A Gift to Remember (32 page)

We headed into the Park where I found a drinking fountain and filled up his portable mesh and plastic dish that I always carried with me. I sat down on a bench and placed the water dish at my
feet.

Bailey drank happily and I took a moment to slip my wallet out of my pocket. Thinking about family and Ireland and all of it had made me feel slightly melancholy. Maybe because it was so close
to the holidays.

I opened my wallet and flipped through the pictures, finding the black and white one I wanted. Mam.

I don’t think she was more than seventeen or eighteen in this picture. All dressed up to go to Mass or something. Ciara and I had only found it after she’d died and I wished that
there had been an opportunity for her to tell me where she had been going, or what she had been doing, or if she had met Dad yet when the picture had been taken.

Hell, I wish I even knew what colour her dress was. I know it sounds silly, but with this picture I felt that there was a whole other side to my mother that I didn’t know about. Something
that she didn’t tell Ciara and me as kids. I always said that if and when I ever had kids I would make sure they knew whatever they wanted to know about me. History was important at the end
of the day.

Bailey finished drinking and then looked up at me, sending the signal that he was ready to start walking again.

Crossing Sixth Avenue again we headed back uptown. Several times I felt myself pulling Bailey back towards me, aiming to avoid being hit by a bicycle messenger – a crazy breed who
effortlessly rule Manhattan’s streets while also endangering each and every one of us in their path.

I’m all about physical fitness and being kind to the environment by using alternative transport methods and all that, but seriously, watch where you are going.

Or, to quote many a New Yorker: ‘Hey, I’m walking here!’

You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think
.
A.A. Milne

The following morning, people seemed to look at Darcy differently this time as, leash in hand and dog at her heels, she strolled along the Upper West Side passing by the same
fancy bistros, the same five-star restaurants, modelling studios and funky furniture stores. Although she was wearing the usual comfortable work clothes, and her usual messily-tied ponytail bounced
on her shoulders, now she noticed an accepting nod from the other city-dwellers as she passed them by.

The old women in their silken scarves and two thousand-dollar bags gave her space on the path. The hipster dudes in their Converse hi-tops, three hundred-dollar skinny jeans and designer stubble
grinned at her and Bailey.

The couples with their shopping bags from places like Henri Bendel, Bloomingdales and Comptoir des Cotonniers beamed at the dignified Husky, their eyes warm and suddenly neighbourly.

If a pure-bred dog was all it took to feel like you belonged in this part of town, Darcy thought to herself, Bailey gliding jauntily along at her heels, she should have got herself one years
ago. And she couldn’t deny that these days she was feeling emboldened with the people she’d spoken to and the places she’d been to in her quest to try and help Aidan. It was
almost as if she’d found a new sense of connection with the city and was more certain of her place in it.

But while she would be happy to see Bailey reunited with his owner, she was really sorry to see him go, though not nearly as sorry as Grace, who’d showered the big dog with beef jerky
sticks and kisses almost all the way down the stairs on their way out this morning.

‘Do you think he could come back and visit sometime?’ her neighbour had pleaded as Darcy affixed him to the lead, the big dog licking her hand as she caressed his head, reluctant to
let him go.

‘I’m sure Aidan will want to thank you for taking care of him,’ Darcy reassured her, although she herself had no idea what was going to happen next; if any of them would see
either Bailey or indeed his owner again after today.

Aidan had wanted to arrange a car to collect them both from her apartment but Darcy had refused, preferring to take her time and enjoy one last walk with Bailey on this bright clear Manhattan
morning. As such, the journey to work would take a good hour longer than usual but she decided it was well worth it.

The weather was brisk, and having chosen to take the more scenic path, she stopped en route at Bryant Park for breakfast – a bagel and orange juice for her, and a hot dog and bottled water
for Bailey.

Darcy sat on one of the chairs beside the Park’s ice rink – still empty at this early hour – and watched the artisan vendors of the holiday shops ready their prettily decorated
huts with souvenirs, crafts and artwork for the day. Bailey lapped water from the bottle as she held it out for him and scarfed the hot dog – even the bun – down in seconds flat.

