs Hough is ready for you,’ the receptionist responded smoothly. ‘Please go on in.’ She pointed toward a foreboding oak door.
A swarm of butterflies circled in my gut as I approached. Should I knock before entering? Swing open the door and yell: ‘I come bearing glad tidings?’ Nervously, I rapped on the solid wood, ears twitching as a voice responded ‘Come in’.
‘Hello.’ I cracked opened the door and tiptoed into the room, unsure what to expect. Decorated in soothing muted tones from beige to dusky pink, the office was a departure from the harsh oranges and reds the rest of the building was slathered in, and it calmed my nerves. Anyone who liked these colours couldn’t be all bad, right?
Liz Hough swung away from the window, and my mouth dropped open at her resemblance to Heath. ‘Hello,’ she said in a clipped voice. ‘Please take a seat.’
God, and they both spoke in that calm, controlled way. I lowered myself carefully onto a stiff leather sofa.
‘So.’ Liz settled into a scary-looking ergonomic chair behind her metal desk. ‘You’re here about my son. How much is it going to be, then?’ Her flinty eyes met mine, and I blinked.
‘Er, how much?’ What?
‘Yes.’ Liz reached into a desk drawer and withdrew a cheque book. Flicking to a fresh cheque, she glanced up at me. ‘Come on, now. You said it was about my son. You didn’t have an appointment. I’m not daft – I know how these things work. What, did Heath spin you his tale of woe? Evil mummy CEO of ParteePizza who abandoned her son for a career? How much should I pay you so you don’t tattle to the tabloids?’
My eyes popped and for a second, my mind went blank before racing at a hundred miles an hour. Holy. Crap! Heath’s mum was going to pay me to stop her story from reaching the papers? That was the first thing she thought when someone wanted to see her about her son? Logically, I could understand why she might be worried. ParteePizza had built its image on jolly families, and having its CEO splashed across the news with such a negative story certainly wouldn’t do the business any favours.
‘No, no!’ I forced a laugh. ‘I’m not here for anything like that.’ I caught sight of a photo on the corner of her desk – a dark-haired boy, nestled in Liz’s arms and looking up at her like she was everything in the world to him. A dark-haired boy that wasn’t Heath. My heart caught. Liz had moved on to a new family. It might be too late for Heath to have that growing up, but he should have a mother in his life now. Determination pumped through me.
‘I’m here because I know Heath would like to see you.’ My words echoed in the silent room.
Liz tilted her head. ‘Really. And how exactly do you know that? The last time I saw my son, I believe his words were so
mething along the lines of “see you when hell freezes over”. Or “go to hell”. Something with hell.’ She laughed, but I caught a flash of pain in her eyes.
Digging into my bag, I drew out the locket and handed it over to her, watching as recognition slid over her face when she popped it open.
‘Oh.’ Her eyes softened and for a split second, I caught a glimpse of that happy woman in the locket.
‘I’ve seen Heath staring at this, over and over.’ Well, maybe not over and over, but still. ‘He obviously cares about you.’ I paused for a second, choosing my next words carefully. ‘And he needs your help. The Museum of Broken Hearts – your mother’s museum, as you know – is scheduled to open the fifteenth of December. But there have been a few hold-ups with the planning permission, and it could be delayed. It would mean a lot to Heath if you could help him push the permission through . . . ’ My voice trailed off as the tender look on Liz’s face morphed into anger faster than I could say “extra cheese”.
‘That bloody Museum of Broken Hearts!’ Liz spat out. ‘Most delusional idea my mother has ever had. I wanted that building to launch our flagship East London branch of ParteePizza, you know – we even had the designs all drawn up, ready to go. But oh no, Mother had to go down the sentimental route once again.’
Liz got to her feet and strode over to the window, her back to me. ‘I can’t believe Heath is going along with it. That boy should know better, after all his training in the City. Looks like he’s inherited his grandmother’s sentimental streak.’ Her voice rang with derision, and I swallowed hard. This was not how the conversation was supposed to go. Given what Heath had told me, I’d known the building was a potential source of conflict between them, but I’d just thought . . . well, I’d thought once I mentioned the locket and Heath’s emotions, that would pave the way.
‘Look, you might not be the museum’s biggest fan, but it would mean a lot to Heath if you could help,’ I said. ‘He’s been working so hard to make the museum a success.’ There must be a heart somewhere inside this woman!
‘Well.’ Liz waved a hand in the air dismissively. ‘I do have some influence with the council after all my investment in the area, but Christmas is a very busy time of year. I don’t think giving even a second to help that museum is a good use of my time.’
‘But what about giving a second to help your son?’ The words were out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop them.
Liz leaned toward me. ‘If Heath does still want me in his life – and if my help means so much to him – why hasn’t he asked me himself?’
I gulped. ‘Um . . .’
She pushed back from the desk and got to her feet. ‘Exactly. Thank you for coming. Now, if you don’t mind . . .’ Liz looked pointedly toward the door.
I stared at her, frantically trying to think of something to say. But words failed me, so I grabbed the locket off the desk and turned to go.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Early the next morning, I hurried to the museum. The streets were dark and empty with streetlamps casting eerie halos in the thick fog. I shivered, quickening my pace. This was Jack the Ripper territory, and at moments like this, it was all too easy to imagine.
Forget Jack, I told myself. Just think of the day ahead. Setting up exhibits was my favourite part of the whole process – when the hard work of cataloguing and organising ended, and the items really came to life.
