A Gift to Remember (14 page)

‘Well, I hope it does when I’m there; nothing like snowfall to make it feel really Christmassy.’

‘Let me put it on the list – I’ll see what I can do,’ I joked, but she must have noticed the undertone of strain in my voice.

‘Why, what’s going on? What are you up to now?’

I grimaced and explained what I was trying to achieve and more importantly how little time I had to accomplish the task. And while I knew from the outset that it was a big ask, I have to admit
– I did enjoy the challenge all the same.

‘Whoa, that is a toughie. Are you sure it’s a go?’

I shrugged and fiddled with Bailey’s leash. ‘I certainly hope so.’

‘Well, I suppose it’s lucky for you that money is no object. I’m sure you’ll sort it. Or hey, I know – why don’t you ask Siri, seeing as you’re such a
convert?’ she teased. ‘I hear she can find
anything
.’

‘Ha. Chance would be a fine thing, I’m sure.’

‘Look, I’d better go – I just thought I’d give you the latest.’

‘Thanks. It’s good to hear your voice. Enjoy Hong Kong and be sure to let me know when you’re due in. I’ll send a car for you.’

‘Really? I’d love that.’ He could hear a huge smile in her voice and was glad he’d thought to suggest it. ‘I’ll email my itinerary once I have it, but
I’m guessing it’ll be Newark. A town car – one of those massive Lincoln numbers?’

I chuckled. ‘Better not let you get too used to the perks or you’ll be hell to live with.’

‘Haha, you know me too well.’

When we’d said our goodbyes and hung up I glanced at the iPhone screen and wondered if she and the Apple girl might actually be on to something. Maybe I should just ‘ask Siri’
for the fun of it.

I pressed the button that Jenna had indicated, and furtively looked around to see if anyone was watching me. I guess I shouldn’t feel weird talking
to
a phone, instead of
on
the phone. After all, probably everyone was doing it.

A cool disembodied female voice greeted me. ‘Hello, Aidan, what can I do for you?’

‘I need to find something.’ When I outlined the specifics of my request, there was a brief pause.

Then finally she answered.

‘Based upon your current location, there are five separate locations close by. Would you like directions?’

I raised my eyebrows, surprised. Five? Could it really be that easy?

Then I thought about what I’d asked, and the rather crucial piece of information I’d left out. I spoke again into the phone, adding this important detail.

After another wait, this time there was no response and I smiled.

Siri was at a loss for words.

She had an immense curiosity about life, and was constantly staring and wondering
.
Henry James

Although Darcy knew she could easily spend all night looking around Aidan Harris’s house, she reminded herself that she needed to get a move on if she didn’t want
it to be midnight by the time she got back home.

She’d promised him that she’d return to the hospital tomorrow to report back on whether she’d found anything helpful, and of course she still had to collect Bailey from Mrs
Henley and make him dinner.

She went back to the kitchen to grab the bag of dog food, and was carrying it back through the hallway when she spied a bureau on the left-hand side of the door which she hadn’t seen on
her way in.

On top of it was a phone with an answering machine.

An answering machine that was flashing a tell-tale blinking light.

Darcy bit her lip, wondering if she should perhaps listen to the messages. Yes, it could be considered an invasion of Aidan’s privacy, but wasn’t he the very one who’d sent her
here, tasking her with finding something that would help him get his memory back?

At the end of the day, the guy was in an accident yesterday and had spent all of last night in the hospital. Surely somebody – be it family, his girlfriend or even a work colleague –
must have noticed his absence and was wondering where he was? And if the message happened to be from one of those people, then her job would be a lot easier.

Without further contemplation, Darcy turned to the answering machine and pushed Play. A beep emitted from the machine and then a sultry female voice filled the room.

‘Aidan, are you there?’
She paused for a moment and Darcy could hear noises in the background that suggested the woman was calling from a cell phone in a busy location.
‘I’ve been trying your cell but it’s going straight to voicemail . . . I’m not sure what’s going on. I know you’re busy, but I can’t believe
you’d forget about this and let me down today of all days.’
A hurt sigh.
‘Look, just call me when you get this, OK?’

