He grinned as her hands moved to open his belt. ‘How special?’
Her eyes twinkled and she licked her lips. ‘Very,’ she promised and led him towards the bedroom.
After closing the door gently on his sleeping girlfriend, Max went to get some coffee before returning to his sister’s accounts. Natalie had calmed him and he was able to think of Sinéad as just another client – a very dumb one. Tomorrow he would pay his sister a visit. He only hoped he’d be able to control his temper and not throttle her.
Chapter Three
It was lunchtime before Max arrived at his sister’s apartment. Dylan opened the door, obviously not long out of bed.
‘Sorry for dropping in unannounced but I really need to talk to Sinéad.’
Dylan looked surprised, puzzled even. ‘She’s not here.’
‘Damn. Will she be long, do you think? This is important.’ He wanted to talk to her today. He wanted to have his facts completely straight so he could take immediate action in the morning.
‘Max, she’s not coming back, at least, not today.’
‘What? But where is she?’
‘Camping out at the shop. She sneaks back here every so often to shower and change when she knows I’ll be out.’
‘But why? What’s going on?’ Max started and then held up a hand. ‘Sorry, none of my business.’
‘It’s okay. Coffee?’
‘Please.’ Max dropped his computer bag at his feet and slid onto a stool.
‘I got fed up of her living like a hermit and pointed out that Sheila was the one who’d died. Sorry.’
‘Hey, I’ve been saying the same thing.’ Max sighed. Was there any hope at all for his sister? She seemed completely unreachable. ‘I know Sheila’s death probably hit her harder because they were twins, but the way things are going she may as well hop into the grave after her.’
‘If only there was a grave,’ Dylan groaned. ‘Shit, you know what I mean.’
Max grinned. ‘Yes, I know what you mean.’
Dylan handed him a mug. ‘She’s either clinging to the idea that Sheila’s still alive or, if she’s dead, she seems convinced Philip murdered her.’
‘Yeah, poor Philip,’ Max said. ‘I suppose she needs to blame someone.’
‘What do you think happened?’ Dylan asked.
‘To Sheila? I’m not sure. Perhaps it was just an accident, perhaps not. She’s always been the strong one of the family and spent all her time worrying about us, looking after us.’ He thought how he had always taken Sheila’s dependability for granted. Throughout school and university, she was always there to help or just listen. Had he ever listened to her? He looked at Dylan and shrugged. ‘Maybe she needed looking after too and we just never noticed.’
‘Surely Philip would have known if anything was troubling her.’
‘He’s a nice guy, Dylan, but let’s face it: he’s a politician and the most important person in his own life. I’m not sure he’d have noticed and Sheila never complained or moaned; she just wasn’t the type.’
‘Do you think she was happy with him?’
‘Who knows?’ Max finished his coffee and glanced at his watch. ‘I’d better go out to the shop and talk to her.’
‘Can I ask why you need to see her so urgently?’
Max met his eyes and was glad to see the concern there. Dylan was a good bloke. He hoped he would stick around. Sinéad needed a strong dependable man in her life. ‘She’s running the business into the ground.’
Dylan looked stunned. ‘But how can that be? Even before we had the row she spent more time there than she did here.’
‘Maybe, but she certainly hasn’t been working. I’ve found letter after letter complaining that orders were late and several just cancelling. She’d be out of business already if it weren’t for the goodwill as a result of Sheila’s death and the fact that, though she hasn’t been designing, she’s continued to make some hats based on old designs. Unfortunately, she seems obsessed with making Sheila’s, and they were never the big earners. Sheila’s strengths were in running the business. Sinéad was the creative one.’ Max walked to the door and Dylan followed him.
‘Perhaps I should come with you.’
Max thought about it for a second and then shook his head. ‘No, I need her full attention. I have to make her see that she’s in serious shit. Why don’t you drop over and check on her later, though, just to make sure that she’s okay?’
‘Sure.’
Sinéad was sitting on the sofa staring into space when her mobile rang. She reached for it and her eyes filled up when she saw it was Dylan. She clutched it to her ear. ‘Hi.’
