‘I know,’ Hayley answered.
‘I feel as if every small moment is magnified a thousand times.’ Michel let out a breath. ‘This carriage ride through the park feels like something monumental.’
‘You mustn’t overthink it,’ Hayley said. ‘That’s what Angel’s doing too. You both need to relax. Just be yourselves.’
Michel ran his hand through his hair, snowflakes fluttering into the air as he moved. ‘I feel I have so much to make up for.’
‘No,’ Hayley shook her head. ‘Ihave so much to make up for.’ She pulled the blanket up over her body. ‘I should have told you when it happened.’
‘We said we would not talk about the past,’ Michel reminded her.
‘I know, I just?—’
‘Cannot ever stop talking?’ Michel said, smiling. ‘I remember this about you.’
She nodded. ‘I’m taking memorable as good, seeing as we had a child together.’ She watched Angel petting the horse, slipping her fingers between the hairs of its mane.
‘You are getting serious with Oliver?’ Michel asked.
His question surprised her for a second and she had to stall a little, playing with the fringing on the rug before she made her answer. Despite Dean’s first remarks insinuating she might be looking for Michel with a view to the whole mother/father/daughter package, there was no reignited spark. Michel was still an attractive guy but there was no chemistry fizzing. Was that why he was asking about Oliver? She looked to him then, analysing his expression. No, there was no flicker of desire from what she could tell.
She sighed. ‘We have a distance issue. He’s here in New York and I live in England.’ She put a finger to her lips, biting on the nail before continuing. ‘But I haven’t felt for anyone what I feel for him.’ She laughed then. ‘Which is completely crazy because it’s so new.’
Michel shrugged. ‘Some of the best things in life are new and come out of the blue.’
Hayley watched his eyes go to Angel then and her heart warmed. This was going to be OK.
56
RESTAURANT ROMARIO, GREENWICH VILLAGE
Angel speared an olive with her fork, missed its centre and sent it flying off the table and onto the floor. Hayley raised her eyes at her daughter and cast a glance out the window at the worsening weather. The snowfall had continued relentlessly the last few days and now there was a good couple of feet in places that hadn’t been cleared by the ploughs. Michel had started to become almost a constant in their lives, much to Angel’s pleasure. Finally, just yesterday, Angel had gone out with him alone, to the Brooklyn Museum. Angel having her father in her life had also softened the edges around the conversation they’d had about Oliver being a little more than Dean’s boss. Angel hadn’t said very much and Hayley hadn’t pushed the subject. Her daughter was having to take on so much at the moment, it wasn’t fair to expect her to adjust to everything overnight. But she knew Hayley and Oliver were dating and for the time being, he was still called Mr Meanie. Hayley still didn’t know when she was going to explain Oliver’s health issues, if at all. The truth was, they hadn’t talked about it much themselves. They’d spent the last couple of days just enjoying being together. Eating burgersbigger than dinner plates, browsing the shops on Fifth Avenue, taking in the sights and sounds of a city gearing up for Christmas. Oliver’s heart condition and the McArthur Foundation fundraiser – those two topics were strictly off the agenda for now.
‘More garlic bread, Angel?’ Tony asked, winking at her.
‘Tony, if you give that child any more garlic bread, she’s going to be keeping vampires away for the foreseeable future,’ Cynthia stated, raising her head from her leather portfolio.
‘My dad likes garlic bread. We had some for lunch the other day,’ Angel informed.
‘Want to see how we make it here?’ Tony offered. ‘Special, secret recipe dough.’
Angel stood up, scraping back her chair. ‘Can I, Mum?’
‘No eating it,’ Hayley warned.
‘Come on,’ Tony encouraged. ‘What happens in the kitchen stays in the kitchen.’
Hayley took a sip of the white wine she badly needed and pushed a piece of paper towards Cynthia. ‘Here’s the details of the table magician.’
Subtle, she’d found, was the best way with Cynthia. The woman looked at the print-out with a dubious expression on her face.
‘He comes highly recommended. I spoke to three hotels that have had him work there. He’s been on TV and he even supported David Copperfield back in the day.’
‘And you think the fundraiser attendees will find this appealing?’ Cynthia asked with scepticism.
‘Have you ever had a table magician before?’
‘No and there’s probably a very good reason for that.’
