Chapter 10
10
ASIAN DAWN, SOUTH WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK
Oliver watched her lick the ice cream from her spoon with all the experience of a Brooklyn hooker. Maybe that’s what she was. Did it matter? That’s what the rumour mill thought anyway. He put down his own spoon. She smiled then and, ravishing the stainless steel one more time, she placed it into her bowl.
‘So, are we staying for coffee? Or are you going to take me somewhere a little more intimate?’ his companion asked.
She was possibly the most forward woman he’d ever propositioned. Any soup?on of inner vulnerability had completely disappeared between their eyes meeting and her sucking the silverware like a porn star. He wasn’t sure he liked it. He wasn’t sure he wanted this now it was being laid out for him. It was all too easy. Too brazen. He swallowed. What was his problem? Easier was better, wasn’t it? Nothing difficult, just sex, a quick fix, no flying off in helicopters or trips to Vegas.
A skipped beat of his heart alerted him to the fact the woman – what was her name again? – was waiting for an answer. He’d lost all concentration; his tongue was parched and his glass was empty .
She leant forward, making sure her ample breasts met the table and rose up in the confines of her dress. ‘Shall I call us a cab?’
It didn’t really sound like a question. An internal punch to his heart had him squirming in his chair. He could feel his breath catching in his throat, adrenaline flooding his every sense. He could feel the blood flowing fast and hard through his entire body, his fingers were growing tight, his vision clouding.
He put his hand on the table to steady himself as he stood. ‘Please excuse me, for one minute.’
Without saying anything else, he headed in the direction of the restrooms.
‘Did you know that the word noodle actually comes from the German word nudel ? That’s n-u-d-e-l.’
Hayley was watching Angel trying to use her chopsticks. Most of the noodles – or nudels – were falling off the two prongs as soon as she’d got them anywhere near on.
‘Do you want a fork?’ she asked as Angel grabbed the strands between her lips and sucked.
Angel shook her head and sucked harder. Maternal pride coated Hayley’s insides as she watched.
‘She gets her brains from me, you know,’ Dean said, nudging Hayley’s elbow and smiling.
‘Are you calling me stupid?’ Hayley said in mock crossness.
‘I wouldn’t dare. Not when you’re holding chopsticks and a fork.’ Dean eyed the leftovers on her plate. ‘If you don’t eat that chicken, you know I’m going to have to.’
Hayley put her cutlery down and pushed the plate towards him .
‘I didn’t mean… take it back,’ Dean said, his fingers shifting the china across the cloth.
She shook her head. ‘No, it’s fine. I’ve had enough.’ She just wanted to get back to Dean’s apartment now, put her head on the pillow and let the exhaustion sweep over her. Tomorrow, she would face what she’d come here to do. Tomorrow, after two months of virtual searching for Angel’s father, she was going to begin the physical search. Starting with one of the galleries he’d mentioned exhibiting at all those years ago. Thank God for the ten-year diary containing all the information she’d needed to make a start. She’d remembered the name of the hotel too. It didn’t begin with ‘t’. It was the Shelton. She’d phoned them twice, both times getting the client confidentiality spiel. Bribing the receptionist hadn’t worked either. She also suspected they probably didn’t keep records of guests for ten years. She just had to hope turning up at the galleries was going to get her more results than the phone calls and emails.
Angel’s mouth hung open as the waiter walked past, a lobster on a silver platter heading for a table near the door. ‘It’s Lyndon,’ she announced, tearing up.
‘No,’ Hayley said quickly. ‘It can’t be. There were about twenty lobsters in that tank.’ She turned to observe the bubbling water, green weeds wobbling in the current. There were definitely fewer crustaceans than there had been. ‘Look, there he is.’
She pointed at a lobster bearing the closest resemblance to ‘Lyndon’ – although they all looked the same to her – and hoped for the best.
Angel shifted in her chair, getting up onto her knees to get a better look inside the water. ‘No, it’s not.’
Nothing could get past her daughter but now a crisis was looming. Hayley looked to Dean for help .
‘Hey, Angel, tomorrow afternoon, when I get back from work, shall we go and see Vern and Randy?’ Dean asked.
Angel was still eyeing the remaining lobsters in the tank, seemingly scrutinising them, checking every mark, the position of the elastic bands on their pinchers. ‘I guess so,’ she said half-heartedly.
‘Want to see a photo?’ Dean offered. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his phone.
‘I think I’d like to see a photo,’ Hayley said.
‘Of Randy?’ Dean asked.
‘No, of Vernon, the guy I had to hear about from my daughter.’
‘Oh, I don’t have any of him on this phone,’ Dean said quickly.
‘You have more than one phone? When did you join Sons of Anarchy ?’
‘This is just my phone for…’ he hesitated.
‘For pictures of dogs?’ Hayley offered.
Dean ignored her comment and reached to put the phone under Angel’s nose. ‘There he is.’
