Chapter 30
30
DRUMMOND GLOBAL OFFICES, DOWNTOWN MANHATTAN
Oliver relaxed the knot on his tie and unfastened the button of his suit jacket as he walked along the corridor.
‘What is in that thing?’ he asked, looking to Tony, who was devouring something wrapped in paper.
‘Pastrami. Want some?’ Tony offered it over, strings of meat hanging from his lips.
‘No. What I do want is to know what you’re doing here again.’ He pushed open the door in front of them. ‘I thought you had two new businesses to oversee.’
Tony nodded. ‘I do. I also have a best friend who’s determined to kill himself with overwork and malnutrition before his genetic heart condition can do the job.’
‘Shh,’ Oliver hissed. He looked over his shoulder to see who might be listening. ‘Keep it down.’
‘What?’ Tony asked, his eyes wide with innocence.
‘My condition isn’t common knowledge around here.’ He lowered his voice further. ‘They know my brother died young, there’s enough speculation of age and alcohol playing a part with respect to the rest of the family. ’
‘OK, I get it. Sorry.’
Oliver blew out a breath. ‘No, I’m sorry. I’m just strung out about my mother, that’s all.’
‘What’s up with Mrs D? She’s OK, isn’t she?’
‘That clarifies one thing,’ Oliver said, pushing open the next door.
‘What thing?’
‘That she didn’t have intimate dinners with Andrew Regis at your restaurant.’
‘No freaking way!’ Tony’s eyes came out of his head. ‘She’s seeing Andrew Regis?’
Just the sentence had Oliver’s shoulders tensing in reaction.
‘I don’t like the guy,’ Tony followed up. ‘Eyes are too close together. And you should never trust a man who wears that much cologne.’
Oliver stopped walking. ‘I need to get on.’
‘Oh, sure, me too. I just dropped in to check you were still alive and kicking after yesterday and… thought I might bump into Kelly.’ Tony grinned.
‘Go and check on those restaurants plural,’ Oliver ordered.
‘I’m going.’ He stopped, waving his wrap in the air. ‘Oh and I’ve had orders from Momma to get you to the restaurant soon. She wants to feed you up. Said you looked too thin in the picture on the front of the New York Times .’
Oliver shook his head. ‘Tell her I’ll pop by soon.’
‘She’ll expect you this week.’ Tony started walking but stopped. ‘Oh and the tree in the lobby? Very understated.’ He laughed at his own joke. ‘No less is more around here.’
‘Tony,’ he said, smiling. ‘Only more is more.’
Tony laughed and began to make his way back up the corridor.
Oliver took a deep breath in before approaching the final door. He had had a productive morning. As well as getting some ideas on date locations from Clara, he had called everyone off the Regis Software merger. By the end of the day, both his mother and Andrew Regis would know the deal was officially off the table. And now, down on the tenth floor of his building, he was going on another fact-finding mission.
The dark-haired secretary at the entrance to the level almost spilt her coffee when he stepped onto the floor.
‘Good morning,’ he greeted, smiling at her.
‘Mr Drummond, we… we weren’t expecting you,’ she replied.
‘I wanted to take a walk,’ he said, looking through into the work rooms.
‘Of course… that’s fine.’
‘I’m glad.’ He smiled again. ‘Is Dean Walker around?’
‘Yes, I think so.’ She looked at her computer screen. ‘Would you like me to buzz him?’
‘No need. Room Seven, isn’t it?’ He started walking.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Thank you.’ He waved a hand and headed down the corridor.
‘Good morning, Mr Drummond,’ a young man greeted him as he passed.
‘Good morning,’ he responded.
He didn’t recognise any of these people. Now the company had grown to this level, it was impossible for him to sit in on all interviews. But should he know more than he did? Should his employees be more than names on a computer system and faces he didn’t know?
He stopped. ‘Hey,’ he called to the man passing him.
The employee stopped in his tracks and turned to face Oliver. He noted he was already looking concerned.
‘What’s your name?’ Oliver asked.
‘Milo Rodriguez, sir.’
Oliver nodded then held out his hand. ‘Good,’ he said as Milo connected the handshake. ‘Well, I’m Oliver and it’s nice to meet you.’
‘You too, sir.’ The guy seemed completely bewildered.
Oliver broke the connection and headed back down the corridor. It was time to stop being the soulless man at the top and start being someone people liked a little. He only hoped it wasn’t too late.
Tilton Gallery, 8 East 76 Street
‘Is this it?’ Angel asked.
