‘I don’t know really. I try to get my life in order, I guess.’
‘You’re going to suck it up and go home for Christmas?’
‘Maybe. Sophia and Pablo were both there this morning doing their very best to convince me.’
‘And you’re gonna book a couple of tables at the McArthur Foundation fundraiser? Put me down for two seats; I’m sure I can score a plus-one by then.’
The fundraiser was the only thing Oliver and Cynthia hadn’t discussed. He knew she would still want him to speak and he wasn’t prepared to change his mind about that.
‘I’m going to take some time out.’
‘Yeah, of course you are,’ Tony said. ‘And that was Santa Claus right there, flying over the Hudson.’
Oliver smiled. ‘I’m serious.’ He needed to do what was best for the company and, more importantly, he needed to do what was best for him. He didn’t want to spend whatever time he had left being so dissatisfied with everything that he made himself and every single person around him miserable.
‘Oh, jeez, Oliver, you’re not going to make a bucket list, are you? I’m not freaking asking you whatyourwish is.’ Tony leapt up again. ‘Danny, that quarterback is making a monkey out of you.’
‘I thought I might try making pizzas for a while. You got any work going?’
Tony laughed out loud. ‘You’re freaking me out now, man.’
Oliver slapped him on the back.
‘So, tell me, where does Hayley feature in these “time out” plans?’ Tony focused all his attention on Oliver then.
He swallowed, still a little surprised that the mention of her name moved him so much. Had she called Michel? Of course she had. Finding her daughter’s father was her whole reason for coming to New York.
‘Listen, I spent an evening watching you with her. You lit up like the Rockefeller Christmas tree just from conversation,’ Tony told him. ‘And then there was the whole foot thing.’
Oliver shot him a look of disdain. ‘Tony Romario, you are perverted.’
‘Yeah,’ Tony nodded. ‘Maybe I am. But you’re a fool.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Tell the girl you’re dying and let her make her own decisions. Not ones you’ve made for her.’
50
DEAN WALKER’S APARTMENT, DOWNTOWN MANHATTAN
Dean opened the front door and Hayley bowled through it. ‘You’d better tell me exactly what he said to you and what you said to him and what Angel said to anybody.’
‘Slow down,’ Dean said. ‘Take a breath.’ He followed her towards the stairs.
‘Take a breath?! He’s up there with the daughter he doesn’t know he has. Why didn’t he just ring?! Why did he have to turn up here? What’s he even doing here?’
‘I know, it’s Sod’s Law.’
‘I want to kill Sod right about now.’ She put a hand to her head, trying to press away the tension with her fingers.
‘What do you want me to do? Do you want me to take Angel out somewhere so you can talk to him alone? I’ll do whatever you want me to do. Just tell me,’ Dean said.
‘What have you said to him? What have you said to Angel?’
‘He knocked on the door, he said he was looking for you, that you’d left this address at Vipers.’ Dean sighed and put his hand to his head as he recalled the scene. ‘I asked him in, I said youwouldn’t be long, I made him a coffee, I told Angel he was a friend and?—’
Hayley clamped a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh my God, no, Dean, she knows it’s him. I showed her a photo!’ She ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and burst into the main room, her breath catching in her throat. The scene before her stole what little breath she had left.
Angel was sat on the arm of the sofa holding a foolscap pad and there he was, Michel, Angel’s father, sat next to his daughter, sketching with her. He looked completely unchanged. He was wearing jeans and battered Converse sneakers, a tie-dye T-shirt, his hair still tousled.
‘So,’ Hayley started, making herself move. ‘What’s going on here then?’
