They chatted amicably as they worked on finishing off a wedding order, the radio belting out Christmas songs in the background. ‘Fairytale of New York’ by the Pogues came on and Sinéad sat back in her chair and sighed.
Krystie looked up. ‘You okay?’
‘Yeah, just that’s one of Sheila’s all-time favourites.’
‘Funny.’
Sinéad looked at her.
‘Oh, I don’t mean funny ha-ha,’ Krystie said quickly. ‘I mean funny strange now that she’s probably in New York.’
Sinéad smiled. Krystie had doubted herself when Dylan and Max had quizzed her, but since she’d seen Sinéad dressed in the same clothes and without makeup she was adamant that it was definitely Sheila she had seen.
‘I’m sure she’s fine,’ Krystie said, ‘and hopefully you’ll get to see her very soon.’
‘I think it might be a little more complicated than that.’ Sinéad decided to change the subject. ‘You’re going along to Ellen and Rory’s party later, right?’
Krystie laughed. ‘I’d be afraid not to. Ellen threatened all sorts if I didn’t show up. I’m looking forward to it.’
‘So what other plans have you for Christmas, Krystie?’
The girl flushed. ‘Max has asked me to go along to Philip’s party tomorrow evening, but I’m not sure. I hardly know the man. Then Christmas Day I’ll spend with my family.’
‘Philip would be thrilled to have you there,’ Sinéad assured her.
‘I don’t know.’ Krystie looked dubious. ‘I’m not sure I’d fit in with all those political types.’
‘It won’t be just politicians, and Max will be there to look after you.’
‘Aren’t you going?’
‘I hadn’t planned to, but now that we’ve launched Operation Manhattan I suppose I should circulate more.’
‘You really should. The more reviews and photos of celebrities that you can send out with the hats the better, and you should make a point of inviting all the key fashion writers to every event. The reason I got nowhere in New York is because I didn’t know anyone. Contacts are everything.’
Sinéad smiled at her. ‘So perhaps we should do some advertising again at Philip’s drinks party tomorrow. It’ll be full of important people.’
‘People from the fashion business?’
Sinéad frowned. ‘No, but it’s not too late to change that. I’ll call him.’
‘But we don’t have time to make anything special,’ Krystie pointed out.
Sinéad hopped up and reached up to take a large hat box down. ‘Don’t worry. There’s always my little treasure trove.’
Krystie stood up to get a good look. ‘Oh, wow, this is, like, every little girl’s dream dress-up box!’
Sinéad laughed, lifting out hairbands studded with stones, feather clips and beads and flowers of all colours and sizes. She found a beaded skullcap and twirled it round. ‘How the hell did this end up in here?’
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘Why don’t you take the box home with you and you can decide what works with whatever outfit you’re wearing?’
‘Can I?’ Krystie looked as if all her birthdays had come together.
‘Sure.’ Sinéad laughed. ‘I look forward to seeing what you come up with.’
By the time Max had arrived for Rory and Ellen’s party they had put the final touches to the pieces needed for three weddings on New Year’s Eve and were on a high.
‘Are you two planning to join the fun downstairs?’ he asked.
Sinéad glanced at the clock and saw that it was six thirty. ‘I had no idea it was so late. You go on, Krystie, I’ll finish up here.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yeah, I’ll be down in a few minutes.’
As they left Sinéad went in search of labels. Where had the damn things got to? With a sigh of frustration she started to pull apart the drawers of the desk and eventually located them in the bottom one. They had obviously slipped down the back. She was about to close the drawer when her eyes fell on the leather pouch of her passport. She’d been wondering where it was. She really should take it home and put it somewhere safe. Come to think of it, she knew it expired this year. She’d have to organise a new one because, if Philip didn’t get things moving soon, she was going to New York herself. She flicked it open to check the expiry date and then stared at it in confusion. This was her old passport. How the hell did that get in there? She threw it on the desk and started to pull the drawers apart but she couldn’t find the up-to-date passport— Oh, my God!
