by Melissa Hill
Parking her bike half a block away from the salon entrance, she joined the crowds on Fifth Avenue, marvelling at how her life had done a complete one-eighty since she had got out of bed forty-eight hours before.
Until then she had been living her life according to her own rules and going by her usual unexciting daily routine, and now here she was shackled with a dog, an attractive millionaire who couldn’t remember his own name, and presently hunting down a New York socialite on a street whose stores she couldn’t even afford to walk by.
Running a hand through her hair and brushing off her dusty jeans, she looked at the understated façade of Elizabeth Arden’s Red Door salon and took a deep breath.
‘All right, Archer,’ she whispered. ‘Here goes nothing.’
She was about to push open the glass door when at that moment, her phone buzzed in her pocket. Pulling it out and checking the display, she discovered it was Katherine. Darcy bit her lip and wondered if she should ignore it, but knowing that her aunt would continue to call until she reached her, decided she should just get the conversation over with right now.
‘Katherine, hi.’
‘Hello, dear. I just wanted to tell you that Oliver Martin was very taken with you the other night.’ Her aunt launched into a spiel without preamble and typically without bothering with hellos or a how are you? ‘It was such a shame you had to rush off like that. Still, I have his number, so all is not lost.’ Darcy shook her head. Clearly everything she’d said to her aunt that night had gone in one ear and out the other. ‘Where are you? I guessed you’d be finished work by now. Not riding that awful bike through town again, I hope; it’s going to snow later and—’
‘I’m on Fifth Avenue, just about to go into one of your favourite haunts actually,’ Darcy said mischievously, explaining where she was and knowing full well that her aunt would be mystified; it was generally known that Darcy often failed to bother getting a simple haircut, let alone take the time to attend a high-end beauty salon.
Katherine was suitably bewildered. ‘Did one of your beloved books finally fall off the shelf and hit you over the head?’
Darcy smiled and leaning against the wall next to the doorway, went on to explain all that had happened, how she’d run down Aidan Harris on the street and ended up taking care of his dog and trying to track down anyone who knew him. Barely pausing for breath – mostly because she didn’t want to give her aunt the opportunity to say I told you so about the dangers of the bike – she recounted the story quickly.
‘Which is why,’ she concluded, ‘I’m hoping for the opportunity to waylay Tabitha Kensington here, since it seems she is not only a scholar and beautiful, but apparently richer than Mitt Romney. And seems like she could be Aidan’s friend.’
Silence came from the other end of the line.
‘Katherine?’ she asked, wondering if she was still there. It wouldn’t be the first time she had wished her aunt would have hung up mid-conversation.
‘I’m here,’ Katherine replied with a flat voice. ‘I just can’t believe you ran somebody over – though actually I can. How many times have I—’
‘I know, I know.’ Darcy groaned inwardly. ‘And I’ve learned my lesson.’ Not enough to quit riding the bike though. ‘But luckily it wasn’t serious, and I’m trying my best to make amends. Have you heard of Tabitha Kensington, by any chance?’ Given her aunt’s connections, and Mrs Kensington’s apparent high profile within New York society she figured her aunt might be familiar with the name.
‘Indeed I’m aware of the woman, to say nothing of her reputation,’ Katherine replied in an ominous tone that made her niece gulp. ‘And you intend to do what now?’
Darcy looked at her scruffy boots and gave a small, swift kick at the sidewalk. She looked over towards the door of the salon. ‘Honestly, I’m really not sure. I know what Tabitha looks like, as there are lots of pictures of her on the internet, so I figured I would just go in and ask for her, and if that didn’t work, well, maybe I would wait for her outside or something.’
There was an additional beat of silence and then Katherine tut-tutted. ‘Sometimes I wonder if you and I truly are related. That is the worst idea I have ever heard. Do you have any idea how long a spa day at Elizabeth Arden might last? No, no, of course you don’t,’ she said, answering her own question. ‘That woman could literally be in there till midnight. Don’t you realise that?’
Darcy shrugged and remained silent. How the hell would she know how these things worked?