They were stood outside a cream-coloured building that looked more like a townhouse than a gallery. Its towering height only emphasised its lack of width and, if it hadn’t been for the Parthenon-style pillars at its entrance, it would have passed for nothing out of the ordinary.
‘I guess it is,’ Hayley said, looking at the building. She had never been here before but this was another of the places her diary had confirmed Michel had talked about. He had had an exhibition of his work here. He had sold a few pieces. She remembered he’d been excited about it.
‘Are we going in?’ Angel asked.
Hayley nodded. That’s what they were here for, but she was still filled with so much trepidation. Would it be another dead end or would luck be on their side this time?
‘I should have brought the photo,’ Hayley cursed. ‘Why didn’t I bring the photo?’
Angel took hold of Hayley’s hand. ‘It doesn’t matter, Mum. If he had an exhibition here, there will be a record of it, won’t there?’
If he had been telling the truth . That always crossed her mind too. What if he wasn’t an artist? That would explain the lack of artists called Michel De Vos on Google and the fact none of the galleries had come up with anything so far. He could have been a hot-dog vendor and she wouldn’t have known any different.
She smiled at Angel before any of her thoughts seeped out into her expression. ‘Yes, there will. Let’s go in.’ She led the way up the steps.
Drummond Global Offices, Downtown Manhattan
This was the hub of the company, its engine and driving force. This was where ideas were created, world-changing pieces of equipment were devised, revolutionary gadgetry that had the ability to make a real difference to people’s lives.
Oliver stood in the doorway of the room and just watched the employees at work. The smell of electronics took him right the way back to the garage and workshop in Westchester. His father had worked late into the night in the early days, a soldering iron never far from his hand, working diligently, every tiny section of each component nurtured by his hands. Then later, Oliver had watched Ben working with him too. Ben was always given the first opportunities because he was older. But his outstanding capabilities had also made him the first port of call even when age no longer counted. Still a little jealousy mixed in with the grief no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.
His presence was noticed by Peter Lamont, the head of the department, and the man cleared his throat loudly, making everyone stop what they were doing. It almost looked like they were going to stand to attention and salute. Oliver stepped into the room .
‘Don’t let me stop what you’re doing,’ he said, waving their attention away.
‘Mr Drummond, if this is about the Globe then I can assure you—’ Peter started.
He shook his head. ‘No, it isn’t about the Globe. In fact, the Globe is fine. I need to have more faith in your months of testing and extensive research and not believe everything that’s served to me on the internet.’ He cleared his throat as a picture of Hayley from last night, dressed in her woollen festive nightwear, came to mind. ‘Could I have a moment with Dean?’
Oliver looked to the rear of the room. Dean was already out of his chair and heading towards them.
‘Take my office,’ Peter said, indicating the side room to the open-plan section they were standing in.
‘After you,’ Oliver said to Dean.
He followed Hayley’s brother into Peter’s office and, once they were both inside, he closed the door.
‘Mr Drummond, I just want to say—’ Dean began.
Oliver held his hand up to stop him talking. He was nervous enough as it was. He just needed to do some straight-talking and get what he came for.
‘It’s Oliver, please.’ He loosened his tie a little more and began to pace the carpet. ‘So, the thing is, Dean. Last night, after I met your sister… Lois… not Lois, not at all Lois.’ He blushed and felt his resolve crumbling under Dean’s scrutiny. Why was this woman getting under his skin so much? This had never happened before and it scared the crap out of him. ‘Hayley,’ he corrected. ‘Hayley.’
Dean was just looking at him like he was the biggest jerk he’d ever met. And at the moment, he was filling that role beautifully.
He let out a frustrated noise and swept a hand over a pile of papers on Peter’s desk, making them flutter up, some falling from the desk to the floor. He was making such a mess of this, he was just going to have to come right out with it.
‘I’ve asked Hayley on a date and I need your help.’ There, it was out.
Dean started to cough and it was so vigorous and breath-impairing that Oliver feared he was having some sort of attack.
‘Are you OK?’ Oliver asked, moving from behind the desk to beside Dean.
Dean shook his head in a confirming way. ‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ he said, coughing some more but straightening up. ‘I just… I just thought you said you’d asked my sister out on a date.’
Oliver nodded. ‘I did.’
Dean’s pallor turned mortuary white. He choked out a response. ‘You did?’
‘Yes. Do I have to ask permission?’
‘No, of course not, I… I’m just surprised, that’s all.’
