One Wish In Manhattan (A Christmas Story)

by Mandy Baggot

  While her daughter was distracted Michel wasn’t in her thoughts, but the closer Christmas got, Hayley knew the questions would be coming thick and fast. Why haven’t you found him? You promised. Hayley put a line through another museum address on her print-out and picked up her phone.

  The intercom bleeped and Dean got up off the floor to respond to it. ‘Can we try and get it a little colour-coordinated?’

  ‘Dean, it’s a Christmas tree,’ Vernon responded. ‘Not an ornament.’

  Pressing the button, Dean answered. ‘Dean Walker.’

  Hayley watched her brother raise his eyes as Vernon passed Angel a tacky, garish-looking fairy.

  ‘Hey, Dean, it’s Oliver,’ the voice came back.

  Hayley’s stomach plummeted to somewhere close to down-the-escalators-at-Waterloo-Underground-Station level as she heard the voice that had been sending her erogenous zones into overdrive almost since she’d met him. She swallowed, quickly remembering it was also the same voice that had sent her packing this morning.

  ‘Has something else happened?’ Dean asked in a panicked voice.

  ‘No, we’re all good. I’m on my way to deliver the news actually.’

  Something was going on with the business that she didn’t know about. She wasn’t privy to any of that now she was no better than a one-night stand. Again.

  ‘Is Hayley there?’

  Now her stomach was rushing, diving through the tunnels of the subway without stopping at any station along the way. What did he want? Hadn’t he said all he needed to say earlier?

  Dean looked over to her then, as if waiting for some sort of response. Hayley knew what he was thinking. She hadn’t told him any of what happened the night before, but the very fact she hadn’t waxed lyrical, or come out with any hilarious anecdotes told its own story. She should be shaking her head right now. She should be waving her hands and signalling that she wasn’t there.

  ‘Er…’ Dean made the non-committal noise, his eyes widening as every millisecond ticked by.

  ‘It won’t take a minute, I promise,’ Oliver said.

  Huh, a promise meant little at the moment. And her physical reaction to his voice was betraying the level-headed side of her. The side of her that wasn’t going to let her guard down for anyone ever again.

  ‘She’s here. She’s coming down,’ Dean finally spoke.

  Hayley sent her eyes out on stalks. Why had he done that? Hadn’t he got the message that she didn’t want to see him? Now Dean had taken the decision out of her hands. Now there was nothing she could do about it. She had to go and see what Oliver wanted. The most annoying thing about all of that was the flutter of something in her stomach that was utterly unwelcome. Desire. She now officially hated herself.

  She slipped down from the bar stool. She could do this. She would go down there, let him say whatever he had come to say and be done with it as quickly as she could. Like a doorstep conversation with an election candidate.

  ‘What’s going on with you two?’ Dean asked her.

  She sighed. ‘Let me pass on answering and I won’t ask a thing about whatever is going down at Drummond Global.’

  Dean closed his mouth like a drawbridge at a castle under threat of invasion and Hayley headed for the door.

  * * *

  Oliver was going to deliver this message and nothing else. When she walked out this morning he was adamant he wasn’t going to see her again. Just being here was screwing him up, but he didn’t have a choice. He sighed as he waited. He wasn’t going to look into her eyes or drop his gaze to her lips or admire her defiant jaw which, under these circumstances, would definitely be defiant. He’d hurt her. At a time when she least needed it. She was vulnerable, in an unfamiliar country, looking for her daughter’s father and he had treated her so badly. He pulled in a breath as the cold started to seep through his woollen coat and sink its way into his bones. He had to carry on treating her badly. It was the only way forward.

  The door creaked open and light from the hallway framed her image. It was like someone had put his insides into a blender. He was turning into pulp right there on the step.

  ‘Hi,’ he greeted when the power of speech had come back to him. He cleared his throat, trying to get back on task.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  It was the very to-the-point question he’d been expecting after everything that had happened at the hospital. He held out a gift bag.

  Hayley shook her head. ‘What’s this? Something from Tiffany’s to buy back my affections?’

  He cleared his throat again. ‘It’s the bow tie and waistcoat we bought for Randy.’

