by Liz Fielding
There were no easy solutions, no perfect answers. You did what you had to do and got on with it. He’d been a successful architect, but he’d been raised to this. With no heart in it, he’d expanded the company out of all recognition. What could he do if he stopped looking back, regretting the life he’d lost and instead looked forward? Seized the day? Seized the life he’d been given?
Time to do a little homework. Arrange a meeting with the H &H trustees.
‘Hey, sleepy-head.’
‘Nnng…’ She pushed her face deeper into the pillow. Today was not going to be fun and she was in no hurry for it to start.
There was a touch to her shoulder and, giving up, she opened her eyes, saw the tempting curl of steam rising from a bright red mug standing on the black marble, Nathaniel crouched down beside the bed.
‘Nice mug,’ she said.
‘It matches your toenails.’
‘So it does,’ she said, rolling over onto her side. She was going to have to leave today and she didn’t want to miss a minute of looking at Nathaniel. ‘What time is it?’
‘Nearly eight. I would have left you sleeping but I’ve got a meeting with the company trustees in a few minutes and I’m not sure how long it will take.’
‘Shame,’ she said. ‘I was going to make you porridge for breakfast.’
‘I’ll cancel.’ He made as if to move, but she caught his arm.
‘No, you’re all right. I’ve got until two thousand and fifty-one to convert you to oatmeal.’
‘I warn you, it might take that long.’
For a moment neither of them spoke. She was thinking of forty years spent sharing breakfast with Nathaniel.
He was probably thinking help!
‘Trustees?’ she prompted.
‘Hastings & Hart is controlled by a family trust. Much of the profit goes to charity.’
‘That explains a lot.’
‘Does it?’
It explained the sense of obligation. Why he couldn’t walk away.
‘I found the picture Pam took of you yesterday, by the way,’ he said after a moment, ‘and I’ve made an ID card for you, Louise Braithwaite.’
‘Mmm… Yes. Sorry about that, but the name Lucy Bright was given to me by the nurses in the hospital, so that’s made up, too.’
‘I was going to talk to you about that. I did a little research on Henshawe last night and I saw the photographs. Are you sure that your mother is a fake?’
‘It’s in the file.’
‘All it says is that it would make a great story if they found her.’
‘And it did. Not a dry eye in the house.’
‘Did you like her?’ he asked. ‘I mean, she did abandon you.’
‘Fifteen years old with a boyfriend who’d done a runner at the word pregnancy. She could have done a lot worse, Nathaniel. I’m here. But not because of her. She’s a fake. Another lie generated by Rupert’s PR company.’
She threw the covers back, swung her legs out of the bed, but he didn’t back off.
‘Okay, I liked her. More than liked.’ It wouldn’t have hurt so much if she’d hated her on sight. Thought her the worst mother on earth and didn’t give a damn. ‘We fit.’ Still he didn’t move. ‘I loved her, okay?’
‘You look like her,’ he said.
‘They weren’t going to pick someone who didn’t, were they?’
‘You’ve got the same hair.’
‘The halo or the Harpo Marx? Hair can be fixed.’
‘And eyes, Lucy. Look at her eyes. You can change their colour with contacts but not their shape. And, honestly, I know that His Frogginess is capable of it, but how could he get away with it? Truly. People know her. Her history. If she was a fake, her story was a lie, don’t you think someone would have sold her out to the media?’
‘Aren’t you going to be late for your meeting?’ she said.
‘Just look, okay?’ Then, letting it go, ‘Your employee ID is in the kitchen with a swipe card to get you through the door between the store and the apartment. There’s also a store account card in the same name so that you can get anything you need. And the keypad number for the door is two five one two.’
‘Two five one two,’ she repeated. ‘Christmas Day? I think I can remember that.’
And she wiggled her toes at him, just to show him that she’d forgiven him for bringing up her mother.
Damn. She was doing it now.
Forgetting the quotes.