She hurried downstairs as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Smiling vaguely and greeting the local businesspeople, she searched the café for her brother and finally spotted him leaning on the counter chatting to Rory and Krystie. She pushed her way through the crowd and touched his arm.
He turned his head and smiled. ‘I was just asking Rory if he fancied joining us on Christmas Day. I’m a bit nervous about Philip cooking a turkey.’
‘Yeah, me too.’ She laughed. ‘Can I have a word? Sorry, Krystie, I’ll bring him straight back.’
‘What’s so important that it couldn’t wait till tomorrow?’ Max asked, reluctantly following her up to the studio.
‘This.’ She shoved the passport into his hand.
‘It’s your passport, so what?’
‘Take a closer look.’
He opened it and shrugged. ‘It’s your old passport. What’s your point?’
She looked at him. ‘It’s my old passport but it’s in the new cover, the one that Sheila bought me last Christmas.’
He frowned. ‘I don’t follow.’
‘She switched them, Max. She took my passport. She travelled to the US under the name Sinéad Fields, not Sheila Healy.’
He hesitated. ‘But the police told us they checked the flights and, regardless of the name being different, you’re identical twins, Sinéad.’
‘We don’t look alike in our passport photos and anyway all she’d need is a wig or a hat and she’d get through passport control without a second glance. She’s alive, Max, and very probably in New York.’
He stared at the document in his hand. ‘If you’re right it should be easily verified, but we still won’t know where she is exactly.’
‘We’re a step closer.’
He nodded and smiled. ‘Yes, we are. My God, wait till we tell Dad. This is the best Christmas present you could give him. We need to call the police.’
‘But Philip didn’t want to involve them, remember?’ Sinéad sank into a chair with a sigh of frustration.
‘I think this changes things, don’t you?’
‘Let’s go and talk to him.’
Max stared at her as if she were mad. ‘Now?’
‘Why not? Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, Max. If we don’t act quickly you can bet nothing will happen before the New Year. But in America Christmas is a one-day event. If Philip talked to the private investigator tonight we could get things moving.’
He sighed. ‘Right. I’ll go and talk to him and call you later.’
She jumped to her feet. ‘Not a chance. I’m coming with you.’
‘Okay, okay. Let’s go.’
Chapter Twenty-three
Philip opened the door and looked none too pleased to see them, but within seconds his customary smile was in place. He looked over his shoulder.
‘Sorry for dropping in unannounced, Philip.’ Sinéad brushed her cheek against his. ‘We’re not interrupting anything, are we?’
‘No, no, of course not.’
She started to head towards the kitchen but he blocked her way and steered her towards the living room. ‘I’ve just been catching up on some paperwork. Let’s go in here. Confidentiality and all that, you understand.’
Sinéad locked eyes with her brother and saw that he didn’t believe the man either. There was a woman in the kitchen, she’d take a bloody bet on it. The bastard!
‘Can I get you a drink?’ He smiled at her. ‘It is Chri
stmas, after all.’
‘No, thanks,’ she said.
‘We won’t keep you from your –’ Max hesitated just a second – ‘work. But we thought you would want to know the latest development.’
‘Development?’ Philip said, his eyes sharp.
‘Sheila took my passport,’ Sinéad told him.
He looked at her for a moment and then shook his head. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘She took my current passport out of the cover and replaced it with the old one. She obviously got out of the country under my name.’
‘So, Philip, I think this changes how we proceed, don’t you?’ Max said.
‘Yes, in that we can find out for sure if she used the passport and where she flew to,’ he agreed. ‘But then we still need to track her movements from then on.’
‘But, once the police establish that Sheila did fly to JFK, surely they’ll reopen her case,’ Sinéad said, feeling impatient and frustrated. What the hell was wrong with the man? He must have found another woman and didn’t want Sheila back, she was convinced of it. Oh my God, had Sheila found out there was another woman and was that why she left? Well, to hell with him. If he wouldn’t find her, Sinéad would.
