‘The bathroom. You should say “bathroom” as we’re in America.’
‘Are you going to do that the whole trip?’
‘I’m just trying to behave like a local.’
‘Then you won’t be needing this, will you?’ Hayley snatched the guidebook back. ‘Look, here we are, standing below one of the most iconic places in New York and we’re talking about Nanny needing a wee.’
Angel let out a giggle of amusement before raising her eyes to the sky. She emitted an awe-inspired sigh. ‘I didn’t realise how tall it was.’
Hayley’s eyes went to the green copper woman, rising up at the edge of the Hudson River, her torch held out like a beacon to everyone below. ‘Just how tall? Let me see…’ She thumbed the pages of the book in her hand.
Angel made a grab for it. ‘Give it back!’
‘You mean you don’t already know the answer?! Shame on you, Angel Walker.’
‘I do know that there’s no way you’re going to be able to manage a Princess Diana on that house this afternoon. Your idea of cleaning is remembering to unload the dishwasher before we have to use paper plates.’
Hayley stared at her daughter, her mouth falling open. ‘You were listening.’
‘It was pretty hard not to.’
Hayley nodded. ‘Well, maybe you can help me. I mean, Ms Rogers-Smythe said the Diana was all about family. You can plump some cushions and spray some lavender everywhere while I flick a duster round.’
‘What if they have a really technical hoover?’
‘As we’re in America, I think you should be saying “vacuum”.’
‘I’m serious, Mum. I don’t know why you’ve got yourself into this.’
Wise words from the mouth of a nine-year-old. ‘I told you, it’s a money thing. And it’s not something for you to worry about.’
‘We could ask Nanny for money.’
‘No.’ That was worse than asking her brother. ‘After we’ve seen all there is to see here, we’re going to go and collect my uniform and equipment and we’re going to do a Diana. Period.’ She sniffed. ‘See, how’s that for American terminology?’
Angel wrinkled her nose. ‘Rad.’
The Riley Club, Lower Manhattan
‘Are you sure you’re up to this?’
Tony had pulled his red Mustang to the kerb and Oliver had his hand on the door handle.
‘I’ve taken a day’s quota of painkillers and hydrated myself to the absolute max,’ he replied.
‘The finance talk in that place would kill me,’ Tony said, nudging his head towards the opulent entrance of the Riley Club.
‘I’d better get in there. Andrew Regis is always early for everything.’ Oliver opened the door and the chill of the wind slipped through the gap, infiltrating the in-car heating.
‘D’you want me to swing by and pick you up later?’ Tony offered.
‘No, I’m good. You go take care of the restaurant.’
‘Restaurants,’ Tony added with a grin. ‘That’s a plural.’
‘What?’
‘Days away from completion on two more. Part of the Papa Gino franchise.’
