One Wish In Manhattan (A Christmas Story) Page 31

  ‘Hello,’ Dean’s voice greeted. A yapping noise ensued, meaning Vernon and Randy were also there. Great! The whole lot of them scrutinising her and asking about the night before.

  She put on an enthusiastic tone any voice artist professional would be proud of. ‘Hey there, big brother! I’m back! And I’ve seen some bargain Christmas trees down the street. Isn’t it time we got one?’

  * * *

  Carly’s Coffee House, Downtown Manhattan

  Daniel Pearson had passed Oliver the envelope a few minutes ago and the images were already starting to swim in front of his eyes. He looked hard at the photographs, barely able to believe what he was seeing. It couldn’t be true, it was too outrageous, worse than anything he had imagined. He slipped the photos back into the envelope and threw them to the table. Taking a deep breath, he picked up his coffee cup.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Oliver stated.

  ‘I have all the audio you need. They made it really easy for me. They talked and did just about everything in his car.’

  Oliver closed his eyes. ‘Please, spare me.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ Daniel asked him.

  ‘Nothing else, not yet. I need to deal with this personally,’ he stated.

  ‘Fine by me.’ Daniel passed him a second envelope. ‘The audio files are on a memory stick in there.’

  Oliver shook his head. ‘I just can’t believe this.’

  ‘You were suspicious of him, now you have your answers,’ Daniel said.

  ‘Yeah, I do. I’m just wondering how I’m going to tell my mother.’

  ‘Rather you than me,’ Daniel said, sipping at his drink.

  ‘Exactly.’ He hesitated for a moment, what he was going to ask next affecting him far more than it should. ‘Any luck with the other issue?’

  ‘Michel De Vos?’ Daniel queried.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Actually, yes,’ Daniel answered.

  A shiver ran over Oliver like a cold, uncomfortable sweat breaking out.

  ‘He changed his name a couple of years ago. Now goes by Michel Arment. He’s moved around quite a bit in the last few years but I should be able to get contact details by the end of the day.’

  Oliver nodded. He almost had all the answers, not that it mattered any more. He drew his cell phone out of his pocket. ‘Thanks, Daniel. The money will be in your account as usual and, as always, discretion is paramount here.’

  Daniel nodded. ‘It goes without saying.’ He stood. ‘Have a good afternoon.’ He held out his hand and Oliver took it.

  ‘You too.’ He called up a number on his phone and pressed to dial. ‘Hello, Dean?’ He wondered whether he was public enemy number one right now in the Walker household. He deserved it. He’d made Dean a promise. He breathed out. But this was business. ‘Dean, it’s Oliver Drummond. Listen, can you spare me a half hour?’

  44

  Dean Walker’s Apartment, Downtown Manhattan

  Hayley had Dean’s laptop, her phone, her idea’s book and the Globe all set out on the breakfast bar, tapping at whichever appliance was going to give her the answers she needed.

  ‘I want to go and get the Christmas tree now,’ Angel announced, looking up from where she was brushing Randy.

  ‘Maybe when your Uncle Dean gets back we can go and get it,’ Vernon suggested. He turned the page of the broadsheet he was reading and tapped the seat of the sofa next to him. Randy jumped up and sat down and Angel tracked his every move with a brush.

  Hayley bit the pen in her mouth. Her mind wasn’t in this. It was still in a hospital room at St Patrick’s. What had happened there? How had things gone so wrong so quickly?

  She turned her attention to the drawing in her ideas book. The Crystalline Hotel ballroom, a rough draft of how she envisaged it looking. She really had no idea how she was going to be able to coordinate this fundraiser in so short a time. So far she had come up against every hurdle known to event managers. Things she wanted were out of stock, the chef was having issues no matter what she suggested and apparently balloons in New York didn’t come in platinum.

  Her phone rang and she checked the display eagerly. Unknown number. Had she really been hoping for Oliver? After everything she’d told herself about him, she was still subconsciously hanging out for his call. She needed to wise up. She pressed to answer just as Randy let out an irritated yelp.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hello, is that Miss Walker?’