‘The lawyer called first thing,’ Nathaniel said. ‘He’s spoken to the police and also issued a short statement to the press to the effect that while you’re sorting out your differences with Henshawe you’re staying with a friend.’
She reached up, touched his cheek. ‘A very good friend.’ Then, ‘Nice tie, by the way.’
He was dressed for work in a crisp white shirt and the uniform pinstripes, but the tie today was candy-red.
‘I’ve decided that it’s my favourite colour.’
‘Good choice.’ But, despite the tie, he looked tired and she said so. ‘Did you get any sleep?’
‘Not much,’ he admitted. ‘I had a lot of thinking to do.’
‘Don’t tell me-I’ve turned your life upside down. It’s a bad habit I have.’
‘No, Lucy. You’ve turned it the right way up. And the time wasn’t wasted. I’ve come up with a fifth option.’
‘What?’ She was wide awake now.
‘I’m going to be late for my meeting.’ He leaned forward, kissed her cheek, headed for the door.
‘Nathaniel!’ She leapt out of bed and went after him. Then paused, suddenly shy. ‘Your tie…’ She reached up to straighten it, pat it into place, keeping her eyes on the knot, but he hooked his thumb under her chin, made her look at him.
‘It’ll be all right. I just need to straighten a few loose ends before I put it to you.’ Then, apparently forgetting all about his meeting, he caught her close, kissed her, sweet and simple, before releasing her. ‘Go back to bed, Lucy.’
‘I will if you’ll come too.’
‘You make it hard for a man to leave.’
She grinned. ‘I noticed.’
‘You don’t really have to be an elf, you know. You can stay here. Housekeeping will come in at about ten but, apart from that, no one will disturb you.’
Too late, she was already disturbed and the condition, she feared, was terminal.
‘Frank is expecting me. I can’t let him down.’
‘Of course you can’t. He’ll feed you to a troll.’ He kissed her again. ‘I’ll see you later.’ And this time he did make it to the door, where he paused to look back at her. ‘Don’t do anything rash, will you?’
‘The rashest thing I’m going to do this morning is put maple syrup on my porridge,’ she promised.
Maybe.
Diary entry: Woken by Nathaniel, all crisp and gorgeous and ready for a hard day making dreams come true in his palace of delights. Christmas shoppers. Children. And mine? And I’m not talking about Option Five. But I will have to decide what to do today.
Nathaniel can’t be right about my mother? Can he?
The meeting began just after eight.
Nathaniel began by offering his father, his uncles, what they wanted. A Hart fully committed to the company.
Only two men in the room did not leap to accept the gesture with gratitude, relief.
Christopher’s father. And his own.
He wasn’t surprised.
His uncle clung vainly to the hope that one day his own son would be able to resume his place.
His father had been hurt beyond measure that he hadn’t wanted to follow in his footsteps and was sure there would be a proviso.
‘What do you want in return, Nathaniel?’ his father asked.
‘Your agreement to a proposal.’ He passed around a folder as he began to talk.
Lucy retrieved her costume from the upstairs bedroom. It seemed less daunting in the daylight, with clothes heaped untidily on the bed.
Start the day with a positive action. And a proper breakfast.
She sat on a stool, spooning porridge sweetened with maple syrup into her mouth, sipping her orange juice. Flipping through her messages, reading tweets, messages on Facebook. Catching up.
There was nothing more from Rupert. Not a man to waste words on a lost cause.
There were a dozen or more from the woman who claimed to be her mother. She ignored them, instead flicking through the photographs stored on her camera. The informal snaps taken when she was off guard. Zoomed in on the eyes. Compared them.
Could Nathaniel be right?
She flicked back to her messages.
Do you want to send a message?
Did she? She thumbed in a text:
Tell me the truth. Who are you? Really?
Her thumb hovered over ‘send’.
Two hours later, only Nat and his father were left in the room.
‘You’re in love with this girl?’ His father had listened to his plan, added his opinion but, now they were alone, he’d gone right to the heart of the matter.
‘I only met her yesterday.’