‘Surprised why?’
‘Well…’ Dean began.
He got it then. Dean had read yesterday’s news. He, along with the entire rest of the population of the city, thought he was a serial philanderer who behaved like an Aladdin character. He really needed to get his public relations people onto damage control. He’d ignored all their messages yesterday.
‘She has Angel,’ Dean filled in.
Oliver tried to compute what Dean meant. He ended up just furrowing his brow as he looked back at him. ‘I realise that.’
‘Well, with all due respect, she has quite a lot going on right now.’
‘She said yes,’ Oliver said, in case there was any doubt.
‘She did?’
He nodded. ‘And I know about her ex. Angel’s father. The so-called painter with the artistic hair. ’
‘You do? Wow, you must have drunk a lot of coffee together before we got home.’
‘Yeah, we did.’ He pulled in a breath. ‘So, I want to take her somewhere special, and that’s where you come in.’
Dean was still looking a little bewildered by the conversation. ‘It is?’
‘What does she like? I don’t mean food or wine or cable channels, I mean what makes her tick? Where can I take her? What can we do together that’s going to really mean something to her?’
He had to swallow at the end of the sentence as the intensity of it hit him. And Dean wasn’t saying anything; he was just looking at him like he might have lost his mind. Had he lost his mind? His heart was beating hard, telling him two things. One, that he cared about this woman an awful lot already and two, that he was taking chances here, chances he didn’t have. Did he have the right to engage in this, with Hayley, and her daughter?
‘She’s only here for a couple of weeks,’ Dean spoke.
‘I realise that too.’ Somehow, that made it better. Whatever connection they had… well, thinking about it as just two weeks was much more manageable. He relaxed a little.
‘And she’s had a lot to deal with over the years.’
‘A daughter who talks endlessly and wants to save every lobster in Asian Dawn, if not every Chinese restaurant across the world.’
‘You’ve got it,’ Dean stated.
‘I’ve definitely got it,’ he said.
Dean seemed to assess him then, his eyes trying to take him apart from the inside. Finally Dean moved, picked a pen out of the pot on the desk and grabbed a notepad.
‘She likes fashion,’ he said, leaning over the desk and writing. ‘B.A. – that’s Before Angel – she was going to study at a really good college that only accepts the best of the best. She had to give it up.’
Oliver swallowed. Another person whose path in life was altered. But instead of toeing the family line, Hayley had sacrificed her dreams for her daughter.
Dean held out the paper. ‘This is her absolute favourite designer, or rather, it was. She doesn’t get a lot of time for browsing through anything these days.’
Oliver went to take the note but Dean held on fast.
‘My sister’s spent half her life feeling inadequate.’ Dean sighed. ‘Hayley’s clever and she’s a good person. She’s just been dealt a challenging hand and had no acknowledgement of how well she’s done raising Angel.’ He still held the paper. ‘She just doesn’t need anyone coming in and letting her down. Even if it’s only for a couple of weeks.’
‘It’s just a date,’ Oliver reminded. He smiled, admiring the way Dean wasn’t going to be browbeaten on this.
‘Hayley doesn’t go on many dates.’
‘She has Angel,’ Oliver said, understanding.
‘And Angel is the most important thing in her life.’
Oliver put his fingers to the notepaper. ‘I get that.’
Dean released his grip.
‘Thank you,’ Oliver replied.
Tilton Gallery, 8 East 76 Street
‘Do you think the floor is part of the exhibition?’ Angel asked, looking down as they walked into the first room of the gallery.
‘It could be. This parquet has had much more than an Elizabeth, a Diana and a Camilla done to it.’
The magnificent, glossy wood flooring was in perfect contrast to the bare, white walls surrounding them. Further into the room, there were two large windows letting in every ounce of natural light possible and ahead were several wire cages Hayley assumed were art. To their left was an ornate fireplace not dissimilar to the one at the house in Westchester yesterday. A wide staircase wove seamlessly upwards.
‘Good afternoon. Can I be of assistance?’ The accent was French and both Hayley and Angel turned around to greet their company.
A very tall, very slim woman in her mid-fifties was stepping towards them. She was dressed in a roll-neck jumper, a thick, tartan, wool skirt, black tights and boots. Her silver/grey hair was pinned back in a chignon and on her nose were a tiny pair of gold glasses. She smiled.
Angel dug Hayley in the ribs with her finger, making her jump forward a little.
‘Yes, please.’ She took a breath. ‘We’re looking for someone. He’s exhibited here before, about ten years ago.’
