One Wish In Manhattan (A Christmas Story) (17 page)

‘If it’s remotely Edwardian or Victorian or even from the fifties, I think I’ll need to clean for an era to pay for it.’

‘Please, Miss Majestic Cleaning. You need to let me in now. Mrs Cynthia will be back at any moment.’ It was Sophia’s voice from behind the door, blocked off by a heavy nest of tables.

‘I wish we had a tree,’ Angel mused, getting down from the table and dusting her footmarks off with the sleeve of her top. It was probably the most dust the table had ever seen.

‘Here or at Uncle Dean’s?’ Hayley asked.

‘Both.’ Angel lifted the magazine rack up from the side of the sofa. ‘Where shall I put this?’

Squinting at the newspaper through the slats in the wood, Hayley moved closer to her daughter, her eyes on the photograph on the front page. ‘Is that …?’

‘What?’ Angel asked.

Hayley plucked the newspaper from the rack and straightened it out.

‘Miss Majestic Cleaning! I must insist you let me in here now. This is not what happen.’

‘Maybe we should let her in now,’ Angel suggested.

Hayley didn’t respond. She was too busy looking at the photo of Oliver and reading the article about the serial single granting wishes to the female population of New York.

‘Mum!’ Angel said a little louder.

Something was tugging on her insides. This article was picking him apart, painting him as a megalomaniac, a loner who used women.

‘Is that Mr Meanie?’ Angel asked, leaning in to get a better look at the photograph.

‘Don’t call him that, Angel. It’s not nice.’

‘He doesn’t remember the names of anyone who works for him.’

‘Do you think Donald Trump remembers the names of all the people that work for him?’ Hayley countered.

‘Uncle Dean doesn’t work for Donald Trump.’

‘Miss Majestic Cleaning! Open this door!’ Sophia screamed.

Hayley shoved the newspaper back into the rack. ‘Put it in the gap between the bookshelves and the fire, it will fit well there.’

She waited until Angel had set the magazine holder down before shifting the nest of tables away from the door.

‘Ready, Charlotte?’ she asked her daughter.

Angel nodded. ‘Ready, Agatha.’

Hayley whisked open the door, preparing for the housekeeper to fall into the room with urgency, only to see her across the hallway with Cynthia. Hayley watched the housekeeper buzzing around the homeowner like an anxious bee whose hive had been invaded. Cynthia slipped off her black woollen coat and hung it on the stand.

‘I want to say, Mrs Cynthia, that I had no idea what they were doing and it was not at all like usual,’ Sophie spoke as Cynthia strode towards the lounge.

‘I hope your meeting went well,’ Angel said, stepping into the hallway and closing up the door again as Cynthia approached the doorjamb.

‘Very well thank you.’ She smiled at Angel. ‘So what have you been doing that’s got my housekeeper so flustered?’

‘We’ve gone through the house from top to bottom primping and preening and …’ Hayley started.

‘Close your eyes,’ Angel whispered, looking directly at the older woman.

Hayley held her breath. The tone coating the simple request was heavy with meaning. Angel had enjoyed transforming this room today. It meant something to her. Family. Warmth. The heart of the home. Hayley knew she had done her best to be Angel’s family, but she also knew there had always been something missing. A father-shaped hole. She was going to make sure she found the father, the fitting into it was going to be up to him.

Without answering, Cynthia simply shut her eyes and let Angel take her hand. Hayley swallowed and hoped this was going to go down well or the hours they had spent here might not be profitable. There was a chance it could get her sacked. Within twenty-four hours.

Angel swung the door open, leading Cynthia into the lounge. Sophia let out a blood-curdling scream and Cynthia instinctively opened her eyes before she had travelled more than half a dozen steps.

‘Why do you do this? You have no right to do this! I am going to call Ms Rogers-Smythe right away,’ Sophia exclaimed, her accent strengthening as her voice quickened.

What had they done? The housekeeper was behaving like they had dressed the room with sacrificed animals. It was only a few decorations and Hayley had called a halt to Angel using the snow spray.

Hayley looked at Cynthia. She was trembling, a hand clamped over her mouth, her eyes glistening with tears. This wasn’t the reaction she had hoped for. This was a disaster. She looked to Angel. Her mouth was hanging open as she stared at Cynthia.

‘We can fix this,’ Hayley said, stepping further into the room. ‘I will fix this straight away and I won’t leave until it’s back to the way it was. No, scratch that, until it’s better than the way it was.’ She headed for the mantelpiece.

‘No,’ Cynthia said, her voice gravelly with emotion.

Hayley stopped moving, stood awkwardly, not knowing what to do next. A simple cleaning job in a house that wasn’t even dirty and she couldn’t even get that right. She was a big fat failure.

‘Just go,’ Cynthia said, the tears finally escaping.

