A Gift to Remember (8 page)

But as she turned right onto Eighth, all the while scouring the street for free cabs, Bailey suddenly stopped.

Darcy gently jiggled the leash and pulled in the direction she wanted to go. ‘Come on, boy, it’s freezing and we need to keep going if we want to find a cab.’ She tugged again
but Bailey resisted, and this time sat right down on the pavement.

Puzzled by this show of stubbornness Darcy tugged again, this time a little harder, but Bailey jerked backwards, almost pulling the leash from her hands.

Crikey, what if he ran away and got lost? she thought, panicking. She couldn’t lose him now, not after all that had happened. And especially now that Aidan Harris’s family would soon
find out she was taking care of him. No doubt they were distraught enough as it was about Aidan, let alone finding out that the stupid woman who had knocked him over had also gone and lost their
dog in the meantime.

Darcy sighed and engaged the kickstand on her bike, before crouching down to his level. ‘Bailey, come on now, come,’ she commanded a little more authoritatively.

But when he still refused to move, she took a deep breath and put her hands on her hips. ‘Bailey, come. This way. Heel?’ She tried several variations of the same command, but still
the Husky strained mulishly in the other direction.

Darcy’s shoulders sagged. ‘Bailey. Come on, buddy,
please
,’ she cried in frustration. ‘I really need to get you home.’

At the mention of the word ‘home’ again, the dog’s ears perked up once more. He stuck his tongue out and wagged his tail as if to say: ‘OK then, let’s
go.’

She shook her head at his perplexing change of demeanour. ‘Yes, but home’s
this
way.’ Darcy pulled the leash and waved a hand in the direction that she wanted to go.
Bailey once again resisted and pulled the opposite way, back up towards Columbus Circle and the Park. He stared hard at Darcy as if telepathically trying to deliver a message.

That famous quote from Groucho Marx about dogs being too dark to read instinctively popped into her brain, and she frowned, trying to figure out what the hell she was missing.

She wondered if maybe he was trying to tell her that home –
his
home – was back in the other direction. Understanding finally dawning, she looked again at the tenacious
Husky. ‘Are you trying to tell me that your home is that way?’ She pointed past Columbus Circle towards the Park. Bailey whined and then gave a sharp bark.

Darcy felt as if she was having a
Lassie
moment. She thought back to her childhood when she would watch the old black and white TV reruns of the show, remembering how the faithful
collie always seemed smarter than her owners. No change there then.

She recalled laughing with her mum at how exasperated the dog always looked when her owners would scratch their heads and ask: ‘What is it, girl? Did Timmy fall down the well?’ Even
as a child Darcy remembered thinking
,
Go on dummies, follow the dog. She’s smarter than all of you put together.

She bit her lip. Was it just her imagination or was Bailey now wearing a very definite Lassie-like expression?

Then the thought struck her. Of course! If she could find out exactly where Bailey lived, then she could return him to his family right away without having to wait for them to contact her.
Clever puppy; evidently he was thinking more clearly than she was.

While Darcy didn’t relish the prospect of facing Aidan Harris’s wife or relatives, given her part in the accident, she would at least be able to return Bailey and the package to them
safe and sound.

Then her part in all of the drama would be over, and she could relax for the rest of the day and try to put the incident behind her. Unless, of course, Aidan Harris tried to stick her with a
lawsuit for his medical bills, in which case she would put all guilt aside and stand up for herself.

‘Oh what the hell,’ she muttered, as she adjusted her bike and turned in the direction of the Park. Walking some more wouldn’t kill her, and it would surely be a lot easier
than trying to persuade a cab to take them both downtown. ‘At the worst, it’s a crap shoot, at the best, you get to go home soon.’ She nudged Bailey on, and let him take the
initiative. The dog looked back at her for confirmation, and she smiled. ‘Go on then, buddy, you’re the boss. Lead the way. Let’s go home.’

Bailey tugged on his leash and set off. He barked as he started to trot, looking back briefly at her and breaking into a doggie grin as if to say, ‘
Finally
, you get it. I thought
we were going to be here all day.’

Darcy trailed behind the Husky as he led her with purpose through Columbus Circle past the Time Warner Centre, and the Trump International Tower on Central Park West.

