Chapter 24
CHRISTIAN
Somebody up high. Somebody from head office.
Merry’s words rang in his head as he walked through the city. It was Margot. It had been her all along. And he had to tell his father.
Christian didn’t have far to go. His family home, located on one of the most exclusive streets in the city, was only a short walk from Carroll’s.
He didn’t take the fastest route along Fifth or Madison, though, preferring instead to walk through the park.
He needed time to think, to work out what was going on, and to plan what he was going to say to his dad.
The facts were clear. Somebody was paying staff to leave Carroll’s — a deliberate attempt to sink the store.
That somebody worked in head office. His dad had always kept his management team small, to avoid complications in the line of command.
There were only two people who worked out of head office.
One was Lewis Carroll. The other was Margot.
And hadn’t she pretty much admitted it to him when he’d confronted her?
Prove it , she’d said. What was that other than an admission of guilt?
He could easily believe it, too. He knew how driven she was.
They’d worked together on every aspect of company business, overseen by Lewis.
But while Christian had been horrified by the conditions of the workers in the factories who supplied their goods, Margot couldn’t have cared less.
She’d wanted to increase their hours and cut their pay, and it had been an argument about this that had been the final straw for Christian.
And now he knew she’d had a hand in him leaving too. It was all clicking into place.
Christian crossed in front of the Plaza Hotel, cutting between the carriages and the restless, blinkered horses — their great breaths appearing as clouds in the air — and walked into Central Park.
It was busy, despite the hour and the weather, families and couples and tourists huddling against the cold as they laughed their way down the paths, between the rocks, through the trees.
He’d loved it here so much when he was younger, especially at this time of year.
It had been like his own personal back yard.
After his mum had died, his dad had refused to even buy a Christmas tree, so Christian had come here to lose himself in the fairy lights and the snow.
Of all the places in the world, the park felt most like home when it was Christmas.
He pulled up the collar of his cheap parka against the sleet.
There were flecks of snow there, too, and he wondered if it would start to lie.
Ahead, dozens of skaters whooped and cheered on the Wollman Rink, and he stopped for a moment to watch them.
Merry skated into his mind, and suddenly, the stress of Margot just melted away.
He thought of Merry’s smile as she’d tried on the dresses in the Devlin Storm store, and he found himself smiling too.
She stoked a fire inside him that was warm enough to thaw even the most frozen of hearts.
He wished she was here beside him right now, the heat of her body pressed against his, her head resting on his shoulder.
All those years he’d walked through this park alone, and now he had somebody he might be able to walk through it with for ever.
Could that really be possible? Could that Christmas dream really come true?
But he’d walked away from her just a few minutes ago because his mind had been on Margot, and on the store. If he and Merry had any chance of finding their happy-ever-after, then he had to solve this mystery and save Carroll’s. And he had to make a decision about where his future lay.
The cold cut through his jacket like it was made of silk, and he shivered into motion again, passing the zoo.
He cut back on to Fifth Avenue, crossing the street then walking swiftly up to East 69th.
The street didn’t give much away, but he knew the houses here were bigger than they looked, especially his father’s.
He stood in front of it, taking a deep, steadying breath.
The mansion looked the same as it always had, and it felt weird being here after so many years away.
But the truth was this house hadn’t felt like home for a long, long time.
It was just another place of business, an extension of his father, and of the store.
And that thought made it all so much easier.
Walking up the short flight of steps to the gated entrance, he jabbed at the bell with a numb finger. Somewhere inside he heard a door slam, then the sound of footsteps. A few seconds later a muffled voice came from the speaker.
“The Carroll residence,” it said in a British accent. “Who, may I ask, is calling?”
“Hey, Browick,” said Christian, recognising the voice of the family butler. “It’s me, Christian.”
“Goodness,” said the voice. “One moment.”
The gate buzzed and Christian pulled it open, reaching the heavy double doors just as they opened.
Browick was there, dressed in the same three-piece, black-tie suit he always wore, and looking older than the building itself.
