One Wish In Manhattan (A Christmas Story) Page 16

  22

  Drummond Global Offices, Downtown Manhattan

  Oliver had been in the office since before six a.m. He’d dictated four letters and read through two reports before Manhattan started to wake up. Now he was stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows taking in the view.

  People like ants, racing up the sidewalks, crossing the streets, moving with purpose through the latest snowfall. Yellow cabs lined up in traffic, cars with Christmas trees strapped to their roofs, school buses, bicycles, all going somewhere on the straight roads between the high-rise buildings. He sucked in a breath. Hayley.

  She was all he’d been able to think about since she’d left him in the street last night. They had kissed. He had kissed her like he hadn’t kissed anyone in a long time. With his heart. He shook himself, moving away from the window and heading back to his desk. And then she’d fled. That was, without a doubt, a good thing.

  He sat down in his seat, stretching his arms out and linking his fingers behind his head. He had apologised for his unwarranted reaction to her wish but it wasn’t enough. He should have done more. He moved in his chair, bringing his arms down, one hand finding the mouse. It wasn’t too late. He could do something to redeem himself. He minimised Dean Walker’s employment record and fired up Google. He started to type intently.

  A knock on his office door directed his attention away from the screen.

  ‘Come in.’

  The door opened and there stood a blonde-haired woman who looked vaguely familiar. Did she work for him? What was her name?

  ‘Good morning, Mr Drummond.’ She stepped forward.

  ‘Good morning.’ He had no idea what this woman was doing here. He moved his hand to the phone, a finger hovering above the button for security.

  ‘Mr Drummond, Clara asked me to fill in for her today.’

  Shit. He’d forgotten he’d given Clara the day off. And Clara had known he would forget and had arranged cover like the highly efficient individual she was.

  ‘Good, right.’ He moved his hand away from the phone. ‘So there are some dictations waiting to be typed and I’ll let you know when I have something else for you.’ He looked back to his PC, hovering the mouse over the search box.

  ‘Sir, I think you should be aware of today’s news.’ The woman held a broadsheet out towards him.

  ‘Thank you, just leave it on the desk.’ He usually read news on his phone while he stood in the queue for coffee. This morning the only thing on his mind had been a woman who drank vodka and cranberry.

  ‘I really think you should take a look, Mr Drummond.’

  He raised his eyes then, saw the concern and urgency in hers. ‘What’s your name?’

  She shook her blonde hair off her shoulders and moistened her lips. ‘It’s Kelly.’ She placed the paper onto his desk.

  ‘Well, Kelly, what is it in the news that’s so important I need to drop everything and read it now?’

  He watched her disposition flake before his eyes. Today wasn’t a good day. Today he was cranky. Because he hadn’t had enough sleep and he’d been given the brush-off by a woman who intrigued him.

  ‘Well, sir, you’re on the front page.’

  The cramping in his chest took a hold as all the things it could be came to mind. The McArthur Foundation? A reporter he’d spoken to about health concerns and technology? The Globe? He was getting palpitations now just thinking about the fall out if news about the Globe had leaked to the press already. His rivals would have a field day if they got their hands on that.

  He slipped his fingers over the newspaper and dragged it across the desk towards him, his heart bumping an unhappy rhythm.

  Whatever perfume Kelly was wearing started to infiltrate his nose, mouth and eyes. It was nauseating. He turned the paper around until it was straight in front of him. Then he unfolded it. The headline took his breath.

  One Wish in Manhattan

  There was a photo of him from a business dinner he’d attended a month ago. His eyes roved the report, picking lines out as a sick feeling rose in his stomach. Serial single… granting fantasies... death of his father… Christian Grey… modern day genie… Regis Software.

  He knew straightaway who had done this.

  As the first flush of anger filled his body, his mobile started to ring, the display flashing on and off in his peripheral vision. Tony’s laughing face taunted him. He snatched the phone up and pressed to answer.

  ‘What d’you want?’ he snarled.

  ‘I see you’re making headlines, man. Your wish-making secret’s out. I’m wondering what your play is gonna be now. I’m thinking mind-reading. The mystical power of thought. That would get them every time.’

