by Lucy Hepburn
She had to speak to Annie. She badly needed more details about Antonio from her—standing in the airport holding a placard with ‘Antonio’ written on it was way too random for her. But she didn’t know Annie’s number. Like the rest of her life, it was saved on her iPhone. There must be another way. The only other cell phone number she knew by heart was their mother’s, so she quickly dialed it, knowing her mom would be at work. Well, this was an emergency.
“Hey, sweetie.” Her mother always managed to sound as though she had all the time in the world for her daughters, even though she was busy, whether at home or work. “Great to hear your voice. Have you got a new cell phone? I didn’t recognize the number.”
“Oh, Mom, it’s a long story—I’m at the airport waiting for Antonio, but I left my cell phone on the train coming out here.”
“That’s the sort of thing I’d expect to hear from Annie.”
Christy rolled her eyes. “I know, Mom. But a really kind guy has lent me a phone.”
“Really? Was he cute?”
“Mom, quit trying to set me up. I’ve had it up to here with Annie doing the same thing already this morning. I need your help here!”
“Okay, what can I do?” Instantly her mother became concerned and businesslike.
“I need Annie’s number so that I can get more information on Antonio.”
“You need me to tell you your own sister’s phone number?” Her mother was incredulous. “Christy Elizabeth Davies, you have precisely two, count them, two people in your immediate family, and you can only remember one of our numbers? Shame on you!”
Christy smiled at her mother’s affectionately mocking tone. Oh, she used to know Annie’s number, all right. She used to know lots of numbers by heart—clients, friends, family, business associates—but as her contact list grew, she relied on her iPhone more and more. It was just so convenient. In fact, she doubted whether she could have grown her business to the size it was now without her electronic secretary.
She scrabbled in her bag for the tattered notebook that she’d almost forgotten lived there, permanently unused, getting shabbier by the day. Her mom recalled her sister’s number by heart and she quickly jotted it down, all the while clamping Mr. Grace’s cell phone to her ear and keeping a lookout for someone called Antonio.
“So, sweetie,” her mother chirped after a short pause, “I’m actually really glad you called this morning. You know the engagement party tonight?”
Christy answered, “Mom, I am standing in the middle of Newark International Airport waiting for my future brother-in-law whom neither of us have met, for the precise purpose of getting him to said party—how could I not know about it?”
And she had approximately one hundred things to cram into her day before the party finally happened…all of which were meticulously listed on her cell phone…which was currently lost.
“Of course you do, sweetie. Silly me.” Her mom laughed down the phone before changing tack. “Anyway, I was wondering if you’d fixed up a date to take with you?”
“Mom…” Christy looked skyward and shook her head.
“It’s not that I mind, you understand; it’s just that, well, you know, there are going to be quite a few elderly relatives there, and you know how perceptions can be.”
“Today, or one hundred years ago?”
Her mom laughed again.
“Sorry, Mom, but no, I haven’t fixed myself a date, and just so that you don’t get your hopes up, the way my day is shaping up means that there is very little chance of me acquiring a beau between now and eight thirty this evening. My schedule is packed out.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Her mother’s soft tone comforted Christy a little.
She smiled. Her mother would hear it. “You already have, Mom. Thank you.”
She cast her eye around again. Nobody had emerged from the arrivals gate for a few minutes. A flicker of panic began to well up in Christy’s stomach.
“Hey, sweetie, I have a hair appointment with Rodrigo in Manhattan today.”
“Mmm?” Christy wasn’t really listening anymore; she was trying to decide if she could judge who her sister’s fiancé was by sight alone, and whether it might be the seven-foot-tall basketball player she’d just seen walk through the gate.
“Excuse me! Can’t you at least sound a little more impressed than just ‘mmm’? Do you know how long the waiting list for that boy is? Such a pity he’s married.”
“Mom,” Christy growled, “stop it.”
“Okay, okay! But I wondered if you’d like to meet up for some lunch afterward?”