‘You’re in love with her?’
‘It’s a good plan.’
‘Can I meet her?’
‘Of course. She’s down in the grotto, working as an elf.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s a long story.’
‘I’ve got all day.’
Lucy was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a semi-circle of children sitting around her, totally absorbed, as she sang them a song. They joined in the actions, roared with the lion, hooted with the owl, quacked with the duck.
Frank, watching with a smile stretching his face, turned as Nat joined him at the window. ‘Will you just look at that?’ he said.
He needed no encouragement. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Santa’s come down with the bug and I had to send him home. The replacement is suiting up, but there’s a bit of a backlog. Lou sent some of the elves to organise coffee for the mothers and then rounded up the kids. I don’t know where Pam found her but I’d like half a dozen more.’
‘Sorry, Frank,’ Nat said. ‘She’s a one-off and she’s mine.’ He turned to his father. ‘And the answer to your question is yes.’ Love at first sight was a concept he would have denied with his last breath. Until it happened. ‘I know you’ll think I’m a fool, that it’s crazy, but I’m in love with her.’
‘No. I don’t think you’re a fool. It happens like that sometimes. Magic happens. It was like that with your mother and me. Just one look was all it took.’
Just one look…
Yes.
‘Any chance of you bringing her home for Christmas?’
Before Nat could answer, there was a movement from the inner sanctum and the children, almost reluctantly, began to trickle away.
‘Can we borrow your office, Frank? We need to talk to her.’
‘You’re not going to take her away?’
‘It’s not up to me what she does; she’s her own woman.’ A romantic maybe, but strong, too. A woman who knew what she wanted, who never allowed anyone to control her, use her.
‘Damn women’s lib,’ Frank muttered, stomping off to send her in.
‘Nathaniel?’ Lucy appeared in the doorway, hat slightly askew, curls wild, tunic rucked up behind. She tugged on it. ‘Is anything wrong?’
‘Nothing. My father wanted to meet you.’
‘Oh.’ She extended her hand. ‘Hello, Mr Hart.’
‘Hello, Lucy. I’m delighted to meet you. I’ll leave Nathaniel to explain the situation.’ He put his hand on his son’s arm. ‘Whatever you decide about the holiday. Your decision.’
‘The holiday?’ she asked when the older Hart had gone.
‘We’ve been invited for Christmas.’
‘We?’
‘Us,’ he said. ‘It’s okay. They ask me every year. They don’t expect me to go.’
‘Oh.’
‘You sound disappointed. Sorry, but there’s no way you’re getting out of cooking Christmas dinner.’
‘Shouldn’t you check that I can cook before you commit yourself?’
‘I don’t actually care,’ he said. Then told her about Option Five.
City Diary, London Evening Post
It was announced today that Hastings & Hart, continuing their expansion under the steady hand of Nathaniel Hart, have today acquired the Lucy B chain from the Henshawe Corporation, who are withdrawing from the fashion business in order to concentrate on their core business.
Lucy Bright, the face of Lucy B, will be taking a more hands-on role in the business and is joining Hastings & Hart in January as a director of the Lucy B division with responsibility for fair trade development.
Rupert Henshawe is relinquishing the chairmanship of the Henshawe Corporation with immediate effect. Shares in the company were down in trading.
Slight wobble, tweeps, but the frog has been vanquished and LucyB is back and on target. Thanks for all the support.
LucyB , Fri 3 Dec 10:14
Lucy flicked through her followers, picking out the ones that were missing. Jenpb was gone. A couple of others. But WelshWitch was cheering her on and, on an impulse, she sent her a direct message. Something only she could read.
WelshWitch Want to meet for lunch? DM me.
Fri 3 Dec 10:16
There was just one more thing to do. She scrolled through the numbers in her phonebook and hit ‘dial’.
‘Lucy?’
‘Mum…’
And then they were both crying.
Friday, 24th December
Appointments
09:30 Hair and stuff
11:00 Meeting with Marji from Celebrity
12:30 Lunch (with my mum!)