‘I see,’ the woman replied.
‘I called.’ Hayley took a breath. ‘A couple of weeks ago and the person I spoke to said they would call back but they didn’t and…’ She stopped as her mouth dried up. ‘I know it’s an odd request but we really need to meet with him and just… see how he is,’ Hayley continued. ‘We lost touch.’ And I had a baby . She couldn’t say that. This woman would think she was completely hopeless. ‘Do you have files?’ Angel asked. ‘Could you look in a book or on a computer and see if you have a phone number or an email address for him?’
The woman smiled at Angel. ‘What is this person’s name?’
Angel looked up at Hayley, her eyes urging her to make the reply.
Hayley cleared her throat. ‘Michel. Michel De Vos.’
The woman nodded. ‘I will go and see.’ She turned away from them and headed left out of the room .
Hayley blew out a breath. ‘My heart’s hammering.’
‘Mine too,’ Angel admitted.
Hayley swung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. ‘Listen, no matter what she says, it’s a positive, right?’
‘Right,’ Angel agreed.
‘Because she’ll either have something or she won’t.’
‘I know.’
‘Good.’
‘Are you sure this was one of the galleries he talked about?’
‘Pretty sure.’
Angel looked up at her then. ‘How much wine had you drunk?’
‘Angel!’
‘Well, you don’t remember everything right after you’ve had wine.’
‘It was this one… my ten-year diary said so… I think.’
‘Mum!’
‘Well, it doesn’t really matter because if the lady comes back and says there’s no record of him, we have hundreds of others to try. And we will try them all.’
She could see Angel was nervous. She was lifting her feet up and down as if they were cold, then shuffling her heels on the floor. The red coat swung around her knees as she twisted and, all of a sudden, she looked so small. This was a huge thing for a nine-year-old to be going through. Hayley had dealt with it very badly. She should have given Angel more credit and told her sooner.
The squeak of shoes on the shiny floor gave them their first indication that the woman was coming back. Hayley held her breath until her chest ached.
The lady stopped just in front of them and, for a second, Hayley wondered if she was going to say anything at all. Then she smiled.
‘I have good news. ’
‘Oh… really?!’ Hayley looked at Angel. Her daughter was on tiptoes, cheeks glowing in anticipation. Was this it? Had they finally found Michel. She felt sick. This was good . This was what you wanted.
The woman looked at the paper in her hands. ‘He has exhibited here… in 2004.’
Angel deflated like a bouncy castle being turned off. Hayley took hold her hand and squeezed it.
‘…and again just last year.’
Air gushed from Angel’s mouth like someone had turned on a leaf blower.
‘Last year,’ Angel’s words came out in a loud whisper. Her body straightened taller as her enthusiasm gained momentum.
‘Well, I…’ What was it she wanted to say? ‘Do you have a contact number for him?’ Hayley asked.
The woman’s lips drew inwards. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’
‘An email address?’ Hayley said. ‘Anything?’
‘I have a website address, that is all.’ The woman held a small piece of paper in her hands.
Hayley watched Angel light up like a Christmas tree, eyes twinkling, skin glowing, smile wider than the Hudson River.
‘Could you give it to us?’ Hayley said excitedly. She swung her rucksack off her back and began scrabbling inside of it for her phone.
The woman adjusted her glasses, looking down at her own writing. Angel started to read out the letters.
‘www.oilandwater.org.’
Hayley started tapping the address into the search engine on screen. What sort of website address was that? But out of all the searches on Google, Safari, Bing and Internet Explorer, it was definitely one she hadn’t tried before. Her fingers shook with each key tap .
As she hit the search button, she could feel the nervous energy like static coming out of Angel’s every pore. This meant the world to her daughter. She said a silent wish as she watched the blue line creeping at a snail’s pace along the top of the phone screen. Please .
The line zipped along at last and a mainly white page appeared.
This webpage is not available.
No . Hayley hit the refresh button, angling the phone away from Angel’s gaze and fixing a smile on her face. This time, the blue line was quick.
This webpage is not available.
Hayley raised her head, caught the expectant look of the woman, the Olympic swimming pool sized eyes of Angel. What was she going to say? She let a small cough start her off.
‘Damn 3G never works when you need it to.’ Her cheeks were burning like hot oil was coating them. ‘I’ll check it on the PC when we get home.’
Delaying tactics would have to do for now. She needed to make sure she had tissues and marshmallow hot chocolate before she said anything to Angel.