‘Yeah, we did.’ He pulled in a breath. ‘So, I want to take her somewhere special, and that’s where you come in.’
Dean was still looking a little bewildered by the conversation. ‘It is?’
‘What does she like? I don’t mean food or wine or cable channels, I mean what makes her tick? Where can I take her? What can we do together that’s going to really mean something to her?’
He had to swallow at the end of the sentence as the intensity of it hit him. And Dean wasn’t saying anything; he was just looking at him like he might have lost his mind. Had he lost his mind? His heart was beating hard, telling him two things. One, that he cared about this woman an awful lot already and two, that he was taking chances here, chances he didn’t have. Did he have the right to engage in this, with Hayley, and her daughter?
‘She’s only here for a couple of weeks,’ Dean spoke.
‘I realise that too.’ Somehow, that made it better. Whatever connection they had… well, thinking about it as just two weeks was much more manageable. He relaxed a little.
‘And she’s had a lot to deal with over the years.’
‘A daughter who talks endlessly and wants to save every lobster in Asian Dawn, if not every Chinese restaurant across the world.’
‘You’ve got it,’ Dean stated.
‘I’ve definitely got it,’ he said.
Dean seemed to assess him then, his eyes trying to take him apart from the inside. Finally Dean moved, picked a pen out of the pot on the desk and grabbed a notepad.
‘She likes fashion,’ he said, leaning over the desk and writing. ‘B.A. – that’s Before Angel – she was going to study at a really good college that only accepts the best of the best. She had to give it up.’
Oliver swallowed. Another person whose path in life wasaltered. But instead of toeing the family line, Hayley had sacrificed her dreams for her daughter.
Dean held out the paper. ‘This is her absolute favourite designer, or rather, it was. She doesn’t get a lot of time for browsing through anything these days.’
Oliver went to take the note but Dean held on fast.
‘My sister’s spent half her life feeling inadequate.’ Dean sighed. ‘Hayley’s clever and she’s a good person. She’s just been dealt a challenging hand and had no acknowledgement of how well she’s done raising Angel.’ He still held the paper. ‘She just doesn’t need anyone coming in and letting her down. Even if it’s only for a couple of weeks.’
‘It’s just a date,’ Oliver reminded. He smiled, admiring the way Dean wasn’t going to be browbeaten on this.
‘Hayley doesn’t go on many dates.’
‘She has Angel,’ Oliver said, understanding.
‘And Angel is the most important thing in her life.’
Oliver put his fingers to the notepaper. ‘I get that.’
Dean released his grip.
‘Thank you,’ Oliver replied.
Tilton Gallery, 8 East 76 Street
‘Do you think the floor is part of the exhibition?’ Angel asked, looking down as they walked into the first room of the gallery.
‘It could be. This parquet has had much more than an Elizabeth, a Diana and a Camilla done to it.’
The magnificent, glossy wood flooring was in perfect contrast to the bare, white walls surrounding them. Further into the room, there were two large windows letting in every ounce of naturallight possible and ahead were several wire cages Hayley assumed were art. To their left was an ornate fireplace not dissimilar to the one at the house in Westchester yesterday. A wide staircase wove seamlessly upwards.
‘Good afternoon. Can I be of assistance?’ The accent was French and both Hayley and Angel turned around to greet their company.
A very tall, very slim woman in her mid-fifties was stepping towards them. She was dressed in a roll-neck jumper, a thick, tartan, wool skirt, black tights and boots. Her silver/grey hair was pinned back in a chignon and on her nose were a tiny pair of gold glasses. She smiled.
Angel dug Hayley in the ribs with her finger, making her jump forward a little.