For a second, Hayley thought Angel wasn’t going to move her eyes from the water tank. But as the waiter headed towards it, his hands in rubber gloves, ready to pluck another lobster from the water, she slipped back down onto her chair and turned her attention to Dean’s phone.
‘See how cute he is,’ Dean said, swiping to another image.
‘What type of dog is he?’ Angel asked, calling Greenpeace about the sea creatures all but forgotten.
‘He’s a Pomeranian.’
‘Is he fully grown?’ Angel asked.
‘Yes, they’re a small breed.’ Dean smiled. ‘You should see Vern with him. It’s like a giant taking a mouse for a walk.’
‘So he’s tall then. Is that all I’m getting?’ Hayley said.
‘You’ll see him tomorrow. ’
‘Can we take Randy for a walk tomorrow? Can we go to Central Park?’ Angel asked, leaning her head sideways and batting her eyelashes.
Hayley stood up, placing her napkin on the table. ‘While she goes full on child actress, I’m going to go to the toilet.’
‘The bathroom . We’re in America now,’ Angel corrected.
‘Fine. I might even turn on a faucet.’
Oliver splashed his face with water and looked at his reflection in the mirror of the gents’ bathroom. He was pale, his hazel eyes a little bloodshot. He held out a hand, stretching it into the space, seeing what happened. It was trembling. Not an obvious shake like someone with Parkinson’s, but a visible tremor. He clenched his fist and closed his eyes. What was he doing here? After his close call at the hospital, his run-in with both his mother and Clara, he should have left with Tony and headed home.
But going back to the penthouse alone, biding time, thinking, wondering, worrying, that wasn’t a life. That’s why he did what he did. Here, with this woman, with Christa last night. Because being with someone, being part of the intricate fabric of New York, was better than the alternative. Wondering when you were going to die and who would care if you did.
He shook the water from his hands and smoothed the rest into his hair. Looking at his reflection again, he swallowed. He had two choices. He either rode this feeling out, went back to the table with whatever-her-name-was and enjoyed a night of carnal desire he really wasn’t in the mood for. Or he escaped out the back door. There was really only one option.
The cool air from the corridor lifted Hayley’s hair as she moved through the door from the restaurant. As soon as she had been to the toilet, she’d suggest skipping dessert and calling the driver. Angel had to be running on adrenaline alone right now. It was something like three o’clock in the morning in the UK.
She stopped walking the second she saw him. She widened her eyes, getting them used to the half-light in the hall, making sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. It was Dean’s boss, the hot Mr Meanie, struggling to open the fire exit door at the end of the corridor. What was he doing? Was he a smoker in need of a nicotine hit? It seemed desperate if that was the case. He was pushing and pulling like his life was at stake.
She knew what she should do. She should disappear into the ladies’ toilets and pretend she hadn’t seen. Whatever he was doing was none of her business and she shouldn’t be standing there appreciating the fine cut of his trousers as he leaned against the metalwork. She subconsciously took a step towards the ladies’ bathroom. And that’s when he turned around.
She could see his top button was undone and half the bottom of his shirt was untucked from his trousers. His hair was wet and, even from this far away, she noted his unsettled breathing.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked.
He spoke first. ‘I, er, can’t seem to get the door open.’
He looked awkward, one hand on the handle of the door, the other drooping at his side. She wasn’t sure what to do, but now he’d addressed her, she couldn’t just leave.
‘Do you need to get it open?’ she asked, wondering what a billionaire was doing trying to break out of the back entrance.
He nodded. ‘Oh yes. I really do.’
‘Why? Is there a fire?’ She took a tentative step closer.
‘More of a fire fight, if I’m honest.’ He pushed at the door again. His breathing was ragged and he looked unsettled. ‘It’s necessary to take evasive action.’
Hayley took another few steps towards him. ‘And you can’t use the entrance you came in by?’
He stopped manhandling the door then and turned to face her. He furrowed his brow. ‘You’re English.’
‘Yes. And you’re so obviously on the run. Who is it? The mafia? The Triads?’
He smiled then and the beginnings of a laugh fell from his lips. He shook his head at her. ‘If only it were that simple. I’m actually off to change into Spandex and save the city like Superman.’
Thinking about him in Spandex did worrying things to her insides. She swallowed, watching him look her up and down. From her boots that had seen better days, to her jeans she’d been wearing for the last three seasons, then to the green-coloured, long-sleeved top that had definitely shrunk in the last wash. She was as far from Galliano as it was possible to be.
‘Ever needed to sneak out on an unsuitable date?’ Oliver asked her.
Her mind went to Greg. Over-tanned, teeth over-whitened, breath over-garlicked. She could relate to many occasions she’d wanted to slip out of his sight. But this was not what she’d been expecting. He was about to abandon a woman at a restaurant. That did not sit well with her.
‘You’re sneaking out on a date?’ she clarified.
‘Well, kind of, not exactly a pre-planned engagement but…’
‘And you’re not going to tell her you’re leaving.’ Her hackles were rising fast.
‘I’ve settled the bill.’
