Chapter 52
52
DEAN WALKER’S APARTMENT, DOWNTOWN MANHATTAN
‘I can smell burning,’ Angel remarked, padding into the kitchen dressed in a fluffy cat onesie.
‘No burning here, just golden brown waffles.’ Hayley served the food onto a plate. ‘Grab them while they’re hot.’
Hayley watched Angel eye the charred offerings like they were offensive. ‘What?! Black is the new golden brown. Everybody’s doing it.’
‘Where’s Uncle Dean?’ Angel asked, climbing up onto a bar stool and pulling the orange juice carton towards her.
‘Work. He had to go early. He said something about it being a big day. That could mean something crucial about the Globe or it could mean he’s going to his favourite restaurant for lunch.’ Hayley slipped onto the stool next to Angel. ‘Eat up.’
‘Could we phone Michel?’ Angel asked.
Hayley stiffened. She’d called Michel half a dozen times the night before and left messages. There had only been endless ringing and the bleep of the answerphone. It was up to her to try and make it right. She’d apologised over and over, she’d tearfully begged and told him how much Angel wanted this until she’d run out of words.
‘Listen, I think we should just give him a minute to get used to things. I mean, before yesterday, he didn’t know about you, Angel.’
‘I know but he was really nice and?—’
‘Hey, I promise we’ll call him tomorrow, OK? Besides, I need your help today. I’ve got a million phone calls to make about the fundraiser and emails to chase up and I need to meet with Cynthia.’
Hayley stopped talking. She had promised Angel two things on this holiday: one was she would find her father and the other was to spend quality time with her. She’d found the man but he’d run off, she’d wasted her time with a billionaire and she’d got a job. She was scoring so badly on every count. She swallowed down a mouthful of overdone waffle. What was running through Angel’s overactive mind right now? She’d wished for her father for months and now they’d found him, he’d run out on them. She wanted to hold her daughter close, shut all the doors to this harsh side of life and protect her from everything and everyone. It had worked for so many years. This was her fault. She had invited in this heartache.
She smiled at Angel. ‘Listen, I promise, if I get all the things on my list done by this afternoon, we’ll go skating at the Rockefeller Center.’
‘Yay!’ Angel exclaimed. ‘And can we get a Hillary Clinton bobble head? I promised I’d bring one back for Jessica.’
‘I’m scared that those even exist.’ Hayley smiled through a mouthful of waffle.
The intercom buzzed and Hayley slipped down off her stool. Had she ordered something for the fundraiser to be delivered here? She needed to get her list in order. She’d drawn butterflies all over her writing last night plus an idea for a dress she was never going to get to make.
‘Hello,’ she answered.
‘Hayley?’
Michel . Her heart jolted and immediately, her eyes went to Angel, who had juice drizzling down her chin.
‘Yes… I’m here…’ She swallowed.
‘About last night, I?—’
‘Shh, la la la la la, it’s OK, don’t speak any more. I’m coming down.’ She shut the intercom off before Michel could say anything else. The last thing she wanted was for Angel to know how he had bolted from the flat like his clothes were on fire.
She saw Angel open her mouth to speak but she pointed, warning her not to. ‘Wipe your face. I’ll be back.’
Drummond Global Offices, Downtown Manhattan
It was just nerves this time. Oliver’s heart was pounding hard as he pumped the stress ball in his hand. He felt sick and clammy. He couldn’t concentrate.
‘Do you want me to get Delaney to draft something for the press?’ Clara asked.
He hadn’t heard what she’d said. What were they talking about now? Had they moved on from Peter Lamont?
‘I’m sorry, Clara. What were we discussing?’
‘All this stuff with Andrew and Peter is getting to you, isn’t it? How could it not? I just can’t believe it of Peter. His poor wife and the children.’
‘What I told you about that, Clara, it goes no further.’ Oliver let out a sigh, his chest burning. ‘Peter has been fired for leaking confidential information to a competitor, nothing else. His private life stays that way, for Andrew Regis too. This whole thing is already killing my mother.’
‘How is she?’
‘Throwing herself into the McArthur Foundation fundraiser. I don’t think it’s fully hit her yet.’
He put his hand to the knot of his tie and loosened it a little. Was it hot in here? Outside the windows, he could see the snow was falling again. What was Hayley doing right now? Was she with his mother organising the fundraiser he couldn’t be part of or was she with Michel? The last thought stung. He cared about her, really cared about her, but he had to let her go. Whatever this guy turned out to be, Oliver could almost guarantee he didn’t have a life-limiting condition going on.