17:00 Reception for trustees in boardroom
20:00 Dinner in Garden Restaurant to celebrate Hastings & Hart takeover of Lucy B launch
‘Happy?’ Nat said as they returned to the apartment after a Christmas Eve dinner for family and friends in the Garden Restaurant on the seventh floor-a celebration that her mother had been part of, too. Because, while Rupert Henshawe’s ability to deceive had gone as far as pretending that he’d looked for her, she was the one who’d come forward when she’d read the story in the newspaper.
‘Blissful,’ she assured him. ‘But what about you?’ she asked, hooking her arm in his. ‘Are you really prepared to let go of your career in architecture?’
‘Says my biggest critic.’
‘No. This building is amazing. The apartment is amazing. It just needs a little internal glow.’
He paused at the entrance, turned to her.
‘You give it that, Lucy. It means light, doesn’t it. Lucy?’ She nodded.
‘Well, that’s what you are. A light shining into all the dark places. You’ve lit up my life. Warmed my heart-’
‘Nathaniel…’
‘It’s too soon to say this, you’re going to think me a fool and, no, it’s nothing to do with making you a director of Lucy B. You’ve earned that with your heart.’
‘I’m terrified I’ll get it wrong.’
‘Terror is the default setting when you’re at the top. But you’re not on your own.’ He reached out to her hand. ‘Never on your own.’
Her fingers wrapped around his and he felt the tension slide away as it always did when she was close. ‘You are going to be wonderful. My father said so and he’s no pushover for a pretty face.’
‘I like your dad. And your mother. It was so kind of them to invite my mum for Christmas, too.’
‘They knew that, wherever she was, you’d want to be, Lucy. That, wherever you were, I’d want to be, too.’
‘I owe you a Christmas dinner,’ she said, looking up. ‘I guess that takes us to two thousand and fifty-two-’
‘You think I’m letting you go
that easily?’ he growled. ‘What I’m trying to say is that this is not a get-your-kit-off line. I love you. I loved you from the moment I first saw you.’ With his other hand he reached out and touched her cheek, very gently, almost afraid that she would disappear under his touch. ‘Just saying. You don’t have to do a thing about it.’
‘But, if I wanted to get my kit off, that would be all right?’ she asked seriously. Looking up at him with those green-gold eyes, soft, filled with warmth, joy, happiness.
He swallowed. ‘Your call.’ Then, before she could move, ‘But maybe you want to think about that. Give yourself some time.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘Then you can forget about flat-hunting. You won’t be going anywhere.’
‘If I stay here, I’ll make changes,’ she warned.
‘You already have.’ Pop music on the radio first thing in the morning. Pots of early jonquils brightening every surface. Laughter everywhere.
‘Phooey. That’s nothing. If I stay, I warn you, I’ll want to paint the walls primrose-yellow.’
‘I’ll help you.’
‘Hang pictures everywhere.’
‘I’ve got a hammer.’
‘Get a kitten.’
‘Only one?’ he asked.
‘Well, they do get lonely without their brothers and sisters,’ she said, a glint of mischief in her eyes. ‘Two would be better.’
‘Bring the whole damn litter.’
Her smile deepened momentarily and then, suddenly, she was serious. ‘There’s one more thing.’
‘You want your mother to live with us?’
‘You’d do that for me?’ she asked. Then, shaking her head, she let him off the hook. ‘It’s not that. I want you to build the house in Cornwall.’
‘For you-’
‘No, Nathaniel; not for me. For you.’ And, as if she knew that was the most difficult thing she’d asked, she lifted herself onto her toes and, coiling her arms around his neck, she kissed him. Giving him her courage, her strength, all her love.
There was no need. She’d been giving him that since the day she’d stumbled in front of him on the stairs. In that moment the fairy tale had changed from Cinderella to something entirely new. She’d brought the sleeping Beast back to life with a kiss, made him whole again. But he had one condition of his own.