  She didn’t recognise the voice.

  ‘Yes, are you calling about the flowers?’

  ‘Er, no I …’

  ‘You’re from the lighting company?’

  ‘No …’

  ‘The radio equipment company?’

  ‘I’m calling from the Fanway Gallery.’

  ‘Oh!’ Hayley’s eyes immediately went to Angel who was already scrutinising her. ‘Hello.’

  ‘I’m just responding to your call the other day. I’m afraid we’re not at all familiar with anyone by the name of Michel De Vos.’

  Her heart sank for the second time that day but this time it went to basement level. Another dead end in the search. She was starting to think Michel had disappeared off the face of the planet. Daily Planet. Hypnotising hazel eyes. She needed fizzy wine. Bollinger. Why was her mind determined to crucify her?

  ‘Miss Walker?’ the caller asked.

  ‘Sorry, thank you for … for taking the time to call back,’ Hayley said. She ended the call, put the phone down and dropped her head with it. Why was everything so difficult?

  ‘Who was on the phone?’ Angel asked.

  Hayley flipped her head up quickly, rubbing at her eyes. ‘Oh just some woman about the thingy for the fundraiser.’

  ‘What thingy?’ Angel said, her attention now firmly away from the dog.

  ‘The …’ She had a list of things right in front of her. Why couldn’t she think of one single thing to say? ‘The … the …’

  ‘Table displays?’ Vernon offered, putting down his newspaper.

  Hayley pointed at him. ‘Yes! Exactly that!

  ‘Maybe I can help.’ Angel got to her feet and Randy jumped down from the sofa, walking to heel.

  ‘You’ve already done so much, Genius Kid,’ Hayley said, slipping an arm around Angel’s shoulders and pulling her in for a hug.

  Angel got up onto the stool next to her and looked at what Hayley had on the screens of her devices. She began to read aloud.

  ‘Oliver Richard Julian Drummond is the CEO of billion-dollar technology company, Drummond Global. He is the …’

  Hayley snapped down the lid of the laptop before Angel could say anything else.

  ‘Michel De Vos, Argentina. Michel De Vos, Libya. He isn’t there, is he?’ Angel exclaimed, reading the screen of Hayley’s phone.

  ‘I don’t know where he is! That’s why I’m looking!’ She knew her voice was strained, but despite saying she was going to concentrate all her efforts on the fundraiser she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Oliver and the Finding Michel issue.

  ‘The McArthur Foundation – supporting parents, carers and sufferers. We are dedicated to enhancing the lives of the living and caring for the families who’ve lost.’

  Hayley turned the Globe upside down so its screen was facing the marble of the breakfast bar.

  ‘Why were you reading about Mr Meanie?’ Angel asked.

  Hayley shrugged. ‘Just getting some background information, that’s all.’

  ‘I wish Ben Drummond was still alive. He sounded way more fun,’ Angel remarked.

  ‘That’s not nice, Miss Meanie,’ Hayley told her.

  ‘Cynthia liked my idea of creating the menu around the favourite foods of the family members who died,’ Angel informed her, propping up her head with her hand.

  ‘She did?’ Hayley asked.

  ‘Yeah. She said Ben loved shrimp.’ Angel twirled her hair around her finger. ‘Some weeks, when he was my age, they had to have barbecue every day.’

 
Hayley thought about Oliver this morning. He’d looked in so much pain before the ambulance arrived. She’d had to help him into a T-shirt and jeans. He’d leant on her for support and then he kicked her to the kerb the second he was feeling better. What was that all about?

  ‘Can we go and get a tree now?’ Angel asked again, batting her eyelids.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Angel, listen, you let your mom get on with her work and I promise we’ll get the biggest tree that can fit in here, we’ll take Randy for a run round the park and I’ll shout us all waffles at Bernard’s,’ Vernon spoke up.

  ‘Waffles? With chocolate and honey and ice cream?’ Angel asked, turning her head to the man in the room.

