‘You’re good,’ he responded.
‘Yes, I am.’ She waved a hand. ‘Goodbye, Clark.’
She turned and faced the door to head back into the restaurant building. Hearing his footfalls in the snow, she glanced back, watching him jog away from her, moving through the snow and kicking up puffs of white dust as he disappeared into the dark.
Hayley shook her head. New York City. In Gotham with Superman. This place was all kinds of crazy. She closed her eyes andbreathed in the night, internally cursing herself for flirting with him. It would come back to bite her. Her karma would be jet lag hitting hard in the middle of the night. She opened her eyes, directing her vision up the dark, dank-looking alley leading to the main street. Perhaps Oliver Drummond’s karma for abandoning a date would be freezing to death on the jog home without a coat.
11
OLIVER DRUMMOND’S PENTHOUSE, DOWNTOWN MANHATTAN
Even after a shower, Oliver still couldn’t get warm. Dressed in sweatpants and a long-sleeved Knicks top, he entered the lounge room of his penthouse, heading for the Scotch. This was his bolthole. A luxury bachelor pad with one of the best views in the city. It had every convenience on the market. Wide screen, surround sound, HD, MP3 and Dolby. Even the washing machine could play music. He had to have something to make that chore bearable. From the expensive wool carpet in the bedroom and the solid oak floor in the rest of the apartment, to the mood control spotlights in the ceiling, it was the crème de la crème of city living.
He took a drink. Bailing from the restaurant had been stupid and he’d left his suit jacket at the damn table. He didn’t think there was anything vital in any of the pockets – he had his wallet and phone – but he couldn’t be sure. He’d called Asian Dawn but he’d got the engaged tone on each occasion. At the end of the day, he had other suits. Maybe it wasn’t worth the aggro. His biggest worry was it containing contact details the woman in the red dress could use to get hold of him.
He poured himself a tumbler of the amber liquid, his hands shaking. When the glass was half full, he quickly swigged back a mouthful. The burn hit the back of his throat and he relaxed a little, leaning against the solid oak sideboard.
Cradling the glass against his chest, he turned to look out of the floor-to-ceiling windows, taking in the view of Central Park. He could see everything from here. The lights from the iron lamp posts, the pond, the bridge over it, that vast patch of green – now heavily speckled with white – appearing like an oasis in a grey desert.
He had been stupid to go out with Tony tonight. He’d gone out looking for something – anything – as some sort of punishment by proxy for Clara and his mother. It served him right for ending up at a table with someone keener than a teenager in an Apple store.
Oliver walked over to the windows and stood close, watching the constant stream of snowflakes drifting past the glass. A thickening stack was piling up on his balcony. Like the big fat layer of misery he was living in.
He hated the fact that everything in his life was pre-ordained. It was his lot, because of who he was, just like with the company. That wasn’t his dream; it was his father’s and Ben’s. And now it was his burden to bear whether he wanted it or not. Along with the short life expectancy he probably wasn’t helping with the Scotch. Perhaps Tony was right: drowning himself in bourbon would be a relatively painless way to go.
He closed his eyes, remembering his dream, the one so different to Richard and Ben’s. Football. He’d been nothing short of the best, destined for a career with one of the big teams. It had felt so good being able to strike out on his own, a job path all set, a future secured that didn’t involve the family business. And then it had just been ripped away from him, snatched right out of hishands, his trail turning back towards Drummond Global after all. He hadn’t wanted it. He’d wanted something of his own, not just a legacy to fulfil. And that was where the Globe came in. By creating something that was going to revolutionise the tablet market, he was finally going to get his moment. It wasn’t winning the Super Bowl for his team but it was the closest he was going to get.
Oliver slugged back some more whisky and watched the lights reflecting from the other buildings’ windows. It was time for change. It was time he took full ownership of his role. There was no shirking it so he may as well make the most of it. His mother and Clara had both clawed their way into his psyche today but only because he had let them. Why should he feel so freaking guilty about not wanting to go home for Christmas? Why was he letting himself get cornered into situations? He couldn’t do the church and the carols and the celebrating Jesus’ birth because it meant nothing to him now. What had God ever done for his family except wipe half of them out?
Tomorrow, he was going to go into the office and make everybody remember who the boss of Drummond Global really was. And he was going to prove to himself that that boss didn’t wear a designer dress suit or a statement necklace.
Dean Walker’s Apartment, Downtown Manhattan
Angel had fallen asleep in the back of the car as soon as it had set off from the Chinese restaurant. Now, laying in a pinker than pink bed in one of the spare bedrooms of Dean’s apartment, she was barely awake as Hayley brushed her hair.
‘Do we have to do my hair?’ The words were hardly audible through a giant yawn.
‘If we don’t do it now, it will be in knots in the morning and you’ll moan and groan and I’ll get cross… It’s just easier if we do it now.’ Hayley ran the brush through her daughter’s brown hair. ‘You can close your eyes.’
She watched Angel’s eyes shut and her shoulders relax.
‘So, did you enjoy the Chinese food?’ Hayley asked.
‘Can we go there again?’ Angel asked, lips barely moving apart.
‘I guess so. But we’re in New York now. There are thousands of other restaurants we can try.’ She smiled. ‘Reasons Christmas is better in New York number nine: much more than Pizza Hut, McDonald’s and Nandos.’
She ran the brush through Angel’s hair again. In this moment, when it was late, when her stomach was full and her brother was in the kitchen making hot chocolate, what she was here to do really hit her. She was going to make her daughter’s wish come true. She was going to scour New York until she found Michel. The nights of fruitless searching on the internet were not going to eat away at her resolve. He was out there, somewhere, and Angel wanted to know him. It was up to her to fill that void and she was determined to do it by Christmas.
She stroked the brush down Angel’s hair again, the bristles jerking slightly as she hit a knot.
‘Is it still snowing?’ Angel asked.
Hayley stopped brushing and reached one hand towards the window. She stretched and parted the curtains. Chunky, white blobs were flying past the glass, changing direction with the wind. Her eyes were drawn across the street, to a window opposite with the lights on and the blinds open. A couple were in their living area, standing by a table. A decorated Christmas tree, white lights blinking, illuminated the space. Hayley watched as the man passed the woman a wine glass. He moved his lips, saying something, and the woman threw her head back, laughing like he’d told her thefunniest joke in the world. It was an almost magical connection. One she had no concept of. She closed the curtain, shutting out the scene and the winter night, and went back to brushing Angel’s hair.
‘It’s still snowing,’ she informed her.
‘Good,’ Angel yawned again. ‘I didn’t want to wake up and for it all to be gone before I’ve had a chance to make a snowman.’
