by Carrie Elks
“The lawyers drew up a first refusal document, so he can’t sell it without giving me the option to buy.” Richard sighed, his fingers rubbing harder than ever at his temples. “I can arrange the finance easily enough if he does want to sell.”
“Maybe you need to make him an offer he can’t refuse.”
Richard laughed. “You’re making me sound like the Godfather. This is Daniel we’re talking about, not Sonny Corleone.”
“We just need to be prepared for the worst. There’s no room for sentimentality in business. Now, I’m going to go home, kiss my wife, and get ready for this damned gala.”
“You sound as excited about it as I am.”
“Oh believe me, Richard, I’m probably the only person in New York who is less excited about it than you.”
“Well, old man, I’ll see you at the Astoria at eight. I’ll be the one in the monkey suit.”
“And I’ll be the one with the most beautiful woman in the world on my arm, particularly since you couldn’t persuade Hanna to come with you tonight.” Joe gave him a small smile, knowing that the past months had placed a huge strain on Richard’s relationship with Hanna. “I’m only sorry that I won’t get to dance with her. Make sure you pass on mine and Emily’s regards.”
“I will.” Richard walked across the office with Joe, opening up the large oak door to let him out, closing it softly behind him. Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket as he walked back to his desk, he checked his watch before pressing the speed dial.
“Hey.” Hanna’s soft voice coming down the earpiece made him smile. He sat down in his leather chair, pushing it back on its wheels until he could put his feet up on his desk.
“Hi, sweetheart. How’s Diana?”
“She’s having a good day, she managed to eat some soup. We even went for a short walk in the garden.” Hanna sounded wistful, and his fist clenched in an effort not to throw down the phone and run to the nearest airport. Christ, he missed her.
“That sounds hopeful. I’m hoping to fly over in the next couple of weeks, once we’ve managed to sort out the new head of Real Estate.” Not wanting to burden her with his troubles, he quickly changed the subject, “Joe asked me to give you his regards. He’s devastated you won’t be dancing with him at the gala this evening.”
“Oh God, I forgot that was happening tonight, I’m so sorry.” Her tone turned tearful, and Richard bit his lip in response. “I’m really upset that I can’t be there with you.”
“Hey, we agreed you wouldn’t feel guilty about this,” he chided. “You’d only be bored, anyway. I plan to run in, make my speech, and then hot tail it home.”
“Richard, you know you can’t do that. The only reason the tables sell for so much is all the women want to get their hands on you for a dance.”
“There’s only one woman I want to be dancing with tonight, sweetheart. Since you won’t be there, I’ll just sit this one out.”
“I love you.”
He could almost hear her smile.
“I love you, too. Now try and get some rest.”
RICHARD’S CAR PULLED up outside the Waldorf-Astoria. As he strode under the gilt-edged canopy and entered the lobby, he saw his PA waiting for him, wearing a silver ankle-length gown, her auburn hair swept up and back from her face to reveal her smiling features.
“You’re late.”
“I know.” He held his hands up in surrender. “I only left the office an hour ago. Have I missed much?”
“Your mother was very disappointed that you weren’t on her table for dinner, and I’ve had to give your apologies to about a thousand frustrated ladies who are desperate to mark your dance card.”
“Do dance cards still exist?” He gave her a wry smile. They began walking toward the Grand Ballroom. Lisa fussed over his bowtie and jacket, smoothing them down until he was perfectly turned out.
“If they do, then along with the rest of your cards, I’ve marked them,” she replied dryly. “Your speech is cued up on the screen of the lectern, and Jon Stewart has done a wonderful job of warming up the crowd. You just need to get in there and do your thing.”
“You make it sound so easy.” He grinned, batting her hands away as she tried to smooth down his hair. “And leave me alone, I’m trying to perfect the hobo look.”
