Chapter 5
5
MANCINIS RESTAURANT, 10TH AVENUE, MANHATTAN, USA
When you’d had your life flash in front of your eyes, everything was magnified. The times this had happened Oliver could only count on one hand, but he knew there would be more to come. It was as inevitable as Christmas and the start of a new year. But, for now, in this moment, there was simply clarity. It was a chance to take stock, to re-evaluate, every encounter enhanced.
Oliver raised the delicate-stemmed wineglass to his nose and savoured the aroma of the Merlot within. Oak, deep, dark berries, aged to perfection: the most expensive red wine they had on the list. He closed his eyes and put the rim of the glass to his mouth. He let the wine touch his lips first, before opening them up and allowing the liquid to reach his tongue. It was smooth, dense, like a velvet wrap had coiled itself around the flesh.
He finally swallowed the wine and replaced the glass on the table, surveying the rest of the restaurant. It was full and from his vantage point, he could see people being turned away at the front door. That’s what his status in the business community had bought him. A regular table at one of the most exclusive restaurants in the area from just a phone call, no matter how late. Except he was alone. He’d called Tony, asked if he wanted to continue where they’d left off the night before, but apparently his invitation wasn’t quite as tempting as a night with a Polish girl called Erica. He didn’t blame his friend. Hell, if Doctor Khan had taken him up on his dinner offer, he wouldn’t have called Tony in the first place.
Oliver looked out the window, half-hidden by the heavy, gold-flecked curtains and a string of expensive-looking Christmas bells. The snow was coming down faster now and, as the temperature dropped, it was starting to layer up on the sidewalk. A couple, wrapped up in scarves, hats and gloves came into view. The woman, dark hair flying out from under her hat, screamed as the man hit her with a snowball. Their forms bobbed and swayed in front of the red and green lights of a flashing Christmas tree on the adjacent building. Oliver watched the woman bend to the ground and start to gather as much powdery white stuff as she could scrape up to counter his attack. She threw, but her aim was off and the ball hit the windscreen of a parked car. Shrieking, as her partner chased her again, they ran off up the road. He was still watching the situation play out when he heard someone clear their throat.
Oliver turned his attention back to the restaurant and looked up to see a waiter stood next to him, dressed in the Mancinis uniform of cream tuxedo with a maroon waistcoat and matching bow tie.
‘I apologise for disturbing you, Mr Drummond, but I wondered if anyone was joining you for dinner tonight,’ the waiter asked.
Oliver nodded his head. Yes, that was exactly what he needed to get over the earlier hospital drama. His mind wandered back to Doctor Khan. She had virtually prescribed stress relief. Maybe it was time to follow the doctor’s orders .
‘Absolutely, Ricco.’ Oliver let his eyes roam around the restaurant, falling on the other patrons. He looked away from the couples holding hands across the table, the businessmen, the over forties. Who was left? There was a group of four women half a dozen tables away from him, two blondes, two brunettes. They weren’t too loud, they hadn’t started eating yet and each of them was impeccably dressed. Then he spotted her. Sitting at a table in the very corner of the room, just close enough for him to see everything he needed to see. Hair the colour of honey, fingers wrapped around a glass of white wine, black day-to-night dress.
‘Ricco, send a glass of your best champagne to the lady over there and ask her if she’d care to join me?’ He nodded in the direction of the corner table.
‘Yes, sir.’
Before the waiter turned to depart Oliver spoke again. ‘And Ricco.’
‘Yes, Mr Drummond?’
‘We’ll both have the salmon.’
‘Very good, sir.’
Oliver sat back in his chair, took another sip of wine and waited to see what would happen. He didn’t really need to watch. He was certain of the outcome. After all, what woman would refuse free champagne and the opportunity to dine with a billionaire?
His chest creased suddenly, making him sit a little uneasy. Straight away, the fear flooded his every part. He swallowed, trying to home in on the background music of instrumental Christmas schmaltz he couldn’t stand. It wasn’t working and he could feel his head starting to throb. No, this was not happening. He wasn’t going to give into it no matter what ‘it’ was. It’s a heart attack . Your number is up. You’re going to die.
He shook his head, trying to dislodge his subconscious. The beautiful doctor’s diagnosis began to run over his mind again as he tried to focus on Ricco approaching the honey blonde with a glass of champagne on a silver tray. He didn’t have time for stress, or death. He had to fight, not give up like his father and brother had done.
Oliver pulled in his stomach and sat up in his chair ignoring the twinge in his pectoral muscles. He watched the woman accept the glass the waiter was offering and seek him out. She raised the glass a little, a bashful smile on her lips. He swallowed down the pain. He wasn’t going to let it get in the way of his evening. He was in.
Her name was Christa. She was in New York for two nights and this was the second of them. It was perfect. She was staying at the Bryant Park Hotel, her boss had reserved the table and she was visiting for a conference. She was in cosmetics, nail polishes and something called acrylics for a national company named Cuticle. She talked a lot and after her third glass of champagne, her Idaho accent really came out. She was just the sort of distraction he’d needed.
‘Sorry, Oliver, I’m boring you. You don’t want to hear about French manicures and the latest in Gelish.’ Christa put her glass down on the table, nearly toppling it over in her haste.
