A Gift to Remember (20 page)

I knew what he was telling me. That anyone who had the ability to sell me something like this was already on their yacht. But at the same time, I also knew that there were plenty of jet-setters
who still stuck around for the holidays.

I wasn’t going to give up that easily. Too much was riding on it.

‘Well George, I struggle to believe that there are no options at all,’ I said in my most unnerving tone. The tone that usually bade people into doing what I asked. ‘Especially
when I am ready to spend this kind of money. So what else can be done?’

George took a deep breath and locked eyes with me, understanding that I was truly serious about this. ‘Well,’ he began hesitantly, ‘I suppose there is the possibility of . . .
a list.’

I nodded. A list was good. ‘What kind of list?’ I encouraged. ‘Tell me more.’

George seemed to be carefully considering his next words. ‘Christie’s aren’t directly involved in such transactions, but we do know that there are items being bought and sold
privately. We are often kept abreast of many of those sales, simply because it is good business practice to keep an eye on such things – especially for our most valued customers.’ He
paused, laying it on thick, and I waited. ‘As such I have a private list of collectors situated in the New York area who may have the item you seek.’

‘Excellent,’ I said, heartened. ‘So can you reach out to these people on my behalf?’

‘Well, firstly, Mr Harris, as I said, we very much appreciate you as a client. And secondly, we don’t normally reach out to collectors, not unless we understand that they are
seriously considering selling. I’m sure I don’t have to tell a man such as yourself that these are people who don’t like to be solicited unannounced. They aren’t exactly
running eBay auctions, if you catch my drift.’

I smiled. If only it were possible to find something like this on eBay, I would have done it already.

‘I see,’ I said, indeed catching his drift. ‘So are you suggesting I should approach them myself?’

‘Yes. If you promise to keep this exchange quiet, I would be happy to turn over such information to you. I can’t guarantee anything will come from it, as I’m naturally not au
fait with the particulars of each collection, but at least it may point you in the right direction for the future. Like I said, your deadline is a little . . . unrealistic.’

I nodded. I got it. I had waited too long to do this and now I might be screwed.

‘Very well,’ I said. ‘Let’s go ahead and we’ll see what happens, won’t we?’

Seemingly satisfied, George stood up and promised that he would return very soon. I sat back in my chair and thought that at least I would not be leaving Christie’s empty-handed. Granted I
hadn’t expected it would be easy, but at least I now had something else to go on.

When George finally returned about ten minutes later, he was carrying a folder. He rounded his desk and once again sat down. Opening the folder, he looked at me, seemed to be considering
something in his own mind, and then said, ‘I trust you understand that this information is strictly confidential.’ He pushed the folder across the desk.

‘Of course I understand,’ I told him. I picked up the folder but refrained from opening it. I didn’t want to spook George by appearing over-eager. Instead, I needed to say
something to allow him to rest easy.

‘You can trust me,’ I said. ‘And this is for a good cause, I promise. No one will know how I came by this information and I will not even breathe Christie’s name when I
speak to these people.’ I stood, thanked him and shook his hand.

Leaving his office, I pulled my phone from my pocket and asked Siri to remind me to get George a gift for his trouble. Going back out front I looked around for the receptionist, wanting to thank
her, but she was nowhere to be seen, so I went out into the street.

Bailey was sitting up on his haunches, as if he knew I was going to appear right at that moment. I untied his leash as he looked up at me, silently questioning me over what had happened and what
might be happening next. I checked my watch. It was late afternoon, but there was still time to get started on this right away. After all, time was of the essence.

‘All right, Bailey,’ I told him. ‘Let’s head home. I need to make some phone calls and I’m guessing you could do with some chow.’

He wagged his tail happily as we set off back towards home. As we walked, I opened the folder that George had given me and looked at the single sheet of paper that it contained. I recognised
some of the names on the list.

There were six of them and they all possessed – or at least
had
possessed at one point – exactly what I was looking for.

The question was: would any of them be willing to part with it?