After returning from ParteePizza yesterday (thankfully, before my boss had come back from the bank), Heath and I had positioned all the furniture he’d ordered in, making the house look lived in and real. Today, I’d place the artefacts in strategic positions in each room to make it look like they’d been left there by their owners. Above each object on the wall – in tarnished frames I’d tracked down from an antiques dealer at Spitalfields Market – would be an accompanying letter, detailing the item’s story. As museum-goers filtered through the rooms, they’d almost feel like they had wandered into the owners’ lives . . . or so I hoped. Now I’d see if my concept actually worked, and I was practically shaking with nerves and excitement.
But all of that would come to nothing before Christmas unless we could get the proper planning permission to open the museum. Poor Heath. Although he hadn’t said anything while we worked yesterday, I could sense the tension in the air. I’d longed to throw him an encouraging word – to be able to say that his mother was on the case – but the way yesterday’s conversation had unfolded, I suspected Liz would rather cut off a finger with a pizza slicer than help this museum succeed. I could hardly believe she hadn’t jumped at the chance to make amends. Maybe she just needed more time to psych herself up?
Sighing, I unlocked the museum door and flicked on the lights. No more cold cellars for me; yesterday, we’d brought up each and every neatly labelled item, all ready to go. I grabbed the collection for the child’s bedroom and made my way up the stairs.
I was just about to place a well-loved teddy on the bed when I heard the door downstairs opening. Shaking my head to clear it, I noted with surprise the skies outside had lightened. Dust motes danced in the sunlight streaming in through the large sash window. I’d been so absorbed in getting the bedroom just right, I’d barely noticed time passing.
I stood back now, smiling as I observed my handiwork. Almost all of the items had been positioned, and the space looked as if a young one had just popped out to play. I’d even left the bed covers slightly rumpled, like someone had been lying there. Running my eyes over the objects of the broken-hearted, I couldn’t help shivering. Now that the room was set up, the items seemed even more poignant; more real.
‘Wow!’ Heath appeared in the doorway, his cheeks red with cold. ‘Brilliant job in here. It looks fantastic.’
A feeling of pride swept over me. ‘It does, doesn’t it? I’m going to do the adult bedroom this afternoon, then the lounge and kitchen tomorrow. Then, all we need to do is mount the frames, fill in any missing gaps, and we’re ready to go.’
Heath’s face twisted. ‘Except for the bloody planning permission from the bloody council.’
Oops. In my excitement, I’d forgotten about that. I gnawed on my lower lip, thinking maybe I could plan another visit to ParteePizza. There must be something I could say to convince Liz to help.
But a few hours later, just as I was trying to toss a tatty trilby onto a hat stand, Heath burst into the bedroom. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes twinkling. I’d never seen him so revved up.
‘We got it!’ He took my arm and spun me around. ‘We got the planning permission!’
‘Oh, fantastic!’ I couldn’t help laughing as I lurched off balance and tumbled onto the bed. ‘What happened?’ It must have been his mum! A thrill of happiness mixed with nerves went through me. Had she told Heath I’d paid her a visit? I risked a glance up at him, but his face told me nothing.
Heath shrugged and collapsed onto the bed beside me, his shoulders sagging with relief. ‘Who can understand the mysterious ways of the council? All I know is that they rang me up just now and told me everything’s been approved. Guess my grovelling yesterday with the councillor worked.’ He got up and pulled me to my feet. ‘Forget all this for now. Let’s get a drink to celebrate.’
I glanced around the room. ‘Okay, I guess I can. I’m almost done here, anyway, and we have another week to put the finishing touches on things.’
Heath met my eyes, a slow smile spreading across his normally serious face. ‘Thank you for working so hard. I couldn’t have done it without you.’
My cheeks flushed and I jabbed a curl away from my face. ‘Er, that’s okay.’ I almost said he should be thanking his mum, but I snapped my mouth closed just in time. Had Liz hurried things along? And if so, why hadn’t she said anything to Heath? Didn’t she want to make up with her son?
‘Are you okay, Rose?’ Heath gave me a puzzled look, and I realised I’d been shaking my head back and forth as I tried to puzzle out recent events.
‘Sure, sure,’ I mumbled. ‘No
w come on, let’s go get that drink.’ God knows I needed one.
CHAPTER NINE
‘I think we’re all set.’ I turned and smiled at Heath as the two of us completed our walk-through of the museum. It was almost eight o’clock the night before the opening, and the two of us had been working our fingers to the bone the past few days to get everything sorted. There were always those last-minute details that took up so much time – clocks on the wall, missing vases, fresh flowers, and candles – not to mention dealing with umpteen visits from the caterers and even a few eager members of the press who wanted to interview Heath before the opening.
The rap of the doorknocker made me jerk, and Heath raised an eyebrow. ‘Who on earth could that be?’ He looked at his watch, then thumped toward the entrance. ‘Not another reporter, surely.’
I heard the creak of the door as it swung open, then Heath’s startled voice: ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I couldn’t make your grand opening tomorrow, so I wanted to come have a look at the premises tonight. My goodness, you’ve been busy.’ The controlled tone of none other than Liz Hough floated through the air toward me, and my heart jumped. Could this be the grand reunion I’d been dreaming of? Right here, right now? I’d been so busy this week I hadn’t had a chance to even think more about Liz and if she’d been behind pushing through the planning permission. If she was here now, it must have been her, right?
A smile lifted the corners of my mouth and warmth rushed through me. I couldn’t wait for the two of them to patch things up. Scooting over to a settee in the corner of the lounge, I grabbed an old magazine from the nineteen-fifties and flipped through the pages, trying to look like I wasn’t listening even though every bit of me was tuned to the voices in the foyer.
Miracle at the Museum of Broken Hearts (Christmas Novella) Page 4
