Can You Keep a Secret?

by Caroline Overington

  ‘I’m sorry, Colby,’ Summer said, ‘they’re saying that Caitlin never got off the plane.’

  ‘What do you mean, she never got off the plane?’

  ‘That’s what they said.’

  ‘Get them on the line for me, will you, Summer? Jesus Christ. It’s her first time in New York. Are you sure they didn’t lose her?’

  Summer called the service again, and this time Colby took the receiver.

  ‘Our driver waited for two hours,’ the service told him. ‘We were there with the sign. Caitlin Hourigan. She didn’t come out.’

  ‘Jesus,’ said Colby. He strode into Robert’s office, saying, ‘I’m sorry to do this to you, buddy. You know Caitlin was due to touch down today. I think I’ve lost her. Or somebody’s lost her. The plane definitely landed on time. But now the car service is saying she didn’t disembark, and Carlos hasn’t seen her.’

  Robert leaned back in his chair, pen in his mouth. ‘You’ve checked your email?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course I’ve checked my email.’

  ‘Maybe you should go home. She’s probably sitting in the foyer.’

  ‘You don’t think Carlos would have seen her in the foyer?’

  ‘You’ve checked your phone?’

  ‘Of course I’ve checked the phone.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know what else to tell you,’ said Robert, swinging his chair back towards his computer, ‘except what I’ve told you before, which is that Daisy Duke has got you by the balls. Look at your face. You’re beside yourself. Are you sure you’re not a little bit serious about her?’

  ‘Oh, you’re a big help,’ said Colby. He marched out of Robert’s office towards the elevator. It was barely a three-minute walk, over a little footbridge, from Carnegie to his apartment building in Battery Park City. Colby pushed his way through the revolving door. Carlos was sitting behind the bellman’s desk, but he jumped straight up at Colby’s approach.

  ‘Mr Colbert!’ he said. ‘No sign of your friend?’

  ‘I was hoping you might have seen her. No chance that anyone else let her up?’

  ‘I’ve been here all day.’

  ‘I better check.’ Colby rode the silent elevator to the 79th floor, strode down the corridor, and put his security key in the door. His apartment had windows that looked directly upon the World Trade Center. It was quiet, elegant and empty.

  ‘What the hell could be going on?’ he thought. ‘Don’t tell me she’s ripped me off? Don’t tell me she’s cashed the ticket and pocketed the money?’ But that made no sense. He knew enough about women to know that Caitlin was both smitten and genuinely excited to visit New York. No way would she miss an opportunity to see him. Something must have gone wrong. He went into the kitchen, brow furrowed, and poured a drink – the designer who had been so helpful with wearing in the bed had insisted upon a fridge with an ice-maker – and Colby was still nursing his icy glass, and checking and re-checking his email, when his cell phone rang.

  It was Robert.

  ‘So, are you done shagging her?’ he asked.

  ‘Don’t joke. She’s still not here.’

  ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘I’m not kidding. She’s not here. I’ve called. I’ve emailed. I’ve tried to get information out of Qantas. Good luck with that. Am I supposed to ring her mother? I mean, Caitlin’s a grown woman.’

  ‘Well, not quite grown,’ drawled Robert. ‘If my memory’s right, she just turned twenty-one.’

  ‘Look, whatever. Yesterday she said she was getting on the plane. Today she’s not here. Does that make her a missing person? Am I supposed to call the police?’

  ‘The police?’ said Robert, alarmed. ‘Look, no, I wouldn’t do that. I realise this is an unfamiliar situation for a smooth guy like you, Colby, but it seems to me that you’ve simply been stood up. Happens to us mere mortals all the time. And Caitlin isn’t silly. I always thought she’d wake up to you. Now she’s shot through with your ticket. Good for her. But there’s no point sitting around, moping. You’ve got to take it in your stride. I’m at Hudson. So is half of Carnegie. We’re toasting your birthday. Come and join us.’

  ‘Oh, Jesus.’ Colby had forgotten that he was supposed to pick up Caitlin from his apartment and take her to his birthday drinks in Midtown. ‘I’m not coming to Hudson. I’ve got a missing person on my hands.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Robert. ‘You’ve been stood up. Accept it. It happens to all of us.’

  ‘But I don’t get it. She seemed keen.’

  ‘Well, no point sitting home getting drunk,’ said Robert. ‘Far better to come out and get drunk.’

