by Mandy Baggot
He moved a little closer still. ‘It’s an aura,’ he said in no more than a whisper.
He could see she was transfixed, almost hypnotised by the sound of his voice. Her right elbow was resting on the table, her hand at one of her small, gold heart-shaped earrings. He didn’t feel guilty about the little white lie. After all, she was going to get as much out of this as him, if not more.
‘An aura,’ she repeated, softly.
He nodded, leaning in to the table, sliding his hand past the condiments. His fingers were mere inches away from hers now.
And then Christa laughed, the sound erupting loud and hard. ‘That’s so funny.’ She sipped at her wine, a little spilling over her lips. ‘An aura!’ She returned the glass to the linen cloth and banged the flat of her hand down on the table.
He was thrown, just for a split second. This usually got them every time whether they really believed it or not. She was supposed to be flattered, feel special. He had to turn this around. He smiled.
‘What? You don’t think it’s true?’ He eked out a small laugh of his own. ‘You think I spin this sort of line to every woman I meet?’
‘I’m not dumb enough to think otherwise,’ Christa said, swigging more champagne. ‘But …’ She put her glass back down on the table and inched her fingers closer to his. ‘I don’t really mind.’
Oliver wasn’t sure about this change in proceedings. He was always the one in charge, the one calling the shots. He didn’t know how he felt about Christa making the first move. He widened his smile. It was time to make his move.
He made the connection, slipping his fingers in between hers and linking them tight. He heard a small gasp leave her lips. It was time.
‘Make a wish,’ he whispered, his eyes demanding attention from hers.
‘What?’
He could see the breath was catching in her throat, her chest rising and falling so softly it was barely moving at all.
He wet his lips before continuing. ‘If you could have one wish, right now, tonight, what would it be?’
A titter of a laugh escaped from her and he could tell there was nervous excitement behind the logical part of her that was trying to say this was madness.
‘You’re crazy,’ she responded.
‘Make a wish, Christa. If money were no object.’ He squeezed her hands. ‘If you could do one thing, go one place, something you’ve always dreamed of, what would it be?’
She shook her head then, the honey-blonde waves shimmering in the half-light. ‘You are certifiable.’
‘I’m serious,’ he said.
She smiled, shaking her head once more. ‘Well, in that case, I’ve never been in a helicopter and I’ve always wanted to see New York from the air, like in the movies.’
A result. Slowly he slipped his hand into the pocket inside his jacket and drew out his cell phone. ‘Finish your champagne and I’ll make the call.’
She almost dropped the glass to the floor.
* * *
Christa’s screams as the helicopter dipped down over the city were like food to his soul. She was clutching his arm so tightly it felt like the bone was turning numb. But, despite the vice-like grip on his limb, the pain in his chest had gone. Even as he thought about it, nothing happened, no twinges, no aches, nothing. It was like he was free from it all. That’s what happened when you lived in the moment. You could almost forget everything else.
Christa’s eyes were on stalks, watching the sparkling lights of the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building and Trump Towers, as they flew around the boroughs. The Empire State, one of the Seven Wonders of the Modern World, its iconic Art-Deco style tapering up to almost meet them in the sky never failed to impress at night, particularly from their vantage point. Circling some of the most well-known buildings in the city, almost close enough to touch … he could see how it made Christa feel. He knew she was experiencing something she’d always wanted to do, a life’s dream – because of him. That meant something. It was one wish she would never forget making, because it had come true.
‘This is amazing!’ Christa shouted above the roar of the engine.
Oliver nodded his head, took her hand from his arm and linked their hands together. ‘So, what do you want to do next?’
She turned her head away from the cityscape for a moment and directed her gaze at him. Smiling, she replied. ‘I think I’d like you to see the inside of my hotel room.’
‘I thought you’d never ask,’ he answered, edging towards her.
6
Heathrow Airport, London, UK
‘Is Dean meeting you at the airport?’ Rita asked, shaking a Fisherman’s Friend into her hand before popping it into her mouth.
