2 Busy 4 Love

by Lucy Hepburn

  “And what?”

  “You could spend some time alone with your dad in the car.”

  “Not the best idea I’ve heard all day,” he said sulkily.

  “Come on,” Nina cajoled, “it’s a great idea, and you know it. Talk to him!”

  Will scratched his head. It was a good idea and such a spooky coincidence…but spending time alone with his dad? Today? That was a big ask.

  “I’m not sure it’d work,” he said slowly. Instinctively he held back from telling Nina about Christy’s appointment at the airport. It was the car journey that troubled him the most. He and his dad might end up killing each other.

  He jumped as a figure approached behind them.

  “Making plans?” Carl Thompson, who had been sitting in a quiet corner of the bar poring over some work, had noiselessly come up behind them and was standing aloof and straight, his usual faraway look in his eyes.

  Nina got to her feet and grinned. “Hey, Carl, you done with your work?”

  “For now,” he said shortly.

  Will could tell that Nina was not in the least afraid of his father—on the contrary, the look she gave him was of utmost affection. It was perplexing, seeing such a response to a man he associated with complete indifference to the human race. Nina had unlocked something in him, that was for sure.

  “You know how you offered to help out with the party?” she asked, linking her arm through his.

  “I have been…well, kind of, yes,” he faltered.

  “And you know how you agreed to sign those papers?”

  Will held his breath. He couldn’t look at his father’s face.

  “I guess.”

  “Well, please, please could you and Will pop to the airport to meet my fiancé off his flight from Italy? My sister’s meant to be doing it, but I can’t get hold of her. Will’s going to ask the girl with the papers to meet the two of you there.”

  Carl thought about it for a moment. Will guessed he was coming up with an excuse. “I dislike airports,” Carl Thompson said predictably. “They reek of the times.”

  “They are essential in this modern world we live in,” Will retorted.

  “Like I said, I dislike airports.”

  “You don’t have to like them,” Will persisted petulantly, “but you do have a duty to acknowledge the progress.”

  “Duty?” his father thundered. “You mean I owe airports some sort of debt of gratitude? Huh!”

  “Knew that was coming,” Will hissed to Nina, shaking his head.

  “Oh, listen to yourself!” Nina laughed. “You wind each other up without even realizing it! You behave like two little kids!”

  “We do not!” father and son chorused before catching each other’s eyes and looking away, embarrassed.

  “I’ll do it on my own if you’re going to be like that,” Carl mumbled. “Signing the papers can wait.”

  Will shot to his feet. “Dad, I do not have unlimited time to hunt you down with paperwork! I’ll come with you. Let’s get this over with. You got your car?”

  Carl Thompson grunted in the affirmative.

  Nina clapped her hands delightedly. “Oh, that’s just so great! You two can have some bonding time…no, Carl, let me finish.” Carl Thompson had raised his hand to interrupt, but Nina gently caught hold of it and lowered it. “It’ll be good for you both. Come on, it’s my engagement party! I can’t have my favorite boss and his son in a bad mood! And it’ll really help me out. I used to lean on my sister for this sort of thing, but who knows what she’s doing today—some kind of crisis, and I think she’s left her phone off the hook. I’ll just try her again…you’d better get going; I’ll call you if I get hold of her and you can turn back, will that be okay? You know, I’m so grateful!”

  The looks that Will and his father exchanged were identical. Resigned, a touch confused, but, at heart, a little bit happy to be doing something to help Nina out.

  “Come on then, Will, car’s out back.” Will’s father had already turned his back on him and was walking toward the door at the back of the room.

  CHRISTY

  5:25 p.m.

  Drop off Ms. H’s item with Ms. H – HERE, in the nick of time.

  Clean Mrs. Dallaglio’s rug.

  Beautiful, highly strung international celebrity Ms. H lived on an entire floor of one of Manhattan’s most sought-after luxury apartment buildings. Visiting the place always gave Christy a buzz, even though the gilded opulence made her feel insignificant and scruffy.

