by Mandy Baggot
‘How?’ Angel asked, moving up alongside the barrier and looking out over the sea of grey.
‘I told you, we’re going to call all the galleries in New York and find someone who can put us in touch or there’s the barman at Vipers. Maybe Michel still goes there and he remembers him.’ She blew out a breath as a shiver ran over her body. ‘I’m not going to stop until we find him.’
‘But what if … what if he has another family?’ Angel said. ‘He might be married. He might have other children.’
Hayley put an arm across her shoulders and drew her close. ‘Yes, he might.’
Had Michel met his soulmate? Did he have children? Did they look anything like Angel?
‘We just need to find him first. Anything else will have to come later.’
‘He might not want to know me at all.’
‘And if he doesn’t, we tell him what we think of him and we kick him in the Will.I.Am.’
She saw a smirk appear on Angel’s face.
‘Because that would make him the biggest … dope,’ Hayley said, letting go of Angel and adopting a rapper stance.
‘Stop it! People are looking!’
Hayley put her arm back around her, affectionately rubbing her shoulder. ‘Angel, I might not know a lot about him but I do know that he was funny and bright and passionate about life.’ She recalled their walk through Central Park. The leaves on the trees a russet colour, waiting to fall, the air crisp, the moon lighting their way. ‘He told me the world is just one big ball of experiences waiting to be grabbed.’
‘Really?’ Angel looked unimpressed by the anecdote.
‘He had cool hair,’ Hayley added.
Angel smiled. ‘What else?’
‘He had nice eyes, like yours,’ she said, reaching for Angel’s hand.
‘Do you have a photo?’
‘Yes!’ Hayley said excitedly. ‘It’s back at the apartment but … yes, I have a photo.’
Her daughter’s smile widened then, becoming more genuine. Right now Hayley would say or do anything to make this easier for her. She couldn’t help but feel as if she had let her down along the way to this moment, because of her own cautiousness about the subject … or perhaps her mother’s.
‘Can we go up to the top?’ Angel asked, slipping her hand into Hayley’s. It was a small gesture but it meant everything.
‘Absolutely. As long as I can re-enact Sleepless in Seattle.’ Hayley grinned.
Angel snatched her hand back, folding her arms across her chest. ‘I am not being Tom Hanks.’
‘Reasons Christmas is better in New York number 29. Visiting scenes from your favourite movies!’
30
Drummond Global Offices, Downtown Manhattan
Oliver relaxed the knot on his tie and unfastened the button of his suit jacket as he walked along the corridor.
‘What is in that thing?’ he asked, looking to Tony, who was devouring something wrapped in paper.
‘Pastrami. Want some?’ Tony offered it over, strings of meat hanging from his lips.
‘No. What I do want is to know what you’re doing here again.’ He pushed open the door in front of them. ‘I thought you had two new businesses to oversee.’
Tony nodded. ‘I do. I also have a best friend who’s determined to kill himself with overwork and malnutrition before his genetic heart condition can do the job.’
‘Sshh,’ Oliver hissed. He looked over his shoulder to see who might be listening. ‘Keep it down.’
‘What?’ Tony asked, his eyes wide with innocence.
‘My condition isn’t common knowledge around here.’ He lowered his voice further. ‘They know my brother died young, there’s enough speculation of age and alcohol playing a part with respect to the rest of the family.’
‘OK, I get it. Sorry.’
Oliver blew out a breath. ‘No, I’m sorry. I’m just strung out about my mother that’s all.’
‘What’s up with Mrs D? She’s OK, isn’t she?’
‘That clarifies one thing,’ Oliver said, pushing open the next door.
‘What thing?’
‘That she didn’t have intimate dinners with Andrew Regis at your restaurant.’
‘No freaking way!’ Tony’s eyes came out of his head. ‘She’s seeing Andrew Regis?’
Just the sentence had Oliver’s shoulders tensing in reaction.