  ‘Whatever you want,’ Vernon responded.

  Hayley looked to him, catching his eye before mouthing a thank you.

  Her phone made a bleep and her eyes shot to the screen.

  Mother

  Her eyes widened as she read the message, each word hitting like pins being poked into a newly-designed dress. She thought this day couldn’t possibly get any worse. It just had. A lot worse.

  I found your diary. Why are you trying to find that man?

  * * *

  Carly’s Coffee House, Downtown Manhattan

  Dean was practically ashen with shock at the business news but had been surprisingly polite. Oliver had expected nothing short of animosity over what had happened at the hospital. He couldn’t believe Dean wouldn’t have an opinion on it – boss or no boss – so he could only conclude that Hayley hadn’t told him anything. Yet.

  Regarding the business issue, Oliver had known deep down Dean would know nothing about it, but he’d had to check. He needed to be certain he could trust him with what came next.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Dean uttered, his hand shaking as he reached for his coffee cup.

  ‘Neither did I but there are photos and audio files.’

  Dean cleared his throat. ‘What do you need me to do?’

  ‘I need you to come into the office with me and check all this out. There must be more evidence there.’ He paused. ‘I want to know everything about this relationship. I want to know how long it’s been going on, the extent of it, the damage it’s done and how we can rectify it all as quickly as possible without the company losing face.’

  Dean nodded.

  ‘I’m going to be asking you to hack into personal accounts. Can you do that?’

  ‘Absolutely. You’re the boss. And, if this has been going on right under my nose then I have a personal interest in putting it right.’

  Oliver smiled. ‘Thanks, Dean.’

  ‘No problem.’ He smiled. ‘So, Hayley’s keeping pretty tight-lipped but … how was your date last night?’

  Masking the feelings that were erupting like an active volcano he reached for his coffee cup. Empty. A pang, like the snap of a rubber band, pinged in his chest. That was his confirmation that she hadn’t told her brother what a dick he’d been. So just what did he say to it? The truth? That it was one of the best nights of his life? Or the other truth? It was one of the best nights of his life which he’d fucked up to protect her?

  He smiled, putting on the best performance he could manage. ‘You’ll have to ask her about it.’

  45

  Pop-up Christmas Tree Lot, Near Central Park,

  New York

  The text from Rita had been the last straw. The apartment had suddenly got claustrophobic. Words and sentences on all her devices had started to swim in front of Hayley’s eyes. She needed to breathe, ground herself into the city. But it seemed as if the whole world was out buying Christmas trimmings. As she stood by the tree lot, she again took in Central Park in the afternoon. Just outside the gates were the lines of horses, carriages attached, waiting to take couples and families on a romantic tour of the city’s sights. Just along from them were slightly less romantic open-top buses to do the same. The smell of hot dogs and sauerkraut made her lick her lips and remember that she hadn’t eaten all day. It took a lot for her to go off food but Oliver’s kick to the gut had done it. The only upside to the day was getting colour-coordinated drapes that weren’t going to cost a wealthy sheikh’s fortune.

  ‘What about this one, Angel?’ Vernon asked, pointing to a rather large, bushy spruce.

  Angel wrinkled her nose. ‘Not tall enough. You said we could get the biggest.’

  ‘He said what?’ Dean erupted.

  Hayley watched Vernon laugh and move along the line of trees for another look.

  ‘So how’s it going with the fundraiser?’ Dean asked, slipping his arm through Hayley’s. This was it. Dean was warming up to asking her about the date with Oliver.

  ‘It’s going. Whether it all comes together for the night I have no idea. It needs to be perfect. I need to live up to a professional event planner who is still phoning Cynthia every four hours even though she can barely speak.’

  Dean laughed. ‘That’s New York for you. People here aren’t so good at letting go.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Hayley responded, her mind immediately going to Oliver.

  ‘And what about Michel? Any luck there?’ Dean had lowered his voice deliberately and Hayley shot her eyes to Angel who was scooping Randy up into her arms.

