One Wish In Manhattan (A Christmas Story) (16 page)

‘We’ve kept things discreet for the past couple of months but I said she had to tell you before it got out.’

‘I don’t want to hear it.’

‘Oliver, come on, this is a little over the top, don’t you think?’

It was all Oliver could do to keep standing. He wanted to lash out, spray the table settings to the ground in fury. Instead he ground his teeth together and spilled words out. ‘If you’re telling me that you and my mother are having some sort of romantic relationship, then this merger …’ He took a breath. ‘This merger is over.’

Now it sounded like the violinist had ceased playing and everyone in the room had stopped talking. The sounds of fine dining had been replaced by hushed whispers.

‘What your mother and I have together has nothing to do with this. The merger is business, Oliver.’

‘Yes, it is. My
family
’
s
business.’

‘Which is only going to benefit from this mutual joining,’ Andrew responded.

Oliver shook his head. ‘No.’

Andrew sighed. ‘Listen, I’ve done all the right things. I’ve bided my time, I’ve stayed out of things but …’

‘You’ve bided your time?! What is that supposed to mean?’ He laughed. ‘You’ve been hanging on for the moment your best friend met his maker? Jesus Christ!’

‘I didn’t mean that. I just meant … Richard’s been dead for a while now.’

He couldn’t stand this any longer. He wanted to punch Andrew Regis, but if he did it here he would make the front page of the paper tomorrow as well. No, he had to maintain his cool.

He held his hand out to Andrew and waited for a response. ‘It was nice to see you again, Andrew.’

The man looked at the offering and Oliver pushed his hand a little closer. Andrew took it, giving it an unsure shake. ‘Let’s schedule another time to get together, once all this has had a chance to sink in.’

Oliver straightened himself. ‘Be in no doubt, Andrew, our business is concluded.’ He turned to the waiter who was returning with the bottle of red wine on a silver tray. ‘Charge the wine to my account.’ He looked to Andrew. ‘With my compliments.’

His heart fighting for room to expand and contract, Oliver turned and headed for the exit. The animated Santa leered and swayed and the Christmas lights flickered in his peripheral vision as he fought his way to the door of the Riley Club. He burst through it, out onto the street, desperately pulling in a breath of freezing air.

It took him half a dozen inhalations to feel anywhere near better. With shaking hands he reached into his coat for his cell phone.

He called up a contact and dialled, waiting for a response. ‘Hello, Daniel?’ He looked back to the door of the Riley Club, half expecting Andrew Regis to be following him. ‘Daniel, it’s Oliver Drummond. I need you to do some work for me.’

‘
I
can’t believe
my Majestic Cleaning name is Agatha,’ Hayley exclaimed.

‘I can’t believe you were thinking of getting the subway here.’

Hayley manoeuvred Angel out of the cab before stepping down onto the pavement behind her. She looked up at the house sitting proud at the top of a snow-covered grassy bank. It was imposing in its size and perfect. White pillars propped up the front entrance and the US flag hung from a pole to the right of the front door. The windows had shutters, giving it a colonial feel. It looked worthy of a cleaner much more accomplished than her. She cleared her throat and turned to Angel.

‘Have you not seen the people on the subway? Me dressed in this outfit would not be the craziest costume on there, I can assure you.’ Hayley brushed down her burgundy skirt, then adjusted the waistband. The white shirt was made for someone with an AA cup size not a generous C. She felt like an extra on
Nanny 911
.

‘The mop would have got some funny looks,’ Angel continued.

The driver opened up the trunk and handed her the wicker basket apparently containing all her hygienic needs. Hayley thrust the mop at her daughter and dug into her rucksack for some money for the cabbie.

Passing the cab driver a bill, Hayley caught Angel’s expression. Her daughter looked so much like her mother right now.

‘Let’s just get it done and then we can go somewhere nice for dinner tonight,’ Hayley said.

‘And spend all the money you made cleaning.’

‘Please, Angel, just for once in your life, could you act nine and not forty?’

The atmosphere cooled to well below freezing and, as the cab drove away, the silence and the hot breath from their mouths was all that was left.

Hayley took the mop from Angel and, with the basket nestled tight under one arm, she led the way to the steps at the front of the house.

‘OK, here we are. The client’s name is Cynthia.’ Hayley blew out a breath. ‘Do you think that’s a made up name too?’

‘It’s better than Agatha,’ Angel responded.

When they got to the front door, the brass letter box and knocker all immaculate, the reality of what she was doing hit her. Working here was breaking the law. It had said as much in the small print of the visa waiver documentation
and
the very serious man at JFK had mentioned it too. Yet here she was, rocking up to a house that looked fit for the Obamas to move into, her nine-year-old daughter in tow.
She needed the money
. Would that wash if immigration caught her? She hoped she didn’t have to find out. US immigration didn’t mess around. They were all tooled up more than mobsters.