“You’re doing a damn fine job,” Lisa muttered. “And don’t worry about the speech, nobody will be listening, they’ll have either drunk themselves into a stupor at dinner, or they’ll be planning who they’re going to schmooze with next. Think of yourself as the gala equivalent of a B movie.”
Later that evening, he found himself standing at the bar, a glass of whisky in hand, surrounded by people that he only had a passing acquaintance with. The 3rd Annual Leon J Maxwell Memorial Foundation Dinner was being held to raise money for the families of victims of 9/11. It was only the fact that it was such a good cause that kept Richard anywhere near the Astoria that evening. With just under a thousand guests present, the foundation hoped to raise upwards of $3 million during the gala.
“Darling, there you are, I’ve been looking for you all over. Please don’t tell me you came alone tonight.” Richard looked up to see his mother approaching, looking resplendent in an emerald-green evening dress, her hair lying softly against her shoulders.
“Mother.” He leaned forward and kissed her, his lips softly brushing her cheek. “And yes, I came alone, you know Hanna can’t leave England right now.”
“You really should find yourself a partner for times like these,” she chided, ignoring Richard’s reddening face. “It doesn’t look right when you turn up without anybody on your arm.”
“It doesn’t bother me.” He drained his whisky, putting the empty glass on the bar.
“How long is this going to go on, darling? I can’t stand to see you turn up at these occasions on your own. You really need the support of a woman. You’re way too busy to be concerning yourself with the small things.” Caroline brushed a piece of lint from his sleeve. “People are starting to notice.”
“I couldn’t give a damn what people are saying.” Richard was angry, his voice louder than he intended. “Diana is dying, what do you expect Hanna to do, fly out and leave her on her own?”
“I expect her to stand by her man, just like the rest of us would.”
“Because appearances always come first,” he said bitterly.
“No, because when you are in love with somebody, you want to be with them. When was the last time you saw Hanna?”
“I spoke with her this evening.” His words were firm and flat, and invited no response. Caroline continued, ignoring his warning.
“Well, just think about it. If Hanna can’t accompany you to important occasions such as this, having a friend to stand in would be a better option.” Like his own, her words were short. She took another glass of champagne from a passing waiter before squeezing Richard’s hands. “I don’t mean to nag you, darling, but I worry about you. When you’re not working you’re either on a plane or visiting Hanna. A man like you needs somebody to look after him.”
Her words hit a tender spot. Without Hanna, he felt incomplete, and to attend functions without her on his arm was difficult. It wasn’t the fact that single women of a certain age seemed to make a beeline for him, because he was easily able to swat them off. It was more that he felt her absence profoundly.
They had been together—as a normal couple—for such a short time before Diana had found the lump in her breast. In the nine months since, she had gone through the ups and downs of treatment; hope, fear, and finally despair. It was understandable that Hanna didn’t want to leave her for any amount of time because the doctors had given her months, not years, to live. He wasn’t going to be the selfish bastard who took her away from her dying mother.
Richard felt the sickening feeling of guilt when he wished that she would fly over and see him, or that they could spend some time alone in London, without having to be with Diana all the time. An even darker part of him
—one he would never admit to knowing existed—missed their physical contact, the romance, the love, and especially the sex. If you discounted his hand, he hadn’t had a fulfilling assignation for quite some time.
“Have you talked about what you are going to do afterward?” Caroline asked.
“After Diana dies? I don’t think that Hanna can even conceive of a world without her mother, let alone how she’s going to feel, or where she’s going to want to live.”
“Will she ever want to move to Manhattan?”
“I don’t know.” Richard shook his head slowly, not wanting to follow the direction that this conversation was heading. “There are too many what-ifs and buts to even start to think about the future. I just need to concentrate on the now, and look after my girl.”
Twelve
February 9th 2005
The light cream walls were illuminated by the afternoon sun, dappled by the branches of the tree outside, as it shone through the window into Diana’s room. Hanna sat on the easy chair next to her mother’s bed, watching Diana’s thin body as her chest rose and fell with rhythmic sleep. Her dry lips emitted wheezing sounds as she exhaled every ten seconds or so.