‘I’m outside the shop, Sinéad. Are you in there?’
‘Yes, sorry, I’ll buzz you in.’ She hung up, went to press the button and then sat back down, hugging her arms around her chest self-consciously. She must look a right mess. She heard Dylan come up the stairs and gave him a wary smile when he appeared in the doorway. ‘Hi.’
‘Hi.’ She shifted uncomfortably as his eyes wandered from her pyjamas to the cold mug of tea and piece of half-eaten toast sitting on the table in front of her. He crossed to the other side of the room and perched on a small stool, and she cringed as he sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose.
‘You’re smoking?’
‘What if I am?’ she retorted, feeling defensive.
He shrugged. ‘You talked to Max?’
So he knew. Max had told him. In a way it was a relief. No more pretence. ‘He did most of the talking,’ she said, trying to smile.
‘He’s looking out for you.’
‘I know that,’ Sinéad said. Though Max was furious with her but he had been very businesslike and not given her the earful that she deserved.
‘So, what’s the plan?’ he asked, clapping his hands together and looking at her expectantly.
Sinéad nodded towards the file on the table. ‘Help yourself.’ She watched as he leafed through it and then paused on the final page, a summary of Max’s proposals to save the business. It all revolved around the premise that Sinéad needed to get out and sell both the product and herself. He also wanted to engage a PR firm on a short-term contract to arrange some interviews where she would talk about her struggle to carry on without Sheila. The final proposal was the one that had shocked her, and she could see it surprised him, too.
Dylan looked up. ‘He wants to close the shop?’
‘Yes. He says it’ll cut our overheads and leave me free to concentrate on the design and sales. It would also mean I could hire another milliner, which would speed up productivity, and if business improved then I could take on an administration assistant part-time.’
‘Sounds reasonable.’
‘Yes. It’s all fine except for the PR bit. I’m really not sure I could pull that off, Dylan. I’m a mess. How can I go on the TV or radio and talk about Sheila?’
‘You’ll be fine.’
‘If you tell me one more time to pull myself together—’ she started.
‘I’m not saying that.’ He came to join her on the sofa and took her hands in his. ‘I’m sorry if you feel I’ve been tough on you, but it’s been hard watching you so miserable and to feel so helpless. Nothing I do or say seems right. When you left I thought you were throwing yourself into designing and I was happy to leave you to it. I could relate to that. When I’ve a camera in my hands I can forget everything, and life seems more manageable. I thought that working round the clock would help you through this, but Max tells me you haven’t been working at all.’
‘I was, well, a little, But –’ she felt a catch in her throat – ‘I just can’t seem to design any more. The well’s dried up.’ She looked up at him. ‘I’m scared, Dylan.’
He cupped her face in his hands and ran his thumbs under her eyes, catching the drops. ‘No, sweetheart, it hasn’t. This is a temporary glitch and it’s completely understandable. You are so talented and you could be a huge success.’
‘I don’t care about suc
cess,’ she protested.
‘No, but Sheila did. She put her heart and soul into this business. So why not do it for her, in memory of her?’
Sinéad stared at him and felt a flicker of guilt at his words.
‘What if she’s not dead?’ he continued. ‘Say she hit her head and lost her memory and one day she comes rushing home to find that you’ve gone bust. How do you think she would feel?’
‘She’d kill me,’ Sinéad said, laughing and crying at the same time. ‘She’d be furious.’
He smiled into her eyes. ‘So, let’s pretend that’s the way things are, Sinéad. If she’s coming home someday let her come home to something that she can be proud of.’
She searched his dark eyes. ‘Do you think she killed herself?’
‘She didn’t strike me as someone ready to give up on life, not at all.’
She threw her arms around his neck. ‘Thank you.’
He held her tight and then pulled back and looked into her eyes. ‘But after all this time it seems unlikely she’s still alive.’
Her momentary happiness dissipated. ‘Which means that she either had an accident or . . . someone killed her.’