  He watched her expression change and she took hold of the bag, accepting it.

  ‘Oh … thank you.’

  She looked directly at him then, those eyes meeting his. He hurried on. There wasn’t time to be distracted.

  ‘So, I just wanted to give you that and also to … to give you this.’ He passed forward the brown envelope he’d had tucked under his arm all the way here. It had felt like a bomb on a timer because, despite his honourable intentions, he was in deep and dire conflict about it. Half of him wanted to tear the papers to shreds and let them never see the light of day. The less selfish side of him, the pieces of the Oliver he aspired to be if he ever got his head straight, was urging him on.

  Hayley took the envelope but, instead of looking at it, or tearing at it, she left her eyes on him. It was as if she were trying to see inside him and translate the contents without actually having to look.

  Was she going to make him say the words? He blinked, breaking their connection for just a second. They shouldn’t matter so much. He needed to think of it as a business deal. Fulfilling wishes was what he did after all.

  ‘I found Michel,’ he stated.

  * * *

  Hayley grabbed the railings at the top of the stone steps, immediately snapping her hand back as the frozen metal burnt her fingers.

  ‘When I say found, I mean … someone I work with,’ Oliver took a breath. ‘Someone I use for difficult situations … I asked him to find Michel and in the envelope are his latest contact details.’ He swallowed. ‘There’s an address, here in New York, and … a number.’

  She looked at the envelope in her hands, disbelieving. Was the answer to Angel’s dearest wish really held inside? After months of searching every place she could think of – every directory, every website, every different web provider – it seemed too good to be true. And all this was being delivered to her by the guy who stamped all over her heart only a few hours earlier. She smoothed her hands over the paper. Was this a trick? She jerked her head up then, facing Oliver.

  ‘Is this for real?’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Because I have a little girl up there I made a promise to and if this is just false hope …’

  ‘It’s not,’ Oliver said. ‘My source confirmed the location.’

  ‘Can you please stop speaking “spy”?’

  ‘He’s spoken to his neighbours and he’s seen him.’ Oliver let out a sigh. ‘It’s an address in Brooklyn.’

  Hayley shook her head. How could that be possible? How could he have been so close yet so impossible to track down? She couldn’t stop the tears from spilling from her eyes, feeling so many sensations all at once. Hope. Joy. Fear.

  As the salty tracks of her tears started to crystallise on her face she looked up at Oliver. She watched him put his hands in the pockets of his coat and tighten his jaw.

  ‘Thank you,’ she breathed.

  He nodded. ‘Well, I have a reputation for making women’s wishes come true.’ He swallowed. ‘I couldn’t let this one beat me.’

  She watched him bite his bottom lip, as if he was thinking about what to say next. Why had he done this? Had he thought better about shutting her down at the hospital? She felt weak for even considering it.

  ‘Listen,’ he started. ‘I just wanted to say … about the McArthur Foundation fundraiser.’ He wet his lips. ‘It’s a great cause and … no matter h
ow I feel about it … even though it’s not my bag …’ He stopped, like he didn’t know what he had started to say. ‘You’re going to make it an incredible event.’

  She needed to say something. He had come over here with Angel’s wish in his hands. His hazel eyes were full of emotion and those pert lips she’d kissed so hungrily looked more delicious and tempting than an open tin of Quality Street. If she took a step towards him what would he do? She slid one foot through the dusting of snow.

  He stepped back and her heart fell. This was goodbye.

  ‘Well, I’d better head off … lots to do’ Oliver smiled at her. ‘Goodbye, Lois.’

  She swallowed the knot of emotion clogging up her throat. Her heart and libido were telling her to stop him as she watched him take the steps down to the pavement. He turned back and she held her breath. He waved a hand then pulled the handle of the waiting town car and slipped into the back seat. She sighed, watching her breath spiral in the freezing air and whispered into the night. ‘Goodbye, Superman.’

  47

  Mancinis Restaurant, Tenth Avenue, Manhattan

  Oliver had picked a booth in a back corner of the restaurant. He’d ordered a Scotch and a jug of water then spent the last five minutes straightening everything on the table into a slightly different place. How was this going to go down? The images were etched on his brain but the betrayal bit him more than anything. His father’s best friend. When had that stopped counting for something?