‘I don’t like the guy,’ Tony followed up. ‘Eyes are too close together. And you should never trust a man who wears that much cologne.’
Oliver stopped walking. ‘I need to get on.’
‘Oh, sure, me too. I just dropped in to check you were still alive and kicking after yesterday and … thought I might bump into Kelly.’ Tony grinned.
‘Go and check on those restaurants plural,’ Oliver ordered.
‘I’m going.’ He stopped, waving his wrap in the air. ‘Oh and I’ve had orders from Momma to get you to the restaurant soon. She wants to feed you up. Said you looked too thin in the picture on the front of the New York Times.’
Oliver shook his head. ‘Tell her I’ll pop by soon.’
‘She’ll expect you this week.’ Tony started walking but stopped. ‘Oh and the tree in the lobby? Very understated.’ He laughed at his own joke. ‘No less is more around here.’
‘Tony,’ he said, smiling. ‘Only more is more.’
Tony laughed and began to make his way back up the corridor.
Oliver took a deep breath in before approaching the final door. He had had a productive morning. As well as getting some ideas on date locations from Clara, he had called everyone off the Regis Software merger. By the end of the day both his mother and Andrew Regis would know the deal was officially off the table. And now, down on the tenth floor of his building, he was going on another fact-finding mission.
The dark-haired secretary at the entrance to the level almost spilt her coffee when he stepped onto the floor.
‘Good morning,’ he greeted, smiling at her.
‘Mr Drummond, we … we weren’t expecting you,’ she replied.
‘I wanted to take a walk,’ he said, looking through into the work rooms.
‘Of course … that’s fine.’
‘I’m glad.’ He smiled again. ‘Is Dean Walker around?’
‘Yes, I think so.’ She looked at her computer screen. ‘Would you like me to buzz him?’
‘No need. Room Seven, isn’t it?’ He started walking.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Thank you.’ He waved a hand and headed down the corridor.
‘Good morning, Mr Drummond,’ a young man greeted him as he passed.
‘Good morning,’ he responded.
He didn’t recognise any of these people. Now the company had grown to this level it was impossible for him to sit in on all interviews. But should he know more than he did? Should his employees be more than names on a computer system and faces he didn’t know?
He stopped. ‘Hey,’ he called to the man passing him.
The employee stopped in his tracks and turned to face Oliver. He noted he was already looking concerned.
‘What’s your name?’ Oliver asked.
‘Milo Rodriguez, sir.’
Oliver nodded then held out his hand. ‘Good,’ he said as Milo connected the handshake. ‘Well, I’m Oliver and it’s nice to meet you.’
‘You too, sir.’ The guy seemed completely bewildered.
Oliver broke the connection and headed back down the corridor. It was time to stop being the soulless, man-at-the-top and start being someone people liked a little. He only hoped it wasn’t too late.
Tilton Gallery, 8 East 76 Street
‘Is this it?’ Angel asked.
They were stood outside a cream-coloured building that looked more like a townhouse than a gallery. Its towering height only emphasised its lack of width and, if it hadn’t been for the Parthenon-style pillars at its entrance, it would have passed for nothing out of the ordinary.
‘I guess it is,’ Ha
yley said, looking at the building. She had never been here before but this was another of the places her diary had confirmed Michel had talked about. He had had an exhibition of his work here. He had sold a few pieces. She remembered he’d been excited about it.
‘Are we going in?’ Angel asked.
Hayley nodded. That’s what they were here for, but she was still filled with so much trepidation. Would it be another dead end or would luck be on their side this time?
‘I should have brought the photo,’ Hayley cursed. ‘Why didn’t I bring the photo?’
Angel took hold of Hayley’s hand. ‘It doesn’t matter, Mum. If he had an exhibition here there will be a record of it, won’t there?’
If he had been telling the truth. That always crossed her mind too. What if he wasn’t an artist? That would explain the lack of artists called Michel De Vos on Google and the fact none of the galleries had come up with anything so far. He could have been a hot dog vendor and she wouldn’t have known any different.