Hayley motioned to Angel to come towards her but the girl was looking like she’d been petrified. Her eyes were like round saucers, her skin pale, her mouth still agape. Hayley leant forward and grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her towards the door.

‘Can I just say …?’ Hayley started. She needed to say something. Apologise.

‘No,’ Cynthia responded. ‘You may not.’

Hayley swallowed. That was clear enough. Sophia was looking at them both as if they were devil worshippers who had decked the room with essence of voodoo. She didn’t dare say another thing.

She shunted a dazed Angel towards the front door. ‘Come on, this is not a tragedy, Angel. It’s just something that didn’t quite work out. A tragedy is the war in Syria or a tsunami. This is just a blip. And it isn’t our fault.’

Angel shook her head. ‘No, it isn’t
our
fault.’ She sniffed. ‘It’s all mine.’

‘
T
a da
! Here it is!’

Hayley raised her head from the pizza box on her lap to see Dean put something in front of Angel. A tablet. The Globe. Hayley swallowed as she watched Angel make no reaction. She hadn’t touched her pizza either.

‘What’s going on here? This morning you were super excited to see this,’ Dean commented.

Angel flicked her eyes over the piece of technology. ‘It looks great.’

Dean looked to Hayley then and she shrugged. What could she tell him without giving up her secret life as a cleaner?

‘I’ll look at it,’ Hayley said, reaching out a hand for the tablet.

‘Not with grease on your fingers you won’t.’ Dean snatched back the Globe and hugged it to his chest.

‘Surely it has to go through a grease test,’ Hayley said. ‘Everyday use will involve dirt and grime, toast crumbs and tea … beer spills.’

‘You’ve just told me so much about your diet.’

Angel put the lid back over her pizza and pushed it onto the coffee table. ‘I’m not hungry.’

Hayley watched Dean pay greater attention then. ‘You’re not sick, are you?’ He took a step forward and pressed the back of his hand to Angel’s forehead.

‘She’s fine,’ Hayley stated quickly. ‘It was just full on at the Statue of Liberty, loads of people, an incident in the crown and …’

‘What incident?’ Dean looked concerned now. She really did need to stop embellishing her lies too much. She talked herself into trouble rather than out of it.

‘Oh, you know, a kid with a giant ice cream, you can imagine the rest,’ Hayley said, sighing. She hoped he could imagine the rest because she wasn’t sure what came next.

Dean scooted down at the edge of the sofa, his head on a level with Angel’s. ‘It’s a shame you’re not hungry, because Vern’s invited us over for dinner.’

Very slowly, Angel turned her head ninety degrees and faced him.

‘Really?’ she asked.

‘Really. He was on about making meatballs,’ Dean said.

Angel’s tongue ran over her lips. ‘And will Randy be allowed out?’

‘I expect so. That mutt rules the roost over there,’ Dean responded.

‘Yay!’ Angel exclaimed, bouncing on the sofa.

Dean stood up again. ‘So how about it?’ he asked, directing the question at Hayley.

She chewed up the pizza in her mouth, the melted cheese singeing her tongue as she chowed as quickly as she could to answer. ‘Can I take a rain check?’

‘Mum! No! I want to go,’ Angel whined.

‘You can go … if that’s all right with Dean. I just … there’s some things I need to do.’ She enlarged her eyes at her brother, hoping he would get her meaning. She needed to call some more galleries about Michel. She’d had no leads since they got here. As discreetly as she could with cheese hanging from her lips, she mouthed the man’s name.

Dean gave a nod of acknowledgement.

‘Can I come, Uncle Dean?’ Angel batted her eyelashes, all depression over what had happened at the house in Westchester disappearing.

‘Sure, with one condition,’ Dean said, pointing at Angel and adopting a serious expression.

‘What?’ Angel asked.

‘No “Alfie and the Toymaker” tonight and you play this game called Rabbit Nation on the Globe and tell me what you think.’

Hayley watched Angel’s concentrated expression, mulling the terms over.

Angel nodded. ‘Deal.’

‘Right, well, why don’t you go and get changed so you’re ready to go,’ Hayley said, standing up and stacking Angel’s pizza box over hers.

‘Can I borrow your red sparkly top?’ Angel asked, tipping her head a little to the left and giving her the benefit of the eyelash dance.

‘To roll around on the floor with Randy?’

‘Purrrlllease.’

‘Urgh! Go on then,’ Hayley gave in.

Oliver had had way too much to drink and nothing to eat. Perhaps he was more like his father than he’d thought. Richard had never worried about healthy living. He’d been very much in the club of going with whatever hand Fate dealt him. He never worked out. He had never curbed his carbs or toned down the Scotch. And he’d beaten the curse. At least until his sixties, when it had finally caught up with him. And Cynthia had cried desperate tears, leant over his body and wept for another family member lost, her soulmate taken too soon, leaving her a widow. Andrew had comforted her, Andrew whose wife had succumbed to cancer just a few years before. A constant in their lives for so long. School friends who had struck out on their own, achieving success in the same field.