  He closed his eyes. He wasn’t in the mood for his best friend’s lousy sense of humour and he was starting to perspire. Kelly was also just standing in front of his desk like a spare part. His left hand started to shake and he clenched his fist tight.

  Oliver’s vision started to blur as he tried to focus on the framed 2014 business infographic at the very end of his office. The pie charts and graphs all started to merge into one as his breath quickened and someone sat a sack of rubble on his chest.

  ‘Mr Drummond, are you OK?’

  It was Kelly’s voice but it sounded so far away. He opened his mouth to speak but had nothing.

  ‘Oliver? Are you there?’ Tony’s voice called from the mobile.

  The phone fell from his hand.

  En-route to Majestic Cleaning, Manhattan

  ‘Ow! You pinched my arm!’ Angel exclaimed, frowning.

  ‘Sorry, we just need to get a move on. Reasons Christmas is better in New York number 44 – street entertainers. Look!’ Hayley said, pointing. She dodged left as a bicycle mounted the pavement, zipped right to avoid a man dressed as Santa Claus pushing a shopping cart. There was Christmas music on repeat coming from every store and people dressed in costume holding charity buckets on the sidewalk. Snow White and seven dwarves danced in a circle while a man in a very tight fairy outfit showed off far more than his gruff voice tackling ‘The First Noel’.

  She’d woken up late and now only had a couple of minutes to reach the office of Majestic Cleaning. Dean had left early for work, Vernon and Randy had left even earlier and the only choice she had was to take Angel with her.

  Angel quickened her pace, her mouth descending on the bagel she was holding. ‘Where are we going anyway? My guidebook says the best time to see the Statue of Liberty is in the afternoon.’

  The noise of the city was so distracting. Was she supposed to cross over here or carry on? Which way was north? Hayley narrowed her eyes against the winter sunshine, squinting for a street sign.

  ‘Mum, you’re not listening.’

  ‘No, I’m not. I’m trying to work out whether we have to cross the road.’

  ‘The street.’

  ‘That dark grey thing there, lines of cars, slush and ice …’

  ‘I was just saying, that in America you should say “street” not “road”.’

  ‘Well, actually, where we’re going I need to sound as English as … as …’

  ‘Emma Watson?’

  Hayley turned to Angel. ‘Yes! Yes, exactly. Emma Watson.’ She took hold of Angel’s bagel-free hand. ‘I think it’s this way. It can’t be far now.’

  ‘So, where did you go last night?’

  Hayley swallowed. Last night. She’d done nothing but think about Oliver since the second she’d arrived back at Dean’s apartment. What the hell had she done? Why had her sense deserted her? How had she let her obviously fickle body have control over her brain? The strongest coffee Dean’s machine could make had numbed her shock a little.

  ‘I went to… catch up with a friend.’ She wasn’t about to tell Angel the real reason she was scouring a nightclub. Not yet anyway.

  ‘You have a friend in New York already?’

  ‘Sort of.’ She should have known saying she had a friend in New York was going to further her daughter’s interest.
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  ‘You really should say “kind of”, being as we’re in America.’

  ‘And you, young lady, should really stop lying to your mother at nine years old.’

  A rouge appeared on Angel’s cheeks as they continued to walk. ‘Uncle Dean said he wouldn’t tell you.’

  ‘You told me, no, you promised me you hadn’t brought “Alfie and the Toymaker” with you.’

  ‘I don’t think I actually said those very words.’ There was a brief contrite look then the expression changed to a smile. ‘Vernon loved it.’

  ‘That’s good to hear because he’ll be the only one reading it to you.’ Hayley stopped, turning to her left. ‘OMG, this is it.’

  In front of them was a plain black door, a small brass plaque attached to the middle of it stating ‘Majestic Cleaning’. There was a bell on the doorjamb. Hayley went to press it but hesitated. Did she really need to do this? She closed her eyes. She needed the money. She needed to be prepared for whatever happened with the search for Michel. Was she really not going to take that flight home if they hadn’t found him by New Year? She swallowed. Money gave you options that was all she wanted right now.