Dylan gave a weary sigh. ‘You mean Philip? Why on earth would he want to?’
‘What if she’d found out something about him that would ruin his career? That he was taking bribes, on drugs, having an affair, oh, I don’t know.’ She shook her head, feeling frustrated. ‘Something.’
‘Look, Sinéad, we’ve been through this. You talked to the detectives. There’s no evidence of foul play and there are a dozen people who can guarantee Philip was in Brussels when Sheila disappeared. She never touched her bank accounts and she didn’t have her passport. The police chased up every possible lead. She’s gone, sweetheart. I’m sorry but she’s gone.’ He gripped her hands and stared into her eyes. ‘It’s lousy, Sinéad, really lousy, and I know how much you miss her, but you can carry on. You are so much stronger than you realise, and talented, clever and beautiful. You can make a go of this.’
‘Do you really think so, Dylan?’ She raised her eyes to meet his.
‘I do, but guess what.’
‘What?’
‘If you don’t want to, that’s okay, too. You’re a designer, not a businesswoman. If you can’t handle being weighed down by all of that bureaucratic nonsense, then pack in the business and go work for someone else.’
She stared at him, taken aback at the suggestion. ‘You think I should close the business?’
He smiled and shook his head. ‘No, I’m saying that you are the boss and you can do what you want, and I will support you, whatever you decide. There’s only one condition.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You have to come home.’
She looked around the grim, untidy room. ‘And drag myself away from all this?’
‘I realise it’s a tough call.’ He smirked.
She closed her eyes tight as he enveloped her in a hug and clung to him for dear life.
Gently he disentangled her. ‘Get dressed, sweetheart, and let’s get the hell out of here.’
As they emerged onto the street, Ellen was just pulling down the shutters of the café. She smiled broadly when she saw them. ‘Well, about bloody time that you two got yourselves sorted out. Howaya, Dylan?’
‘Fine, thanks, Ellen.’
He bent to hug her and she winked at Sinéad over his shoulder. ‘Got time for a coffee? There’s some apple-and-rhubarb crumble left.’
‘Sounds good,’ Dylan said.
Sinéad reluctantly followed them inside. She was still trying to take in her brother’s proposals but she wasn’t ready to share with her friends the news that she was closing the shop just yet.
Rory looked up and smiled when he saw them. ‘Hello, Sinéad, darling. Who’s this, then? Introduce me.’
Dylan rolled his eyes. ‘It hasn’t been that long.’
‘It’s been too long,’ Rory retorted. ‘Still, nice to see you two lovebirds together again.’
‘Cappuccino, Americano, and two crumbles?’ Ellen asked as they sat down.
‘Just the coffee for me,’ Sinéad said. ‘I don’t fancy cake.’
‘Then I’ll make you a wrap.’
‘There’s no need,’ she protested.
‘There’s every need. There’s more flesh on a greyhound,’ Ellen retorted, and hurried back to the counter.
Dylan chuckled. ‘She’s like a mother hen the way she fusses over you.’
‘Yeah. I’m going to miss her so much; Rory, too.’ Sinéad hadn’t always appreciated their attentions in the last few months, but the thought of not seeing them every day made her sad.
‘You don’t necessarily have to leave Blackrock,’ Dylan pointed out. ‘Will you get it into your head. You’re the boss. Yes, Max will advise you on the financial stuff and what cuts you should make, but that’s all it is, advice. You. Are. The. Boss.’
She stared at him in silence for a moment. He was right. She felt a flutter of excitement and panic inside her. ‘What if I’m not up to it?’ she whispered.
He gave a casual shrug. ‘As I said, you close the business and go work for someone else. Somehow I don’t think it would take you too long to pick up a job. It’s your decision, sweetheart. It’s all up to you.’
Rory arrived with their coffees and food. ‘Now, folks. Enjoy.’
‘Thanks, Rory,’ Dylan said.
‘I can do anything I want,’ she murmured, her eyes returning to meet his.
‘You can,’ he agreed, tucking into the delicious buttery concoction.