  ‘Oliver.’ His mother’s voice drove him from his reverie and he got to his feet quickly.

  Cynthia looked effortlessly chic as always in an ice blue shift dress that brought out the colour of her eyes. Oliver leant forward, kissing her first on one cheek, then the other.

  ‘You’re early,’ he remarked, his eyes shifting to Cynthia’s companion.

  There he was. Andrew Regis, wearing that old-school three-piece suit combination he always wore. Head glossy, cheeks coloured by spidery red veins. He thought the extent of his betrayal was this relationship with his mother and that article in the magazine questioning Oliver’s leadership. How wrong he’d been.

  ‘Andrew.’ Oliver held his hand out to him, going against everything his body’s engine was telling him to do.

  ‘Oliver,’ Andrew responded, grasping the offering and giving it a firm, professional shake.

  Both men waited for Cynthia to slip into the booth before taking their seats. Oliver poured his mother a glass of water and went to offer the jug to Andrew’s glass.

  Andrew put his hand over the tumbler. ‘Why don’t we have a nice bottle of red?’

  ‘What a good idea,’ Cynthia agreed, picking up a menu. ‘Then we can clear the air properly and start moving forward.’

  Oliver swallowed, not able to raise a smile at his mother. How was she going to feel about this? Her first venture into the relationship arena since Richard’s death and this! He wasn’t going to soft soap the business side of things. She was on the board. It was her right to know, just like all the other members he was going to have to explain it to. The other part … He put his hand to his tie and slackened the knot. He didn’t think he could do it to her. He forced a smile. ‘I couldn’t agree more.’

  * * *

  Cynthia had done an excellent job of keeping the flow of conversation going until the starter arrived. Now, every mouthful of the mushroom-filled ravioli was turning Oliver’s stomach. He shouldn’t be sitting with this disgusting liar of a man. He should be dragging him out into the street and giving him the kicking of his life.

  ‘Only a week until Christmas and they say the weather is going to turn,’ Cynthia continued. ‘I’m hoping the forecasters are wrong. A little snow is traditional this time of year but a storm cutting off the city is something no one wants.’

  Oliver nodded his head up and down. He’d been doing that a lot. He wasn’t sure he could offer up niceties in the circumstances.

  ‘Brings everything to a halt. Workers can’t make it to work, nothing gets done,’ Andrew chipped in.

  Silence descended again and Oliver forced another forkful of food into his mouth.

  ‘Right, well, seeing as the atmosphere here is decidedly frostier than it is outside, I think it’s time we addressed this head on.’ Cynthia threw her napkin down on the table.

  Oliver put his fork down onto his plate and leaned back against the fabric seat of the booth. He watched Andrew’s movements. The man picked up his glass of red wine and put it to his lips. The lips no amount of lies had fallen out of.

  ‘No one got anything to say? Fine, I’ll start,’ Cynthia said, a heavy breath coming from her lips. ‘Oliver, I owe you an apology.’

  He sat up a little more and pulled the cuffs of his shirt into line.

  ‘I should have told you about my relationship with Andrew personally and I should have told you weeks ago.’ Cynthia looked to Andrew, reaching for his hand. Oliver clenched his teeth tight together at the show of solidarity as Cynthia continued. ‘It’s a difficult time of year for us all and I thought it was better to wait until the New Year before going public.’ She swallowed. ‘But that wasn’t fair on you, Andrew.’

  It felt as if Jesus’ tombstone was clogging his airway. He couldn’t sit here and listen to much more of this, watching Andrew create this fantasy right in front of him.

  Andrew patted Cynthia’s hand, looking into her eyes like a lovesick puppy. The ravioli started to repeat. He’d had enough.

  ‘I have something I’d like to say,’ Oliver spoke up. He cleared his throat and picked up the file of paperwork on the seat next to him. He flicked the pages, his thumb making the dust between the sheets fly up into the air.

