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Fiona’s response had been dramatic. She had walked out of the apartment and disappeared for two days. The subject was never broached again. Some things, Hayley knew from experience, were best not spoken about.
There was no need for second jobs to pay the rent these days. When someone was planning a grand event in New York City, Celebration more often than not received the first call. They had even been able to move their company uptown, to a building with an elevator in the more socially acceptable East Sixties.
Oddly enough, it was the birthday party for a ten-year-old that had put them on the map. The child’s grandmother was a well-known socialite. She had a wonderful time playing the old-fashioned carnival games the girls had rented and, with a word from her, the bookings started to come pouring in.
‘If it’s so important to you, Hayley, that we do Luke’s party, I’ll make it work.’ Fiona was moving things around on the calendar. ‘Who do I speak with to confirm?’
‘Oh, I already told them we’d do it.’ Hayley smiled innocently at Fiona. ‘I knew you’d make it happen.’
‘You’re incorrigible.’
‘So I’ve been told. Anyway, all you have to do is meet with Luke, and find out what sort of evening he’ll be comfortable with. He doesn’t like a lot of fuss.’
‘Hayley, he’s your friend. You should meet with him.’
The colour drained from Hayley’s face. ‘You know I can’t do that! I don’t do meetings. That’s your department.’
Hayley and Fiona were equal partners in their business, but the roles carved out in that school yard long ago never changed. It seemed natural that Fiona, with her inventiveness and easy way with people, would be the face of the business. She was the one who met with potential clients to plan the event, was photographed accepting thanks from socialites, senators and honorees for a perfectly planned occasion.
It was Hayley who, by choice, laboured in the background, executing that perfect planning. While Fiona escorted the guest of honour to his seat, Hayley was in the kitchen making sure the caterer remembered which of the guests was lactose intolerant or had other food issues.
Fiona never meant to steal the spotlight. Like most truly magnetic people, she just walked into a room and dazzled. Hayley, on the other hand, walked into a room and disappeared. And she was content with that arrangement. Until one day she wasn’t. And then everything changed.
‘All right, don’t panic,’ Fiona now said. ‘I’ll meet with the great man. Who knows, maybe he’ll teach me how to kiss, too. I could use a little help in that regard. I haven’t had a date in three months.’
Fiona had turned away, studying the calendar, and didn’t see the stricken look settle on Hayley’s face.
TWO (#ulink_4112a7c8-42ca-503c-8d78-eacddf547c92)
It was late when Hayley let herself into her apartment on East 86th Street. The building was a luxury high-rise with a doorman. It was a far cry from the shelter down the street where she, Mikey and Luke had spent far too much time as children. She always shrivelled inside when she thought of that place.
Once Celebration started making money, she and Fiona had decided to have separate apartments. When they lived together they would come home from the office and talk business until it was time to go to bed.
Even now they’d spend half the evening on the phone, going over details of whatever event they were planning. But this new living arrangement allowed them to think about something else, at least for a few hours every day.
There was another reason Hayley wanted her own place, but she would never admit it to Fiona. She needed to have somewhere for her brother to crash when he got into one of his scrapes, as he called them. Like getting evicted, or beaten up for not paying a debt to the wrong people. She knew Mikey was a mess, but he was her mess. And she wasn’t about to run away from her responsibilities, like their mother had done.
Fiona was well aware that Hayley was constantly rescuing her brother, and Hayley knew she knew, but it was another one of those things they never discussed.
Hayley poured a glass of wine, clicked on the television and curled up in her favourite spot. It was an enormous wing chair, more suitable for a wrestler than a slender slip of a girl who was all of five foot two with shoes on. She had paid thirty-two dollars for the chair at one of the many charity thrift shops that dotted First Avenue, and managed to get it home tied on top of a yellow cab. She had reupholstered it herself in rich emerald-green velvet, the colour of her eyes. When she had lived at the shelter down the street, she had dreamed of having a real home one day, and a special chair. Now she had both.
She was later than usual, and Luke’s news show was almost over. She watched him every night. At the end of every broadcast, he looked into the camera and said, ‘I’m Luke Thompson and I wish you a goodnight.’ She liked to fantasize that he was talking only to her.