  ‘Majestic Cleaning,’ Angel read aloud.

  ‘Yep,’ Hayley responded.

  ‘Is this where we have to be?’

  How was she going to explain this to Angel? She couldn’t believe she had got this far without more questions.

  ‘What are we doing here, Mum?’

  The voice was so soft and concerned she didn’t know what to say in response. She took her daughter’s hand and pushed at the door with the other. ‘Let’s just go inside out of the cold.’

  ‘I don’t think Uncle Dean needs a cleaner. His apartment already has shiny everything.’

  They’d climbed the stairs and to the left was a white wooden door with a brass doorknob on it. From behind it there was the sound of a woman on the telephone, talking very slowly and eloquently, like she was describing a ten thousand pound vase on Antiques Roadshow.

  Hayley raised her hand and knocked.

  ‘Come!’ a voice called.

  Hayley turned to Angel. ‘Could you wait here?’

  Angel looked like she’d just told her to play on a motorway. The girl stuck her hands on her hips and looked even more affronted. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Hayley knew she was going pink. ‘Just wait here, don’t you move anywhere, OK? Not one inch. And I promise when I’m done we’ll go to the Statue of Liberty.’

  ‘Come in!’ the voice called again.

  She gave Angel her very best pleading expression. ‘I’ll be five minutes.’

  Giving Angel no chance to say anything more, Hayley put her hand to the doorknob and pushed her way into the room.

  The smell of lavender took her breath from her lungs. She didn’t dare breathe for fear of coughing. A woman no more than her own age stood up and came around the desk. She was wearing a maroon-coloured uniform, pleats in all the right places. Her hair was the colour of polished walnut set into a bun and just visible under a tricorne hat. A whiter than white blouse was buttoned up high on her neck, then came flawless skin and glossy lips.

  ‘Hello, I’m Rebecca Rogers-Smythe,’ the woman greeted. ‘You must be Ms Walker.’ The woman held out her hand.

  ‘Hayley.’ She realised she had emphasised her British accent as she gave Rebecca’s hand a solid shake. Emma Watson would be so proud.

  Rebecca let Hayley’s hand go and looked her up and down from her winter boots to her hair that was flecked with snow. She realised then she probably should have made more of an effort. She could have added one of Dean’s fancy door swags to her coat or some silver buttons. Too late now.

  ‘So, what experience have you had?’ Rebecca asked, pointing to a floral embroidered carver chair as she returned to her desk.

  ‘In cleaning?’ Hayley asked, sitting down and gripping the arms of the chair with sweaty palms.

  ‘Here at Majestic we like to call it hygienic maintenance.’

  ‘Sorry.’ She swallowed. ‘I’ve worked in several office buildings and a local hostelry. My last job was in a dry-cleaning … establishment.’

  ‘And you could provide references?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We never deal with spills on wool.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘If there is any sign of vomit or defecation you do not touch anything, you call me.’

  The tastes were in her mouth already but she managed to nod her head. It was actually hard to get a word in.

  Rebecca let out a breath of what sounded like relief. ‘I don’t usually take people on without a thorough vetting procedure, but I had an employee leave two days ago and I cannot let my regular clients down.’

  ‘I …’

  ‘I’ll pay you cash. Ten dollars an hour.’

  Hayley swallowed. Ten dollars an hour. A few hours for the time she was here. That would mean not dipping into her minimal dollar pot for entrance fees to all the places Angel wanted to visit. Anything more would be a bonus to tide her over when they got home.

  ‘Right,’ she found herself responding. She crossed her fingers.

  Rebecca picked up a sheaf of papers and handed them to Hayley. ‘Familiarise yourself with everything written on here.’ She shook the papers as if to signify their importance. ‘The client I’m giving you today has a Diana.’

  ‘A Diana?’