  Today the feeling was magnified by about a hundred times as she and Toni finally arrived, exhausted and disheveled, at the foot of the marble steps leading up to the most glorious entrance lobby in the whole of New York.

  The rug had been growing heavier and heavier in Christy’s arms. She dropped it on the floor for a moment as she looked around to check if the taxi containing her high-maintenance client was approaching.

  It wasn’t. Phew!

  “Well,” she gasped to Toni, “either we’ve made it and I’m dead because of the missing diamond, or else we’re late, in which case I’m dead because of the missing diamond and because of being late. Either way, it’s been nice knowing you, Toni.”

  Toni looked panicked for a moment. “Goodbye?” he asked, misunderstanding her sarcasm.

  “No, no.” Christy smiled to reassure him, and Toni smiled back, reassured.

  They’d lost sight of the taxi a few minutes before. But it couldn’t be far off.

  Christy scanned the sidewalk, looking for a good place to hide an Italian man and a Persian rug.

  “There!” she cried, pointing to a small alleyway. “Toni, I can’t let her see you—she’ll remember you from the cab. Please, could you take the rug and hide there for a few minutes?”

  She also didn’t want Toni to witness her being publicly humiliated and almost certainly fired. That would have been the final straw, in a haystack already overcrowded with final straws.

  Toni gave her a helpless, uncomprehending look.

  Christy glanced around again. Still no taxi. “Here, come with me.”

  With a grunt she picked up her end of the rug once again, and guided Toni into the shadows. Together they found a dry patch of sidewalk that wasn’t too dusty and laid the rug down next to the wall of Ms. H’s building.

  “Five minutes?” she guessed, tapping her watch and spreading out her hand. “I’ll be back in five minutes, okay?”

  Toni shrugged, pulled up the collar of his shirt, hunched over, and darted a sly sideways look at her, like a criminal on a stakeout. Christy laughed. Toni sure brightened up her day.

  There it was. No sooner had she stepped back out on to the main street than she saw the taxi, indicating to pull over outside the building. She could see the gleaming halo of platinum blonde hair, the phone pressed against her ear, the expressive hand gestures. Her insides flipped. There was no time to plan what to say. She’d just have to come clean and face whatever insults she had to throw at her.

  The driver did a double take when he saw Christy. Guiltily Christy stepped forward and then, as subtly as she could, pressed a finger to her lips, imploring him not to show that he recognized her. He stared at her for what seemed like an eternity, drumming his fingers on top of his steering wheel.

  And then Christy realized. The tiara box was no longer stuffed up under her top. It was tucked under her arm, and she looked no more pregnant than he did.

  Ms. H was gathering up her bags and preparing to get out.

  “I’m sorry,” she mouthed.

  The driver simply shook his head.

  “Christy, darling!” Ms. H’s shrill, uptown tones rang out from the back of the cab. “You won’t believe the time I’ve had—my feet are killing me!”

  As Christy predicted, Ms. H made no move to pay the driver, nor did he wait around. With a final disgusted look at Christy, he pulled away.

  “Um, hi,” Christy faltered, feeling more wretched
than ever.

  “I got shoes and more shoes! And a purse—no, lots of purses…here.” She thrust the stash of bags toward Christy, who caught them with her spare hand. “And there are more, too! Claudio’s bringing them!”

  Christy forced her face into a goofy grin of approval. “Great! Like—wow! That’s some good shopping.”

  “I know, right?” said Ms. H, taking the praise as if she had invented the concept of shoes and bags herself. “But the journey took, like, for-ev-er—that driver must be new or something. I’ll get my people to have a word with his people to see if he needs training or something. Never mind, boy do I need a soak in my hot tub!”

  Towering a good eight inches over Christy in her spiked silver heels, she really did emit a kind of starry magnetism—and boy did she know it. Passersby were beginning to stop and stare, and some pulled out mobile phones and pointed them in her direction. But she carried on as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Christy thought she’d had her fill of being with people who attracted attention today—Toni, after all, had been quietly knocking New Yorkers dead with his good looks since the moment he got off his plane, but Ms. H was working it; that was the difference. Christy was beginning to feel like a celebrity herself; she imagined she’d be in the background of a lot of paparazzi photos today.