Before she could move, either to flee back down the steps or to knock, the door swung open. A beautifully turned-out woman, possibly in her fifties, stood there. She was wearing a royal blue woollen skirt and matching jacket, patent nude-coloured shoes, her blonde hair set in place and pearl earrings in her lobes. There was no need for fashion advice here. Everything was current. This woman had style written all over her.

‘Hello, I’m H … I’m Agatha from Majestic Cleaning,’ Hayley greeted, offering her hand forward and dropping the basket to the floor.

‘I’m pleased to meet you.’ Cynthia’s eyes went immediately to Angel and the woman smiled warmly.

‘Oh, excuse me, this is … Charlotte.’ Hayley swallowed down the lie. ‘Charlotte is here on work experience today.’

‘Work experience,’ Cynthia repeated as Hayley pushed the mop back onto Angel. The woman sounded a little confused and Hayley couldn’t blame her.

‘Yes, and …’ Hayley stuttered.

‘My mother is an actress,’ Angel blurted out. ‘But I want to do something real.’ She smiled. ‘And the world will always need cleaners.’

Hayley smiled at Cynthia.

‘Come in,’ Cynthia said, stepping aside.

Hayley gave Angel a glare and moved over the threshold and into the impressive hall. She dragged the basket over the doorway.

The house was show-home ready, with dark wooden floors, pale painted walls and large windows letting in every sliver of light available. If there was any mess or dust, it certainly wasn’t in the hall or up the sweeping staircase that trailed a path to a balcony. This might turn into a Camilla and not a Diana after all.

‘Ms Rogers-Smythe called and said she had someone new for me. I can’t stay, I have a meeting to get to,’ Cynthia said.

‘We understand,’ Angel said, nodding soberly. ‘You must be very busy.’

Hayley watched Cynthia study her daughter and wished the woman had to leave now, before Angel could get another sentence out of her mouth.

‘Yes and I have a small gathering here tonight, which is why I need the house cleaned this afternoon.’

The shine coming from the floor said nothing but sanitation. Hayley wasn’t sure how she was going to get this place any cleaner than it was, unless there was the mother of all destruction in the lounge room.

‘Leave it with us,’ Angel responded.

‘Me,’ Hayley jumped in, glaring at her daughter. ‘Leave it with
me
.’

Cynthia was looking at them like they were both crazy and Hayley didn’t blame her one bit. It was like a scene from a situation comedy, except it wasn’t fiction, somehow this laughable situation was now her life.

Cynthia took a black, expensive-looking woollen coat from a dark wood stand and put it on.

‘That’s a lovely coat,’ Hayley blurted out. ‘A hound’s-tooth scarf would really set it off.’

‘Really?’ Cynthia responded, looking sceptical.

Hayley felt the blush hit her cheeks. She was as bad as Angel.

‘Or a hat,’ Angel added, nodding.

Hayley took hold of Angel’s arm and squeezed, directing her behind her own body. Perhaps Angel was right about the hat. Maybe her daughter was inheriting her fashion instincts.

Cynthia smiled at them as she buttoned up her coat and took a step towards the door. She turned back. ‘If you need anything, just ask Sophia.’

As if she’d been summoned, a short dark-haired woman of something like Puerto Rican origin appeared from another room. Hayley smiled awkwardly. Housekeeper? Couldn’t she clean?

‘Have a lovely meeting!’ Angel said a little too enthusiastically.

Cynthia stopped on the doorstep and Hayley tried to keep Angel behind her.

‘Your house is going to be Diana-ed to perfection by the time you’re done.’ Hayley nodded and dipped her body into a bow. Why had she bowed? Was that in the Majestic remit?

Cynthia was looking even more bewildered now and Hayley didn’t blame her. This whole situation was farcical. As Cynthia left the house, Hayley swung the door shut, leaning heavily against it. It took a second for her to realise she was being scrutinised by Sophia. The dark-haired woman was looking at them both with suspicion in her eyes. Hayley straightened up, putting her hands to her hat and adjusting it. Then she clapped her hands together and met Sophia’s gaze. ‘So, show me the dirt!’

Oliver didn’t know where he was going but he knew he couldn’t go back to the office in this frame of mind. It was like the city was spinning, the high rises falling forward, threatening to spill all over him like some big budget disaster movie. He felt sick, his stomach sat in his chest, pressure crushing him, breathing shallow. Putting one foot in front of the other through the snow-lined paths of the park felt like walking a high wire.

His mother and Andrew Regis. That was what her visit to the office was about the other day. She’d wrapped it up in a Christmas invitation, tested the water, then, when it all blew up, she threw the McArthur Foundation at him and chickened out. He shook his head, looking across the park to a family playing in the snow. Just like the Drummonds had, all those years ago.

He bent down, sinking his hands into the freezing cold white stuff. He let his fingers rest there until the icy feeling started to burn his skin hot. What was happening to him? He’d never felt more out of control in every area of his life.

He balled the snow up into his palms, rolling it around in his hands, pressing and squeezing, shaping it hard. Maybe he should pretend it was Andrew Regis’s head. Did that make him immature? Was it wrong to be so affected by the news his mother was moving on romantically? His father had been dead a while. The emotion knotted in his throat. No, something about it was off. Just how long had it been going on?