‘I wish you goodnight too, Luke,’ she said to the screen.
She froze the frame and studied his face. His dark hair was prematurely greying at the temples, but it only served to make him look sexier, if that was possible. He had grey eyes with thick lashes, but he was all man, cut from the same cloth as old-time movie stars like Clark Gable. She tried to fathom what his home was like, who he would have dinner with tonight, and who he loved.
She hadn’t seen him in person for more than five years. When he called her to say he was getting an award, and would she like to organize the party for him, it took almost an hour for her to stop trembling after she’d hung up. Life had made her tough, but there was something about Luke Thompson that made her knees turn to jelly … when she was eight. And now at thirty.
‘Having a drink with your lover, I see.’
Hayley almost jumped out of her chair.
Mikey was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, watching her intently.
‘Mikey! You nearly gave me a heart attack. What are you doing here?’
‘Well, I was sleeping until you turned on Captain America.’ Mikey looked at the face frozen on the television screen. ‘Who would’ve ever guessed he’d end up on TV?’
‘He always wanted to be a newscaster,’ Hayley exclaimed, sounding annoyed.
Mikey picked through the refrigerator and settled on a piece of cold pizza. ‘Wanting and doing are different things. I wanted all kind of things,’ he said through mouthfuls of food.
‘You could be anything you want, if you just worked at it.’ She went to the kitchen and gave him a piece of paper towel to use as a napkin.
He stuck it in his pocket and used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth, studying the screen. He threw himself down in Hayley’s chair, sprawling in it. ‘Did old Luke ever get married? Or is he waiting for you?’
‘Don’t be disgusting.’ Hayley’s voice was harsher than she had meant it to be. ‘And no, he’s not married. But we’re not that kind of friends.’
‘If you say so.’
‘Would you get out of my chair! You’re going to get pizza sauce on it.’
‘Oooohhh. The queen’s throne!’ He playfully pretended to wipe his hands on the chair.
Hayley swatted him, but couldn’t help smiling. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be at work?’
‘I quit. Night watchman is a joke job. I need to get something that suits me better. Maybe I’ll be a TV star, too.’
‘You got fired, didn’t you?’ It was a statement, not a question. Hayley knew him only too well.
‘It’s better to get fired than quit. I keep telling you that. Then you can collect unemployment.’
‘What am I going to do with you?’
‘Since you asked … can you lend me a few bucks to hold me, till my unemployment kicks in?’
‘Mikey, I just gave you five hundred dollars.’
Mikey looked stricken. ‘That was a week ago. I know you’re a penny pincher. Well, I guess I can get a loan. I know some people.’
‘No!’ Hayley went to find her bag. ‘Stay away from those guys. They charge a hundred per cent interest, and you know what happens when you don’t pay. I’ll give you what I have.’
Mikey counted the money. It was a hundred and twenty dollars. ‘Maybe you could cash a cheque?’
‘Out! Go home before I take that money back.’
He playfully lifted her up and whirled her around. ‘Thank you, big sister.’ He indicated Luke, whose face was still frozen on the television screen. ‘I’ll leave you two alone.’
‘Go!’
Mikey blew her a kiss, and let himself out. Hayley collapsed in her chair. She stared at the screen and smiled. ‘You were right, Luke. I’m a patsy. But he’s so damn loveable I just can’t help myself.’
She snapped off the television set and poured herself another glass of wine. After a moment she locked and chained the door and moved to the desk near the window. She unlocked the bottom drawer and pulled out an ancient scrapbook full of clippings and photos. Handling it with care, she took it with her to the giant chair and opened it.
The book was all about Luke Thompson. There were school pictures of him when he was eight and nine, old clippings about his sports triumphs, and a catalogue of his progress from roving reporter to anchor of his own national television show on a major network. After a moment, she found what she was looking for. It was a yellowed letter in a child’s hand, which Luke had written to her shortly after she got the scholarship to Miss Porter’s.