‘And what about you, Oliver?’
‘Dean Walker has been made head of department. He was in charge of the Globe anyway so it makes sense?—’
‘You haven’t answered the question.’
‘I think that’s the boss’s prerogative.’
The sentence was out of his mouth before he’d thought about it. Clara didn’t deserve his sarcasm. She had been there for him, sucking everything up, since his father died. She’d been unfailing in her support no matter how badly he’d treated her.
‘I’m sorry, Clara.’ He sat back, the leather chair reclining. ‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘I know you’re the boss, Oliver, but I worry for you.’ Her hands went to the necklace at her throat.
‘I know you do.’ He nodded, reaching for the baseball stress ball again. ‘And I’ve decided to take a little time out.’
‘You have?’
He nodded. ‘Once this scandal has been dealt with, once the Globe is launched, I’m going to take a minute, do some things I haven’t done for a while.’
‘Like what?’
He smiled. ‘I don’t know. Not make plans for one thing. Maybe take a vacation.’
Clara smiled. ‘And Lois? Will she be someplace in these not-making-plans plans?’
‘No,’ he responded, squeezing the ball tight. ‘I’ve burned my bridges there.’ He sighed. ‘And it’s no more than I deserve.’
Dean Walker’s Apartment, Downtown Manhattan
Michel’s dark hair was covered in snow and Hayley was sure the faded denim jacket he was wearing was the same one he’d worn ten years ago. His eyes were ringed by dark circles, hinting at a lack of sleep the night before. She was almost pleased. How many sleepless nights had she endured when she’d found out she was pregnant, then the sleepless nights with a crying baby? She swallowed. Single parenthood had been her choice.
The noise of the city going on around them – cars, bikes, Santas with handbells – all faded away as if knowing the importance of this moment.
‘I am sorry,’ he started, his blue eyes meeting hers.
She didn’t know how to respond to the statement. What was he sorry for? Leaving? The things he’d said?
‘No, Michel, I’m sorry. I should have done everything differently. I realise that.’ She sighed. ‘But I can’t go back.’
‘I know,’ he whispered.
‘What do you want to do?’ Hayley asked, bluntly .
‘I would like to meet my daughter,’ he replied, the sentence wrapped with emotion.
Hayley nodded, the enormity of it all hitting her with a vengeance.
Michel shook his head, flakes of snow scattering. ‘I do not know what I am supposed to do.’
‘Listen, I’m not asking you to marry me and fly to England. All she wants is to meet you, to know who you are. Anything else is going to take time.’
He put his hands in his hair. ‘This is life-changing.’
Hayley nodded. ‘I know.’ She let out a breath. ‘But Angel, she’s the brightest thing in my life. She’s clever, exceptionally so, and she’s funny and she makes me laugh a hundred times a day… and she has your eyes, Michel.’
There were tears in those eyes now as he nodded his head. Maybe she hadn’t been wrong about this man after all.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Come in.’
She wanted this so badly for Angel. It didn’t have to be formal, nothing set in stone or permanent plans for the future; it just had to be a beginning, a chance for Angel to know her father.
She led the way up the stairs to Dean’s apartment, Michel following and her heart beating like an enthusiastic little drummer boy. Pausing at the top of the staircase, Hayley took a breath then pushed open the door that led to the kitchen.
And there Angel was. Cleaned face, eyes expectant, the hood of her cat onesie pulled over her head so the ears stood upright. She marched past Hayley and held her hand out to Michel.
‘It’s very nice to meet you again,’ she said. ‘Mum says you have “busy” hair, but I like it.’
Michel laughed, his eyes crinkling up, his mouth open in genuine amusement at Angel’s comment. Hayley remembered that expression and her body warmed in response. She carried on watching as Michel took hold of his daughter’s hand and gave it a small shake. ‘It is very nice to meet you too.’
‘I’m glad you came back,’ Angel continued, her eyes fixed on Michel.
‘Me too,’ he responded, his voice coated with emotion.
‘My friend at school wants me to bring home random things from New York.’ She reached for her sketchbook on the breakfast bar and pulled it into her arms. ‘We need to finish that picture.’
‘I’m not sure you need me to finish it. You are an excellent artist,’ Michel said.
‘Well, Mum can only draw dresses and stuff, so I guess I must get it from you.’ She smiled, holding out a pencil to him.
Hayley’s heart swelled as Michel accepted the pencil. It was a start.