He stood up, pulled his arm back and launched the snowball into orbit, not caring where it landed or who it might hit. He punched his reddened hands down into his pockets and watched the ball smash into a litter bin. What would Ben do?

He shrugged his shoulders up and down, attempting to warm his body. Why was he thinking that? It was pointless. Ben wasn’t here and they were two different people.
Very
different people. Ben had been adored. He had just been the second child. The add-on. The second screen subscription on
Netflix
no one was really sure they wanted but had anyway, just in case. Just in case what? Something happened to the first one? Well it had, the first one was gone.

His eyes went to the newspaper seller on the corner, where the park met the street. Even from this distance he could still make out his photo.
One Wish in Manhattan
. He shook his head.
Lois. Hayley
. He couldn’t imagine why she had done this. To get back at him for making fun of her wish? It seemed extreme. And it hurt. Bad press he could deal with. Her kissing him then selling him out? Well, it burned.

He needed something. A pick-me-up. Just enough distraction to get him through the day. It seemed the welcoming lights of a bar were beckoning him from across the street.

There was no pit of doom in the lounge or anywhere else. Nothing was out of place in the entire house. Not one cushion needed plumping, not one rug needed vacuuming and Hayley could see her reflection in all the surfaces. She had no idea what she was supposed to do to make it different. Angel was humming ‘Jingle Bells’ on a loop, pushing a J-cloth up and down the windowsill and she was polishing the life out of the ornaments that already glittered as much as the diamonds in Tiffany’s. Suddenly Angel stopped humming and looked to Hayley.

‘There aren’t any photos!’ her daughter announced.

‘What?’

‘There aren’t any photos in here, or in any of the other rooms,’ Angel stated.

Hayley’s eyes shot to the main display cabinet and saw her daughter was right. Photos were what made a house a home. Not these stylish, funny-shaped ornaments, the urns of flowers, the chenille cushions and the deep pile rugs. There was nothing in the décor that said anything about the people who lived in the house. The furnishings shouted money but that was all.

‘She seemed quite nice,’ Angel remarked, a delicate sigh leaving her lips.

‘The fact she doesn’t have any photos on display doesn’t make her horrible.’

‘We could look in the drawers,’ Angel suggested.

‘Angel!’

‘I just thought, if it’s a Diana, the personal touch, the focus on the family … We could see if there are some photos and put them out.’

‘No, we can’t.’ Hayley shook her head. ‘I’ve been a member of Majestic Cleaning for only a few hours. I’m pretty sure in all those terms and conditions I haven’t read yet there will be a big fat piece about confidentiality, and opening clients’ drawers will be punishable by the electric chair.’

‘New York doesn’t have the death penalty actually. And only five states still use the electric chair. There’s Alabama, Florida …’ Angel started.

‘How do you even know that?’

Angel put her hands on her hips. ‘So what do we do?’ She looked at her watch. ‘We have an hour left.’

Hayley looked around the lounge. Despite the warm gold, red and brown furnishings, the atmosphere was cold. The cream-coloured mantle surrounded an open fire that didn’t look like it had been lit for a while. The ornaments were all square-edged and uniform – they didn’t look like trinkets picked up from travels or well-loved reminders of experiences. And there wasn’t a sniff of Christmas anywhere.

‘
I
could open the drawers,’ Angel stated. ‘She thinks my name’s Charlotte and I’m not technically employed so I technically wouldn’t be breaking the rules.’

Was this a bad idea? She should be taking advantage of the fact there wasn’t much to do. But, on the other hand, she was a part-time party planner. Fashion, dressing and décor was her thing. She had an excellent eye and there was no doubt this place was certainly lacking in something. She turned to Angel. ‘I’ll keep that Sophia busy, you check the drawers.’

I
t was a completely altered space
. The fire was pumping out heat, crackling with bundles of twigs Angel had obtained from the garden and some coal Sophia had reluctantly found for them. Hayley was sure the housekeeper thought they were certifiable, especially after Angel had barricaded the door and said she would have no access until they were finished.

Hayley stood back from the flames and admired their handiwork. They’d found votives to put in the bare candle cups, and three framed photographs in a drawer. Cynthia and a man both looking so happy, dressed in bright, flashy clothes, then two bare-chested boys of about ten, arms around each other, ice cream staining their lips, and finally another of the darker-haired boy a little older, a certificate held proudly in his hands. Angel had trailed a string of white lights they’d found in a box of Christmas decorations in the cupboard around the candles and the photos. It transformed the room from something neat, clean-lined but cold into somewhere homely, a house with the family back at its heart.

She looked to her left as Angel let out a grunt of dissatisfaction from her precarious position on something antique-looking.

‘Don’t you fall off that and break something. It looks expensive,’ Hayley said, moving across the room.

‘I love your concern for me, Mum.’ Angel stretched a little further and looped a green, gold and red garland over the curtain pole.