He licked his lips, full of energy now and circling her feet as they continued onwards, the city coming alive with the early rush, and the threat of fresh snow as the morning stretched on.

Bailey had gradually been getting more and more skittish and excited as they skirted Columbus Circle and wandered along familiar territory, and by the way he was pulling against the leash Darcy
knew he was looking forward to being reunited with his owner after the last few days’ separation.

Either that, or being reunited with his Dean & DeLuca dog food!

Though the hospital had reluctantly agreed to let Aidan discharge himself, Dr Mandeville was insisting on a final check-up that morning before he left her care, which meant that Bailey would be
home before his master, given that Darcy needed to drop him off early to make it in time for work.

But Aidan shouldn’t be too much later, and if anything it would be a nice opportunity for man and dog to get reacquainted on familiar territory. She just hoped that something would click
for Aidan once he was back in his own environment, surrounded by his own things, and a space in which he felt comfortable.

Aidan had promised to call her to confirm that he’d safely retrieved the key (she hoped he’d remember that they’d agreed to hide it in the soil of the potted maple) and was
settled – and after that, well – Darcy wasn’t entirely sure what would happen.

Based on what she’d learned at the ballet school last night, she was going to try and track down Melanie Rothschild and explain what had happened. Given that there was a genuine reason
behind whatever mix-up had occurred on the day of the accident, Darcy hoped that this, combined with the revelation that Aidan had been on his way to deliver a special gift to her, should mollify
the woman.

But even if Aidan’s memory remained problematic in the meantime, it wouldn’t be long before all the people who’d been trying to get in touch and were worried about his safety
would eventually make contact, and no doubt everything else would fall into place after that.

She felt saddened by this, and it wasn’t all down to her admission to Grace the other night. It was more the fact that her quest to figure out Aidan’s story would be over.

And Darcy could never abandon any tale until she knew the ending.

There is no friend as loyal as a book
.
Ernest Hemingway

Later at Chaucer’s, Darcy updated Joshua and Ashley on her recent adventures.

‘You’ll be glad to know that you won’t need to worry about sharing your workspace with any wolves from now on,’ she teased Joshua.

He listened, eyebrows raised, while Ashley unpacked boxes nearby. ‘What was that you said about talking to somebody called Cleaver-Parks?’ he asked, looking thoughtful. ‘I
recognise that name from somewhere.’

Darcy looked at him. Where on earth would her flamboyant man-about-town, book-geek colleague have come across a decidedly older, crotchety gent like the one Darcy had recently spoken to?

At this Ashley perked up too. ‘Senior or Junior?’ she asked.

Both Joshua and Darcy turned in unison towards the younger girl. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Nate Cleaver-Parks – which one were you trying to get in touch with?’ she asked simply. ‘There’s a Senior and a Junior.’

Then it clicked.
Father and son.
‘So that explains it!’ Darcy exclaimed. ‘I’m guessing that the guy I talked to was Senior and maybe the one who actually phoned
Aidan was Junior?’

Ashley nodded. ‘Yes, Nate Junior is my age or so.’

Darcy blinked, surprised. ‘Sounds like you might actually know this guy then? Nate Junior, that is.’

The younger girl shrugged. ‘Of course I do. I’ve known him since I was a kid. Our families are good friends.’

‘Wow.’ Darcy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘Well, he obviously knows Aidan too, so if I could speak to him then maybe I can let him know what’s happened
and maybe he might even know Melanie,’ she said, her anticipation running away with her.

Ashley waved a hand and smiled. ‘Sure, I can give him a quick call now. Like I said, I’ve known him forever, it’s no big deal.’ She stood up straight, brushed book dust
off her jeans and headed towards the cash desk, taking out an up-to-the-minute designer handbag from underneath.

‘I honestly don’t know why you’re even paid to work here, considering you carry around a bag like that,’ Joshua commented balefully. ‘If anything, this place should
be asking
you
for financing.’

Ashley grinned. ‘Oh come on. It was a gift. You know I’m just a starving college grad.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Daddy’s girl.’

Ignoring their banter, Darcy waited for Ashley to place the call, berating herself for giving up so easily the other day. But how could she possibly have guessed there would be two Nate
Cleaver-Parks?