Katherine sighed. ‘So Tabitha Kensington is the only lead you have when it comes to helping this man – who sounds like a very interesting prospect, by the way.’
Darcy shook her head. Of course – she’d mentioned that Aidan was young and wealthy, so naturally her aunt was already viewing him as a potential match for her.
‘And your plan is just to behave like a stalker?’ Katherine enquired.
Darcy ignored her aunt’s last question and focused on her first. ‘I don’t know what else to do. Aidan’s phone is broken, the hospital won’t give his details out to just anyone, and the Kensington number was on his caller ID at his house. Tabitha, or someone at her house, called him. And then there’s the gift he was carrying, and the message on the answering machine . . . Look, it’s my fault all of this happened in the first place,’ she said then, trying to convince herself more than anyone else. ‘Because of me Aidan missed an important date or a special occasion, and I need to help him find out who he was trying to deliver that gift to, never mind help him remember who he is—’
Katherine cut her off. ‘Darcy, it’s really not your job to play nursemaid.’
‘I know that,’ Darcy said patiently, ‘but like I said, it’s my fault he is where he is right now. I just want to help him. And besides taking care of his dog, this seems the only way I can.’ For a moment, her voice wavered and she thought she might get blubbery. The drama-filled forty-eight hours were catching up with her.
‘All right,’ her aunt said on the other end of the phone as she took a deep resolving breath. When she spoke again, her voice had softened, but there was a touch of something else in it too. Darcy knew that tone well: Katherine was going into problem-solving mode. ‘I think the broken phone might be a better option frankly, but we can deal with that later. So long as you are at Elizabeth Arden right now, and we know that Tabitha Kensington is inside, I might be able to help, but I want to let you know that I am calling in a big favour, OK?’
Darcy’s eyes widened. Was her aunt going to use her influence to get past the gatekeepers in the salon?
But it seemed Katherine was considering a more direct route. ‘I am of course familiar with Mrs Kensington, but more importantly one of my very good friends in the industry happens to be a close acquaintance,’ she said, then added: ‘I’m rather impressed that you’ve got this far actually, given that Tabitha Kensington is not easy to track down. Her maid committed a major boo-boo by letting this slip; you would normally need a GPS to locate that woman. So don’t think you can just stroll up to her at the pedicure station.’
Darcy’s ears perked up. Her aunt was usually willing to help her with little requests now and then, but it was something different when Katherine had to call in a big favour. With some difficulty, she remained silent as she waited for her to continue.
‘Let me make it clear first off, darling, that I do not know this woman personally, and I have no strings to pull with her directly. So therefore, I have to appeal to my friend and hope that she is in a good mood and willing to help me. I can’t make any promises but I just may be able to find a way to get you an audience with Tabitha without getting yourself arrested. Understand?’
‘Yes.’ Darcy felt as though she should stand to attention and salute.
Katherine breathed deeply again. ‘OK. I want you to stay put exactly where you are. I do not want you to move a muscle. I do not want you to go one step closer to Elizabeth Arden than you are right now. The last thing we need is for you to blow it.
If you walk inside and start asking for her and spouting this crazy story, you will be turned away and probably escorted from the grounds by their security team. Are you understanding me, Darcy?’
There was no denying that her aunt would have made a great drill sergeant. ‘Understood, Captain,’ she chided.
‘Darcy, I’m serious. No joking right now,’ Katherine replied, her voice devoid of humour.
‘OK, I’m sorry. Yes, I promise I will not get any closer to the doors of Elizabeth Arden than I am right now. I will not darken their doorway lest they believe that I am stalking Tabitha Kensington.’
‘Good. Now, just wait there and I will call you back shortly. I may have good news and I may not. It depends.’ Darcy didn’t have time to respond because at that moment, the line went dead.
Looking around nervously at the crowds of people populating the shopping mecca that was Fifth Avenue, Darcy fiddled with her ski jacket, tapped her foot and then stepped backwards, leaning flush against the building.
