A Gift to Remember (24 page)

He looked doubtful. ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure how it would help if it’s supposed to be for someone else. Is it OK to put your contact details on this?’ Much to
Darcy’s disappointment, he immediately lost interest in the package and was instead fiddling with his new phone. She couldn’t really blame him – this would be his first lifeline
to the outside world in days, but still . . .

‘Sure.’ She quickly inputted her own and Chaucer’s details into the prepaid phone. ‘Be sure to call me at either of those numbers if anything happens.’

‘I was just thinking about that actually,’ Aidan said, looking thoughtful. ‘You working in a bookshop, I mean. It’s weird, but it’s the only other thing that is
sort of ringing a bell for me. Faintly,’ he added, as Darcy looked up.

‘Really? How so? Would you have visited our store in the past maybe, or . . .?’

‘No, I don’t mean the actual bookstore, just . . . well, it’s strange but I was watching this quiz show yesterday; in here there’s nothing else to do but watch TV,
something I normally hate.’

‘Oh!’ Darcy said excitedly and Aidan looked at her, his brown eyes widening as he realised it too. ‘You remembered that you don’t like TV.’

‘I did, didn’t I?’ He beamed, looking so pleased with himself that Darcy almost wanted to hug him. Instead, and feeling even more like an idiot, she just high-fived him, his
big hand warm and firm against her own.

‘That really is something.’ He scratched his chin, beneath which signs of dark stubble had begun to appear. It made him look even more attractive and just so . . . masculine, Darcy
thought, trying hard to concentrate on what he was saying. ‘Maybe I’ll be out of this place sooner than I thought.’

‘I’m so pleased for you,’ she said, meaning it. ‘If you can remember that then I’m sure other things will gradually start coming back to you too.’

‘Yes, but as I was saying – about the quiz show – it’s weird but I was able to answer all the literature-related questions, stuff that I didn’t have a clue I even
knew.’

‘Like what?’ Darcy asked, intrigued. Besides that reference from
The Princess Bride
, she hadn’t pegged Aidan as the literary type. Far from it, given that his home was
apparently devoid of books, and he clearly led much more of an outdoorsy kind of life.

‘Well, one of them was about Joyce, something about a certain day?’ He scrunched up his eyes, remembering. ‘Yes, the question was: If you were to celebrate Bloomsday, on what
day would you celebrate it?’

Darcy immediately knew the answer to that one, but he answered ahead of her. ‘June the sixteenth. And not only that but I knew the year too – 1904.’

‘Could be it relates to your heritage?’ she suggested. ‘James Joyce was Irish, as is your name, and you do have a touch of an Irish accent.’

‘Yes, but that’s not all I knew,’ he continued, sounding mightily pleased with himself. ‘I also guessed correctly that Agatha Christie is the world’s
biggest-selling author, that
Freeman’s Oath
by Stephen Daye was the very first book published in the American colonies, and . . .’ He sat up, as if readying himself for a
challenge.

Or, as it turned out, to offer one. ‘OK, you’re the books expert, let’s see if you know the answer to this one,’ he said, playfully raising his eyebrows as he threw out
the question.

She grinned and sat forward in her chair. ‘Fire ahead.’ Darcy was only too happy to play along.

‘It’s a quote. But what book is it from?
For Where Your Treasure Is, There Will Your Heart Be Also
.’

Darcy smirked. Easy-peasy. ‘
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
,’ she replied confidently, but Aidan was shaking his head. ‘What? Yes, it’s the inscription on
the tombstones of Dumbledore’s mother and sister,’ she insisted defensively, knowing full well that she was right.

‘Nope. It may well appear in the book, but from where does it
originate
?’

‘The author’s mind?’ she said somewhat belligerently, not liking to be contradicted.

Aidan was grinning. ‘Actually it’s in the Bible. Matthew Chapter Six, verses nineteen to twenty-four, and it’s also in Luke.’ Then he added: ‘The show contestants
didn’t get it right either.’

‘Are you sure?’ She was genuinely stumped by this – had had no idea that the phrase had come from the Bible.

