A Gift to Remember (16 page)

Darcy grimaced at the damage. ‘You can just add it to my tab,’ she joked nervously. ‘I’m already in for your dry-cleaning bill.’

He waved a bare arm, toned and strong-looking as the rest of him, Darcy noted, gulping a little. ‘Don’t be silly. You’ve been so kind in taking care of Bailey for me, and
helping me out last night too.’

‘It was the least I could do.’ But Darcy was guiltily relieved that she wouldn’t have to worry about financial – or worse, legal – implications resulting from her
part in the accident. Guilt aside, this had been playing on her mind, and she had to admit it was possibly one of the reasons she’d been so willing to help him out in the first place.

That, and the fact that Darcy was unable to resist any kind of mystery.

She took the iPhone from him, curious. Rather like bookshelves, you could tell a lot about a person’s life from their phone.

She pushed the big button at the bottom of the screen, but as expected the display remained black. ‘It might not be a completely lost cause, though; there may be a way to get some of your
data off it,’ she assured him, trying to remain positive and upbeat for his sake. The truth was, Darcy had no idea if this was the case, since she had never even used an iPhone before, but
Joshua was a real technology whizz and a devoted Apple disciple, and she resolved to ask him about it later at work. ‘Just count yourself lucky it wasn’t dropped in water; according to
my friend that’s the kiss of death.’

Aidan looked at her speculatively. ‘I’m so sorry, all this time we’ve been talking about me and I didn’t even think to ask anything about you. What do you do, Darcy
Archer?’

When she told him she worked for Chaucer’s, he brightened immediately.

‘So a literature aficionado, eh?’ He playfully raised his eyebrows. ‘Sounds interesting.’

This line of conversation reminded Darcy of something, and she wondered if it was worth a shot.

‘Remember last night when were talking?’ she said to Aidan. ‘I noticed that you kept repeating a particular word – inconceivable.’ She watched his expression
carefully as she spoke again. ‘“You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means”,’ she added, her voice hesitant, wondering if the words would mean
anything to him.

Aidan looked up sharply, and said straight away ‘
The Princess Bride
.’

Darcy was delighted that he’d recognised the literary reference from William Goldman’s famous tale. She sat forward, her face eager. ‘Would the book be a favourite of yours or
anything?’ Granted, she hadn’t seen any books at the house yesterday, so wasn’t sure if he was much of a reader. ‘Or maybe you’re a fan of the movie?’

Aidan was shaking his head. ‘I have no idea. But if I’m quoting it as you say, it must be significant. I just wish I could remember something more concrete, something that would help
get me out of this bloody place.’

Now he looked even more troubled, and Darcy decided it was better to move on and concentrate on things that could help him, rather than have him dwell on what didn’t.

‘What about your wallet?’ she asked. ‘Besides your ID, surely you must have something in there that might help?’

‘No. It was the first thing I checked when the doctors gave me my things back. Just typical stuff – a couple of credit cards, a gym membership access card, a subway card . .
.’

‘A subway card.’ This struck Darcy as curious. ‘Why would you need a subway card?’ Judging by Aidan’s house and prestigious address, he was far from the type that
would ever need to brave the subway. She’d automatically assumed he would have either a private driver or use a limousine service.

He shrugged, taking out his wallet and showing it to her as if to prove he was telling the truth. Then he flicked through another compartment. ‘Also a pair of theatre tickets, and get this
– a receipt for Gray’s Papaya.’

‘Gray’s Papaya?’ she repeated with a surprised laugh, picturing the popular eaterie which was an institution amongst the city’s hot-dog fans. Again, not somewhere she
imagined a man of Aidan’s means frequenting. Then she remembered what Grace had said the day before about Bailey getting all excited at the sight of the hot-dog stand while they were out and
about.

‘I wouldn’t mind, but I don’t even like hot dogs,’ Aidan continued, ‘or at least, I don’t think I do,’ he added hoarsely, before suddenly he started to
cough.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked, concerned.

‘Water would be good, thanks.’

There was a mustard-yellow pitcher on the nightstand, and a stack of white plastic cups sitting next to it. Darcy took one and poured it half-full, bringing it to his side. She spilled a little
on his chin before using her free hand to lift up his head. His neck was warm and soft as he drank. The intimate act felt oddly comfortable.