The past year had been a slow, downhill ride; sometimes the gradient had been so low Hanna had thought they were actually making progress. The diagnosis of stage 4 breast cancer hadn’t fazed her at first. Then treatment was complicated by metastasis, and the cancer spreading led to words like pain management, months, perhaps weeks, and finally dignity. Any hope Hanna had was completely deflated, like a birthday balloon left out in the cold.
They’d agreed to move Diana to the hospice last week, when it was clear it was only a matter of waiting. Neither Hanna nor Diana had wanted those final days to be spent in a sterile hospital environment, and St Luke’s Hospice—an elegant Georgian mansion set in its own grounds—had offered a different kind of death. One where Hanna could stay with Diana as much as she wanted to, where they could walk in the grounds and see the first shoots of spring bulbs emerging from the grass. One where Diana could die without fanfare or the constant noise of hospital monitors.
“Is she asleep?” Hanna glanced up to see Claire Larsen standing at the door. Her gentle eyes crinkled into a smile, taking in Hanna’s disheveled state.
“She’s been down for a while, she may wake up soon.” Hanna stood up, realizing her legs had gone numb from the way she had been sitting on the chair. Her back ached, too. She stretched to try and wake up her body.
“How is she?” Claire walked into the room, carrying a Hermes bag in one hand, and a Dictaphone in the other. It was a strange combination.
“She’s been out of it for most of today, but yesterday, she was lucid for the longest time, we had a great talk. Hey, what’s that?” Hanna pointed at the small recording machine in Claire’s hand.
“Nothing.” Claire hid her hand behind her back.
Hanna looked at Claire curiously. “What are you two up to?”
Claire laughed; a quiet, tinkling sound that seemed to echo off the walls. Diana didn’t as much as stir in response to the noise.
“You make us sound like teenage hooligans, Hanna. It’s a secret. I promised not to tell.”
“You can tell me. I won’t let on.”
“If I tell you, I’d have to kill you darling. Stop asking questions.”
“It’s okay, she’s been sharing her words of wisdom with me, too. Yesterday she spent hours telling me about her life, and how she has very few regrets.” Hanna frowned as she remembered their conversation.
They’d been sitting in the heated conservatory that overlooked the lawn.
“You were the best thing that ever happened to me, my darling.” Diana’s voice was thin, and each word was punctuated by short, sharp breaths. “I was so lucky to have you in my life. I’m thankful to be leaving you in this world. You’re my masterpiece.”
Hanna smiled, embarrassed at her mum’s hyperbole. “You may be over-exaggerating a bit, but I’ll take it.” Looking up, she saw a nurse bring in a tray of tea and water. She placed it on the coffee table in front of them.
Her mother continued, already caught up in her memories. “When I married Phillip, I was so in love I could hardly think straight.” She gestured over to her cup of water, and Hanna held it to her mouth, allowing her to sip from the plastic straw. “I was so certain love could conquer all.”
Diana closed her eyes as if she was remembering her days back in New York. Hanna, desperate for more information, prompted, “But it couldn’t?”
“No it couldn’t. I should never have married him, sweetheart. I knew I didn’t want to live in New York, and I knew I’d hate being a banker’s wife. I really thought love would be enough.”
Hanna blinked, feeling the sting of tears just under her eyelids. Diana never talked about her relationship with Hanna’s father; in fact she rarely spoke of Philip at all. Hanna wasn’t sure whether her mother had been trying to spare her feelings, or whether it simply hurt too much to articulate. She was beginning to suspect the latter was true.
Diana managed to get her breathing back under control. “I wish I’d been able to make it work for your sake. Because I have never, for one single moment, regretted having you. I know your relationship with your father has never been easy. I have to take the blame for that.”
“You don’t!” Hanna protested, taking Diana’s hand in her own. Her skin was cold and papery. “It would have been so much worse if I’d lived there, and suffered everything you did.”