Walking along at a brisk pace, they proceeded about fifteen blocks northwards, past the ‘Ghostbuster building’ and the beautiful German Renaissance-style Dakota residence, skirting
the Park all the while.

As they walked she struggled to not only keep up with the determined Husky, but also manage the bike and come to terms with the idea that a dog seemed completely in control of where she was
going. But he was very determined, and his bearing clearly told her that Bailey knew exactly what he was doing.

So even while he seemed sure about where they were headed, she half-wished Bailey was able to give her some sort of clue or indication as to how far away his home actually was, or how long the
journey would be. Fatigue was setting in again now, and at this point she just wanted this strange day to be over. Still though, Darcy held firmly to Bailey’s leash; she wasn’t going to
risk losing him after all of this.

As they made their way along the streets, she was aware of the change in real estate. The salubrious historic apartment residences they passed, along with the fact that the sidewalk crowd became
increasingly well-heeled, started to weigh on her, and as always she felt conspicuous around these parts, especially in her bedraggled state. She guessed that with her limp ponytail, damp clothes
and scruffy coat, she looked as though she had quite literally been dragged through the gutter.

Then something dawned on her and she came to a halt, stopping Bailey in his tracks.

‘Do you live in an apartment with a doorman?’ she asked him.

Of course, he didn’t answer, but gave a slight cock of his head. Darcy wished she could read his thoughts. She looked up ahead, trying to get her bearings. He could just as easily be
heading towards Harlem (a distance which Darcy didn’t think her feet could take), but then she recalled the clothes that Aidan had been in that morning, and the fancy package he’d been
carrying, and suspected that he lived in a upscale part of the city. If it turned out that he and Bailey lived in one of those residence buildings with a carpet and awnings outside, and a doorman
or a concierge inside, she wasn’t sure how (or if) she would be able to get past them.

She sighed heavily. ‘
Of course
your owner would have to live in this neighbourhood, Bailey.’ The Husky’s white-socked paws danced happily, and he was once again off
with a much more reluctant Darcy in tow. As he led her closer to what her aching limbs hoped would be their final destination, she couldn’t help but admire the impressive Art Deco,
Renaissance and Beaux Arts buildings that soared up around her on all sides. She had to admit, Bailey’s owner certainly had good taste in his choice of neighbourhood.

A dream location for many, there was arguably nowhere else in Manhattan than the Upper West Side that enjoyed all the conveniences and bustle of a thriving city with the eclectic amenities of
the suburbs, combined with sophistication and beautiful outdoor space.

Working at Chaucer’s, Darcy was familiar with the high-end shopping and dining the upscale neighbourhood offered; mouth-watering gourmet places like Zabar’s and Fairways, as well as
myriad wonderful cafés, gelaterias, salumerias, bakeries and fine restaurants, though much to her regret she couldn’t afford to shop or eat in any of them.

Beautiful homes in ornate buildings or historic brownstones on tree-lined avenues, wonderful farmers’ markets, great restaurants and stunning outdoor living in the shape of Riverside Park
(not to mention Central Park) all added up to a charmed life for the lucky residents of the Upper West Side.

And just as Darcy started to ponder over what Aidan Harris might do for a living if he could afford to live around here, Bailey came to an abrupt stop. So abrupt that she almost ran over his
tail with her bike’s front wheel.

The dog threw a cursory glance backwards at her, took a quick sniff of the air and turned to the right. Evidently, he was giving her the heads-up that they needed to turn.

Darcy and her bike followed him down a quiet tree-lined residential side street. Up ahead, she saw a break in the luxury pre-war apartment buildings, and instead saw a neat row of three-storey
brownstone townhouses. Bailey quickened his pace and led her directly to the third one on the right, where he stopped and sat at the bottom of the steps.

She glanced down at the dog. ‘Here?’ she asked, pointing. Bailey’s tongue popped out of his mouth and he wagged his tail. ‘So that must be a yes,’ Darcy said,
taking in the exterior of the forbiddingly elegant home.

She bit her lip as she contemplated what to do next. At least she wouldn’t have a doorman to contend with. But on the other hand, this was
serious
Manhattan real estate. Darcy
wasn’t sure exactly how much brownstones went for in this part of town, but she guessed it was major cash.

‘Well well, well,’ she said to Bailey. ‘Do you think that maybe you could have told me before that you guys were loaded?’