She smiled at Angel before any of her thoughts seeped out into her expression. ‘Yes, there will. Let’s go in.’ She led the way up the steps.
* * *
Drummond Global Offices, Downtown Manhattan
This was the hub of the company, its engine and driving force. This was where ideas were created, world-changing pieces of equipment were devised, revolutionary gadgetry that had the ability to make a real difference to people’s lives.
Oliver stood in the doorway of the room and just watched the employees at work. The smell of electronics took him right the way back to the garage and workshop in Westchester. His father had worked late into the night in the early days, a soldering iron never far from his hand, working diligently, every tiny section of each component nurtured by his hands. Then later Oliver had watched Ben working with him too. Ben was always given the first opportunities because he was older. But his outstanding capabilities had also made him the first port of call even when age no longer counted. Still a little jealousy mixed in with the grief no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.
His presence was noticed by Peter Lamont, the head of the department, and the man cleared his throat loudly, making everyone stop what they were doing. It almost looked like they were going to stand to attention and salute. Oliver stepped into the room.
‘Don’t let me stop what you’re doing,’ he said, waving their attention away.
‘Mr Drummond, if this is about the Globe then I can assure you …’ Peter started.
He shook his head. ‘No, it isn’t about the Globe. In fact the Globe is fine. I need to have more faith in your months of testing and extensive research and not believe everything that’s served to me on the internet.’ He cleared his throat as a picture of Hayley from last night, dressed in her woollen festive nightwear, came to mind. ‘Could I have a moment with Dean?’
Oliver looked to the rear of the room. Dean was already out of his chair and heading towards them.
‘Take my office,’ Peter said, indicating the side room to the open-plan section they were standing in.
‘After you,’ Oliver said to Dean.
He followed Hayley’s brother into Peter’s office and, once they were both inside, he closed the door.
‘Mr Drummond, I just want to say …’ Dean began.
Oliver held his hand up to stop him talking. He was nervous enough as it was. He just needed to do some straight-talking and get what he came for.
‘It’s Oliver, please.’ He loosened his tie a little more and began to pace the carpet. ‘So, the thing is, Dean. Last night, after I met your sister… Lois … not Lois, not at all Lois.’ He blushed and felt his resolve crumbling under Dean’s scrutiny. Why was this woman getting under his skin so much? This had never happened before and it scared the crap out of him. ‘Hayley,’ he corrected. ‘Hayley.’
Dean was just looking at him like he was the biggest jerk he’d ever met. And at the moment he was filling that role beautifully.
He let out a frustrated noise and swept a hand over a pile of papers on Peter’s desk, making them flutter up, some falling from the desk to the floor. He was making such a mess of this, he was just going to have to come right out with it.
‘I’ve asked Hayley on a date and I need your help.’ There, it was out.
Dean started to cough and it was so vigorous and breath-impairing that Oliver feared he was having some sort of attack.
‘Are you OK?’ Oliver asked, moving from behind the desk to beside Dean.
Dean shook his head in a confirming way. ‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ he said, coughing some more but straightening up. ‘I just … I just thought you said you’d asked my sister out on a date.’
Oliver nodded. ‘I did.’
Dean’s pallor turned mortuary white. He choked out a response. ‘You did?’
‘Yes. Do I have to ask permission?’
‘No, of course not, I … I’m just surprised that’s all.’
‘Surprised why?’
‘Well …’ Dean began.
He got it then. Dean had read yesterday’s news. He, along with the entire rest of the population of the city, thought he was a serial philanderer who behaved like an Aladdin character. He really needed to get his public relations people onto damage control. He’d ignored all their messages yesterday.
‘She has Angel,’ Dean filled in.
Oliver tried to compute what Dean meant. He ended up just furrowing his brow as he looked back at him. ‘I realise that.’
‘Well, with all due respect, she has quite a lot going on right now.’
‘She said yes,’ Oliver said, in case there was any doubt.