The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance ever observes
.
Arthur Conan Doyle

Even though Darcy spent the next few minutes with Tabitha Kensington, trying to piece together the reason why her home phone number might been on Aidan Harris’s caller
ID, they were unable to figure it out.

Despite Darcy’s original fears about the socialite being some kind of monstrous lioness, Tabitha had actually turned out to be more of a pussy-cat. Not only did she insist on paying for
Darcy’s (hellish) manicure, but she was also kind enough to check through her cell-phone contact list trying to find anyone of that name, or a female friend or acquaintance who on the
off-chance shared Aidan’s surname.

In much the same way that Aidan too had turned her perception of wealthy New Yorkers on its head, Tabitha’s generosity was proving to Darcy yet again that appearances and reputation could
so often be deceptive.

‘I’m sorry that I couldn’t be of more help, really I am,’ Tabitha said in conclusion. ‘I guess it’s always possible that someone at my home might know him. I
have a large staff, so I could ask around, check with my assistant?’ she offered.

Darcy gave a half-hearted smile. She certainly appreciated the other woman’s kindness, but she doubted that it would have been one of the ‘staff’ – especially as Aidan
seemed to be on the same level society-wise as the Kensingtons. She couldn’t understand how they didn’t seem to know each other; she’d thought that all the New York glitterati
flocked together and moved throughout the same circles. But maybe that was another assumption that simply wasn’t true.

At the same time, she doubted that Aidan would be hanging out with Tabitha’s housekeeper or butler, or whatever profession wealthy people like her employed to run their households.

Even so, she remained polite. ‘That would be great, Mrs Kensington. I’d really appreciate it, Aidan too.’

‘Please call me Tabitha.’ The socialite gave a warm smile and her clay mask cracked just a little around her mouth. ‘Of course, it’s also possible that someone simply
misdialled. Have you thought of that?’

Darcy admitted that the thought had crossed her mind. But the Kensington number had been the only phone call logged on Aidan’s machine, outside of the private number that his stood-up date
must have been calling from. It just didn’t make sense. She was sure there had to be a connection.

Unless she was once again guilty of judging a book by its cover? Maybe Aidan
was
involved with someone on the Kensington staff. There was certainly no rule to say that people needed to
date within the same social class or circle, and knowing Aidan and how down to earth he seemed to be, it was as much of a possibility as anything else.

One thing Darcy did know for sure was that if he did happen to be involved with one of Tabitha’s staff, it certainly wasn’t Maria, given how unmoved she’d been throughout
Darcy’s earlier phone call and explanation of Aidan’s condition.

Having exchanged phone numbers with her, Darcy bade Tabitha goodbye and once again apologised for interrupting her spa day. Tabitha had promised to have her assistant get in touch if she
discovered anything, and in closing, made Darcy swear that she would not tell anyone, like a reporter from Page Six, that she had seen her in the state she was. Namely, clay mask on, face off.
Darcy assured her that she wouldn’t utter a single word.

She half-worried that the woman might ask to see her phone, flip though it and make sure she hadn’t taken any sneaky pictures while she was here. Darcy supposed that was the kind of life
these women led and she briefly felt sorry for Tabitha – but only briefly. What she wouldn’t give to be able to sit around all day being pampered and doing nothing. Granted she could
keep the being pampered part though. Darcy’s cuticles were still smarting from the effects of her first manicure, though admittedly her hands did look nice and feel soft, and the length of
each nail was now perfectly aligned. A short spell opening boxes of books at Chaucer’s would soon put an end to that, she thought wryly.

Still, she had her day off tomorrow to look forward to and was hoping to get in some long-overdue reading time. She’d been so busy the last couple of evenings running around trying to help
Aidan that she hadn’t been able to keep her eyes open at night, let alone get in a couple of chapters before sleep. Which was seriously unlike her.

But it was also very difficult to concentrate on reading when you were trying to share your bed with a fifty-pound lump of fur. Bailey had been making himself at home on Darcy’s couch,
floor and her bed too.