‘Wow, that’s heroic. Very Superman.’
‘It isn’t like you think,’ Oliver said, pulling in another ragged breath .
‘No?’ It seemed exactly like she thought.
‘She’s not a date in the normal sense.’
She raised her eyebrow and took a half step backwards. ‘I think I’m going to just back out of here, pretend you haven’t insulted the whole female population and let you get on with the great escape.’ He might have eyes the colour of cashews but this behaviour wasn’t acceptable in her world.
‘Please…’
It sounded like a desperate plea. She stood still.
‘Listen, this is the first time I’ve done this. She’s just…’ He let out a breath and paused for a second. ‘Anything I say is going to sound insulting to you, so please, just help me open the door, I can go and you can forget we ever met.’
He really did sound agitated and keen to make a rapid exit. Hayley wondered what his date had done to make him want to flee so badly.
‘Is that a promise?’
He held up his hand. ‘On everything I have.’
She stepped forward and leant against the door, pushing down on the steel bar with all of her force.
‘I do have to say that my male pride is going to be significantly injured if you open that door.’
‘I’ll feel I’ve let down the women of Britain if I don’t .’ She shoved at it. ‘I’ve decided the woman in the red dress is going to be a lot better off without you.’
‘Whoa, that hurts.’
Hayley pushed, pressed and shunted, all at the same time and the door whooshed open, taking her with it. Her feet hit the snow-covered concrete of the alleyway outside but she held onto the door, steadying herself. The snow was falling thick and fast and the night was as black as tar, its air ice-cold .
‘Well, it’s open.’ She looked back at him, standing just inside the doorway, his eyes still on her.
‘And I feel like the biggest dick,’ he replied.
There was no humour in his tone and when she met those nut-coloured eyes, she realised just how jaded he looked. There was exhaustion written over every part of him: the tense shoulders, the tight jaw, his hands clenching into fists. Maybe Mr Meanie had a lot more on his mind than being civil to his workforce. Maybe he did have a good reason for running.
‘Thank you,’ he said sincerely, stepping out and joining her on the snow.
She waved her arm out. ‘So, there you go, wide open alleyway. You’d better get a move on, save the city.’
‘I guess I should.’
Snowflakes were circling down, catching in his hair and landing on the shoulders of his shirt, seeping through the expensive material. The mighty fine bone structure could be admired now he was so close. A Jason Statham-esque layer of light brown covered his jaw, those full lips pink with cold, his chin firm.
He shivered. ‘So, what do I call the English rose who rescued me tonight?’
He sounded more confident now, his eyes bright, standing a little straighter.
She smiled. ‘Given that you’re still acting like you’re on the run, I don’t think I can share such personal information.’
‘That’s very wise. But if you won’t tell me your name, I’ll just have to call you Bridget Jones.’
‘Is that really the best you have? How about Emmeline Pankhurst, the leader of the Suffragette movement or Margaret Thatcher, one of Britain’s greatest Prime Ministers?’ Now she sounded a little like Angel .
‘What would you like me to call you?’ Oliver asked.
‘I thought you promised I’d never have to see you again.’
‘Fingers were crossed behind my back.’
She couldn’t help but smile. ‘Sneaky. Just the sort of behaviour I’d expect from someone abandoning their date.’
‘There are extenuating circumstances, I promise.’
Hayley thought for a moment then spoke. ‘Seeing as you say you’re Superman, you can call me Lois.’ She nodded. ‘I’ve always had a bit of a thing for Clark Kent.’ Wow, where had that come from? Was she flirting?
‘Lois,’ Oliver said. ‘Yeah, that works.’
A shiver ran over her, the velvet notes of his voice making her insides rumble. She held out her hand to him. ‘I would say it was nice to meet you, Clark.’
‘Why don’t you?’
She swallowed as he took a step closer to her. He was completely gorgeous. But he was ditching a date, running out of a back exit and leaving without saying a word.
‘It was nice to meet you, Lois,’ he said, taking her hand in his.
Hayley broke the connection. ‘Well, goodnight. I’ll leave the business card I just pilfered from your pocket for your date.’
She watched the horror coat his features and he reached a hand down to pat the pocket of his trousers. And then he smiled, obviously realising she was playing him.
‘You’re good,’ he responded.
‘Yes, I am.’ She waved a hand. ‘Goodbye, Clark.’
She turned and faced the door to head back into the restaurant building. Hearing his footfalls in the snow, she glanced back, watching him jog away from her, moving through the snow and kicking up puffs of white dust as he disappeared into the dark.
Hayley shook her head. New York City. In Gotham with Superman. This place was all kinds of crazy. She closed her eyes and breathed in the night, internally cursing herself for flirting with him. It would come back to bite her. Her karma would be jet lag hitting hard in the middle of the night. She opened her eyes, directing her vision up the dark, dank-looking alley leading to the main street. Perhaps Oliver Drummond’s karma for abandoning a date would be freezing to death on the jog home without a coat.