Click. The line went dead. And that was it. There were no other messages after that. And no name or contact information offered on the one Darcy had just heard. Who was it? she wondered. Judging
by the woman’s tone and indeed the contents of her message, it certainly sounded like someone Aidan was close to, not at all like anything you’d expect from a work colleague. Could it
be the girl from the ski photograph?

Whoever it was, she had definitely been expecting to see Aidan yesterday, or at least expecting to hear from him.
I can’t believe you’d forget, and let me down today of all days
. . .

Wondering where the woman might have been calling from, Darcy picked the handset up to see if the Caller ID gave any clues, but much to her disappointment she found that the last call registered
had come from a withheld number.

But of course she couldn’t be absolutely sure that the message on the machine was the last call, could she?

Outside of that, there was only one other incoming call registered yesterday, a 212 area code. So whoever that was, they were based here in Manhattan.

Should she call the number back and see if whoever it was could shed any light on the riddle wrapped in a mystery wrapped in an enigma that was turning out to be Aidan Harris? No, Darcy decided,
she really should talk to Aidan again first, get his take on it and see if what she’d found so far rang any bells for him.

Taking a piece of paper and a pen from the bureau, she took down the 212 number and then played back the original message, transcribing it word for word. Listening to it again, she thought the
woman, whoever she was, sounded mightily put out but not especially frantic or anything.

She’d mentioned about trying his cell phone a couple of times, and Darcy made a mental note to ask Aidan about the call log on his cell phone, assuming he still had it. God, she hoped it
hadn’t been lost in the mêlée and she wouldn’t be faced with having to replace that, as well as his shoes and fancy coat. If the guy spent a seven-figure sum on a painting
for his hallway and all those luxurious kitchen appliances, what would he be spending on his clothes?

Thoughts of Aidan’s wardrobe segued directly to his bedroom and indeed other parts of the house that she hadn’t yet investigated. She checked her watch; she didn’t have a whole
lot of time but should at least take a quick look around, just in case something jumped out.

The one thing that was apparent from her search was that Aidan Harris led an interesting life. At least, that’s what his house told her. At the same time it didn’t give up any
especially revealing clues about the personal life of its owner.

She had found a small study on the second floor sparsely furnished with just a desk and laptop lying open on top of it. Suspecting that her efforts were likely to be in vain, Darcy approached
the laptop and switched it on but sure enough, it was password protected.

She quickly tried a few options – his surname, Bailey – but failed. Figures, she thought irritably. Even though she couldn’t blame him for not making his computer password as
obvious as his dog’s name.

There were also rows of expensive-looking rosewood filing cabinets, but each drawer had been locked. Darcy couldn’t get her head around the thought that it seemed odd in a house with a
Rothko just inside the hallway, to afford such security to drawers likely full of rubber bands and stationery.

But the study made her wonder again what he did for a living. Given his Irish heritage she guessed he couldn’t be the offspring of one of Manhattan’s wealthier blue bloods, so his
wealth might have been earned. But how? Was he some kind of Wall Street hotshot, a hedge fund manager maybe? Those guys were seriously rolling in it and many chose to live in this part of town,
much to the chagrin of the aforesaid blue bloods who considered them tacky and nouveau riche. Or he could be one of those millionaire tech types like Bill Gates, someone who had set up a business
in his dad’s garage and then went on to earn more money than the national debt of some countries?

As with so many other things about Aidan Harris, the answer remained a mystery, at least until the gaps in his memory could be filled.

When Darcy finally made it to the master bedroom, she took a moment to cast her eyes across the expanse of his California King bed, thinking that in her tiny apartment she would barely have been
able to fit the mattress through the door. And if by some miracle she was able to get the massive bed into the apartment, there would have been no room for anything else, including herself.