Darcy parked her bike next to the stairway that led up to the front door and cautiously looked around. She wondered if anyone was looking out of their window, taking in the fact that she was not
a regular in this neighbourhood and already dialling the NYPD.

‘That’s all I need at this moment, the cops again. I’m just trying to do a good deed,’ she muttered as Bailey led the way up the steps. ‘Maybe people will just
think I’m the hired help.’

The Husky looked at her doubtfully.

Darcy reached for the doorbell and pressed it hard, glancing at the pretty potted maple tree outside. ‘OK, let’s see if anyone’s home.’

Bailey moved skittishly at her feet, as if waiting for her to open the door and let him in. But there was no reply, and after a beat, Darcy rang the bell again. Still nothing.

Her heart plummeted. Damn.

Bailey looked up at her and whined impatiently.

‘Believe me, I wish that door would open too. But there’s nothing I can do, Bailey; it looks like nobody’s home.’ Checking her watch, she saw it was still mid-afternoon,
so if Aidan’s wife or girlfriend (or boyfriend even) was at work, they weren’t likely to be home for hours yet. Or of course, she realised, wanting to kick herself for not thinking of
this sooner, once they’d learned about Aidan’s accident, they were likely to be back at the hospital.

Damn again
, she whispered silently. So much for getting all of this sorted out quickly. She reached down and caressed Bailey’s silky head. ‘Sorry, buddy, looks like
you’re stuck with me for a little while longer.’

The Husky’s tummy rumbled out loud, making Darcy aware of the fact that he likely wouldn’t have eaten a proper meal since breakfast that morning. No wonder he was so anxious to go
inside.

She’d have to find a way to feed him then, and while she was at it, feed herself too. She’d missed breakfast on account of being late for work and the only thing she’d eaten
was the muffin at the café a little while ago.

But Darcy didn’t figure on finding anything to eat for either of them around these parts. Not without taking out a mortgage in any case.

‘Sorry, Bailey, back to Plan A,’ Darcy informed him jadedly. ‘You’re going to have to forgo your usual creature comforts for a little while. We’re going
downtown.’

Books are not made for furniture, but there is nothing else that so beautifully furnishes a house
.
Henry Ward Beecher

After finding a taxi willing to carry the Husky with surprising ease – Darcy guessed doggy transport was a common occurrence amongst the pet-loving Central Park West set
– soon they were back along her own elm-tree-lined streets, cars wedged bumper to bumper against the kerb. Luigi’s was quieter after the lunchtime rush; no line at the counter and only
a few late stragglers pressed against the window, sharing a Coke and a slice of pizza. She was relieved, guessing that she wouldn’t have to wait too long for the order she’d phoned in
on the way.

Two flights full of excitable yipping led her up to her apartment and Darcy fiddled with her keys, eager to get Bailey inside before grouchy Mrs Henley heard the commotion and poked her
prominent nose out to see what was going on. In contrast to his staid behaviour earlier, the Husky now seemed positively excited by the change in scenery. Or more likely, by the scent of roasted
garlic and meaty bolognese coming from the restaurant.

Darcy had just found her key when she heard feet pounding up the stairs. Heavy, male feet. Terrified that her stowaway would be discovered, she frantically slid the key in, swinging wide the
door to sneak him through to her apartment. At that moment Ricardo, one of Luigi’s waiters, rounded the corner, a white and red chequered pizza box in hand, the contents so hot, fresh steam
seeped out of the side.

Her mouth watered. For the pizza, that was – not Ricardo.

In his mid-twenties, Ricardo was six feet tall and stocky in his wheat-coloured cords and green and red Luigi’s shirt beneath his stained apron. The newest addition to the staff at the
restaurant, for some reason he had latched onto Darcy.

Maybe he had a thing for (older) bookish types, that whole hair up, reading glasses on and open shirt collar thing that some guys went for, though she felt almost old enough to be his mother,
and had told him so on several occasions. Almost instinctively she tightened her tousled ponytail and checked her neckline to ensure there was nothing for him to get in any way excited about.
Though it was unlikely. The look Darcy was currently sporting – a combination of flushed cheeks from the freezing cold, frizzy hair and damp dirty clothes covered in greyish dog fluff –
was unlikely to be a turn-on for any guy.