  Just then, Ms. H’s glittery blue gaze fell upon the tiara box. “Oh, good, Christy, you got my little crown back! Isn’t it just dee-vine!”

  “Well…” Christy couldn’t think of anything less divine right at that moment, given the trouble it had caused.

  “You know, I kind of like it,” Ms. H went on, reaching out and stroking the velvet box, “but I really prefer some of the other ones. Remind me to show them to you sometime—or, at least, I’ll get someone to do that, anyhow.”

  “Look,” Christy plunged in, “about the tiara—there’s a problem…” she looked around. The crowd was thickening. It wouldn’t do to open the box now and reveal the tiara in all its flawed glory in front of half of the city. She wasn’t going to risk it being snatched by some opportunist, not after getting it this far. “Do you think we can go inside? I’ve got something to tell you.”

  “Sure!” Ms. H swivelled around on one perfect, pointy foot and clipped up the steps. “How else am I going to get my bags to the elevator? My assistants are all somewhere back down the street.”

  “Assistants?” Christy echoed. “Plural? Wow! How many are on duty today?”

  Ms. H ignored the question, pivoting on one stiletto heel and starting toward her building. “Come on,” she urged, indicating that Christy was meant to carry the bags to the elevator and that she clearly had no time for contradictions. “Say, what do you think of my eyebrows? I just got them done.”

  “They’re beautiful,” Christy reassured her with a sigh, following in a cloud of Ms. H’s own brand of perfume up the steps, arms laden with a load of shopping that was almost as heavy as the rug.

  The doorman, resplendent in a purple uniform and tall hat that Christy thought looked as if it had come straight from a Walt Disney movie, rushed to open the doors, touching his forehead with his free, gloved hand.

  “Tip, Christy,” Ms. H called over her shoulder.

  Wearily Christy stopped in front of the doorman and began to set down Ms. H’s bags.

  “It’s okay, Miss,” the doorman reassured her. “It’s my pleasure.”

  “Oh, thank you so much,” Christy breathed, grateful for his kindness while in the same moment wondering how awful she must look if a New York doorman was prepared to forgo a tip from her.

  The entrance hallway was like Christy imagined Buckingham Palace must be. Floor-to-ceiling marble with gilt mirrors, lazy ceiling fans, and opulent velvet sofas. Ms. H managed to compose a lengthy-looking message on her phone without breaking stride, while calling out greetings to everyone she passed. She didn’t stop walking until she reached the row of elevators at the far end.

  “So,” she said, turning at last to look at Christy. Her face clouded. “Say, you should see my facialist! You look so tired!”

  “I am, a little,” Christy admitted. “But can I—”

  “How did the photo shoot go? Did Marcel say anything about the tiara?”

  “Marcel?” Christy echoed.

  “The photographer! Marcel Delacroix? Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of him? He shot me for Vogue just last month!”

  “Oh, yes, Marcel, of course. Um, no, well, I didn’t exactly speak to him. It was an assistant; a girl with a clipboard had to get me to sign off on the tiara, and I was in a bit of a rush.”

  “Christy! I’m disappointed! I always speak to the boss. It’s a rule of mine—how are you going to get anywhere if the boss man doesn’t know what you’re up to?”

  “Good point,” Christy sighed.

  Ms. H shook her head with pity. “Never mind, anyhow, the main thing is, Marcel didn’t say anything?”

  “No. Listen, there’s been a problem—”

  “About the tiara?”

  “I’m sorry, but I really need to tell you about the—”

  Ms. H was talking over her. “Nothing about the missing diamond?”

  Christy and Ms. H said the words, “missing diamond,” at the exact same time.

  “What?” Christy wasn’t sure she’d heard right.

  “What?” repeated Ms. H.

  “No…” What Ms. H was saying just sunk in. Maybe, just maybe, her life had been pulled back from the manicured claws of certain destruction.

  “Oh, thank goodness!” Ms. H laid a hand on her chest and breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief. “I might have gotten away with it!”