‘I’m sure they will, Sinéad. It’s great news and I will get right on it first thing in the morning.’
Max pinned him with his eyes. ‘We thought you could make a call this evening. After all, it’s only lunchtime in New York.’
‘Yes, of course, I forgot that. I’ll get right on it and let you know as soon as I have any news.’ Philip steered them towards the door.
‘Okay if I use your loo?’ Sinéad asked and was out of the door before he could reply. She hurried down the hall and stuck her head into the kitchen, but the room was deserted except for the table strewn with files. So he was telling the truth, she thought, feeling guilty, and then she spotted the two mugs amid all the papers. She heard the men coming into the hall and dashed into the loo before she was caught.
‘There was someone else there,’ she insisted as Max drove them back towards Blackrock.
‘Maybe, but does it matter? Finding Sheila is what’s important, and we’re a step nearer to that, thanks to you, Sinéad.’ He patted her hand.
‘I always believed Krystie but it’s great to have concrete proof to back her up.’
‘Maybe the four of us could go out for dinner to celebrate. Is Dylan coming to the café or do you want to call him and we could pick him up on the way?’
‘Shit!’ Sinéad groaned looking at her watch. ‘I was supposed to meet him thirty minutes ago in the city centre.’
Max pulled in and waited for an opportunity to do a U-turn. ‘Phone him and tell him you’ll be there in ten.’
‘It’s odd he didn’t call me,’ Sinéad murmured as she waited for Dylan to pick up.
‘Yes?’
She sighed at the cold clipped response. ‘Dylan, I’m sorry. Something came up. Max is driving me in to town now. I’ll be with you in ten minutes.’
‘Don’t bother. I left.’
‘I’m really sorry, darling.’ She sighed and rolled her eyes at Max. ‘Where will I meet you?’
‘I don’t want to meet you, Sinéad.’
‘Oh, come on, Dylan—’
‘I’ll see you later. Maybe,’ he added.
Sinéad stared in disbelief at her phone. ‘He hung up on me.’
‘Not surprised. It must have been bloody hard to get a table two days before Christmas. You’re spending too much time at the studio, Sinéad. He’s going to get fed up with you if you’re not careful,’ Max warned.
Sinéad smiled, thinking of their morning romp. Somehow she didn’t think it would be a problem. Dylan was annoyed and she didn’t blame him, but he would calm down. ‘It will be fine.’
‘So do you want to go home or come back to the party?’
‘The party of course. We have something to celebrate!’
Krystie’s heart lifted when she saw Max walk back into the café and make a beeline for her. No, stop it, she told herself. You’re just reacting like this because he was kind to you. But gratitude was no substitute for love and she couldn’t lead him on, she mustn’t.
She’d enjoyed these last couple of weeks. They had spent a lot of time together but had only kissed and cuddled. She was actually a bit disappointed that he hadn’t pushed for more and began to wonder about the girlfriend her mother and sister had told her about; was she still on the scene? Both Sinéad and Max were in great form on their return and when Rory turned up the music they all danced and sang along to all the corny Christmas songs. After a few glasses of wine Sinéad slipped away, slightly tipsy, saying she wanted to get home to Dylan. Not long after, Max pulled Krystie close.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ he murmured.
She was surprised at the urgency in his voice. ‘Why? Is there something wrong, Max?’
‘No, I just want to be alone with you.’
Krystie knew that she should probably say no, but her instincts told her she could trust this man although her instincts had also told her that Jacob was the love of her life. Despite the conflicting emotions raging inside, she found herself nodding and, after brief goodbyes to Rory and Ellen, she let him lead her out into the cold night air. He stopped by the car and, holding her shoulders, bent and kissed her, hard, and then stared into her eyes. ‘Come home with me, Krystie. We don’t have to do anything. I don’t expect anything, I just—’
She put a finger to his lips. ‘Let’s go.’