She looked over at her mother. She was staring out of the window, watching the birds perching in the bare branches of the tree to the left of the conservatory. They swooped down, landing in twos before flying off again to a higher branch. Their tiny wings fluttered as they moved.
“I broke your father’s heart. I turned him into a bitter, cynical man, and it was all my fault. I should have loved him enough to let him go before things went too far.” A tear ran down Diana’s cheek, leaving a shiny trail along her translucent skin. Hanna simply sat and held her hand, willing her own tears to dry up.
Wiping at her nose with a tissue, Hanna tried to get her feelings under control. There was so much they needed to say to each other over the next few days. They had so little time. Each second passing was a reminder she would soon be alone, and Diana would be just a memory. She decided to hide her mother’s words away for now, and reflect on them when she was ready. To think about them now would unplug the dam. She wasn’t ready for that.
She looked over at her mother. She was staring out of the window, watching the birds perching in the bare branches of the tree to the left of the conservatory. They swooped down, landing in twos before flying off again to a higher branch. Their tiny wings fluttered as they moved.
“I broke your father’s heart. I turned him into a bitter, cynical man, and it was all my fault. I should have loved him enough to let him go before things went too far.” A tear ran down Diana’s cheek, leaving a shiny trail along her translucent skin. Hanna simply sat and held her hand, willing her own tears to dry up.
Wiping at her nose with a tissue, Hanna tried to get her feelings under control. There was so much they needed to say to each other over the next few days. They had so little time. Each second passing was a reminder she would soon be alone, and Diana would be just a memory. She decided to hide her mother’s words away for now, and reflect on them when she was ready. To think about them now would unplug the dam. She wasn’t ready for that.
SLEEP WAS AN elusive commodity for her those days; she spent most of the night chasing it, and most of the following day craving it. That night, she managed to fall off sometime after 4:00 a.m. A few hours later, she was woken by the dipping of the mattress. She was so groggy it took some moments for her to realize Richard was lying next to her, still wearing his suit and his tie, his head resting on the pillow as he gazed at her.
“Hi.” His voice was a whisper as her eyes opened and stared at him.
“I’m so s
orry I didn’t meet you at the airport—”
“Hush, you needed to get some sleep.” He placed a gentle finger over her mouth. She kissed it, watching his face as he stared back at her, unable to mask his concern as he took in her thin frame and drawn expression. “My father picked me up; we even managed to grab a spot of breakfast before he dropped me off.”
“That’s nice.”
“He sends his love. They want us to join them for dinner tomorrow night, if you’re up for it.”
“I don’t know; I may have to be with Mum.”
He pulled her toward him, until her body lay over his. Her leg hooked around his thigh, and her arm stretched out across his chest. She closed her eyes and nuzzled into the fabric of his suit, smelling the aroma of the wool mixed with the sandalwood of his cologne.
“We’ll just play it by ear, okay?” His words were soothing, and she closed her eyes and submitted to their soft cadence. “We’ll do what we need to do, and I’ll let them know one way or another. It doesn’t matter, none of this does.”
She could feel his breathing; his chest gently rising and falling, making her head move up and down. Without thinking, she undid the buttons of his jacket and laid her ear against the thin fabric of his shirt until she could hear his heartbeat hammering against his chest. The heat of his body seeped through the cotton, warming her cheek, awakening feelings she’d been suppressing for weeks.
Lifting her head up, she shuffled until her face was next to his, their eyes so close it was impossible to stare into them without everything going blurry. Her chest was pressed against him. The need to feel more shot through her body like a cannonball.
Suddenly she couldn’t get enough.
Her kiss wasn’t gentle. It was hard and fierce, and took him by surprise. She could feel his eyelids flutter against her face as he opened them and stared at her, trying to work out what she was doing. For the last few months, whenever they had been together, she had found herself unable to do more than hold him, and give him gentle kisses and soft embraces. Sex had been out of the question.