Dear Hayley,
It’s boring here without you. Mrs Barrett in the next room still snores like a rhino. Remember when you sneaked in and put a clothes pin on her nose? I think Dad got a job, so maybe we’ll be moving in to our own place soon. Do you like your school? If those snotty rich girls give you a hard time, let me know and I’ll come up and take care of them for you. No one’s going to mess with my girl. That’s all for now.
Luke
P.S. Your brother got sent to the principal’s office again yesterday. I hear he got caught smoking in the teacher’s bathroom.
Hayley smiled wistfully, carefully refolded the letter and put it back in the envelope. She held the scrapbook to her heart as if it were a sacred relic.
Or the chronicle of the man she loved.
THREE (#ulink_d6cb1229-a878-543b-b3cc-c8332a73da3f)
Fiona was tearing through her closet, wishing that she had Hayley’s talent for saying no to people. She had an hour to change and then meet the famous Mr Luke Thompson at Penn Station. She had already visited with the committee hosting the award dinner, and had worked out most of the details. But, as guest of honour, Luke was entitled to a courtesy meeting to approve the plans.
She had scheduled the meeting at the office for four o’clock today, but then Luke had called a few hours ago with a change of plans. Something had come up, a lead on a story he was working on. He had to take the 4 p.m. Acela, the express train to Washington, D.C., for a meeting at the State Department. He would then leave for Thailand in the morning. If she cared to ride along on the train, they would have two hours and forty-eight minutes to work out all the details of the award evening. He would be happy to send her back by plane, and she would be in New York later the same evening.
The last thing Fiona wanted to do was sit on a train for three hours, but this was Hayley’s friend and she felt she had to say yes. Besides which, she’d been wanting to see the new photography collection at the National Gallery. She could stay in D.C. overnight, see the exhibition, and fly back in the morning. It would all work out if only she could find something suitable to wear, and get to the station in an hour.
Being tall, with a voluptuous body and long shapely legs, Fiona evoked a strong reaction from men and women alike. Today she didn’t want to draw attention to herself, so she dressed to downplay the curves, especially for a business meeting. Although she wasn’t aware of it, her efforts did not work. She had the kind of allure and beauty that were impossible to disguise.
Finally she settled for cream-coloured slacks and a short-sleeved lavender sweater. It was spring, but weather in mid-April was so changeable on the East Coast. And Washington could be a steam bath, even at this time of year. Layers, she reminded herself.
She went back into the closet and found a fitted blue jacket trimmed with bone buttons, and selected a vintage Hermès scarf. She slid her feet into beige patent L.K.Bennett pumps, the ones favoured by the Duchess of Cambridge, and examined herself in the mirror. With her cream-coloured trench coat she would be ready for any eventuality the day offered.
Or so she thought. But then, no one could have predicted what this day had in store for Fiona Chambers.
She sat at her dressing table and studied her face. She had the creamy complexion of her English ancestors, wide-set blue eyes and straight blonde hair that Hayley, always fighting with her wild mass of curls, openly coveted.
On a whim, Fiona opened a drawer, took out a cosmetic pouch, and emptied the contents onto the table. She began to apply makeup, something she rarely did. She was basically a soap-and-water kind of girl but now, she decided, she would gild the lily a bit.
What is wrong with you, Fiona Chambers? she thought, staring back at herself. You’re meeting a client. Why are you acting like a school girl going on her first date?
She wiped her face clean, purposefully put her makeup bag back in the drawer, and pulled her hair into a severe pony tail. She was annoyed with herself.
For a reason she could not explain, when she had called to arrange the meeting and had heard Luke’s voice, butterflies seemed to take flight in her stomach. This unbidden thrill of anticipation was completely inappropriate but she was powerless to control it.
Are you becoming star-struck all of a sudden? she asked her reflection. It was not as if she hadn’t had to deal with celebrities in her work. And she was going to join Luke Thompson on the train from New York to Washington, D.C., not the mysterious Orient Express to Istanbul.
She had made her reservation at the Jefferson, her favourite D.C. hotel, and now all she needed to do was to throw a few things in an overnight bag, then call Hayley to let her know the plans had changed. She did not need makeup.