‘Very sure. Like I said, nobody else got it either. But when the question was called out, I knew right away that it was in Harry Potter but also that it didn’t originate in that
story. I don’t know how, but clearly the information must be stored somewhere in the recesses of my brain.’

‘Interesting,’ Darcy said thoughtfully. ‘So you think that maybe books and literary knowledge are a part of who you are?’ she asked, now feeling even more of a kinship
towards him.

‘Hard to say for sure, and unfortunately it doesn’t get me any closer to finding out what the rest of me is about,’ he said, looking dejected once again. Then: ‘Sorry,
here I am feeling sorry for myself again, when I know all of this must be a complete pain in the ass for you.’ He smiled, and his eyes did that cute crinkly thing again.

‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘Honestly, I’m happy to do it.’ Once again Darcy tried to get him to concentrate on the positive. ‘So how should we deal with
Apple’s request for authorisation to get you a new cell phone? I’ve tried tracking down more information on your company, an office address even, where I might be able to get official
business literature for you to sign.’

Aidan scratched his chin. ‘There’s nothing but the house address listed, you say?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well then, I guess that’s where we find the answer.’ He reached towards his keys again and gave her a sheepish grin. Was he flirting with her? Darcy felt that same blush from
this morning creeping once again up her neck.
Settle down
, she chided herself.

‘That is, if you’re up for another visit to home sweet home?’ Aidan asked.

She shook her head indulgently, already powerless to resist that smile.

So much for her day off . . .

I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library
.
Jorge Luis Borges

Darcy took her time on her way back to Aidan’s house. The city was alive with lights and music and the threat of fresh snow as the morning stretched on, but in truth, she
didn’t mind doing what was necessary to help him out. He was a lovely guy and she guessed they’d formed a friendship of sorts by now. It was nice, as such relationships had never come
easy to her, and even as a small child she had tended to seek out books for solace and companionship.

She was also touched by his insistence that she should make use of the ballet tickets. It was a long time since Darcy had felt appreciated by anyone – not that she expected or wanted
praise for any extra shifts her boss automatically assumed she was available for, or any favours she gave to the staff re. time off, etc.

The fact of the matter was, the more time she spent with Aidan Harris, the more curious she became.

As she made her way back uptown, she had the fleeting thought that she had not yet done any of her holiday shopping – most pressingly, found a special gift for Katherine. Four days to
Christmas and she was knee-deep in someone else’s affairs. The city landscape blurred as she rode by on her bike, a steady stream of coloured Christmas lights and steamy windows and the scent
of freshly baked bread making her stomach rumble as she pedalled past the snooty cafés and ritzy bistros on the Upper West Side – all of them brimming with people, in perfectly cut
winter coats and hats, displaying manicured nails, whitened smiles and spa-day hair, showcasing New York’s unmistakable winter glamour.

As she passed, Darcy started to wonder if Aidan had dined in each one, whether he was the kind of regular everyone greeted with a hearty ‘hello’ and a ‘welcome back’. Was
he a good tipper? And had he brought the women in the photographs to any of them?

Soon, five blocks turned into four, four to three, three to two then one, and at last she turned the corner to Aidan’s street. The snow was coming down as she climbed off her bike, her
limbs still a little tender from the collision of the other day.

Reaching Aidan’s house, Darcy rapped twice before unlocking the door, just in case somebody was home this time, but once again there was no reply.

‘Hello?’ she called out, still almost expecting someone, a housekeeper even, to be there this time. But the silence remained.

Stepping into the hallway, she glanced quickly at the Rothko hanging on the wall, checking that no one had since broken into the place and swiped it. She’d hardly slept that night after
her first visit, worried that she’d failed to properly lock up the house, and had left all of its treasures exposed.

Satisfied that no larceny had been committed on her watch, she continued inside, taking a moment to reacquaint herself with the space.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, hoping that when she opened them, she would be able to look upon the contents of the house with fresh eyes.

She was intent not only on finding something related to Thrill Seeker Holdings, but based on what she’d learned about Aidan in the meantime, discovering something of relevance that might
help him, something that had been out of reach the first time she was here, when she was still feeling flustered by what she was supposed to be doing.