‘Not too much,’ she told him, having read something like it before.

‘OK,’ he said, and he stopped. ‘Thanks.’

She put the cup back, filling it again in case he got thirsty later, then feeling stupid about it because of course there were nurses for that.

‘Well, according to my neighbour, Bailey certainly seems to like hot dogs, but I could check out the Gray’s thing in more detail if you’d like,’ she told him once she was
sure the coughing had subsided. ‘Give me the receipt and I can swing by there on my way home from work later. You never know, somebody there might remember you, or you could be a regular
even.’

He put a tired hand up and said, ‘No, honestly, you’ve already done more than enough and I don’t want to impose.’

‘Seriously, it’s no problem. Like I said, it’s not far from where I work. And I’m curious to know why someone like you would have been enjoying,’ Darcy read from
the receipt, smiling a little, ‘a Recession Special earlier this week.’

‘Beats me. And you keep telling me I’m loaded, but there’s only about thirty dollars’ worth of cash in here.’

This too seemed odd; she figured that millionaires usually carried more cash on them. But maybe Aidan wasn’t the type of person who ‘made it rain’ everywhere he went.

All of it – the fact that despite his wealth he still did everyday things like take the subway or eat crappy food – merely made her like him all the more. Yes, he might be loaded but
he wasn’t afraid to slum it with the rest of them either.

She looked down at her watch. ‘I’m sorry, I’d really like to stay longer, but I need to get to work.’

‘Of course.’

‘Don’t worry about Bailey. My neighbour’s watching him – he’s in really good hands. I’ll check out the hot-dog place, and come back to you if I find out
anything, OK?’ She smiled. ‘In the meantime, you should give that number a call – see if talking to someone who obviously knows you might be able to jerk something
loose.’

Aidan was back to being belligerent. ‘Well, I would, but I still don’t have a phone, do I? And the doc’s still keeping me under observation and won’t let me move out of
this damn bed, let alone the room.’

Darcy thought about it. ‘How much did you say was in your wallet?’

‘About thirty dollars?’

She held her hand out. ‘I’ll sort you out with a prepaid phone as soon as I can. Something to keep you going until you get your iPhone fixed.’

‘You’d do that?’ He looked so grateful, it almost brought tears to her eyes. ‘Honestly, Darcy, I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you.’

‘It’s not a problem, and no thanks needed,’ she said, though inwardly she was childishly pleased by his gratitude. ‘I can only imagine how lost and scared you must be
feeling just now, and seeing as it’s my fault you ended up being hurt in the first place and got separated from your dog and it’s Christmas—’

Suddenly Darcy remembered Aidan’s package; she hadn’t given it a second thought since putting it her drawer. ‘Oh, I almost forgot – I have something else of yours.’
She went on to explain about the beautifully wrapped gift she’d found at the scene of the accident. ‘I’ll bring it to you tomorrow. Maybe whatever it is might trigger
something?’

He looked thoughtful. ‘Yes, but from what you said you’re not sure if it’s even mine.’

‘I do remember you carrying something though. Do you think you might have been on your way to deliver it or . . .?’

Then something struck her – that woman’s annoyance and frustration on the phone message the day before. It certainly sounded as though Aidan had been a no-show for something
important, a date or a business lunch.

Of course!

‘Aidan,’ Darcy said breathlessly, feeling stupid for not having made the connection when she played back the phone message yesterday: ‘I wonder – would you have been on
your way to deliver that package to somebody when I ran into you?’

I don’t approve of surprises. The pleasure is never enhanced and the inconvenience is considerable
.
Jane Austen

‘So, what’s the latest with your victim?’

Later at the bookshop, Darcy had to laugh at Joshua’s bluntness. Typical. It was early afternoon, just after lunch – often one of the slowest times of the day in Chaucer’s for
customers but a good time for stickering and restocking. Upstairs from the café, she could smell gingerbread scones baking and the peppermint scent of the special ‘Kringle Cup’
roast they’d been offering since the week before. It was making her mouth water.

‘He’s not my
victim
, Joshua. And he’s fine, stable, just . . . still not remembering anything.’