‘I don’t know yet,’ Hayley said, pushing the cases a few more inches in the queue for check-in.
‘What? You’ve not arranged it?’ Rita’s voice was shrill. ‘You’re going to be arriving at night. You have to have someone waiting for you.’
‘I just didn’t want to bother him straight away when we can easily get a cab.’
They were going to be staying with Dean. His large, expensive, beautifully decorated bachelor pad was going to be their home for the holidays. Without this offer there would be no way this trip would be affordable. But the truth was, as soon as Hayley started asking more of her brother he would give it and then some. Dean was generous to a fault and the whole trip would be taken completely out of her hands. She didn’t want that. This was her and Angel’s adventure, even if it had to take place on a shoestring budget.
‘A cab.’ Rita said the word like it would be driven by the leader of a terrorist organisation.
‘Yes, Mum. And it will be fine. It will be just like the one we used to get here, only smaller and yellow, probably driven by someone who talks more Brooklyn than Billericay.’
‘But why would you do that?’ Rita continued.
This was why she’d wanted to leave her mother back in Wiltshire. A pleasant goodbye at the broken gate, air kisses and hugs neither of them really meant, then away. Liberty. That sounded mean. Hayley swallowed and offered her mother a smile, deciding to change tack
‘Angel, do you have any more George Washington facts you’d like to share from your special dictionary?’
‘He was born in Virginia and he didn’t have any children,’ Angel said, thumbing the pages.
‘I expect Dean has company cars at his disposal. He needn’t have come in person.’ Rita unzipped her patchwork leather handbag. ‘I’ll give him a call.’
‘No!’
Hayley surprised herself with the volume of her voice. She put her lips back together and tried to subconsciously tell her body not to let the colour red she felt hit her cheeks. The couple in front of them did a surreptitious glance backwards. There was only one thing for it.
‘Sorry.’ She let out a breath. ‘Sorry, Mum, I shouldn’t have shouted. It’s just we’re running a bit late and flying is so stressful.’
Rita screwed up her nose. ‘I don’t know what’s stressful about sitting doing nothing but watch television for eight hours.’
The sentence well you should know was at Hayley’s lips but she pressed them shut and said nothing. After all, her mother thought this was just a Christmas trip, a few weeks in the Big Apple and then home again. Rita knew nothing of the mission or Hayley’s crazy dream, the itch that New York could be an opportunity not just a vacation. Unless her mother had been reading her ten year diary. She shuddered. If that ever happened she’d be booking a one-way ticket around the world and never coming back. She was starting to regret not bringing it with her. She only hoped the cheap, ugly toys would do their job and keep it from being found. There would be no stopping the flipping of pages if Rita discovered it. There was no such thing as privacy where her mother was concerned. Your business was her business but only because she wanted to have an opinion on it, not because she actually cared.
Angel piped up. ‘Actually the flight time is seven and a half hours and one of the
films is Alvin and the Chipmunks.’
‘Great,’ Hayley said. ‘Annoying, singing rodents. That should pass the time and soothe the stress right out of everybody.’
‘Anyone would think you’re not looking forward to this holiday,’ Rita said.
She was obviously making too much out of this and her mother’s relentless questioning wasn’t helping. She had to make it out of the country without a whiff of anything other than Happy Holidays plans.
‘Don’t be silly. Of course I’m looking forward to it. It’s snowing there, isn’t it, Angel?’ Hayley grinned at her daughter.
‘Yes, minus four degrees and set to get so cold you could throw a pan of boiling water in the air and watch it turn to snow before your eyes.’
‘I’m not sure throwing pans of hot water around is something to be encouraged,’ Rita said seriously, directing her gaze at Hayley.
‘It’s all over the TV,’ Angel said.
‘So is that awful woman who sings about snakes and that’s definitely not a good thing.’