On the way to his apartment, Max stopped to pick up food and within the hour they were sitting in his kitchen eating, drinking wine and chatting as if they had known each other for years. They lapsed into companionable silence and then she looked up to find him watching her. She shivered under the intensity of his gaze, the unmistakable desire in his eyes.
‘I want you.’
She almost choked on the forkful of duck she was eating.
‘That wasn’t quite the response I was expecting. Sorry.’ He handed her a glass of water. ‘You know, if you get to know me better you might discover that I’m not so bad.’
She looked at him in surprise. ‘I don’t think you’re bad at all, Max, quite the opposite.’
He pulled a face. ‘I sense a “but” coming.’
She looked into those blue piercing eyes that seemed to read her every thought and she made a decision. ‘There’s no “but”, Max, other than I want the last spring roll.’
He sighed. ‘You are a cruel and heartless woman.’
‘But I share.’ She smiled and held the roll to his lips, watching as he ate it from her fingers and licked them.
‘I should put you in a taxi and send you home. You are nothing but trouble.’
She held his gaze. ‘You should.’
‘More wine?’
‘Yes, please.’
She felt disappointed when, yet again, he did put her in a taxi a couple of hours later. They had moved back in to sit on that wonderful sofa and kissed and cuddled in the light and warmth of the fire.
‘I want you,’ he’d said again, ‘but you have work in the morning and need to get some sleep.’
He’d paid the driver and kissed her goodnight and, as the car pulled out into the road, she’d turned to see him standing staring after her, his white shirt gleaming in the darkness. She wanted him, too, but she was touched that he wasn’t rushing her into anything.
The house was silent and in darkness when she got in, and, creeping past Sharon’s bedroom door, she dropped her bag and coat and went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She looked at the woman staring back at her in the mirror, not sure that she recognised her. Why was she grinning like a bloody idiot, and how could her eyes be shining when she felt so tired? She collected a glass of water from the kitchen, turned out the lights and went to bed, but, even though she felt exhausted and had to be up again in less than six hours, she couldn’t sleep. Her thoughts flickered back and forth between two men, two sets
of eyes. Jacob’s black as night and Max’s the palest blue. Jacob was her type. Max wasn’t. He really wasn’t. So why had she agreed to date him? And why had she felt disappointed when he’d sent her home? She wondered, if he and Jacob were side by side, which one she’d be drawn to. The man whom she had loved for years but who’d run out on her, or the man she really liked who wasn’t put off by her health problem? She rolled over and pounded the pillow. ‘Forget men, think hats,’ she muttered and closed her eyes.
When Sinéad, Krystie and Max arrived at the club where Philip was hosting his drinks party, it was already full, and there was a pianist in the corner playing show tunes. Sinéad checked her phone. No message from Dylan. Typical. Silence was how he always punished her. She hadn’t heard him come in last night, it must have been late, and he was still sleeping – or pretending to be – when she’d left for work this morning, so she knew he was mad at her. But she couldn’t believe when she arrived home at lunchtime that he’d already left with all the presents for his family. Of course, she could have grovelled but she had apologised on the phone last night. What the hell more did he want?
She slipped the phone back into her bag and painted on a smile as Philip approached.
‘Who needs Christmas decorations? The room lit up the moment you two walked in. I’m so glad you could come.’ He kissed Sinéad. ‘Where’s Dylan?’
‘He has an evening wedding. He might be along later.’ It was a credible lie. Dylan’s main income came from doing wedding photographs. She moved closer and lowered her voice. ‘Any news at all?’
‘I’ve passed on the information. Oh, sorry, must run, Sinéad.’ He gave her a brief hug and moved forward to meet his new guests.
‘Crikey!’ Krystie’s eyes widened as she watched Philip shake hands with the Taoiseach and his wife. ‘He really does know all the important people, doesn’t he?’
‘He’s like a bee moving from flower to flower,’ Sinéad observed, frowning.
‘Pressing the flesh.’ Max grinned and beckoned the waiter, carrying a tray of mulled wine. ‘You should be doing the same.’
First We Take Manhattan Page 20
