One Wish In Manhattan (A Christmas Story) Page 33

  ‘I have nothing to apologise for,’ Oliver exclaimed. ‘You on the other hand ...’ He narrowed his eyes at Andrew. ‘I’ve been through Peter Lamont’s emails. He may have deleted, emptied and cleared history and all the usual kind of stuff, but I found all the evidence I need.’

  ‘Show me,’ Cynthia said. ‘Sit down, Andrew.’ Her tone was fierce.

  ‘This is preposterous,’ Andrew stated, sinking down into his seat.

  Oliver looked to his mother. ‘Mom, I don’t think you should be reading the emails.’

  ‘Why not? If he’s been deceiving me I want to see it with my own eyes.’

  Oliver pulled the file back towards him. ‘All you need to know is Peter Lamont has been passing him details of the Globe in order for him to launch his own tablet before we do. Similar specifications, slightly modified, but basically a carbon copy of something my technicians have been working on for the past year.’

  Now Andrew was the colour of someone who might explode at any moment. Cynthia dragged the file towards her, her eyes roving over the text.

  ‘I’ve nothing to say,’ Andrew started. ‘This is all a big misunderstanding. We were about to become one company, Peter Lamont was simply pre-empting what was going to happen in a few weeks – the merger, the two companies joining forces and aligning their plans.’

  ‘That wasn’t for you or Peter Lamont to decide and it’s too late. I know everything.’ He emphasised the word ‘everything’ to leave no doubt.

  His mother was still looking at the emails, if she turned over too many pages she would get to the photographs. He didn’t want her to see them. Oliver put the flat of his hand over the file and pulled it back towards him.

  ‘Mom, you’ve seen enough,’ Oliver said, swallowing.

  Oliver shifted his eyes sideways, looking to Andrew, who was at least having the decency to appear awkward and uncomfortable now.

  ‘Just believe me that whatever you think you had with this man, it wasn’t real,’ Oliver stated.

  Cynthia turned in her seat, her eyes boring into Andrew, him looking straight ahead into the mid-distance.

  ‘I want to know, Oliver,’ Cynthia said, her voice determined yet mixed with fear.

  Oliver picked up his glass of red wine and swallowed it in one gulp, then he took a deep breath and reached across the linen cloth for his mother’s hand. He gently pressed their skin together in, what he hoped, was a show of solidarity.

  ‘He wasn’t just having business dealings with Peter Lamont.’ Oliver swallowed. ‘He’s been sleeping with him.’

  Andrew leapt up then, his wine glass falling to the floor, the table rocking so much the plates all shifted. Cynthia took back her hand, plastering it to her mouth as shock set in.

  ‘I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life and you need to keep your voice down because accusations like that are very dangerous things to make,’ Andrew said, pointing a finger at Oliver.

  Cynthia was starting to cry, hiding her face away in a napkin, her body directed towards the wall. He wanted to ease her pain but he wasn’t sure what he could do now apart from get rid of Andrew as quickly as possible with the minimum amount of fuss.

  ‘Unfortunately for you, and for me, because I had to listen to it … I have full audio detailing far more than I ever wanted to know.’

  A sob came from Cynthia then and Oliver got to his feet.

  ‘I will make this very public by tomorrow unless you put a halt to your copycat production plans. You will go on record retracting that article shaming me and my company and you will cite stress as the cause of your mental breakdown that led to the merger folding. Other than that I don’t care how you spin your way out of this, but you do not slander me, my mother, or Drummond Global or I swear to God I will be handing a memory stick over to my PR girl and she will finish you with it!’

  Oliver was shaking violently, his whole body tremoring as fury shot from every pore. This man disgusted him. If his father could see him now, his best friend, lying and cheating, betraying Cynthia, dragging the Drummond name through the dirt, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself physically attacking him.

  ‘Go!’ Oliver ordered. ‘Get out of this restaurant and get out of our lives. I don’t want to ever see your face again!’