Hayley furrowed her brow at her mother. ‘Do you mean Nicki Minaj?’ She shuddered again. ‘Because I hate to tell you this but she’s not actually singing about snakes.’
‘Did you know snakes don’t have eyelids,’ Angel asked, hugging her dictionary to her chest.
‘How did a conversation about snow turn into this?’ Hayley looked desperately at the rows of people ahead of her. ‘And why won’t this bloody queue move?’
‘If you’re getting anxious here, you wait until you see the queues for taxis at JFK,’ Rita said.
Hayley spoke through gritted teeth. ‘I have been to New York before.’
Rita shot her a look. ‘How could I forget?’
Hayley swallowed and moved her eyes to Angel who was regarding them both, sensing the atmosphere but not knowing the cause.
‘You’re right,’ Hayley said quickly. ‘But we’re British. We’re experts at queuing and waiting our turn. If all else fails I’ll act all foppish and bumbling like Hugh Grant and wait for someone to take pity on us.’
Angel let out a tinkle of a laugh while Rita just continued to look sour. Only Hayley knew the puckered lips were all for her and nothing to do with the Fisherman’s Friend.
* * *
‘Mum, we’re going to have to go through security because we have a gate allocated already.’
Hayley watched Rita fuss around Angel. The hair was being pressed into place, the red coat – still a bone of contention for her mother – was being fastened up tight, her cheeks cupped, kind words being expressed.
‘Now,’ Rita started. ‘Remember to look both ways very carefully when you cross the road because they drive on the right.’
‘Yes, Nanny,’ Angel said with sincerity.
‘And don’t have a hot dog from one of those street vendors on the corner of everywhere. There’s a reason they don’t have a shop.’
‘Yes, Nanny.’
Hayley immediately craved the biggest hot dog they could find from the grungiest looking guy the second they got there. ‘We have to go.’
‘All right!’ Rita barked. ‘Can’t I have five minutes to say goodbye to my granddaughter?’
And your daughter. Hayley chewed her lip and tried to dismiss the words that bit. It was good Rita cared so much about Angel. She checked her watch again.
‘I hope your hospital appointment goes OK, Nanny,’ Angel said. Rita would be fine. A neighbour was going with her to the hospital and she had a year’s supply of after dinner mints and an arctic roll.
‘Freda and I will have a pensioner’s lunch at the coffee shop there.’ She put her hands on Angel’s shoulders. ‘Don’t forget to give your Uncle Dean a kiss from me and tell him how much I miss him.’
The golden child. The one she put up on a pedestal as high as the Chrysler Building. Hayley cleared her throat, hoping to dislodge the bad feeling.
‘I hope you have a lovely Christmas, Nanny. I’ll call you,’ Angel said, smiling at her grandmother.
‘Oh don’t you worry about me, Angel. I’ll have one of those meals for widows and single people from Marks and Spencer.’
Hayley closed her eyes. If she mentioned getting out the electric fan heater or watching Pollyanna she was seriously going to lose it.
‘Right then, off we go,’ Hayley said, pulling Angel towards her by the fabric hook on the back of her rucksack.
‘Bye, Nanny,’ Angel chirped.
Hayley felt her mother’s eyes on her but didn’t know what to do. Hugging always felt so awkward and air-kissing was even worse. Guilt was now winning out over everything else.
‘Bye, Mum. Happy Holidays as they say in New York.’ Hayley stepped forward, ready to embrace her mother with everything she had. Instead she impacted on Rita’s foot.
The noise that came from her mother’s mouth was akin to a cat having its tail trodden on. A yelp and a stagger had Angel rushing to her grandmother’s side.
‘Sorry,’ Hayley breathed. ‘Sorry, Mum.’
‘Are you all right, Nanny?’ Angel asked, concern etched on her features.
‘Yes …’ Rita let out a jagged breath. ‘Nothing the chiropodist can’t fix I don’t expect.’