Darcy looked down at the puddle rapidly forming at her feet and on the polished oak flooring. Hurriedly slipping out of her slush-covered boots, she left them beneath a side table in the
hallway. Moving stealthily in her socks, she proceeded straight to the kitchen, planning to pick up some more food for Bailey, who had an appetite like Tolkien’s trolls, and had gone through
the initial lot in no time.

She opened the pantry door and extracted the bag of kibble and some more cans and treats, placing them on the counter to take with her when she was ready to leave.

Then she started opening the other kitchen cabinets, checking to see if anything looked out of order, or if there were any signs that a third party – a friend, housekeeper, Aidan’s
lady friend? – had been here in the meantime.

As expected, the contents of Aidan’s cabinets were pretty standard: plates, mugs, bowls, although far from ordinary, all bearing the Williams Sonoma branding. But there was nothing to
indicate that the kitchen had recently been used or indeed held any secrets.

She opened his refrigerator again and wondered if maybe she should toss some of the items in there that might spoil. She didn’t want to overstep her boundaries – well, any more than
she already had, that is – but nor did she want Aidan to come home from the hospital to a nasty-smelling mess either.

Darcy removed a couple of containers, opened them, sniffed, and decided they would be OK for another day or two. She was about to close the fridge and keep going when she realised how thirsty
she was from all the cycling this morning; Aidan would likely not mind if she helped herself to a bottle of water.

Grabbing a bottle of Fiji and cracking it open, she shut the fridge and walked through to the ornate dining room she’d checked out on her first visit, taking in once again the fixtures;
the gleaming walnut dining table, the exquisite chandelier, hanging from the ceiling, the sideboard that displayed elegant crystal glasses and decanters filled with a golden liquid that Darcy
assumed was some eye-wateringly expensive scotch.

She wondered if Aidan had dinner parties often. And she somewhat enviously wondered who helped him plan said dinner parties. Darcy allowed herself to imagine what it would be like playing
hostess in this very room. Or having romantic dinners by the beautiful bay window, drinking wine of some fantastic vintage and raising glasses in a toast to each other and their blissful
happiness.

Feeling ridiculous, Darcy banished the thought from her head, even though she could almost hear the sounds of glasses chinking as the imaginary couple celebrated some special occasion.

At that thought, she stopped walking and stared at the table, a question forming in her mind.

Moving out of the dining room, she carried on, up the steps to the next floor, towards the entrance to another room into which she hadn’t ventured the last time she was here.

Stepping inside, she had to pause and catch her breath.

The sunlight coming through the window filled the entire space with a kind of austere glow as Darcy stared awestruck, unable to believe what she was seeing, and wondering how on earth she could
have missed this before.

Rows and rows of books were housed in a gigantic wooden bookcase that ran the entire length of the room: it reached so high it needed a ladder like the one they had at Chaucer’s – a
series of rollers running across the top and bottom to allow the ladder to move along the length of the entire case.

On the shelves looked to be classic editions of Austen and Beckett, Hemingway and Molière, Wilde and Woolf, and a complete set of
Sherlock Holmes
, all richly bound in varnished
leather.

In fact, the entire room smelled like leather, from the buttersoft taupe couches sitting opposite one another, to the oxblood Louis XV wing chairs set in front of a fireplace.

What an amazing place to curl up in – your own private library. Despite the opulent furnishings, Darcy only had eyes for the books, her gaze moving hungrily over the shelves.

If Aidan Harris couldn’t remember owning this, there was something seriously wrong with him, she mused.

A copy of
Wuthering Heights
that looked like it could well be a first edition caught her eye. Pulling it carefully from its space on the shelf, she confirmed her hunch within seconds,
and lovingly ran her hands over the red leather cover.

Returning the book to the space, she brushed her fingers along the spines of the others, finding titles by so many of her own favourite writers. There was a very old-looking copy of
The
Prince
by Machiavelli, which she actually felt too nervous to touch, as well as
Dido, Queen of Carthage
by Christopher Marlowe.
Dido
was attributed as Marlowe’s first
work.