“I really don’t think I can. Would’ve been nice, though.”
“Coffee, then? Some gal time before the big party?”
Christy racked her brains. “Oh, Mom, let me think. I’m going to be all over the place today after I get Antonio to where he needs to be. Let’s see…I’m collecting Mrs. Ledger from the clinic…the Goldman, I think, or is it the Saxonby? And I’ve got to pick something up for another client’s son’s music recital—no, wait, that’s next week…yikes, I am totally screwed if I don’t get my phone back soon.”
“Annette might help you out with some of the numbers—are any of them old friends, perhaps?”
“No!” Christy practically shouted. “Please don’t tell her I lost my phone! She’ll never let me hear the end of it.”
“Okay,” her mother laughed a knowing laugh. “Get back to me if and when you can. And do try and find a moment to think about a date for tonight, sweetie. You’ve got lots of great guy friends, haven’t you?”
“Mom, for the last time, there’s nothing wrong with going solo to a party! You’re doing it, aren’t you?”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Christy could have bitten her tongue off. A heavy silence thumped between them. “Oh, Mom, I’m sorry. I’m tactless and horrible.”
“It’s fine,” her mother chirped, far too cheerfully. “It’s different at my age. I just want you to be happy, sweetie.”
“I am happy, Mom. I’ve got you, and Annie, and a great job that needs my full attention. In fact, why don’t I book you a date for this evening? I know this great little agency—very tasteful and discreet.”
“Don’t even think about it, young lady! You just concentrate on—”
But Christy was distracted. This time, her eyes had just locked with a tall, Italian-looking young man of such staggering beauty that she practically dropped the cell phone. And he was pointing at her placard and giving her a cheerful thumbs-up.
“Gotta go, Mom. He’s here! And he’s gorgeous. Byee!”
Antonio walked eagerly toward Christy, stopping right in front of her and touching the placard in delight. Christy decided that Europeans must have different ideas about personal space, but smiled warmly.
“Antonio,” she grinned, holding out her hand.
He took it. His touch was firm but not crushingly so, his hands smooth but not girl-smooth. Annie had done well.
“Please, Toni,” he insisted. “No Antonio—Toni.”
“Oh, sure, okay—hi, Toni.” Christy smiled. “How was your flight? You must be—”
He held up his hands to silence her, then shrugged rather cutely. “Sorry, not big English. Very sorry.”
“Oh!” Christy was surprised. Why had she not anticipated this? But then, how would that conversation have gone? So, Annie, can you and your life partner speak the same language?
“Okay,” she pressed on, “I am Christy.”
He took her hand, very gently, and kissed it. “Christy,” he repeated. “Beautiful.”
Now she knew what Annie saw in him. He was charming in such a non-confrontational way. “We need to get you to Annette.”
“Annette…” He looked delighted. “Annette—the best a man can get!”
“I’m so glad you think so,” Christy chirped, realizing she sounded a bit like her mother. Goodness, Annie had surpassed he
rself! Who needs words…but then, Christy realized, actually, I’d need words…“Shall we go?”
His fingers touched her shoulder blade ever so gently as they negotiated their way through the throng of travelers. He carried a tatty holdall, which he slung over one shoulder. Metal-rimmed shades peeped from his shirt pocket. And with his scruffy blue jeans and worn sneakers, the whole effect was of effortless, European style. Christy was sure Annie had said he was a music producer, but whatever he was, she couldn’t help but respond to his charisma.
“Oh, Ant…Toni, do you mind if I make one quick phone call?” They’d reached the door of the terminal building, and Roger’s phone was showing that it had full reception coverage. She tried to mime the question as she spoke it.
Toni looked at the phone and beamed at her. “Ah, Nokia—connecting people.”
A little baffled, she returned his thumbs-up and dialed her own cell, mentally crossing her fingers as she tapped. It worked! The cute train guy, Will, picked up this time. Thank God. Perhaps this disaster of a day could be saved.