She couldn’t deny that she felt conspicuous just then, and indeed very much like a stalker as she accepted that she’d actually believed she could just walk into a place like this and expect to bump into a woman like Tabitha Kensington. Her aunt’s words had given her a little perspective and Darcy realised that sometimes she didn’t think things through. Heck, she couldn’t help it if she had such an optimistic attitude, and in any case, she didn’t think that anyone – wealthy or not – should be that unapproachable. But then again, Katherine’s words spoke volumes too.
Aidan obviously ran in circles that were completely beyond Darcy’s ordinary existence, and clearly Katherine understood that when it came to society swans like Tabitha Kensington, you needed connections in order to connect. She guessed she was lucky that her aunt had had the chance to intervene before she’d made a complete fool of herself and blown her only chance to help Aidan.
Darcy took another glance at her watch as she waited. She guessed that Katherine wouldn’t be able to get her answer within minutes, but how long would it actually take? What type of convincing did this ‘good friend’ need? She hoped it would be soon because her ears were numb and her fingers almost ready to fall off with the cold. Combine this with the fact that she was tired and hungry after a long day’s work and Darcy was just about ready to give up or take her chances in the salon.
Right then, her phone buzzed in her hand and she jumped.
However, before she could answer it, the glass door of Elizabeth Arden swung open and a severe-looking woman, in her early fifties, stepped outside and looked around. She had a red power suit on, her hair was pulled back in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and her face looked recently Botoxed. Either that or she was really not amused. Darcy thought that if anything, she was probably upset by the fact that she had been forced to step outside of the salon into the chill permeating Fifth Avenue on this icy December day.
The woman looked around, searching the crowds that meandered down the street. Then her eagle gaze zeroed in on Darcy as if she’d identified exactly who she was looking for. Darcy looked down at the phone again, which stopped ringing just as the woman from Elizabeth Arden pointed a well-manicured finger at her.
‘Darcy Archer?’
Nervously and taken somewhat off-guard, Darcy nodded her head. ‘Um, yes, that’s me.’
The woman snapped her fingers and motioned for her to approach. ‘Come with me.’
Darcy’s eyebrows flew into her hairline out of shock as her phone beeped, signalling an incoming text. Feeling like a fire was starting under her, she wordlessly followed the woman into the inner sanctum of the Elizabeth Arden salon.
Stealing a glance at her phone as she entered the calming interior, she saw that the text was from Katherine. Quickly clicking on the message, she swallowed hard, out of both nervousness and anticipation.
The message read simply, You’re in.
Chapter 16
Money can’t buy happiness but it can buy books, which is kind of the same thing. Unknown
Darcy was quickly ushered through the reception area and led past rows of women getting blow-dried, straightened, keratined, coloured and curled. She momentarily pawed at her limp ponytail and secretly wished that she had taken just a little more time to make herself presentable while she waited. Her eyes roved around just enough to take in a style or two that she liked, filing it away in her mind in case she ever got a crazy notion and fancied a change.
Then, guessing that she would have been wind-blown one way or the other regardless, she brushed her insecurities aside and decided that she shouldn’t allow herself to be intimidated by these people. Having more money and being well-groomed didn’t mean anything, after all; at the end of the day everyone put their pants on the same way.
She smiled politely as a few technicians moved to let her and her escort, who had since introduced herself as Olivia, through a doorway which led to the inner sanctum of the spa. She was pretty sure by the fearful expressions on the technicians’ faces that Olivia wasn’t someone to be trifled with.
Olivia took her through a series of hallways and as they approached a door at the end of one, she turned sharply to meet Darcy’s gaze.
‘Mrs Kensington is in this treatment room. As a valuable customer of Elizabeth Arden, her happiness and comfort is important to us. Moreover, I would not want anything to trouble her or otherwise impact on her relaxation experience here today. Is that understood?’
Darcy shook her head lamely, the only appropriate response to this woman.