He cocked one carefully manicured eyebrow and straightened his reindeer antlers. ‘Very Jason Bourne.’

‘Stop it, this is serious. It must be scary not remembering anything about your life, or the people you love.’

She smiled as a customer approached the desk with a purchase.

‘Would it be possible to arrange a personal dedication from the author, please?’ asked a young woman with an officious-sounding voice, frosted blonde hair and an entitled air.
‘It’s a Christmas gift.’

Darcy had to look twice at the book the girl was buying, trying to determine if she was actually serious. ‘From the author of
this
book?’

‘Of course,’ she replied curtly, through obviously Botoxed lips, as if she didn’t appreciate being questioned.

‘I’m afraid not, ma’am,’ Darcy said, smiling patiently. Several other customers had since appeared in line behind the woman and were waiting with arms full to get to the
cash register. Darcy had to marvel at the way this always seemed to happen when she was about to have a tricky customer experience. The girl turned, ostentatious gold jewellery clattering on the
counter as she complained loudly, ‘Why not? I was told this place was the best independent bookstore in town.’

The other customers standing in line looked on with interest.

Darcy tried her best to keep her voice down as she replied pleasantly, ‘Yes, and while we always try our utmost to assist our customers, I’m afraid that’s just not possible in
this case. You see, Mr Lewis died in 1963.’

‘Not good enough,’ the woman huffed, walking away and leaving the seven-volume
Chronicles of Narnia
box set edition behind on the counter. Darcy sighed. Looked like it was
going to be another long day.

Later, during her coffee break in the café upstairs, over a gingerbread and cinnamon latte, Darcy took out the piece of paper upon which she had transcribed the missed call number to
Aidan’s house.

Until she was able to sort him out with his own phone, she’d promised that she would do what she could to find out who might have been trying to get in touch with him. Thinking about it
more, she guessed that it must have been the person he’d been on his way to meet. What she couldn’t be sure about was whether or not this woman knew about the package – although
Darcy did recall how she’d mentioned something about Aidan letting her down ‘today of all days’. Could she have been referring to a specific day, maybe a special anniversary or
birthday or something?

Based on what she’d already learned about him, she knew she could create 1,001 ideas about Aidan Harris and his life – with her imagination this wouldn’t be hard. Was he a
hot-shot stockbroker with a love of art and a string of beautiful girlfriends, or a dedicated family man who’d inherited all his good fortune from Irish emigrants done good? But she wondered
if his real life story wasn’t the most interesting of all?

Darcy knew she wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it until she found out more, and as she dialled the number and waited for a reply, she started to wonder again what the beautiful
package might contain.

Seconds later, a female voice answered the phone.

‘
Buenos dias
, Kensington Residence, how may I help you?’ said a woman with a highly accented voice.

Darcy sat up.
Kensington Residence.

‘Hello, yes. I am hoping you can help me. I am . . . I’m Darcy Archer,’ she scrambled her thoughts frantically. What was she to Aidan? An acquaintance, a Good Samaritan?
‘A . . . friend of Aidan Harris’s.’

‘Yes?’ the woman on the other line said, somewhat impatiently, and Darcy could tell right away that the name meant nothing to her. ‘What can I help you with?’

Trying to overcome her nervousness, Darcy went on, ‘Like I said, I’m a friend of Aidan Harris’s. Unfortunately he was hurt yesterday morning, in an accident – nothing
terribly serious – and I was at his house and I saw this number come up on his caller ID. So I’m not sure if you know him, or whether perhaps somebody else in the . . . er . . .
Residence might. Certainly someone from this number called Mr Harris yesterday, and I am really just looking for a little help and thought that maybe you might be able to assist me.’

Suddenly, the woman interrupted. ‘Mr and Mrs Kensington are not available at the moment.’

‘Oh.’ Darcy was somewhat taken aback by the woman’s curt tone. Then again, she supposed she was babbling. But she wondered now who Mr and Mrs Kensington might be. Not
Aidan’s parents, given the surname, but might they be his girlfriend’s parents? Perhaps wondering why he’d let their daughter down? Then, conscious that her imagination was
running away with her, she forced herself back to the conversation.