  He held himself steady as Andrew turned to look at Cynthia. The man opened his mouth to speak but, perhaps thinking better of it, he slid himself out of the booth. Oliver watched him collect his coat from the rack on the back wall and walk towards the door.

  ‘He’s gone,’ Oliver said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

  ‘Oh, Oliver,’ Cynthia said, the tears flowing freely.

  ‘It’s OK, Mom,’ Oliver said, sitting down and reaching for her hand once more.

  ‘I had no idea. You have to believe me. When he did that magazine article I was furious and …’ Cynthia started.

  ‘Sshh, it’s OK, I know.’ Oliver swallowed. ‘He fooled us all.’

  He squeezed his mother’s hand and swallowed back the bile in his throat. This was what happened when you put your faith in someone and took your eye off the ball. He was never going to make the same mistake again.

  48

  The Crystalline Hotel, Manhattan

  Hayley hadn’t slept at all and was operating on sugar-infused lattes a waitress was bringing her every hour. She held a tape measure up to the window, popping up on tiptoes to reach the top.

  ‘I can help!’ Angel exclaimed, leaping up from a chair and slamming shut her special dictionary.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Hayley said, her spine straining as she stretched.

  ‘Let me,’ Angel said. She began pulling a chair across the parquet floor, the noise jabbing at every one of Hayley’s irritation senses.

  ‘It’s fine, Angel. Stop doing that before you scratch the very expensive floor.’ Her eyes went to the sleek wooden blocks. A scratch about twelve inches long stood out like Rudolph in the reindeer pack.

  Hayley put her hands into her hair, preparing to scream. This was all she needed. Her deliveries for the fundraiser hadn’t arrived and now her daughter was intent on wrecking the venue. Did she dare called Rebecca Rogers-Smythe and ask how best to remove a scratch from vintage parquet?

  ‘I’m really sorry, Mum,’ Angel said, her eyes going from the mark on the floor to Hayley and back again.

  This was all Oliver’s fault. She shook her head. No, that wasn’t fair, it wasn’t Oliver’s fault. What he’d done was thoughtful and amazing but that hadn’t stopped the contents of the brown envelope practically searing her skin the entire night. After Oliver had left, Hayley had slunk to her bedroom and stared at the envelope. While screams and shouts came from the living room, where it sounded like Randy was trying to tear down Bruce the Spruce, she’d tore open the seal and taken out what was inside.

  There were only three pieces of A4 printer paper. One piece detailed contact information for a Michel Arment. The other was a copy of a driving licence. The third was a photo. Hayley didn’t need to look at the photo for long. There were no doubts. This man was the one she’d spent a night with. Angel’s father.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she breathed, putting an arm around Angel and pulling her into an embrace. ‘I’ve been cranky since the orchid lady didn’t show up.’ She stroked a hand over Angel’s hair. Did she tell her daughter yet? Should she call Michel first? There was so much riding on what she did next it was almost too much to cope with.

  Angel lifted her head, smiling as she looked up at Hayley. ‘Randy looked so cute in that outfit you bought him, didn’t he?’

  Hayley smiled. ‘No fashion alerts needed for that pooch. And I think Uncle Dean was secretly jealous of the waistcoat.’

  Angel laughed. ‘That’s what Vernon said.’

  Hayley’s eyes went over to the scratch on the wood. ‘Listen, why don’t you go and sweet-talk the waitress into getting me another latte and I’ll see if I can find something to get rid of the mark.’

  ‘I could see what my spec
ial dictionary suggests,’ Angel offered.

  ‘Good idea.’

  * * *

  The Drummond Residence, Westchester

  Oliver opened his eyes, blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings for a moment, until the night before came back to him. He was at home, his family home in Westchester. His old bedroom. There was still a poster of the New York Giants from 1994 on the wall. He sat up and smoothed his hands over the shadow of stubble on his face. He felt like he’d drunk a bottle of Scotch and then been run over by a snowplough.

  There was a soft knock on the bedroom door and he pulled the covers up a little. It would be Sophia with coffee.

  ‘Come in,’ he called.