“Um…are you Will? With my phone? I’m Christy,” she stammered.
“Hi.”
“Thank you so much for picking up my phone. I’m so sorry about the inconvenience,” she blundered on, “but it’s very good of you—”
“I’m sorry,” Will cut in, “but I’m afraid this isn’t a very good time. I’m just about to…go into a meeting. Do you mind calling back in an hour or so?”
“Oh,” Christy replied, deflated beyond belief. The guy sounded smart, an Ivy-Leaguer. In her old Brooklyn neighborhood he’d be branded ‘uptown.’ “Well, before you go, do you think I could quickly fix up a time and place to meet you to get my phone back, please? A Starbucks, or something?”
She heard him sigh, and despite herself, she felt a twinge of annoyance. Couldn’t he at least be civil? Did the mention of Starbucks put him off—maybe he was more of a tea guy?
“Sure, but today isn’t the most convenient of days. I’m out of town on family business for most of it. It’ll have to be later. Do you know Manhattan by any chance?”
“I do, actually. Yes.” She worked to keep a note of sarcasm out of her voice. He seemed to be talking to her perfunctorily, yet as though she was highly unsophisticated. She glanced over at Toni. He’d made himself comfortable on a steel bench and was attracting admiring glances from female passersby, a fact to which he was trying hard to appear oblivious.
All around, people of all shapes, sizes, and backgrounds were bustling to and from the check-in lines. Christy was caught in the concourse, Roger’s phone pressed so close to her ear it hurt, trying to strike a deal with a guy named Will who had better things to do than talk to her.
“Can we fix this later?” he asked. “I gotta go.”
“Wait!” Christy pleaded. “Would you please take a moment to read out my appointment list for today? Please?” She got out the shabby notebook and realized that perhaps there was still a place in the modern world for pen and paper. She waited for him to speak, but the silence at the other end was deafening.
“Please. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t really, really important,” Christy went on. “I kind of single-handedly run a personal assistant business, and my job, okay, my whole life, depends on knowing where I need to be today.”
The silence seemed to grow thicker. Cold panic began to sweep all over Christy. If he hung up now, there’d be nothing she could do about it. Why, oh, why didn’t she print out her data every night as a backup?
“Um…sir?”
“Will.” The name came back quicker, softer. “Call me Will.”
“Please, Will.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t.”
“You what?” Christy thought her legs might buckle beneath her. The next silence seemed to last forever.
“I can’t…Um…I can’t work this thing. You might as well have asked me to turn into a doughnut.”
“Oh! I can help there.” Relief flooded through her, and she quickly babbled out details of how to access her diary without disconnecting from the call.
“Okay, but this’ll have to be fast. 10:00 a.m., pick up—Antonio from Newark.”
She didn’t quite like the unpleasant emphasis he put on her future brother-in-law’s name. “Check. Next?”
“Before noon, drop off check with Mr. Simpson.”
“Got it.” She felt a thrill of glee at that one, the thought of handing over the deposit check for her first place of her own—as if she’d forget that. “Next?”
“Twelve thirty, drop Antonio off at suit fitting in town and pick up Mrs. Dallaglio’s dry cleaning—hey, is that a new booking?”
“It is,” she said absently, scribbling notes furiously. Then, “How did you know?”
“You’ve written it here…‘New Booking’ in bold font.”
“Funny. Next?”
“One o’clock, collect Bouvier from nail salon.”
“Address, please?”
“It doesn’t say.”
“Could you scroll down, please?”
It took an agonizing age for him to come back to her with the address.
“I am sorry for this,” she apologized again. “Um, next?”
“Two o’clock, pick up Mrs. Ledger’s Mercedes-Benz.”
“Uh-huh. Address please? Um, scroll function?”