He smiled at Christian, nodding formally.
“Master Christian,” he said, his eyes glinting with happiness. “My dear boy. It has been too long.”
“It has,” said Christian. He grabbed the old man in a hug, breaking all the rules of etiquette that had been drummed into him as a kid. “How are you, old friend?”
“Old,” he replied. “I should have retired years ago, but your father won’t let me.”
“Sure,” said Christian, laughing. He knew for a fact that his dad had tried many times to offer the butler a substantial retirement package, so he could live out the rest of his years in peace and luxury, but Browick refused to leave. “Is he in? We need to talk.”
“He’s in the library,” he said. “Can I take your coat? And make you tea?”
“That would be great,” said Christian. “But can I have a scotch?”
Christian handed over the thin parka, laughing as Browick pulled an expression of distaste.
“Don’t let his cold shoulder mislead you, Christian,” Browick said. “He’s missed you more than words can say.”
Christian frowned, not sure what to make of what he’d just heard.
The butler swept away without a sound, and Christian made his way through the empty lobby, running up the stairs.
The mansion was vast, and it had always felt empty.
Now it was more like a museum than anything else — too clean, too quiet and filled with old, unused things.
He stopped outside his mum and dad’s room — or at least the room that they had shared before she had passed away.
When she had gone, his father had moved all his things into one of the back bedrooms, and this room had become almost a shrine to his mother.
It felt painful to be here again, after so long away, a pressure in his chest, in his heart, as he thought of all the times he had sought shelter with his mum in this room.
He heard his dad before he saw him — a run of deep, wheezing coughs echoing off the walls of the landing.
Christian left the bedroom door closed and followed the sound into the duplex library, another wave of nostalgia sweeping over him as he remembered how much time he’d spent here as a child.
It had always been his favourite room in the house, mainly because one of the few things his father had always done for him, even after his mother died, was read him stories.
Back then, Lewis had seemed like a giant, even here among the thirty-foot-high shelves.
But now he looked like a corpse, hunched over in an easy chair next to the roaring fire, and sucking oxygen through his mask.
“Dad?” Christian said, gently.
His father looked up, blinking for a moment as if he didn’t recognise his own son. After a second or two, he smiled, but it seemed to take all his strength because his eyes drifted shut.
“Son.” He said, pulling the mask away from his mouth. “You remembered how to find the place, then.”
Christian ignored the comment, walking to the sofa that sat opposite his father’s chair.
Despite the chill of the atmosphere, the huge room felt wonderfully cosy, and the pop and snap of the logs in the fire made Christian shiver with delight.
He studied the books, spotting the spines of the ones he’d loved to read as a boy.
The sight of them made him feel impossibly sad, and he spoke his next words through a lump in his throat.
“You know why I left, Dad.”
Lewis waved the words away, opening his watery eyes and staring at Christian. “You made your choice.”
“I did, but it wasn’t just mine,” said Christian. “I was only ever a tool to you, somebody to carry on your legacy. I needed to break away from this empire of yours. I had no idea if it would be for ever, but then you took the choice away from me when you banished me.”
“Rightfully so,” his dad muttered. “You were so ungrateful. After everything I did for you, everything I gave you.”
Even though he’d promised himself he wouldn’t get angry, Christian felt the familiar, awful rage rising inside him.
“Everything you gave me?” he said, meeting his dad’s eyes.
“You had everything money could buy,” his dad growled.
“All I wanted was you, Dad.” Christian took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “Ever since Mum died, it was like . . . it was like you died too. Right when I needed you. You just weren’t there anymore.”
Lewis scoffed, but his expression was one of hurt. He sucked a breath through his mask, and Christian waited for the angry response, for the argument. But his dad just hung his head.
“I know,” he said, his admission of guilt shocking Christian so much he didn’t know what to say. “It was too hard, Christian, after she’d gone. You’re right. A piece of me went with her and I never got it back. Help me up, son.”