  ‘But what if she shows up?’

  ‘Carlos will let her in. And he can call and let you know. But she won’t show up. You’ve been stood up. So come on, man. Will wallowing at home make it better? No. Will having a beer make it better? Yes.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Colby, but then again, what the hell? Caitlin hadn’t turned up, and it was his birthday. He took the elevator down, caught the subway to Columbus Circle, and rode up the yellow perspex elevator to Hudson, with its lawn patio, picnic tables and people drinking boutique beers.

  ‘Look at the long face!’ Robert was pointing the neck of his bottle in Colby’s direction. ‘Stood up for the first time in his life. But never mind: make way for the birthday boy! Let’s get this man a beer!’

  ‘I just don’t get it,’ Colby said. He was genuinely worried. And, if Robert was right, and he had been shafted – well, he was surprised how much he cared.

  ‘Cheer up,’ said Robert. ‘We’ve got a surprise for you.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘You’ll see. Come with me.’

  The common area was buzzing. At least half of the patrons were Colby’s friends from Carnegie, Columbia and his home state, Connecticut. The women were polished; the men were rich; the music was cool jazz.

  Robert raised his voice.

  ‘Now, if I could get everybody to stand back,’ he said, using his arms to create a space, ‘the birthday boy has finally arrived, meaning it’s present time!’

  One of Hudson’s funky staff had come out from behind the cloakroom counter. He was wearing denim overalls, with the button of one bib left undone, and he was pushing a trolley with a large cardboard box on it.

  ‘Christ, it’s huge,’ Colby thought. ‘How am I going to get that home?’

  ‘So, go on, open it,’ Robert said, but just as he said it, the satin bow on top of the box began to move.

  ‘Whoa!’ said Colby and then, to himself, he thought, ‘Oh God, no. Not a stripper. I’m in no mood for a stripper.’ The box moved again, the bow fell off, and the ribbon pooled onto the floor. The cardboard flaps on top of the box opened – and out popped Caitlin.

  ‘Surprise!’ she said, arms outstretched.

  ‘Jesus!” said Colby, trying to steady himself. He was not drunk but Caitlin had thrown herself – or the top half of herself anyway – from the box into his arms and he’d stumbled backwards under her weight. Everyone was cheering. Caitlin’s legs were still in the box, and she looked very funny standing there like that, but she was still gorgeous. Colby looked over her shoulder at Robert, who tilted another bottle in his direction.

  ‘Gotcha!’ he said, over the laughter and the noise.

  ‘Who cooked this up?’ Colby asked. He was in shock but also delighted. He took Caitlin under the arms and lifted her clear out of the box.

  ‘I did,’ she said, steadying herself against him. ‘I wanted to surprise you.’

  ‘But how did you organise this?’

  Caitlin shrugged. ‘I emailed Robert. I asked him to help me. He thought it was a fantastic idea.’

  Colby looked at Robert, who was grinning like a loon. ‘But how did you even get Robert’s email?’ he asked. ‘I didn’t know you guys were in touch.’

  ‘She’s a dark horse,’ said Robert.

  ‘Ha! And maybe there’s a lot you don’t know about me.’ Caitlin
winked at Robert. ‘We did a good job, didn’t we, Robert, keeping him out of the loop?’

  ‘Like I told you, your girl is sly as a fox,’ Robert agreed. ‘She had me sworn to secrecy.’

  ‘I don’t know if I should be happy … or afraid!’ said Colby, laughing.

  ‘Don’t be afraid.’ Caitlin planted a kiss on his lips.

  ‘Well, I sure know I’m happy to see you.’ Colby kissed her again, hard on the mouth. The crowd cheered louder.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ Colby said, raising her arm. ‘Please meet my little Aussie fox, Caitlin Hourigan!’

  ‘Three cheers for Caitlin!’ said Robert, slapping bank notes on the bar.

  It was close to 3 am when Caitlin and Colby’s taxi finally pulled up outside Colby’s building. Carlos was back on duty. He came out to the kerb to open the taxi door and help Colby to his feet.

  ‘My friend Carlos!’ Colby said – he was very drunk. He took Carlos by the shoulder, partly to steady himself, and partly to say, ‘Carlos, I’d like you to meet my girl.’

  ‘Well, hello miss,’ said Carlos.