  The door opened a crack and Cynthia popped her head around it. ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Hey, Mom,’ he greeted.

  Cynthia stepped in. He was surprised to see her dressed in casual slacks and a Rangers sweater. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d dressed down. But it wasn’t just her clothing that was slightly off, she looked exhausted, obviously worn from everything that had happened last night.

  I brought you some coffee,’ she stated, moving to put the mug down on the nightstand. ‘I thought you might need it.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he responded. ‘It was some night.’

  ‘Yes, I won’t disagree about that.’

  He picked up the mug, taking a drink, before returning it to the nightstand.

  ‘So, we talked about Andrew all last night.’

  ‘Yes we did.’

  ‘Now how about we talk about you?’ Cynthia suggested.

  The question made him shift in the bed, his hands going back to the mug and lifting it again. ‘You said it yourself last night, you and the rest of the board don’t have confidence in me to lead Drummond Global.’

  ‘Oliver, that isn’t quite what I said.’

  ‘I’m not saying you’re wrong either.’ He put the mug back on the nightstand. ‘I admit, these last few months my focus has shifted.’ He swallowed. ‘And my health hasn’t been so good.’

  He waited for his mother to react. She had no clue about anything that had happened recently. He watched her take it on board.

  ‘Tell me, Oliver.’ There were tears in her eyes. ‘I can’t help you unless you talk to me.’

  What was he going to say here? He didn’t want to put any more on her plate after the shock of last night. But was it fair to hold off? He knew he would likely cause his mother more anxiety by keeping it to himself rather than laying it all out there.

  ‘I’ve been having pains … in my chest … shallow breathing … rapid pulse.’ Just thinking about it felt like he was calling on an attack.

  Cynthia’s hands went to her mouth and she stifled a sob. ‘Oh, Oliver.’

  ‘Mom, I think it’s only a matter of time.’

  * * *

  New York Public Library, Bryant Park

  After a morning filled with organisation for the McArthur Foundation fundraiser, Hayley had spared the afternoon to tick off one of the “must-sees” on Angel’s list of New York sights. The New York Public Library. Following this visit her plan was to leave Angel with Dean while she checked out the intel on Michel. She wasn’t going to be one hundred per cent convinced of anything until she saw Michel in the flesh, here, actually in New York. After so many dead ends and false leads, she was still cautious and she wasn’t sure quite how to feel. Of course it was what she wanted. Finding him for Angel. But piece by tiny piece it was becoming reality and she wasn’t sure what happened after that.

  I never realised I was such a “witch dressed by Debenhams”.

  Her mother had sent another text. Rita was starting to get to the good stuff. In some ways it was a relief the diary had been found. She swallowed. Did she really mean that? Had she always wanted Rita to know what she was thinking? Being an ocean away made it slightly easier to deal with and there was so much going on right now it wasn’t riding high on her list of priorities.

  ‘You do know you’re not supposed to have your mobile on in a library,’ Angel whispered.

  ‘Show me the sign,’ Hayley responded.

  ‘Sshh!’ Angel hissed as they walked into the Rose Main Reading Room.

  ‘I know books are important and interesting but why was it you wanted to come here?’ Hayley asked, touching icons on the screen of her phone.

  ‘Wow!’ Angel said, looking up and around her.

  At her daughter’s exclamation, Hayley took her eyes off the phone and looked too. Light flooded in from the arched windows on both sides of the grand room. Chandeliers hung from a ceiling that was ornately carved, paintings of cloud and blue sky at its centre. Ancient-looking wooden tables and chairs filled the floor space and underneath the large windows were rows and rows of books occupying a full-length balcony and the walls below.

  ‘It looks like something out of Hogwarts,’ Angel said, her tone awe-coated.

  Hayley jumped as her phone began to trill, prompting a death stare from Angel.

  ‘Wait right here, I’ll find a place I can talk. Don’t move,’ she ordered, rushing to the door they had just walked through.

  ‘Hello? Yes, this is Hayley Walker … oh hello Sally-Anne, how did you get on? Can they do what I want with the lights?’

