Treacherous. Barbara Taylor Bradford
big sister.’ He indicated Luke, whose face was still frozen on the television screen. ‘I’ll leave you two alone.’
‘Go!’
Mikey blew her a kiss, and let himself out. Hayley collapsed in her chair. She stared at the screen and smiled. ‘You were right, Luke. I’m a patsy. But he’s so damn loveable I just can’t help myself.’
She snapped off the television set and poured herself another glass of wine. After a moment she locked and chained the door and moved to the desk near the window. She unlocked the bottom drawer and pulled out an ancient scrapbook full of clippings and photos. Handling it with care, she took it with her to the giant chair and opened it.
The book was all about Luke Thompson. There were school pictures of him when he was eight and nine, old clippings about his sports triumphs, and a catalogue of his progress from roving reporter to anchor of his own national television show on a major network. After a moment, she found what she was looking for. It was a yellowed letter in a child’s hand, which Luke had written to her shortly after she got the scholarship to Miss Porter’s.
Dear Hayley,
It’s boring here without you. Mrs Barrett in the next room still snores like a rhino. Remember when you sneaked in and put a clothes pin on her nose? I think Dad got a job, so maybe we’ll be moving in to our own place soon. Do you like your school? If those snotty rich girls give you a hard time, let me know and I’ll come up and take care of them for you. No one’s going to mess with my girl. That’s all for now.
Luke
P.S. Your brother got sent to the principal’s office again yesterday. I hear he got caught smoking in the teacher’s bathroom.
Hayley smiled wistfully, carefully refolded the letter and put it back in the envelope. She held the scrapbook to her heart as if it were a sacred relic.
Or the chronicle of the man she loved.
Fiona was tearing through her closet, wishing that she had Hayley’s talent for saying no to people. She had an hour to change and then meet the famous Mr Luke Thompson at Penn Station. She had already visited with the committee hosting the award dinner, and had worked out most of the details. But, as guest of honour, Luke was entitled to a courtesy meeting to approve the plans.
She had scheduled the meeting at the office for four o’clock today, but then Luke had called a few hours ago with a change of plans. Something had come up, a lead on a story he was working on. He had to take the 4 p.m. Acela, the express train to Washington, D.C., for a meeting at the State Department. He would then leave for Thailand in the morning. If she cared to ride along on the train, they would have two hours and forty-eight minutes to work out all the details of the award evening. He would be happy to send her back by plane, and she would be in New York later the same evening.
The last thing Fiona wanted to do was sit on a train for three hours, but this was Hayley’s friend and she felt she had to say yes. Besides which, she’d been wanting to see the new photography collection at the National Gallery. She could stay in D.C. overnight, see the exhibition, and fly back in the morning. It would all work out if only she could find something suitable to wear, and get to the station in an hour.
Being tall, with a voluptuous body and long shapely legs, Fiona evoked a strong reaction from men and women alike. Today she didn’t want to draw attention to herself, so she dressed to downplay the curves, especially for a business meeting. Although she wasn’t aware of it, her efforts did not work. She had the kind of allure and beauty that were impossible to disguise.
Finally she settled for cream-coloured slacks and a short-sleeved lavender sweater. It was spring, but weather in mid-April was so changeable on the East Coast. And Washington could be a steam bath, even at this time of year. Layers, she reminded herself.
She went back into the closet and found a fitted blue jacket trimmed with bone buttons, and selected a vintage Hermès scarf. She slid her feet into beige patent L.K.Bennett pumps, the ones favoured by the Duchess of Cambridge, and examined herself in the mirror. With her cream-coloured trench coat she would be ready for any eventuality the day offered.
Or so she thought. But then, no one could have predicted what this day had in store for Fiona Chambers.
She sat at her dressing table and studied her face. She had the creamy complexion of her English ancestors, wide-set blue eyes and straight blonde hair that Hayley, always fighting with her wild mass of curls, openly coveted.
On a whim, Fiona opened a drawer, took out a cosmetic pouch, and emptied the contents onto the table. She began to apply makeup, something she rarely did. She was basically a soap-and-water kind of girl but now, she decided, she would gild the lily a bit.
What is wrong with you, Fiona Chambers? she thought, staring back at herself. You’re meeting a client. Why are you acting like a school girl going on her first date?
She wiped her face clean, purposefully put her makeup bag back in the drawer, and pulled her hair into a severe pony tail. She was annoyed with herself.
For a reason she could not explain, when she had called to arrange the meeting and had heard Luke’s voice, butterflies seemed to take flight in her stomach. This unbidden thrill of anticipation was completely inappropriate but she was powerless to control it.
Are you becoming star-struck all of a sudden? she asked her reflection. It was not as if she hadn’t had to deal with celebrities in her work. And she was going to join Luke Thompson on the train from New York to Washington, D.C., not the mysterious Orient Express to Istanbul.
She had made her reservation at the Jefferson, her favourite D.C. hotel, and now all she needed to do was to throw a few things in an overnight bag, then call Hayley to let her know the plans had changed. She did not need makeup.
Fiona felt flustered and she did not like the feeling. Why wouldn’t Hayley go to see Luke? Couldn’t she make an exception to her hard and fast rule about not meeting with clients? Luke was, after all, her oldest pal. Fiona couldn’t understand it. But that was Hayley: solid as a rock one moment, jumpy as a squirrel the next.
I’m not much better than that today myself, she thought, forcing herself to focus. She was going to miss the train if she didn’t hurry.
She put the last few things in her bag, and tried Hayley one more time. Again her call went right to voicemail, which was unusual.
Well, no matter. Hayley had already made it clear she wanted no part of this meeting. Fiona left a message, telling her friend what was going on, and headed for the door. She was determined to dispatch the uninvited butterflies, and behave like the professional she was.
Hayley’s phone lay on the polished counter covered with bits of blue hair. She had never felt so uncomfortable in her life and was silently castigating herself for making this appointment. God only knew what it was going to cost.
She finally found the courage to look in the mirror, and then sneak a peek over her shoulder where the master was plying his trade. Frederick, hair stylist to the rich and famous, was a blur of flying hands and scissors. Hair fluttered everywhere in a cloud of multicoloured curls, and was immediately swept up by an assistant dressed all in black.
Frederick was flanked by two more black-clad assistants, hands behind their backs, leaning this way and that with his every move. They could have been watching a tennis match, she thought.
He was finally behind her. Ready to do her hair. ‘If you must have blue hair in future, please promise me you will have a professional colour it for you. You are lucky not to be bald.’
All Hayley could manage was a nod. She was grappling with