Oliver carried on, stumbling a little on the slippery streets. This takeover of Regis Software was supposed to be about combining their strengths, achieving a crossover into sectors neither of the companies had entered separately before. Regis Software had cornered the health industry, Drummond Global had strong contracts with NASA. But what if it wasn’t about that at all? What if this was all about Andrew Regis staking his claim on Richard Drummond’s property?

Maybe this was about Cynthia. Strengthening his position in the business to coincide with his personal life. Now his brain was working overtime. What if they got married? What happened then? He had enough suspicion to set Daniel Pearson to work. He just had to wait and see what turned up.

Now he felt sick and his vision was blurred. Spending the day in the bar had been the best way to avoid the phone calls he was sure had been jamming up the Drummond Global switchboard.

Oliver stopped walking and palmed his face, trying to clear his eyes and his head. He looked up through the darkness and along the street. Just how many blocks away from Dean Walker’s apartment was he?

Hayley had gone through all the M De Vos’s on the internet’s version of the phone directory. Why she thought she would have more luck here than she had at home in England she didn’t know. No one claimed to know or be the Michel she’d met in Vipers ten years ago. But would even the man himself remember her? It was one night. She might remember every man she’d ever slept with, but what if he had a hundred conquests … or more? She swallowed. She didn’t want to think that for lots of reasons. Because it made him promiscuous and her not just careless about contraception but downright insane. She also didn’t want to think about lots of little Angels or Gabriels around the world if the artist had sown many seeds.

She picked up the glass of white wine she’d poured and took a mouthful. None of the other galleries would be open now unless they had an exhibition. It would be better to call them in the morning.

The intercom sounded, making her jump. She got down from the kitchen bar stool and padded across to the machine on the wall. She was dressed for bed in a red and white polka dot onesie, Angel’s cat slipper socks on her feet. It was far too early to be Dean and Angel, besides, Dean had a key. Unless he’d forgotten it. She hoped it wasn’t someone she had to let in.

She pressed the button. ‘Hello.’

There was the sound of scuffling and she straight away thought it was kids pranking about. But then someone spoke.

‘I guess you’re happy now.’

She furrowed her brow. The owner of the words was slurring over them. Maybe it was a down-and-out.

‘I think you have the wrong apartment.’ She was about to let the button go and return to her wine when the man spoke again.

‘You’re all the same, you know. You all use people to get what you want.’

Familiarity kicked in. It was Oliver Drummond and he was drunk.

‘Oliver? Is that you?’

‘Now my mother is doing it to me too. She set up this deal and now I know why.’

What was he doing here? How did he even know she was staying here? Had she told him she was staying with Dean? He was drunk and annoyed and she was on her own. In a onesie. But he
was
Dean’s boss and she had run away after kissing him last night.

‘Listen, stay right there.’ She paused. ‘I’m coming down.’

She let go of the button and raced out of the room towards the stairs.

H
e was going
to be sick. All he could taste was the amalgamation of beer, whisky and peanuts he’d inhaled from the bowl on the bar. It was all fighting for release and he was swaying, holding onto the plaster of the façade outside the apartment.

The door opened and there she was. Hayley. The woman he’d kissed last night, the woman who had sold him out to the press. What was she wearing? She looked like Santa Claus. A cute Santa Claus. He really
was
drunk.

‘You look terrible,’ she announced.

He nodded his head in acceptance, then remembered he was supposed to be furious with her and adopted the appropriate facial expression. ‘You,’ he said, pointing a finger at her, still swaying. ‘You went to the newspaper.’

‘What?’

‘The front page of the
New York Times
. You sold your story to a journalist.’

He clamped a hand onto the stair rail to the left of the short run of steps he was stood at the top of. He raised his eyes and found no shock on her face, just a lot of anger.

‘How dare you,’ Hayley stated, shaking her head at him.

‘How dare I? I’m the injured party here,’ Oliver slurred.

‘Look at you! Sponsored by Budweiser and rolling up here throwing accusations about.’

He had no response and his eyes rolled back as balance became a real issue.

‘Get inside,’ she ordered, shifting back from the door and opening it wider. There was no way she was going to have the perfect couple from across the street being witness to this.

‘Why would I want to do that?’

‘Because if you make an arse of yourself in front of my brother’s apartment I’ll never forgive you.’

He lost his footing and stumbled off the top step. Suddenly his arm was being grabbed and he was pulled forward, up the step he’d fallen down and over the threshold of the apartment.

‘Get up the stairs, go into the bathroom and vomit.’ She sighed. ‘Then I’ll make coffee.’

Just her words made his stomach lurch like he’d come down off the top of a roller coaster. She pushed him in the direction of the stairs and suddenly he was crawling up them at pace, using the wall for support. He wasn’t sure he was going to make it.