  When Hayley returned to the reading room, Angel was sat at a table, a giant book open in front of her.

  ‘Is that a really big bible?’ Hayley joked, pulling up the chair next to her.

  ‘Actually it’s an encyclopaedia.’

  ‘This is what we used to use before we had Wikipedia,’ Hayley informed. ‘Does it have “aardvark” and “anteater” with pictures?’

  Angel looked up. ‘Did you never get past the “A” section?’

  ‘“Bison” and “buffalo”. See if they have two separate entries for what’s basically the same thing.’

  ‘Who was on the phone?’ Angel asked, turning a page.

  ‘Sally-Anne from the lighting company. It’s a go for that effect I wanted.’

  ‘The one I suggested, you mean.’

  ‘OK, clever clogs, it was all your initial idea but I followed it through.’

  ‘And is the menu all done? You know, the idea I had about including food the family members loved?’ Angel batted her eyelashes at her.

  Hayley folded her arms across her chest. ‘I came up with the slogan.’

  Angel patted her arm. ‘So how much else have you got to do?’

  ‘Not as much as I had to do yesterday.’

  ‘That’s good then,’ Angel responded. ‘So apart from Nanny being mad with you, everything is fine.’

  ‘How do you know Nanny’s mad with me?’ She coughed. ‘Not that she is or anything.’

  ‘Uncle Dean got a text this morning. It said something about a lifeguard and how could he have kept secrets about you from her.’

  Oh God. Daytime television had definitely been sacrificed for diary reading.

  ‘She isn’t happy about us looking for my dad, is she?’ Angel stated. ‘I saw the other message she sent you. She called him “that man” again.’

  Hayley closed her eyes, taking a second before opening them again. ‘I’ve never really listened to what Nanny had to say about most things.’ She sighed. ‘And about your dad … she’s wrong.’

  The details about Michel were in her rucksack. She could pull them out now and tell Angel he’d been found. But she knew what would happen. Dancing would ensue, eyes brightening like a neon bar sign, mouth opening in wonder as if she was Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz discovering the Yellow Brick Road. She had to play this carefully and protect Angel. Above all, she needed to tell Michel he had a daughter before they came face to face. A shiver ran over her.

  ‘Nanny’s met a man called Neville,’ Angel informed her matter-of-factly. ‘He plays bowls.’

  ‘What?’ Hayley shook her head, trying to get her mind back in the moment.

  ‘She told Uncle Dean that before she started getting mad about a lifeguard.’ Ange
l’s voice echoed around the cavernous room.

  Dean was going to kill her for writing about the lifeguard. ‘Sshh!’ Hayley said. ‘We don’t want to be chucked out of the library. They probably inform that scary man at the desk at the airport and he has our fingerprints.’

  ‘Did you know that the fingerprinting system for criminals was introduced in New York in 1906?’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’ She swallowed. Who was Neville? She knew she didn’t listen to everything her mother said but mention of bowls and a man would have spiked her radar. ‘So, anyway … about your dad.’ She cleared her throat as quietly as she could. ‘Nanny only says things like that because she worries about us.’

  ‘So she likes my dad?’

  ‘Angel, she doesn’t know your dad.’ Hayley paused. ‘But she does know us and she doesn’t want either of us to get hurt, that’s all.’

  Angel wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t know if I agree with Nanny playing bowls with Neville.’ She sniffed. ‘We don’t know him at all.’

  ‘No, we don’t,’ Hayley agreed. ‘But, like us, Nanny’s going to do what she feels is right.’ She sighed. ‘Let’s just hope Neville likes gardening programmes.’

  Neville could be a good thing. So could bowls, no matter how that sounded. A little social activity, her mother getting out of the house and away from re-runs of Escape to the Country.

  Hayley turned her attention back to her phone. She typed out a text, being careful not to show Angel.

  Dean: Can you have Angel for me later? Got a lead on Michel. P.S. Sorry Mum knows all about the lifeguard xxx

  49

  Kingston Avenue, Brooklyn