  ‘Yes. We have levels of service at Majestic. The Queen Elizabeth is a deep clean, the full works, from blinds and tracks to baseboards, with everything in between. The Princess Diana is more of a personal service.’ Rebecca let out a sigh. ‘It’s a medium-level clean with the emphasis on the areas of the home that mean most to the family.’ Rebecca presented a hand forward, stroking the air. ‘It’s all about the little touches. The plumping and arranging of cushions, placement of ornaments and decorative features, bed-making, beautifying. With the Diana, the focus is the family, not the dust. We make their house a home again.’

  Hayley now felt she needed a hygiene degree to take on this role. When did cleaning become so technical?

  ‘Finally, we have the Camilla,’ Rebecca said.

  She was almost afraid to ask. She swallowed. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A quick whip-round and the garbage taken out.’

  Hayley forced a smile and wondered what a Prince Andrew or a Prince Harry might entail. She didn’t dare think about a Prince Philip.

  The lavender was in her throat again and she coughed. She wondered if Angel had her ear up to the door.

  ‘So, could you start today? I have a prestigious client who needs a Diana at three this afternoon.’

  ‘I, er, well …’ The reality of the situation was finally beginning to hit home. She was about to accept a job with no paperwork or permissions. She had no childcare either.

  ‘Is there an issue?’

  Hayley shook her head. ‘No, no, absolutely not. Today. Three o’clock.’

  ‘I’ll go get you a uniform and give you all the details you need.’ Rebecca smiled. ‘It’s like Christmas has come early. My first real English employee.’

  Hayley smiled. Angel was going to murder her.

  23

  Drummond Global Offices, Downtown Manhattan

  ‘I’ll get some more water.’

  ‘He doesn’t need more water. He’s drunk two glasses in the last half hour. He probably needs a Scotch.’

  ‘I think I should call the doctor.’

  ‘No!’ Oliver put his hands to his head. Kelly and Tony had been talking at pace for the last twenty minutes, and as well as the aching in his chest, his head was starting to throb. He opened and closed his eyes, concentrated on the infographic, ensuring the images were clear. He was going to improve on those percentages if it killed him. The irony wasn’t lost.

  ‘How you doin’?’ Tony asked, shifting nearer the sofa Oliver was resting on.

  He sighed. ‘You shouldn’t have come over here.’

 
; ‘Hey, one minute I’m talking to you about the power of thought and the next I can hear Kelly here shrieking like she’s a victim on Stalker.’

  ‘I didn’t know what to do,’ Kelly responded.

  Oliver observed her pale skin and nervous stance. She couldn’t be more than twenty and this was not what she’d signed up for. She gets seconded to work for the boss for a day and he collapses right in front of her.

  He swung his legs off the sofa, ignoring the woozy feeling as he sat up. ‘Go have a coffee,’ he said, addressing Kelly. ‘Then make a start on those dictations.’

  ‘But maybe I should …’ the girl began.

  ‘You heard the man,’ Tony interrupted. ‘He goes down again, he’s got fifteen stone of Italian stallion right here to pick him back up.’

  Kelly nodded in an uneasy fashion and made for the door.

  Oliver looked to Tony, shaking his head. ‘Was that your idea of flirting with her? You scared her half to death.’

  ‘Talking of that …’

  Oliver attempted to get to his feet but sat back down when the effort overrode him. He crossed one leg over the other. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘You don’t think you ought to see a doctor?’

  ‘What’s the point?’

  ‘Er, to stop you from dying.’

  ‘Will it?’ He let out a frustrated sigh. He felt so out of control in this situation and that scared him more than anything. It wasn’t the knowing whether it was going to happen, it was the not knowing when. He’d almost come to terms with knowing his life would be short, but the inability to schedule it in a calendar irked him. If he knew he had two months or two years, even if he knew he only had today, he could make plans. In this limbo there was nothing to do but wait. It was time wasted. Time he probably didn’t have. And last night he’d chased a woman through the snow and kissed her.

  ‘I picked up last night,’ he stated, sighing.

  ‘Yeah? Way to go! What was she like?’ Tony threw himself down on the sofa next to him.

  A smile was trying to make its way onto his lips but thoughts of the newspaper article filtered through first. ‘She sold me out to a newshound.’