  Hayley shook her head and put her hands into her hair as if a stress headache was about to burst forth at the mention of his name. ‘I don’t know what to do next, Dean. The only thing I can think of is getting a radio or TV announcement like they did in Annie. Knowing my luck it would be equally unsuccessful.’

  ‘And Oliver could play the part of Daddy Warbucks?’ Dean offered.

  ‘That isn’t funny.’ Hayley pulled her hair at the mention of Oliver. And the fact her brother had just slotted him into a step-father role. That was never going to happen. And it was all proof that keeping her distance from dates in the past was the right thing to do.

  She changed the subject slightly. ‘How can a man just disappear like that? I’m coming to the conclusion that Michel gave me a false name. I mean we’ve all done it.’

  ‘Have we?’

  ‘I used to go out and tell men my name was Terri and I test-drove cars for Vauxhall.’

  ‘You didn’t!’

  Hayley let out a heavy sigh. ‘What am I going to do if I can’t find him, Dean? I made Angel a promise, a promise I meant with all my heart. But what am I going to do if I can’t deliver?’

  Dean slipped his arm around her shoulders. ‘She’s had nine years without him. You’re doing all you can. There’s only so many stones to be upturned.’

  ‘She might be intelligent but she’s still nine and that isn’t going to wash.’

  ‘Well,’ Dean started. ‘There’s only one other thing I can think of.’

  ‘Anything. As long as it isn’t appearing on Oprah.’

  ‘It would be costly, but you could hire a private investigator,’ Dean said.

  ‘Are you kidding me? Is that really what people in New York do?’ Hayley shook her head. ‘I was thinking you were going to suggest looking at microfiches in the library.’

  ‘Do they even exist anymore?’

  ‘This is the one!’ Angel yelled, one arm stuck inside the branches of a tree to rival the one in the lobby of Drummond Global. ‘It’s called Bruce!’

  ‘Holy crap,’ Hayley stated. ‘Bruce the Spruce.’

  Dean squeezed her arm in his. ‘Listen, if you want to hire the P.I. then I can help you out with the money.’

  ‘I couldn’t do that, I …’

  ‘You wouldn’t be asking. I would be offering.’ He patted her arm. ‘Think about it.’

  Hayley watched Angel dancing around the tree like it was a beloved totem pole and she was Hiawatha. Looking back to Dean she sighed. ‘So, tell me about your day.’

  ‘My day,’ Dean said, a loaded sigh leaving his mouth. ‘If I told you, I’d get fired. Which is pretty much what I thought was going to happen when I asked Oliver about your date.’

  She hadn’t got away with
it at all. Dean still wanted to know and she was running out of other suitable topics. Mother might be her only other option. Hayley turned her face away from her brother as her cheeks reacted. She did not want to talk about it. The hurt and humiliation were way too fresh.

  ‘Well, that sounds a lot easier to handle than getting a text from mum saying she’s found my ten-year diary.’ That should do it.

  ‘Oh.My.God,’ Dean said, putting his gloved hands to his face.

  If Rita had started from 2015 and worked her way back ten years there was far worse to come than Hayley’s search for Michel. And although it was all true – exactly how she’d really felt when she wrote the words – thinking of her mum, alone, near Christmas, reading the hurtful comments and quips was punching her with guilt. She’d thought about texting back, pleading with her not to read it, or calling and begging, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. The book had been opened and so had the can of worms.

  46

  Dean Walker’s Apartment, Downtown Manhattan

  Hayley watched Angel flying around the newly erected Christmas tree like she was competing in a contemporary dance competition. Her arms stretched high, garlands of gold, silver, blue and red tinsel dripping from her fingers, then moving low, slipping bauble after bauble onto the outstretched boughs of the tree.

  Mac Sullivan from the apartment next door had had to saw the bottom of the trunk off for them to even get it into the building. Angel’s face had been a picture. Her words full of concern. Don’t hurt Bruce. That’s more than thirty centimetres. Don’t bend his arms. Hayley smiled, watching Angel pat Randy on the head as she collected another sparkling decoration from Dean.