  “You knew about the missing diamond?” A tentative glimmer of hope had sprung inside Christy.

  “Oh, yes, but wasn’t it naughty of me not to say anything? I mean, there are, like, six hundred diamonds in that thing, but once you notice the missing one, it kind of ruins the effect. Maybe he was able to angle it so that the gap won’t show up in the shots…anyway, maybe you could schedule in taking it for repair for me?”

  “Now?” Christy’s voice was a shadow of its usual self. But she knew Ms. H—everything had to be done yesterday, preferably the day before.

  “Next week would be better. I need to show it to my stylist, who’s working on a look for the new Pixar premiere about a fairy princess—do you know, they’ve based her on me? Isn’t that just the best!”

  Finally Christy allowed herself to smile. “Well, who else would they base her on? Miley Cyrus?”

  “Ex-act-ly! And let me tell you, she’d never be able to tell the diamonds were fake!”

  “No!” Christy giggled, not really understanding. Then, “um, pardon?”

  Ms. H winked at her. “The tiara’s a copy—didn’t you know? You don’t think Daddy would ever let the real thing out of the vault, do you?”

  “Ooo!” Christy couldn’t help herself. She flung her arms around Ms. H’s neck and hugged her.

  “Hey!” A bodyguard had appeared from nowhere and made to pull her off.

  “It’s fine!” Ms. H giggled, looking down at Christy in amusement. “You didn’t think…you did think! Oh, wow, Christy, you silly thing!”

  Christy’s whole body was tingling with relief. She felt as though she’d been holding her breath for an hour. “I know!” she burbled happily. “I am such a silly thing!”

  The elevator doors slid open, and two of Ms. H’s many assistants bustled out to relieve Christy of her load.

  “Oh, Kendra, sweetie,” Ms. H addressed the taller of the two women as she stepped into the elevator. “Try and hook Christy up with Claude as soon as he’s got a window, won’t you? She could use a rejuvenating facial! She looks, like, almost twenty-four!” She grimaced as if twenty-four were the equivalent of being covered in boils.

  “I am twenty-four,” Christy smiled.

  “I know, and I’m sorry for you.” Ms. H did look genuinely sorry for
her. Like she was close to death. “But don’t worry, we can always shed a couple of years, honey—byeee!”

  The elevator doors closed, and she was gone.

  “I don’t believe it!” Christy hissed to herself as she skipped back outside to rejoin Toni, thanking the doorman as she went.

  “Toni!” She rushed to where he stood and beamed. “Diamond okay! Diamond not diamond! Diamond fake!”

  “Diamond okay? Okay!” Toni mirrored her smile, but his face was a picture of bewilderment.

  “It was fake all along! And it was missing all along! I didn’t lose it—oh, I’m so happy!” She danced all around him, clapping her hands, attempting an elaborate mime involving pulling an imaginary diamond out of an imaginary ring with her teeth and grinding it into a powder, then spitting out the bits.

  “I’m lovin’ it!” Toni charitably danced along, too, nodding with exaggerated understanding and making to pick up the rug just as Christy’s phone bleeped.

  “Oh, one moment! I’ve got a text.”

  It was from Will:

  H Tweet says she can’t stop thinking about hot Italian in cab, why is it that the good ones are always taken? Will.

  “Hmm.” She read the text a couple more times and frowned. It seemed cooler than his previous communications…surely he wasn’t bothered by Toni being described as ‘hot’? No, she was probably imagining things. The phone was new to Will. It was a lot to expect him to be able to master sending texts on it at all, let alone put any emotion into them.

  Although maybe he just had?

  She put the phone back in her bag. “Come on, Toni, let’s go get rid of this rug once and for all.”

  WILL

  5:45 p.m.

  Nina was standing a short distance apart from Will and his father, fiddling with her phone.

  She gave them a little wave. “I’ll just try and get hold of her one more time! The number she gave me today has been constantly busy; let me just try her old number and see if that works. Maybe she’ll be able to pick him up after all and save you the journey. Sorry, guys, I do so appreciate this!”