‘She did?’
He nodded. ‘And I know about her ex. Angel’s father. The so-called painter with the artistic hair.’
‘You do? Wow, you must have drunk a lot of coffee together before we got home.’
‘Yeah, we did.’ He pulled in a breath. ‘So, I want to take her somewhere special, and that’s where you come in.’
Dean was still looking a little bewildered by the conversation. ‘It is?’
‘What does she like? I don’t mean food or wine or cable channels, I mean what makes her tick? Where can I take her? What can we do together that’s going to really mean something to her?’
He had to swallow at the end of the sentence as the intensity of it hit him. And Dean wasn’t saying anything, he was just looking at him like he might have lost his mind. Had he lost his mind? His heart was beating hard, telling him two things. One that he cared about this woman an awful lot already and two that he was taking chances here, chances he didn’t have. Did he have the right to engage in this, with Hayley, and her daughter?
‘She’s only here for a couple of weeks,’ Dean spoke.
‘I realise that too.’ Somehow that made it better. Whatever connection they had … well thinking about it as just two weeks was much more manageable. He relaxed a little.
‘And she’s had a lot to deal with over the years.’
‘A daughter who talks endlessly and wants to save every lobster in Asian Dawn, if not every Chinese restaurant across the world.’
‘You’ve got it,’ Dean stated.
‘I’ve definitely got it,’ he said.
Dean seemed to assess him then, his eyes trying to take him apart from the inside. Finally Dean moved, picked a pen out of the pot on the desk and grabbed a notepad.
‘She likes fashion,’ he said, leaning over the desk and writing. ‘B.A. That’s Before Angel, she was going to study at a really good college that only accepts the best of the best. She had to give it up.’
Oliver swallowed. Another person whose path in life was altered. But instead of toeing the family line, Hayley had sacrificed her dreams for her daughter.
Dean held out the paper. ‘This is her absolute favourite designer, or rather, it was. She doesn’t get a lot of time for browsing through anything these days.’
Oliver went to take the note but Dean held on fast.
‘My sister’s spent half her life feeling inadequate.’ Dean sighed. ‘Hayley’s clever and she’s a good person. She’s just been dealt a challenging hand and had no acknowledgement of how well she’s done raising Angel.’ He still held the paper. ‘She just doesn’t need anyone coming in and letting her down. Even if it’s only for a couple of weeks.’
‘It’s just a date,’ Oliver reminded. He smiled, admiring the way Dean wasn’t going to be browbeaten on this.
‘Hayley doesn’t go on many dates.’
‘She has Angel,’ Oliver said, understanding.
‘And Angel is the most important thing in her life.’
Oliver put his fingers to the notepaper. ‘I get that.’
Dean released his grip.
‘Thank you,’ Oliver replied.
* * *
Tilton Gallery, 8 East 76 Street
‘Do you think the floor is part of the exhibition?’ Angel asked, looking down as they walked into the first room of the gallery.
‘It could be. This parquet has had much more than an Elizabeth, a Diana and a Camilla done to it.’
The magnificent, glossy wood flooring was in perfect contrast to the bare white walls surrounding them. Further into the room there were two large windows letting in every ounce of natural light possible and ahead were several wire cages Hayley assumed were art. To their left was an ornate fireplace not dissimilar to the one at the house in Westchester yesterday. A wide staircase wove seamlessly upwards.
‘Good afternoon. Can I be of assistance?’ The accent was French and both Hayley and Angel turned around to greet their company.
A very tall, very slim woman in her mid-fifties was stepping towards them. She was dressed in a roll-neck jumper, a thick tartan wool skirt, black tights and boots. Her silver/grey hair was pinned back in a chignon and on her nose were a tiny pair of gold glasses. She smiled.
Angel dug Hayley in the ribs with her finger, making her jump forward a little.
‘Yes, please.’ She took a breath. ‘We’re looking for someone. He’s exhibited here before, about ten years ago.’