‘I never knew it was so complicated,’ he responded. ‘But I have to admit, if we’re being really honest here, nails aren’t the first thing that attracts me to a woman.’ He kept his eyes on her and was rewarded with her gaze and a soft smile taking over her mouth.
‘Is that so?’ She placed her hand on the table, smoothing the linen cloth with her fingers. ‘Are you gonna tell me what is the first thing that attracts you?’
She looked coy now and it was relaxing him. He leaned forward a little. ‘Well, Christa, what do you think it is?’ He was teasing and from the look on her face, she was enjoying every minute of it.
‘Is it a smile?’ she guessed. ‘Maybe the eyes?’
He waited a few beats, carefully filling her glass up with champagne. ‘No.’ He shook his head, a smile playing on his lips.
‘Do you have a thing for blondes?’ Christa picked up her glass, took a sip of the liquid inside.
He shook his head, sat back in his seat, his eyes still fixed on her. This was the part he liked best. The questioning, the innocent expectation, the not knowing what was going to happen next. He was as exhilarated here as he used to be on the football field, as he sometimes was when he was closing a deal at Drummond Global. He’d not closed many of those recently. He drummed his fingers on the table, pushing the negative thought away. This was his time. Here was where he did his living, with no boundaries. Here, his short life expectancy just didn’t exist.
He moved a little closer still. ‘It’s an aura,’ he said in no more than a whisper.
He could see she was transfixed, almost hypnotised by the sound of his voice. Her right elbow was resting on the table, her hand at one of her small, gold, heart-shaped earrings. He didn’t feel guilty about the little white lie. After all, she was going to get as much out of this as him, if not more.
‘An aura,’ she repeated, softly.
He nodded, leaning in to the table, sliding his hand past the condiments. His fingers were mere inches away from hers now.
And then Christa laughed, the sound erupting loud and hard. ‘That’s so funny.’ She sipped at her wine, a little spilling over her lips. ‘An aura!’ She returned the glass to the linen cloth and banged the flat of her hand down on the table.
He was thrown, just for a split second. This usually got them every time whether they really believed it or not. She was supposed to be flattered, feel special. He had to turn this around. He smiled.
‘What? You don’t think it’s true?’ He eked out a small laugh of his own. ‘You think I spin this sort of line to every woman I meet?’
‘I’m not dumb enough to think otherwise,’ Christa said, swigging more champagne. ‘But…’ She put her glass back down on the table and inched her fingers closer to his. ‘I don’t really mind.’
Oliver wasn’t sure about this change in proceedings. He was always the one in charge, the one calling the shots. He didn’t know how he felt about Christa making the first move. He widened his smile. It was time to make his move.
He made the connection, slipping his fingers in between hers and linking them tight. He heard a small gasp leave her lips. It was time.
‘Make a wish,’ he whispered, his eyes demanding attention from hers.
‘What?’
He could see the breath was catching in her throat, her chest rising and falling so softly, it was barely moving at all.
He wet his lips before continuing. ‘If you could have one wish, right now, tonight, what would it be?’
A titter of a laugh escaped from her and he could tell there was nervous excitement behind the logical part of her that was trying to say this was madness.
‘You’re crazy,’ she responded.
‘Make a wish, Christa. If money were no object.’ He squeezed her hands. ‘If you could do one thing, go to one place, something you’ve always dreamed of, what would it be? ’
She shook her head then, the honey-blonde waves shimmering in the half-light. ‘You are certifiable.’
‘I’m serious,’ he said.
She smiled, shaking her head once more. ‘Well, in that case, I’ve never been in a helicopter and I’ve always wanted to see New York from the air, like in the movies.’
A result. Slowly, he slipped his hand into the pocket inside his jacket and drew out his cell phone. ‘Finish your champagne and I’ll make the call.’
She almost dropped the glass to the floor.
Christa’s screams as the helicopter dipped down over the city were like food to his soul. She was clutching his arm so tightly, it felt like the bone was turning numb. But, despite the vice-like grip on his limb, the pain in his chest had gone. Even as he thought about it, nothing happened, no twinges, no aches, nothing. It was like he was free from it all. That’s what happened when you lived in the moment. You could almost forget everything else.
Christa’s eyes were on stalks, watching the sparkling lights of the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building and Trump Towers, as they flew around the boroughs. The Empire State, one of the Seven Wonders of the Modern World, its iconic Art-Deco style tapering up to almost meet them in the sky never failed to impress at night, particularly from their vantage point. Circling some of the most well-known buildings in the city, almost close enough to touch… he could see how it made Christa feel. He knew she was experiencing something she’d always wanted to do, a life’s dream – because of him. That meant something. It was one wish she would never forget making, because it had come true.
‘This is amazing!’ Christa shouted above the roar of the engine .
Oliver nodded his head, took her hand from his arm and linked their hands together. ‘So, what do you want to do next?’
She turned her head away from the cityscape for a moment and directed her gaze at him. Smiling, she replied. ‘I think I’d like you to see the inside of my hotel room.’
‘I thought you’d never ask,’ he answered, edging towards her.