As she left the salon, she sent a quick text to Katherine to thank her for arranging the introduction and telling her that she owed her one, even though her meeting hadn’t yielded any
helpful results.

Going back to pick up her bike, she checked her watch and decided that, seeing as she was already in this part of town, she might as well head a few blocks down to the Apple store and see if
there was any hope of saving Aidan’s smashed iPhone.

Pulling up by the Pulitzer Fountain, Darcy jumped from her bike and fastened it to the parking rack on the concrete plaza just across the street from the huge glass box building that housed some
of the most up-and-coming technology on the market.

Darcy’s technology aversion was well known by her friends.

She felt that sadly, technology stores and their wares were beginning to take the place of bookstores or libraries as a place for kids to spend time. How could any piece of kit ever replicate
the feel and smell of a real book or the joy of turning the pages and creasing the spine? A book was so much more than simply words on a page. Darcy still had every single book she’d bought
and read for the last twenty years or so, and had reread many of them multiple times over. She’d even bought second copies of books she already owned because the cover on the other one was
even prettier. And in the case of some of her absolute favourites, she had two copies – one to keep, unspoiled, and the other to read. For her, books were physical memories, portable
magic.

As far as Darcy was concerned, a simple piece of plastic could never even begin to compete with any of that, and while some of the new reading devices might be convenient for some people, she
herself would never be a convert.

Checking once again that she did in fact have Aidan’s phone with her, she entered the glass box and proceeded downstairs to the basement area in which the Apple retail store was situated.
Immediately she was struck by sensory overload. It was so bright and white and clinical – and all these people were wandering around looking slightly spaced out as they perused the devices
with a visible sense of wonder and awe.

Darcy dodged the crowds and waited her turn to speak to a sales assistant. She’d heard somewhere that the store didn’t have cash registers
per se
and that the clerks simply
rang you up from wherever they were helping you via little hand-held computers.

‘How can I help you today?’ a friendly male assistant asked, when after a few minutes’ wait, he finally became free.

Darcy took Aidan’s iPhone out of her bag. ‘Well, this phone is broken, and I wanted to—’

‘Do you have an appointment?’ he asked kindly, and Darcy wasn’t sure if she’d heard him right. Whoever heard of making an appointment to ask a simple question?

‘I’m sorry? No, I don’t actually but I just wanted to ask—’

‘I can put you on the waiting list then,’ he interjected, his tone so pleasant, yet so decidedly
un
helpful that Darcy felt like screaming.

‘The waiting list?’

‘Yes. It should only be a fifteen to twenty-minute wait at the most.’

Her eyes widened. How did such stores stay in business? If they operated a similar policy at Chaucer’s – making customers wait around for fifteen minutes to ask a mere question,
they’d be out of business in no time.

But perhaps this was simply another part of the appeal of Apple. Almost like a guy who played hard to get, and you merely wanted him more because of it?

Right then Darcy didn’t have the patience for some technological pseudo-mating ritual. ‘Can you just answer a quick question for me?’ she pleaded. ‘Is it possible to get
a person’s data from a broken phone?’

‘I’d really love to help you but I’m afraid you’ll need to talk to somebody from our Technical Support team,’ he replied in the same infuriatingly kind tone.

Granted the guy seemed lovely but Darcy was in two minds about whether to storm out of the store or wait around for somebody who could help her. Then, reminding herself that she was here not for
her own benefit but to try and help Aidan, she decided she might as well bite the bullet and hang around.

She checked her watch. It was now well after 6 p.m. and she felt guilty enough as it was about leaving Bailey with Grace for a second night running, let alone another late one. But at least she
wouldn’t have to burden her neighbour again tomorrow, and with luck if she got this sorted, Bailey would be going back to his owner sooner rather than later.

She leaned against a nearby wall while she waited, remaining determinedly unmoved by the various paraphernalia that everyone else seemed to view as manna from the heavens.

Fifteen minutes later she had successfully moved along on the waiting list and a young female employee who looked about fourteen approached her. ‘Are you Darcy?’ she asked.