‘I don’t have to leave Blackrock at all.’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe not, though there are probably cheaper places to rent space. Remember, once you don’t have the shop to worry about the location doesn’t matter.’
‘No, I just need a decent-sized space with good light.’ She started to smile as an idea began to take hold. It was the perfect solution.
‘That’s all,’ he agreed. ‘Eat your food. Ellen’s right: you’re far too skinny.’
Sinéad picked up the wrap and took a large bite. God, it was delicious, and she was starving.
‘That’s more like it. I miss those curves.’ Dylan’s eyes twinkled at her.
She finished her wrap and eyed the last of his crumble. ‘That looks really good.’
‘It is.’ He grinned and called to Ellen to bring another portion.
Chapter Four
Krystie dawdled along Fifth Avenue studying the window displays with a critical eye. It was one of her favourite pastimes, looking at clothes and figuring out what change she’d make to turn a piece of clothing into something that wouldn’t look out of place on the world’s most famous catwalks. But, every so often, she came across something that made her gasp because it was just so incredibly perfect. She would stand and study it until she figured out what it was that made it special, then she would jot it down in the precious ideas notebook she carried everywhere. Her cell phone rang – ha, she even thought like a Yank now – and she rummaged in her bag. ‘Hi, Sandy, what’s up?’
‘What’s up is you’re late and the boss is going to bust a blood vessel if you don’t get your ass back here.’
‘Ah, now, don’t get my hopes up.’
‘I’m not kidding, Krystie, she’s, like, seriously pissed at you.’
‘I’ll be there in five.’ Krystie tossed the phone back into her bag along with the notebook and hurried through the crowds to the laneway off 37th Street and the building where she had worked for a year. It wasn’t the sort of place she’d expected to end up when she came to Manhattan convinced she’d become rich and famous overnight, but then nothing had feckin’ turned out quite as she’d expected since she left Ireland.
Sew Splendid was a small business that specialised in altering gowns and suits, but the only splendid part of it was the reception area with its fancy fitting rooms. Behind the curtain the workshop was drab and basic with two rows of tables and eight
sewing machines at which she and seven other drones worked. There was no air-conditioning and the heating was unreliable, so in summer they sweltered and in winter usually sewed muffled under layers of clothing and wearing fingerless gloves.
Climbing the stairs to the fourth floor – the elevator was reserved for customers – meant Krystie arrived back to work red-faced and breathless. On the plus side, it meant it would probably be an hour or so before her teeth started to chatter again.
Sandy’s dark eyes peeked out from the scarf wound round her face and neck. ‘Get your head down – she’s out for blood.’
Krystie slid in behind her machine and got to work on the hem of the second petticoat of the dress that looked more like a panto dame’s costume than a wedding gown. She shot a quick glance towards the office where Phyllis Miller was pacing and yelling down the phone at someone. ‘What’s up with her this time?’
‘She lost the Levi order.’
Krystie stared at her in dismay. ‘No way!’
‘Way,’ Sandy assured her, looking grim.
Krystie thought of the eight morning suits, seven bridesmaids’ dresses and the outfits for the four flower girls, not to mention the bride’s and groom’s mothers, and groaned. ‘Ah, crap, that’s not good.’
‘Tell me about it. She’ll cut our pay or our hours for sure this time.’
Phyllis had been threatening pay cuts since the day Krystie had started work here, but it was all talk. Despite the fact the woman constantly moaned and complained about how tough it was to make money, business was steady and Krystie had felt pretty secure. But losing the Levi order was a serious blow.
‘Kelliher, get your butt in here!’
They all jumped at the bawl and Krystie was conscious of everyone’s eyes on her as she made her way slowly towards the office. Phyllis had gone behind the desk and was flicking through a file, not a good sign.
‘Sorry I was a bit late back from lunch, Phyllis, but I’ll work late—’
‘That dress was supposed to be finished by two. Mrs Waldron will be in to pick it up in an hour.’
First We Take Manhattan Page 3