Chapter Ten
Myles
Nine days until Christmas
Myles ran along the High Line early, before crowds of tourists plagued the place. He’d learnt his lesson soon after arriving in New York when he tried to run along there in the middle of the day. It’d been a case of him versus the selfie stick, same on the Brooklyn Bridge. Now, unless he was running somewhere with wide-open spaces, he made it a rule to go earlier.
He hadn’t seen Darcy at all yesterday but as his breath met the cold air and his feet pounded Manhattan’s celebrated pedestrian park that was once a railway, he knew he’d have to face her sooner rather than later. Doing so had become almost as terrifying a prospect as phoning the number on the escort-agency card. He’d never got nervous asking a woman out on a date before. He’d taken it all in his stride.
He reached the end of the route and slowed to walking as he made his way through the Chelsea Market. He checked his training watch, impressed he’d beaten his last time here. Two areas of his life were flying: work and his running performance. He wondered if he’d ever be lucky enough to add in the personal element and score the trifecta.
He walked back to the Inn hoping he could sneak inside and shower before he bumped into Darcy but when he saw her dark hair cascading around her shoulders as she adjusted the wreath out front on the entrance door he knew he’d have to face her now.
‘Hey,’ she said in her American accent that was returning more by the day as she lost the touches of accents and phrases she’d picked up around the world and slipped back into her native tongue.
He trudged up the steps of the brownstone as she held the door open for him. The rain of yesterday had stopped and it was as though the air stood still, waiting for the snow that had been promised on all the news channels for the last few days. ‘I wouldn’t get too close,’ he warned as she shut the door. ‘I’ve been running.’
‘I can see that.’ Her hair covered her face enough so he couldn’t tell whether she was smiling as she grabbed a broom to sweep the hallway.
‘I hope it snows soon,’ he said, desperate to make regular conversation. ‘I’m looking forward to Manhattan in the snow.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ she confirmed, her brush gliding past his feet. She propped the broom against the wall and took out a dustpan and brush from the closet in the hallway. ‘I love it, but I hate the aftermath.’
He smiled in acknowledgement. ‘Ah yes, the filth and the black slush when it melts; the part we all like to forget about.’
Was she even going to mention the other night? Perhaps she’d put it down to too much to drink, a stress reliever at the time but something that offered nothing more than confusion now.
The dirt all cleared away, she asked, ‘Did you want to order breakfast? Rupert is still here.’
Usually he had a bowl of cereal in his apartment before dashing out of the door for work. He looked at his watch. Strictly he didn’t have time, but he needed to psyche himself up to talk about the date he’d suggested, and he was never going to do that unless he spent more time near her. He ordered poached eggs with toast and a side of mushrooms and said he’d be down after his shower.
Myles used his time beneath the warm jets to go over in his head what he was going to say to Darcy. This was worse than when he was meeting an important client. Where was the confidence he usually had no problem administering in social situations?
Downstairs in the dining room at the rear of the brownstone, with balcony doors that would open in the warmer months but were now blocked with a Christmas tree, he sat at a table by the wall. Rupert brought out his breakfast and they chatted about countries they’d visited, New York’s approaching winter and what it was really like in February when the cold felt like nothing else, and by the time he’d finished and he still hadn’t seen Darcy, Myles knew he had to make the bold move and just talk to her.
He found her in the lounge, where it looked like she was concentrating hard on something at the computer. She looked up when she became aware of him lurking.
‘Darcy, I wanted to touch base with you about the other night.’
Her smile reached her eyes and he hoped she was smiling with him not laughing at him. ‘Touch base? Now that sounds formal.’ She came round to his side and perched on the desk, her proximity making him flustered.
‘The question I asked you. Now, I totally understand if you woke up and realised what a colossal mistake it would be to go with me to the work Christmas party.’
‘I don’t think that.’
‘The thing is, I really need someone…hang on…’ He paused. ‘Do you mean you’re still happy to go?’
She shrugged. ‘You didn’t give me any specifics, which makes it hard for me to commit.’
He gave her the date and the time. ‘It’s at The Plaza.’ He didn’t miss the look on her face. ‘It’s a big deal, yes.’
‘I’ve never been to The Plaza before, not apart from the food court downstairs.’ She adjusted her suit jacket although it was already sitting straight, the tailored lines complementing her figure by falling across her curves in all the right places.
‘Then it’ll be a first for both of us,’ he said, holding her gaze.
She moved to the other side of the desk. ‘Let me double-check my diary.’ Her nails drummed against the computer keyboard and then she looked up. ‘It appears that date is fine. I’ll need to check with Rupert that he can cover if I need him to, and I’ll have to take my cell phone in case of emergencies.’
He tried not to smile so much it scared her away, because he couldn’t believe his luck. She’d said yes! ‘So it’s a date?’
‘I guess so. Just one thing…what’s the dress code?’
