‘We’ll stop for coffee on the way. That cardiac unit stuff is like engine oil,’ Cynthia said, patting Hayley’s arm. She smiled. ‘Thank you, Hayley.’
‘I’m sure he would have told you. I just?—’
Cynthia shook her head. ‘No. Thank you for getting him to do this.’ She paused. ‘You’re the reason he’s doing it and I’m so glad.’
The atmosphere was thick with emotion and Hayley could feel the tears pricking at her eyes. She cleared her throat and quickly moved back to the middle of the ballroom, looking at the stage. The logo she’d designed for the event was being displayed on the big screen and the turquoise-coloured globes containing warm-yellow lights hung from wires right across the length of it. The theme she’d gone for was classic with a homely twist. The room was going to be full of understated exuberance but also stuffed with touches relating to supporters of the foundation who had lost a member of their family or were living with life-altering issues.
‘It looks wonderful,’ Cynthia told her. ‘And it’s going to be very special.’
‘You like it?’
‘Like it? I love it!’ She clapped her hands together. ‘This is exactly how you changed my home that day. That’s why I knew I had to have you for this project.’
Hayley looked at her handiwork, delighting in the way she and the team of people helping her had pulled this together. ‘I’ve never done anything like this before.’
‘Would you like to do it again?’
‘You have another event?’ Hayley asked. Excitement was already bubbling through her core at the very thought of it.
‘Not me. Not yet anyway. But when I drop your name into every conversation I have tomorrow night, you’re going to be a woman in high demand,’ Cynthia told her.
What was Cynthia saying? That she could have an employment future here? In New York? There was no doubt this project had given her her spark back. She may have abandoned the Guggenheim dress in her ideas book but now the pages were packed full of sketches and templates, table settings, swatches of colours. The thought of doing that all over again for something else, another blank canvas to fill with plans and ideas, was more than she could imagine. She swallowed. The reality was she didn’t live here and the date on the ticket home was drawing ever closer.
‘I don’t know about that. And… I leave next week.’
‘Do you?’
Hayley turned at the questioning tone, catching Cynthia’s gaze. ‘Yes. I mean, I live in England.’
Cynthia nodded then let out a light breath. ‘I guess I was hoping you might stay. Because of Oliver.’
At the mention of his name, Hayley’s cheeks gave away every feeling she had. She didn’t want to leave him.
‘I have Angel to think about. There’s her school and her friends and… my mother.’
She swallowed. Another text had arrived earlier.
I never realised how you felt.
A band of guilt began to tighten in her stomach. She hadn’t replied because she didn’t know how to. That sentence contained more emotion than she’d felt from her mother for years.
‘I shouldn’t have said anything. Forgive me.’ Cynthia said, patting her shoulder. ‘I just see how happy you’re making my son and how much he’s like the old Oliver right now. I don’t want that to disappear if you go.’ She smiled. ‘And I’ll miss you too. And that dear girl of yours.’
‘I’ll miss you too.’ Her voice cracked slightly as the nearness of her departure became all too apparent. She couldn’t dwell on it yet. She had to concentrate on the fundraiser. Even if she didn’t manage to source the balloons, everything else was coming together. It was going to be a night to remember. She just had to persuade Oliver to be the speaker. Then it would be perfect.
A phone began to ring and Cynthia slipped a hand into her pocket to answer it. ‘Cynthia Drummond… Oh my God! Have they said anything? Do they know anything?’
Hayley turned back to Cynthia, the woman’s anxiety prevalent.
‘We’ll be there.’ Cynthia ended the call, tears forming in her eyes.
‘What is it?’ Hayley asked. ‘What’s happened?’
‘It’s Oliver. He’s collapsed. He’s at the hospital,’ Cynthia informed.
Hayley didn’t need to hear anything else. She grabbed hold of Cynthia’s hand and ran for the ballroom doors.
St Patrick’s Hospital, Downtown Manhattan