Ashley hit some buttons on her phone and a moment later she cooed, ‘Nate, sweetie, I haven’t spoken to you in forever . . .’

Darcy watched her intently, hoping they’d get through the preliminary chitchat soon so Ashley could get to the point of the call. The girl made eye-contact with Darcy and winked.

‘Anyway Nate, yes, I am totally up for some fun on New Year’s Eve. I heard something about a bash that Kanye is promoting downtown? I’m sure we could get in.’ She laughed
and Joshua tutted, mouthing the words ‘unbelievable’ with an incredulous glance at Ashley. She ignored him. ‘So anyway, there is a purpose to my call . . .’

The young woman paused, listening to whatever Nate had to say. Darcy made circular motions with both of her hands, urging her to speed things up as the suspense was killing her. Luckily for
Darcy’s heart-rate, Ashley duly moved the conversation on. ‘I’m here with a friend of mine, my boss at the bookstore. She’s trying to find this guy, it’s actually a
really crazy story, but we’re pretty sure you know him—’ Ashley stopped talking abruptly, obviously cut off. She let out a giggle. ‘No, I’m pretty sure you
aren’t dating this guy. In fact, I think that he is straight, at least my friend thinks so.’

Darcy gulped, a bit taken aback, but it was certainly an angle she’d never even thought to consider.

‘Anyway. So like I said, you must know him or have talked to him or something. You left a message on his answering machine earlier this week. His name is Aidan Harris?’

Ashley went quiet as she listened intently to whatever Nate was saying.

Darcy paced the floor, dying to know what they were talking about or what was developing.

Soon Ashley continued her end of the conversation. ‘Well, that’s interesting,’ she said, ‘and it does fit in with a lot of what my friend has been thinking. She’s
been running all over the city trying to track down someone who knows him.’ She paused. ‘No, no, I get that. But maybe what you know can help Darcy?’ Another pause. ‘Yes,
that’s my friend. The one who knows Aidan. Well, sort of. It’s kind of a weird story.’ Ashley listened again. ‘Well, he couldn’t have got your message because he is
actually in the hospital right now.’ She nodded. ‘Sorry, yes, of course you didn’t know that.’ More listening, and Darcy felt like wrenching the phone away from her.
‘OK. Yes, she’s right here.’

Ashley held the phone out to Darcy.

‘Here you go,’ she said. ‘Nate wants to talk to you.’

‘Aidan Harris? Stephanie Everly here. I understand that you have been trying to get in touch with me,’ a woman said in clipped tones on the other end of the line.
Before I could continue, she went on: ‘I heard from Nate Cleaver-Parks that you are interested in Miller’s collection.’

‘Yes,’ I said, wanting to punch the air. Instead I crossed my fingers. ‘I am. And I would seriously be thrilled if he might consider brokering a deal with me, say
today?’

I bit my lip, trying not to sound so desperate. I really would be slaughtered in Atlantic City.

‘I see. Well, I can’t arrange anything that quickly without consulting him first, and he’s travelling in Europe at the moment, but we will be back in contact later today.
However, I can confirm that like most collectors, Miller is always willing to entertain any interest in his portfolio, particularly at the right price.’

She left the obvious implication hanging and I closed my eyes, not sure whether to be relieved or frightened.

So it could happen – but only if the price was right.

‘In the meantime, would you like to come out to the house and inspect the collection – see if the edition in question meets your requirements? I’m aware of your tight
timeline.’

‘What – now? Today?’ I asked, in some disbelief.

‘Yes, now,’ Stephanie said simply. She recited an address in Westchester County, a good forty-minute taxi ride from Manhattan. ‘I’ll meet you there.’

I hung up the phone, unable to believe my luck. Two days to D-day and finally I had a lead. A good one.

I took off at a pace, practically dragging Bailey along beside me. He was looking at me as if I had lost my mind. I briefly considered going back to the house and dropping him off, but I was all
the way downtown and there was precious little time to waste.

Finally I found a cab that would take us to Westchester County and allow a dog like Bailey in the car. When I say ‘a dog like Bailey’ I’m referring to his size and the fact
that he is obviously not of the tea-cup variety that Paris Hilton made famous.