Hayley didn’t dare move her feet a second time. ‘Well, if you’re sure you can make it back to wait for the taxi driver then we’ll head off.’ They really couldn’t wait any longer. And the emotion just wasn’t coming.
‘Bye, Nanny,’ Angel said again.
Hayley put her arm around her daughter and, drawing her close, she simply waved a hand.
7
Drummond Global Offices, Downtown Manhattan, USA
‘Good morning, Mr Drummond.’
It wasn’t a good morning. He felt like shit. Christa had turned out to be the most insatiable woman he had bedded in over a month. His mouth was dry not only from the champagne but also from the humidity of the hotel room heating she insisted on turning up to simulate the temperature of a rainforest. That had been just one of the fantasies she’d wanted to act out. Some of the others involved food from the room service menu he never wanted to see again.
He forced a smile at the blonde receptionist and noticed for the first time that she wore glasses. Did he know her name? Had they dated? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that last question.
‘Good morning,’ he responded, heading for the bank of lifts.
As he waited for one to arrive he looked through the glass doors to the street outside. The snow had stopped overnight and only a fine dusting remained. It was business as usual on the street, taxis, bike couriers, shoppers, workers, guys on roller-skates like they were auditioning for Starlight Express. Icicles hung from the building signs, there was a glaze of frost on fire hydrants and lampposts and the corners of billboards were streaked with a sprinkling of white.
The bell chimed and the silver metal doors slid open. He stepped inside and hit the button for the eightieth floor. It struck him then, as the elevator began to rise, that he had no idea what was in his schedule for the day. How had that happened? Maybe Clara was right. Had he dropped the ball lately? He checked his watch. It was a little after nine. He hoped there was nothing for at least an hour or he might have to send out for mouthwash.
The elevator finally came to a stop and when the doors opened there was Clara. She was wearing maroon, another statement necklace at her throat, but the expression on her face was one of concern.
‘Good morning, Clara,’ he stated hesitantly.
‘We have a problem,’ his PA said without prelude.
‘Have you called Mackenzie?’ he asked, beginning to walk along the corridor towards his office.
‘It isn’t a legal problem,’ Clara said. ‘It’s—’
He interrupted her. ‘I didn’t have a nine o’ clock appointment, did I?’ He powered on past the other offices towards his room at the very end of the walkway.
‘No, but, Oliver wait, listen to me before you go in there,’ Clara rasped as she
broke into a jog, chasing him.
He put his hand on the door but stopped, turning to look at his assistant. Her face was the colour of an overripe strawberry and there were beads of perspiration above the beads of the necklace.
‘Your mother is in there,’ Clara whispered, pointing at the office door.
He creased up his face in the hope his ears were as dry and deficient as his throat. ‘Sorry, Clara, could you say that again?’
‘Your mother is in your office,’ she repeated.
It was his turn to perspire. He could feel the collar of his shirt getting a little tight, his body reacting to the statement in the way it always did where his mother was concerned lately. He wanted to run, or at least turn on his heel and head back down the corridor to the bank of elevators. He could call Tony. They could head out to play golf. Blast away his hangover and his worries on the fairway, spend a couple of hours in the nineteenth hole. He blinked, coming back into reality.
‘What do we do?’ The words were out of his mouth before he thought about how infantile he sounded.
‘What do we do? Oliver, I told you this would happen if you kept ignoring her calls.’
Clara was gesticulating at him, her hands flying about to get her point across like a desperate shadow puppet act. And she was right of course. She had warned him several times that if he didn’t call his mother back she would turn up at his penthouse or here. And there wasn’t a lot he could do about it. He might control the company but she was also a member of the board. This was as much her building as it was his. But he knew already her visit wasn’t about the business. No, this was definitely personal.
He inhaled a long breath and put his hand to the tie at his throat, straightening it, ensuring it gave away nothing about the night before. Straight away the twinging in his chest began. He almost welcomed it. If the Grim Reaper took him now he wouldn’t have to deal with this conversation. He closed his eyes, holding his form steady.