‘Good,’ she said. Her gaze flickered across Darcy once more, as though resigning herself to the fact that she couldn’t do anything to make her more presentable before they entered the room. Turning around to face the door, she raised her hand and knocked softly. A low murmur came from inside and she twisted the door knob, which didn’t make a single sound.
Darcy wondered if the staff here treated each bit of metal on-site with the spa equivalent of WD40, just to make sure that there wasn’t ever an unwarranted or unwanted squeak. Stifling a giggle, she pictured a Code Red lock-down if, God forbid, a door knob whined when it was turned.
Olivia opened the door solemnly and Darcy had to give the woman credit, she truly was the epitome of calm. In fact, there was a good chance that she might have been a closeted nun in a previous life.
Once inside the private treatment room, Darcy breathed in deeply the comforting scent of lemongrass that permeated the air. The place was so dim, lit only by candlelight, that she needed a moment to adjust her eyes – and then she noticed a woman reclining in a spa chair, swaddled in a robe with another person at her feet, carrying out a foot massage. A third woman, a tiny Asian lady who at first glance could pass for an eleven year old, massaged the robe-clad woman’s right hand, and a fourth was painting her face with a clay-like mixture. Two cucumber slices were placed over the client’s eyes.
At this point, Darcy had to guess that the woman being pampered in the chair was Tabitha Kensington for she couldn’t see her face or her long, shining blonde hair as it was secured up in a towelled turban.
‘Mrs Kensington?’ Olivia said, her voice barely more than a whisper. ‘The woman you asked for is here. Miss Archer.’
Tabitha Kensington raised one graceful hand and gently shooed away the woman who was applying the clay mask to her face. She removed the cucumber from her eyes and sat up in the chair, encouraging the woman who was doing the pedicure to move.
When Tabitha spoke, Darcy realised that she was not following the apparent whispering policy.
‘Ah, I see. Thank you, Olivia. I appreciate you fetching her.’ Not waiting for a response from Olivia, she turned her attention to Darcy, and immediately launched into a line of questioning. ‘Now, what is this about? Alexa Falcone called me directly, asking me to speak with you.’
Crikey, Alexa Falcone, the famed New York portrait photographer? Almost on a par with Annie Leibovitz in terms of reputation. Darcy had no idea that the woman wa
s one of Katherine’s ‘friends’, but then again the connections her aunt had established in the city over the years were more intricate than any spider web.
And while Darcy was grateful for the introduction she was also now keenly aware of the calibre of the woman she was dealing with.
‘She didn’t say what this was about or how she was involved, but Alexa is a dear enough friend that if she asks me to do something for her, I do it.’ Tabitha had such an air about her that it was easy to guess that she was used to getting her own way.
Darcy nervously cleared her throat. ‘Actually, it was my Aunt Katherine who arranged for me to meet with you.’ She felt silly alluding to the idea that getting an audience with the woman was akin to getting one with the Queen of England, but it was how people like this made her feel. ‘Founder of Ignite Event Management?’ When Tabitha looked blank, Darcy added, ‘Her company did the Level 42 grand opening earlier this year,’ mentioning a hip new lifestyle emporium in Soho that, partly down to the fanfare created by Katherine in the lead up to the launch, was currently one of the city’s trendiest shopping hotspots.
Tabitha raised a perfectly arched eyebrow and motioned for the woman next to her to continue her application of the clay on her face. ‘Oh yes. Wonderful place, some fantastic up and coming designers there,’ she nodded enthusiastically, and Darcy made a mental note to pass on this reaction to Katherine, who would be pleased.
‘Now, the thing that I don’t understand is what I can do for you,’ Tabitha continued. ‘I don’t usually speak to PR people without an appointment, and certainly not—’
‘No, no – I’m not here for anything like that,’ Darcy reassured her quickly. ‘Actually it’s a bit of a long story.’ She wasn’t sure if she should just set off on a blow by blow account of Aidan and his amnesia.
‘Well, sit down for a start; you’re disrupting my aura,’ Tabitha commanded, signalling to one of the ladies assisting her. ‘And if your story is that long, then you should have a treatment while you’re here.’