She walked slowly across the room. There had to be a uniquely personal item in this space that would trigger something for Aidan, or perhaps shed some light on who the woman on the phone, or in
the photograph, might be.

From her visit to the house, she had gleaned that Aidan Harris was not only loaded but a lover of fine things – food, design and exotic travel. And that he was in a relationship with a
beautiful red-haired woman.

But precious little else besides.

She looked at the bed, and tried to determine whether Aidan slept on the right side or the left side. Or in the middle even. Darcy then considered both bedside tables. One was completely devoid
of paraphernalia except a lamp. The other, on the right side of the bed, played host to a copy of
The New Yorker
magazine, and the
New York Time
s.

At once Darcy realised that she’d learned another thing. She moved to the side of the bed which showed evidence of someone who clearly read in bed. She sat down, careful not to disturb the
elegantly displayed cushions, and picked up the newspaper – yesterday’s edition. The copy of
The New Yorker
was last month’s, and she took note of the fact there was
nothing out of the ordinary about the periodicals, not even an address label.

Then Darcy spied the drawer beneath the side table and she reached forward, fastening her fingers around the polished brass handle. She took a deep breath, hoping first that the drawer
wasn’t locked, and secondly, that if it did open she wouldn’t find anything that would make her blush or invade Aidan’s privacy.

But the drawer opened easily.

Darcy felt a surge of adrenaline in her veins as she peered inside, very much feeling like a voyeur now, though hoping she might be on the precipice of discovery.

There was an eight by ten photograph inside. A photo of a woman – blonde, this time – and completely different to the girl in the skiing shot downstairs. And there was something more
about this picture.

Darcy picked up the print, curious. She had to wonder why this one was without a frame and had been apparently shoved in a bedside-table drawer. Could she be an ex, perhaps?

She looked more closely at the blonde woman. She was laughing, her mouth open in a wide smile. She had one foot raised slightly off the ground, as if she was about to skip or break into dance,
and her hands were held high above her head as if she was working to cast her blonde mane from her shoulder, or artfully tousle it as a gust of wind blew her way.

The backdrop was slightly blurred but there seemed to be a fountain, or some kind of waterfall, just behind her, and the woman, her hands held high in that curious pose, seemed aware of the
camera while also appearing artfully unaware of it.

Darcy felt the teeniest stab of jealousy knowing that she herself could never pull that look off. Then again, there were few women who could. She instantly wondered if this woman was a model of
some kind, and secondly what she meant to Aidan – how she was connected to him – and, perhaps most importantly, why he had a picture of her in his bedside drawer.

Now she really did feel like a voyeur. There was something private about this photo. It was one of the first truly personal things she’d discovered in this entire house. Something that
wasn’t meant to be seen by just anyone.

But why?

She turned the photograph over, wondering if there might be an inscription, or a date mark, anything that might give her some clue as to who this person was and how she might relate to Aidan.
Hidden away or not, if the woman was important to him, then she needed to take the photo with her and show it to him at the hospital.

Feeling as if she was in a Nancy Drew novel, Darcy picked up the photograph and placed it safely in her messenger bag, adding it to a growing list of mysteries surrounding Aidan Harris –
mysteries that she couldn’t yet solve.

To thine own self be true
.
William Shakespeare

It was well after 8 p.m. by the time she made it back to West Houston Street, and when her next-door neighbour opened the door, Darcy was full of apologies. She’d not had
Mrs Henley’s telephone number to call and warn her how late she’d be.

‘I’m so sorry, I had no idea I’d be so late.’ Even though Bailey wasn’t actually hers, she felt how she imagined a hassled working mother late picking up her kids
from daycare must feel. And looking at him now, she again wondered again how she was going to manage a dog his size in her teeny apartment for yet another night – or perhaps even longer, who
knew?

‘No need to apologise, it’s not as though I was going anywhere in any case.’ Mrs Henley beckoned her inside her apartment, which was bright, cheery and . . . very pink.