‘We’ll be in the Grand Ballroom.’ He didn’t miss the sharp intake of breath. ‘I’ll be in a tux.’
‘I’d better get something sorted then.’
He was sure whatever she wore, she’d look fabulous. Suddenly he felt relieved he’d had the bourbon that night and that he’d been able to persuade her to relax and take a moment for herself. He was looking forward to the party, something he never would’ve been able to do had he opted to take his secretary or, god forbid, an escort. Now, he was taking someone because he actually wanted to, and it felt good.
Watching her now, awkward with their personal conversation, her confidence not quite as resounding as it usually was, he felt bad about calling her Cinderella the day she’d attempted to introduce some of the Christmas spirit into his apartment. It hadn’t been fair on her at all, and he would never stop being sorry that he’d reacted that way.
‘If you need help with the dress…’ he began, sensing she was fretting about the formality of the occasion.
‘I think I’m quite capable of choosing something.’
‘I meant, if you need help buying it. Dresses for these sorts of functions don’t come cheap.’
She held up a hand. ‘I’ll stop you right there. I’m happy to buy something, I don’t need you to do it for me.’
‘Accept a dress as a gift,’ he suggested. ‘It’s cheaper than paying for an escort.’ As soon as the words were out of his mouth he wished he hadn’t said them. ‘I didn’t mean it that way.’
‘I’d better get on.’ She indicated the desk behind her.
‘Me too.’ Perhaps he should leave before he ruined it completely.
He turned and only breathed a sigh of relief when he was the other side of the entrance door to the brownstone. Something about this girl made his brain turn to mush and his words come out in the worst possible way. The only exception to the rule had been the other night and it had ended all too quickly. He hoped they’d be able to get back to the easiness of conversation and enjoyment of one another’s company when it came to the night at The Plaza.
He pulled his scarf tighter round his neck, headed for the subway, and put his personal life out of his mind for now as he got back to what he knew how to do best. Work.
*
Myles lost himself in a client account for the rest of the day. His projections went down well, they signed agreements and over lunch they discussed strategy. He caught up with paperwork in the afternoon, attended four meetings, and by the time he switched off his computer and night fell all around the office surrounding his floor-to-ceiling windows with a thick black cloak punctuated by stars and city lights, he was exhausted.
He almost ignored the phone when it rang but for some reason picked it up as one arm pushed into his coat.
‘Winston, how’s it going? Two phone calls, I am honoured.’
His brother saw the funny side. ‘Yeah, don’t get used to it. It’s just the season.’
‘What can I do for you?’
His brother’s voice didn’t come across straight away, as though he was thinking carefully about what he needed to say. ‘It’s Mum.’
‘She’s OK, isn’t she?’
‘Yes. Well, I think so. You see, I think she might be drinking again.’
His brother knew Myles’s time was precious, so he knew better than to tiptoe around a point. Myles sat down again. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘Dad’s worried about her. She’s really low and refuses to go and see a doctor or anyone else for that matter.’
‘That doesn’t necessarily mean she’s drinking, Winston.’ The vestiges of childhood memories pounded his mind, trying to creep their way back in. He’d got well versed at blocking them out. During their years as young boys, Winston and Myles had had to contend with their mum being absent emotionally, their dad being away physically. Perhaps that was what had brought them so close together as brothers.
‘I’ve said that to Dad,’ said Winston, his voice laced with concern. ‘I think he’s just terrified it’ll happen again.’
Myles couldn’t imagine his father being terrified of anything. ‘Have you spoken to Mum?’
‘I haven’t asked her outright. How can I? But I’ve chatted with her as normal and she seems the same to me.’
Myles didn’t need to hear that his move to New York had probably made her blame herself for her failings. He hadn’t done it to spite her, and he’d never admit this to Winston, but part of him was glad she was starting to question herself. It was something she should’ve done years ago.
‘I haven’t been up to see her yet,’ Winston confessed. ‘The kids’ school is crazy busy with nativity plays, end-of-year parties, you know the sort of thing. I just hope Dad isn’t right about this one.’
Myles suspected part of Winston’s fear was that his kids would see Grandma the way they used to see her, half-cut, stumbling or falling asleep, or sometimes worse, acting up and being as silly as a five-year-old, dancing and singing, and, worst of all, ruining the entire Christmas dinner on the one day where family problems seemed to become so much more of a strain.
‘Are you there?’ Winston was still on the other end of the phone while Myles had lost himself looking out of the window at the few stars peppering the sky. He wondered how many other families had issues like theirs at this time of year. How many problems hid behind the smiles you saw on the streets of New York, or behind the doors of elegant brownstones?
It was a long time since Myles had had a happy Christmas, and if Winston was right, escaping to the other side of the world wasn’t going to do much good either. He’d have to add another December 25th to the long list of Christmases where he’d wished the whole season would just go far, far away.