Fiona felt flustered and she did not like the feeling. Why wouldn’t Hayley go to see Luke? Couldn’t she make an exception to her hard and fast rule about not meeting with clients? Luke was, after all, her oldest pal. Fiona couldn’t understand it. But that was Hayley: solid as a rock one moment, jumpy as a squirrel the next.
I’m not much better than that today myself, she thought, forcing herself to focus. She was going to miss the train if she didn’t hurry.
She put the last few things in her bag, and tried Hayley one more time. Again her call went right to voicemail, which was unusual.
Well, no matter. Hayley had already made it clear she wanted no part of this meeting. Fiona left a message, telling her friend what was going on, and headed for the door. She was determined to dispatch the uninvited butterflies, and behave like the professional she was.
FOUR (#ulink_b7900daa-e00c-5624-a091-75a5b2746ec2)
Hayley’s phone lay on the polished counter covered with bits of blue hair. She had never felt so uncomfortable in her life and was silently castigating herself for making this appointment. God only knew what it was going to cost.
She finally found the courage to look in the mirror, and then sneak a peek over her shoulder where the master was plying his trade. Frederick, hair stylist to the rich and famous, was a blur of flying hands and scissors. Hair fluttered everywhere in a cloud of multicoloured curls, and was immediately swept up by an assistant dressed all in black.
Frederick was flanked by two more black-clad assistants, hands behind their backs, leaning this way and that with his every move. They could have been watching a tennis match, she thought.
He was finally behind her. Ready to do her hair. ‘If you must have blue hair in future, please promise me you will have a professional colour it for you. You are lucky not to be bald.’
All Hayley could manage was a nod. She was grappling with the image in the mirror. She hardly knew herself. The blue tint which she had so carefully applied to her hair was gone, replaced by her own colour, auburn. She hadn’t seen it in years.
The long tangle of messy hair that she thought of as her trademark was gone. In its place was a pixie cut, which one of the assistants was now coaxing into place with a round brush and a blow dryer. Anne Hathaway on a bad day, she decided, thinking of the actress. She was also fighting the urge to burst into tears and run away from this place.
‘Very chic! Very you,’ the famous hairdresser said, although Hayley had never met him before, and he had no idea who she was.
Frederick’s fingers were flying through her hair now that the assistant had finished his work. He smoothed it, then spiked it, then messed it up completely, and called it perfection.
‘You have something special to do today, yes?’ the hairdresser asked.
In spite of herself, Hayley blushed. ‘Maybe. Yes. I’m going to see a friend, a man. I haven’t seen him in a long time.’
‘You love this man.’ It was a statement, not a question.
‘Oh, no!’ Hayley was adamant. ‘Nothing like that. He’s a friend, as I said.’
He laughed. ‘I am French. I know such things! And when he sees you today, he will love you back.’ Frederick made a little bow, and, trailed by his entourage, floated off to the next client.
Hayley had frequently Googled Luke and knew he was still single, knew he had no significant relationships. She stared at herself in the mirror and dared to hope.
FIVE (#ulink_3d764719-c036-5ace-aea5-0bbb983292a3)
Fiona was late. She had left the brownstone in Gramercy Park, where she lived, in plenty of time and, miraculously, a taxi was just dropping off a passenger on Park Avenue.
Her luck ended there. Bumper-to-bumper traffic was everywhere. Her driver crawled up and down side streets only to be greeted by another snarl of cars.
Finally she thanked him, stuffed twenty dollars into his hand, and jumped out of the cab on Sixth Avenue and 32nd Street. She ran the four long blocks to the railway station, her overnight bag banging against her leg.
Fiona raced into the 34th Street entrance, her pony tail flying. Penn Station was crowded even at three forty-five in the afternoon. She breathlessly asked the first person she saw where the Krispy Kreme Donut Shop was. Luke had suggested they meet there, because every employee in the station would know where it was.
He was correct. But by the time she had pushed her way through the crowd to the entrance, it was three fifty. The train left at four o’clock, and she feared Luke might have gone ahead without her.