Another age went by as the process was repeated. Christy hopped from foot to foot. She was agitated. Will was agitated. Toni, on the other hand, seemed to have all the time in the world, taking in his surroundings and smiling at strangers. It really endeared him to her. “Next, if you don’t mind?”
“Two thirty, pick up Ms. H’s item at photoshoot. Three o’clock…”
“Whoa, slow down, please.” Christy was scribbling hard to keep up. She heard a noise that sounded like a sigh of exasperation. “I do appreciate this, you know.”
Will said nothing.
“Um, next? Please?”
“Three thirty, collect Mrs. Ledger and drive her home from clinic.”
“Which one?”
“There’s more than one Mrs. Ledger?”
“Which clinic, please?”
“It doesn’t say.”
“Could you scroll down please? Again?”
Now he really was exasperated, she could tell.
“The Saxonby.”
“Okay, thanks. Is that it?”
“Yes, if you want to forget about dropping off Mr. O’Neill’s plane tickets at four.”
Primly she noted down the last assignment in silence.
“I really need to go now. We’ll need to organize you collecting your phone later. I’ll be back in Manhattan tonight.”
“Will, thank you so much for your trouble—”
“Wait, it’s bleeping at me…maybe it’s the battery.”
“That means I’ve got a text,” Christy said breathlessly. “Um, could you…”
“Yeah, yeah, hang on. It’s from someone called ‘Sis’.”
Typical Annie, thought Christy, ready to extinguish fires half an hour after they’ve already burned out. She didn’t need Antonio’s flight information anymore.
Will continued to read out the text. “And it says, ‘hey babe, Ant flight delayed…arrive late pm, hope you not at airport…stay cool…kiss kiss kiss.’ Oh, kiss.”
Christy couldn’t believe her ears. Delayed? It couldn’t be, could it? So…who was the handsome stranger, busily winking at stewardesses, over on that bench?
“Christy? I’m going now. And you’re welcome.”
“Oh! Sorry…Thank you. Hello? Will?…”
He’d hung up. Christy was left standing at the airport entrance, mouth hanging open, holding a stranger’s phone, accompanied by another stranger, who didn’t speak the language, who ought to have been her future brother-in-law, but wasn’t. She had never felt less in control in her life.
Chapter Four
CHRISTY
10:30 a.m.
Before noon Drop off check with Mr. Simpson – on schedule
12:30 p.m. Drop off Antonio at suit fitting – wrong Antonio!
“Um, Toni?” Christy had taken a moment to try and find a little composure before going back over to speak to the handsome Italian. He leapt eagerly to his feet. Finally, way too late, she had remembered her future brother-in-law’s surname. “You are not Antonio Santori?” She pronounced the name as clearly as she could.
His palms came to rest on his chest. He looked stricken. Moments passed, as though he, too, was taking in their predicament—a case of mistaken identity that left them both with a stranger they had absolutely no connection with. His eyes widened and he took a backward step, suddenly mirroring her defensive stance. Then he looked into her eyes, leaned forward and replied, “Antonio—Toni—Benetti.”
They stood in silence, taking in the enormity of their blunder. Christy’s eyes roamed all around the terminal building—anywhere, rather than on her companion’s face. Toni seemed to be doing the same thing. But then, gradually, their eyes met again. Christy bit her lip, and they smiled at one another. Embarrassed, but still friends.
“Where are you heading, Toni?” Christy whipped around and made a dramatic gesture toward the great outdoors, spreading out her arms and giving an exaggerated Gallic shrug, then pointed at his chest, and made a walking motion with her forefingers, hoping he’d understand.
Toni did the same thing, including a comical frowning clown face for good measure. Then he fished in the pocket of his jeans, producing a crumpled scrap of paper, which he handed to her. It was the address of a modeling agency in Manhattan.
“So you are a model!” Christy exclaimed, pointing at the agency’s name. “I thought so!”
Toni grinned before jumping sideways and throwing a devastatingly moody pose, following it up with a wink.