  ‘No, no, no. This is not any girl. This is her! The girl I was waiting for. This is Caitlin. She cooked up a thing to surprise me, isn’t that good? But she came. I knew she would.’

  ‘Pleased to hear it, Mr Colbert.’ Carlos winked at Caitlin, and helped Colby across the red carpet that was stretched across the sidewalk, into the foyer, and then into the elevator. ‘The two of you have a good night, now.’ He pushed the button, to make sure they at least found the right floor, but it still took Colby three goes to get his key into the door.

  They snuggled down into the slate-grey linen on Colby’s special-order king-size bed, and Caitlin stripped down to a new bra and knickers, and because they were young and in love, they had a red-hot go at having sex, but Colby really was too drunk and finally he gave up and said, ‘Okay. No, no, let me go to sleep. I’ll shag you tomorrow.’

  ‘Alright,’ said Caitlin, whose own effort, given her jet lag, had been pretty heroic. She curled up beside him, under the giant-sized, black-framed portrait of Marilyn Monroe, and added, ‘It’s not like we don’t have plenty of time.’

  Chapter 10

  The first sign of Colby the following morning was of his hand, stretched out like a Huntsman spider, in search of the tall bottle of water that his housekeeper left out for him every day of the week.

  ‘Where is it?’ he muttered. His fingers made their way across the bedside table, found the bottle and unscrewed the lid. ‘Please tell me this is not a dream,’ he said, between gulps and gasps. ‘Tell me when I wake up, you, Caitlin Hourigan, will be in my bed.’

  Caitlin’s blonde head was buried under a mountain of feather pillows.

  ‘I’m here,’ she said. It came out croaky. Her mouth, too, was dry.

  ‘Now, please tell me I haven’t lost half a day’s trade.’ Head throbbing, Colby reached for his digital clock on the bedside table.

  He had missed maybe an hour.

  ‘Christ no,’ he said. He reached down to find his pants, and fished through the pockets of his suit trousers for his BlackBerry. ‘How much has this cost me?’

  ‘Well, good morning to you too,’ said Caitlin. Her hair was all mussed up and her face had been wiped clear of make-up. Not for the first time, Colby noticed how much better she looked for the wear and tear. He leaned over and kissed her forehead.

  ‘Good morning, beautiful,’ he said. ‘You’ve made my day, being here. You’re every bit as gorgeous as I remember. And now, I’ve got to move.’

  The bedroom had a wet room attached, which was sleek and tiled white. Colby got up and walked into it bare-arse naked, happy and still holding the BlackBerry.

  ‘You’re going to take your mobile in there?’ Caitlin asked.

  ‘You mean my cell phone? I am. And don’t even think of complaining,’ Colby called back over his shoulder, ‘when I’ve just lost God knows how much money, sleeping in with you.’

  Caitlin heard him turn on the hot-water jets. ‘You could at least tell me I’m worth it.’

  ‘You’re worth it.’

  Caitlin grinned and snuggled down into the many glorious, textured layers of Colby’s bed. It was warm outside, but it was cool in Colby’s air-conditioned crash pad.

  ‘I’m glad I’m here,’ she called out. She was proud of herself for having cooked up such a good prank with Robert.

  ‘Are you now?’ replied Colby. He came out of the wet room, his lower half wrapped in a plump towel, and disappeared into the dressing room.

  ‘Aren’t you glad I’m here?’

  Colby came out of the dressing room. He had put on a silk shirt, and it was flecked with water stains. He hadn’t taken the time to towel himself off properly. A silk tie hung loose and long around his neck, and his belt and shoes were undone.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, I think I am.’ He ran an index finger slowly down Caitlin’s nose. ‘And it’s lucky you’re here, because I have a present for you.’ He reached into one of the bedside drawers and took out a box. It was a small cell phone in a Hello Kitty case.

  ‘Yours for the duration,’ he said. ‘It won’t work in Australia, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Cool!’ said Caitlin, sitting up to play with the keys. ‘But what’s my number?’

  ‘It’s all in the box. Now, I’m going to the office and I’ll be late home. Carlos has a key for you. And he’ll give you a subway map. Go out and have a look around. Don’t get lost. If you do, call Carlos. He’ll tell you how to get home.’

  ‘Can’t I call you?’

  ‘I’m often hard to get.’

  Caitlin put on a playful, pouty face. ‘When you say you’ll be late home, what time do you mean?’

