Читать книгу Treacherous - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 8

It was late when Hayley let herself into her apartment on East 86th Street. The building was a luxury high-rise with a doorman. It was a far cry from the shelter down the street where she, Mikey and Luke had spent far too much time as children. She always shrivelled inside when she thought of that place.

Once Celebration started making money, she and Fiona had decided to have separate apartments. When they lived together they would come home from the office and talk business until it was time to go to bed.

Even now they’d spend half the evening on the phone, going over details of whatever event they were planning. But this new living arrangement allowed them to think about something else, at least for a few hours every day.

There was another reason Hayley wanted her own place, but she would never admit it to Fiona. She needed to have somewhere for her brother to crash when he got into one of his scrapes, as he called them. Like getting evicted, or beaten up for not paying a debt to the wrong people. She knew Mikey was a mess, but he was her mess. And she wasn’t about to run away from her responsibilities, like their mother had done.

Fiona was well aware that Hayley was constantly rescuing her brother, and Hayley knew she knew, but it was another one of those things they never discussed.

Hayley poured a glass of wine, clicked on the television and curled up in her favourite spot. It was an enormous wing chair, more suitable for a wrestler than a slender slip of a girl who was all of five foot two with shoes on. She had paid thirty-two dollars for the chair at one of the many charity thrift shops that dotted First Avenue, and managed to get it home tied on top of a yellow cab. She had reupholstered it herself in rich emerald-green velvet, the colour of her eyes. When she had lived at the shelter down the street, she had dreamed of having a real home one day, and a special chair. Now she had both.

She was later than usual, and Luke’s news show was almost over. She watched him every night. At the end of every broadcast, he looked into the camera and said, ‘I’m Luke Thompson and I wish you a goodnight.’ She liked to fantasize that he was talking only to her.

‘I wish you goodnight too, Luke,’ she said to the screen.

She froze the frame and studied his face. His dark hair was prematurely greying at the temples, but it only served to make him look sexier, if that was possible. He had grey eyes with thick lashes, but he was all man, cut from the same cloth as old-time movie stars like Clark Gable. She tried to fathom what his home was like, who he would have dinner with tonight, and who he loved.

She hadn’t seen him in person for more than five years. When he called her to say he was getting an award, and would she like to organize the party for him, it took almost an hour for her to stop trembling after she’d hung up. Life had made her tough, but there was something about Luke Thompson that made her knees turn to jelly … when she was eight. And now at thirty.

‘Having a drink with your lover, I see.’

Hayley almost jumped out of her chair.

Mikey was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, watching her intently.

‘Mikey! You nearly gave me a heart attack. What are you doing here?’

‘Well, I was sleeping until you turned on Captain America.’ Mikey looked at the face frozen on the television screen. ‘Who would’ve ever guessed he’d end up on TV?’

‘He always wanted to be a newscaster,’ Hayley exclaimed, sounding annoyed.

Mikey picked through the refrigerator and settled on a piece of cold pizza. ‘Wanting and doing are different things. I wanted all kind of things,’ he said through mouthfuls of food.

‘You could be anything you want, if you just worked at it.’ She went to the kitchen and gave him a piece of paper towel to use as a napkin.

He stuck it in his pocket and used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth, studying the screen. He threw himself down in Hayley’s chair, sprawling in it. ‘Did old Luke ever get married? Or is he waiting for you?’

‘Don’t be disgusting.’ Hayley’s voice was harsher than she had meant it to be. ‘And no, he’s not married. But we’re not that kind of friends.’

‘If you say so.’

‘Would you get out of my chair! You’re going to get pizza sauce on it.’

‘Oooohhh. The queen’s throne!’ He playfully pretended to wipe his hands on the chair.

Hayley swatted him, but couldn’t help smiling. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be at work?’

‘I quit. Night watchman is a joke job. I need to get something that suits me better. Maybe I’ll be a TV star, too.’

‘You got fired, didn’t you?’ It was a statement, not a question. Hayley knew him only too well.

‘It’s better to get fired than quit. I keep telling you that. Then you can collect unemployment.’

‘What am I going to do with you?’

‘Since you asked … can you lend me a few bucks to hold me, till my unemployment kicks in?’

‘Mikey, I just gave you five hundred dollars.’

Mikey looked stricken. ‘That was a week ago. I know you’re a penny pincher. Well, I guess I can get a loan. I know some people.’

‘No!’ Hayley went to find her bag. ‘Stay away from those guys. They charge a hundred per cent interest, and you know what happens when you don’t pay. I’ll give you what I have.’

Mikey counted the money. It was a hundred and twenty dollars. ‘Maybe you could cash a cheque?’

‘Out! Go home before I take that money back.’

He playfully lifted her up and whirled her around. ‘Thank you, 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.