  ‘I’m hoping it’s going to be that you’re putting the merger of the two companies back on the table,’ Cynthia stated.

  Oliver shook his head. ‘No.’ He looked to Andrew. ‘But that will be perfectly OK with Andrew because he never really wanted it in the first place.’

  He held the older man’s gaze, looking to see if these first words would start everything dropping into place.

  ‘Oliver,’ Cynthia said. ‘Why would you say something like that? That article in Business Voice was nothing but bravado. Andrew knows it was the wrong thing to do and he’s going to print a retraction as soon as the deal is back on the table.’

  ‘You’re not listening, Mom.’

  ‘He’s right,’ Andrew responded. ‘I had my doubts at first.’

  Oliver baulked. Was he about to confess? He hadn’t been expecting that.

  ‘I wasn’t sure to begin with, Cynthia. You know Richard and I always had very different views on the direction of our businesses.’ He sighed. ‘That was always the reason we never worked together. But when you raised your concerns about Oliver’s ability to carry the company forward, I knew I had to look at it again.’

  ‘You liar!’ Oliver let every drip of loathing come out along with the words. ‘That isn’t true.’

  ‘Oliver.’ The plea came from Cynthia.

  He was hit by the expression on his mother’s face. She did have concerns but not about Andrew, about him and his ability to run Drummond Global. This was so wrong. He couldn’t delay the inevitable any longer.

  ‘Don’t say anything else, Mom.’

  ‘Oliver, I know you’ve found things tough this past year and all the support the board has tried to offer you’ve categorically turned down. I didn’t know what else to do,’ Cynthia continued.

  ‘If you or the board had a problem you should have come to me,’ Oliver stated.

  ‘You always shut me down.’

  ‘That’s just not true.’ Oliver shook his head.

  Cynthia sniffed, tears forming. ‘I was trying to protect you, hoping you would work it out for yourself. I know running this business isn’t what you dreamed of but it’s your father’s and Ben’s legacy. I thought at least that meant something to you.’

  It was like his mother had stamped on his chest with her court shoes on. Was that how she rea
lly felt? Did she think that he didn’t care because it wasn’t his dream? Before the Globe, his father and Ben were the only reasons he had for driving the company on.

  ‘The two companies merging was for your benefit, Oliver, not mine,’ Andrew stated, looking pious.

  Oliver drew his lips into a firm line. ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘Oliver!’ Cynthia exclaimed.

  He snapped open the file of papers and pushed them past the water jug, into the middle of the table.

  ‘The merger was a distraction, nothing more. He never wanted it to happen. The only reason he got so distressed when I called a halt on it was because he wasn’t sure he had enough time to implement his real plan, the one he’s been working on since my father died.’ Oliver glared at Andrew. ‘If I hadn’t pulled Drummond Global out of the deal, you would have done it yourself. Because it was all fabricated.’

  ‘What?’ Cynthia said, looking to Andrew.

  ‘As is your relationship with my mother,’ Oliver continued. He was gritting his teeth now, trying to maintain his cool but wanting to reach across the table and grab this excuse for a man by the scruff of his neck.

  ‘I have no clue what you’re talking about,’ Andrew said, throwing his napkin down onto the table.

  Andrew looked rattled now. His cheeks a little redder, his forehead beading with perspiration. The man was finally starting to realise what was about to go down. Soon, when all his deception was laid bare, he was going to be on his knees begging for mercy.

  Oliver found the relevant page in the file on the table. ‘Mom, the whole merger was simply a distraction. It was all just a diversion tactic so we were both off our game. You’d be caught up in your love affair and I’d be caught up looking at clauses that didn’t matter, while Andrew here used one of my employees to pass him classified information.’

  He watched Cynthia’s reaction, saw her shift her hand away from Andrew’s. ‘What is he talking about, Andrew?’

  ‘I have no idea, but I’m not going to sit here and be accused of something so absurd.’ Andrew got to his feet. ‘I wasn’t sure about coming tonight but your mother insisted. And,’ He drew a breath. ‘It’s that time of year – reconciliation, peace and goodwill to all men and all that jazz. I thought I owed you the chance to apologise …’