  ‘Nine o’clock,’ said Colby, kissing her nose. ‘Maybe earlier. But not much earlier. So sleep. Explore. Have fun.’ He went out the door.

  Caitlin waited for it to close – softly, gently, on its special slow-close hinge – and for the elevator to ping, and then she got up and softly, gently, deliberately, went through every drawer in the place. Not to steal. Just to see. And there was a lot to see: Colby’s shirts were colour-coded: whites, through pale blues, through darker shades, to the one or two that were black. He had nine suits, all in carrier bags. His shoes sat on special racks. There were fourteen of everything in the kitchen: bowls, plates, bigger plates and bigger plates again. There was cutlery in one drawer, and then special cutlery, still in boxes, in a different drawer.

  Also, condoms in the bathroom. Hmm. Why? New? Old? How to tell? One female LadyShaver, stuck behind a masculine vanity case, itself stuck behind toilet rolls. Dusty. Good.

  The looking, learning, examining took most of the day. Then came jet lag. Caitlin slept, and woke thinking it was morning – which it was, in Townsville – and decided to do what she’d always done for Colby in Australia. She’d cook. But what? There was nothing in the fridge, which she had eventually found hidden behind a false door. So, she’d shop. But where? Carlos would know.

  She got dressed, went downstairs and explained to Carlos what she was after.

  ‘You want what?’ he said. ‘Fresh fish? Now?’

  ‘There must be a supermarket,’ said Caitlin, but this was Battery Park City. There was no supermarket.

  ‘Just order in,’ said Carlos, ‘it’s what everyone does.’

  And so on that first day, Caitlin explored, as dazzled as anyone by New York, and that night they ordered in, and it was just like a scene from TV – even the chopsticks were disposable – and the delivery boy had brought beer. They had sex, of course, and after sex Colby checked his BlackBerry. Caitlin laughed at him. ‘Don’t you ever switch off?’

  ‘I’ll switch you off,’ he said.

  Caitlin smiled. ‘I like it here.’

  ‘Good. I’m glad. But I think I told you, you would.’

  And so the pattern for Caitlin’s holiday was pretty much set: for the first two, maybe even three weeks. Colby would get up e
arly and come in late, and Caitlin kept herself busy doing what tourists do in New York: she went to see the Statue of Liberty and Times Square; she took photographs of squirrels, and of the signs that said Fifth Avenue and Park Avenue and Madison Avenue. She ate a hotdog and a pretzel, and she went up the Empire State Building.

  Then, on Caitlin’s first Saturday night in Manhattan, she got dressed up and Colby took her to the restaurant at the top of the World Trade Center. They had steak, drank wine, and he dared her to step out onto the viewing platform in her heels.

  ‘Imagine falling from here,’ she said, with her hands up to the glass.

  ‘You’d go splat.’

  ‘I feel sick just looking.’

  ‘They’ve made it so you can’t fall.’

  At work the following Monday, Colby found himself resting his shoes on Robert’s desk, with his hands behind his head. ‘I could get used to this lifestyle,’ he said.

  ‘What, camping in my office?’

  ‘Having Caitlin live in. You know she cooks for me? She sets a table, lights candles, pours wine. I mean, you know what it’s normally like with a chick: “Where are we eating tonight? Can we go to …? Can we meet up with …? What’s happening this weekend?” I never get any of that. The whole New York scene – it’s alien to her. She doesn’t want to see anyone. She has no idea what “everyone else” is doing. I go home, ask her what she’s been doing, she says, “Writing postcards.” And she’s happy with that.’

  ‘Can you please stop?’ moaned Robert. ‘Or are you trying to kill me with envy?’

  By the fourth week, things had cooled a bit. Colby was still working long hours and Caitlin’s enthusiasm for being alone all day – and half the night – had worn away. She took to calling Colby at the office to ask when he’d be home. Colby hated that kind of thing. Work was work. And so their first fight – both knew it was coming – was about how late home he was going to be, one night in their fifth week together.

  ‘I sit at home all week while you’re at work,’ Caitlin said. ‘Can’t you come home a bit earlier? It’s not like I’m going to be here much longer.’

  Make-up sex is supposed to be great, but that night it was only okay, and Colby found himself feeling relieved to be able to leave the apartment in the morning. He stayed out late that night, getting in at around 2 am. Caitlin was waiting, with a tear-streaked face, on the sofa. She got up and threw a solid block of glass – a candle holder – at him.