Treacherous (Kindle Single) by Barbara Taylor Bradford
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 honor, 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-colored slacks and a short-sleeved lavender sweater. It was spring, but weather in mid-April was quixotic 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 favored by the Duchess of Cambridge, and examined herself in the mirror. With her cream-colored 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 favorite 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.
FOUR
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 multicolored 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 color it for you. You are lucky not to be bald.”
All Hayley could manage was a nod. She was grappling with the image in the mirror. She hardly knew herself. The blue tint which she had so carefully applied to her hair was gone, replaced by her own color, auburn. She hadn’t seen it in years.
The long tangle of messy hair that she thought of as her trademark was gone. In its place was a pixie cut, which one of the assistants was now coaxing into place with a round brush and a blow dryer. Anne Hathaway on a bad day, she decided, thinking of the actress. She was also fighting the urge to burst into tears and run away from this place.
“Very chic! Very you,” the famous hairdresser said, although Hayley had never met him before, and he had no idea who she was.
Frederick’s fingers were flying through her hair now that the assistant had finished his work. He smoothed it, then spiked it, then messed it up completely, and called it perfection.
“You have something special to do today, yes?” the hairdresser asked.
In spite of herself, Hayley blushed. “Maybe. Yes. I’m going to see a friend, a man. I haven’t seen him in a long time.”
“You love this man.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Oh, no!” Haley was adamant. “Nothing like that. He’s a friend, as I said.”
He laughed. “I am French. I know such things! And when he sees you today, he will love you back.” Frederick made a little bow, and, trailed by his entourage, floated off to the next client.
Hayley had frequently Googled Luke and knew he was still single, knew he had no significant relationships. She stared at herself in the mirror and dared to hope.
FIVE
Fiona was late. She had left the brownstone in Gramercy Park, where she lived, in plenty of time and, miraculously, a taxi was just dropping off a passenger on Park Avenue.
Her luck ended there. Bumper-to-bumper traffic was everywhere. Her driver crawled up and down side streets only to be greeted by another snarl of cars.
Finally she thanked him, stuffed twenty dollars into his hand, and jumped out of the cab on Sixth Avenue and 32nd Street. She ran the four long blocks to the railway station, her overnight bag banging against her leg.
Fiona raced into the 34th Street entrance, her pony tail flying. Penn Station was crowded even at three forty-five in the afternoon. She breathlessly asked the first person she saw where the Krispy Kreme Donut Shop was. Luk
He was correct. But by the time she had pushed her way through the crowd to the entrance, it was three fifty. The train left at four o’clock, and she feared Luke might have gone ahead without her.
Then she spotted him. There he was, holding a bag of donuts, looking impossibly handsome, as he searched the crowd for a woman he had never met.
“I know what you look like,” she had told him, but she had been wrong. He was better-looking in person than he was on air, if that was possible. He wore jeans, a pale blue cashmere sweater topped with a blazer and a vest. A long scarf of some exotic weave was wrapped around his neck.
Layers, Fiona thought. Like me. He looked more like a professor from the Ivy League college where her father taught than one of the most respected television journalists on the planet.
“Hi,” she said, gasping for air like someone who had just completed the New York Marathon. He turned around and smiled at her, which did nothing to slow her breathing.
“Sorry,” was all she could choke out. That giddy feeling she had been battling all day came rushing back. This, coupled with shortness of breath from the run, and the insane physical attraction she was feeling for this perfect stranger, was making her feel faint.
“No worries,” Luke said, taking her bag. “We’ll make it with time to spare.”
He grabbed her hand and started running, pulling her along behind him. His hand was strong and warm as he rushed her through the throng of commuters. They sprinted down the stairs to the track.
“Board! All aboard for Washington, D.C.”
The conductor stepped onto the last car, swung his light to signal the engineer, and slowly the train began to move down the tracks.
“Oh no!” Fiona gasped. “I’ve made you miss it.”
Luke was undaunted. Hanging onto Fiona’s hand, he raced down the last few steps toward the train. He let go of her hand for a second, and leapt, still holding her luggage and the donuts, and was on the moving train. He reached out his hand to her, as the train began to speed up. He was pulling her, forcing to run alongside the train.
“Jump!” he cried. “I won’t let anything happen to you!”
And so she jumped.
She didn’t think about the consequences or the danger, she just jumped. He caught her, as he had promised, and didn’t let go. They held onto each other, there in the vestibule of the train, panting and wheezing and gasping for air.
Fiona started to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation, which made breathing all that much harder. Then he began to laugh, too, and soon they were gone in paroxysms of hysterical laughter mingled with dyspnea.
Fiona slid to the floor, and Luke joined her. When, finally, she could breathe enough to speak, she panted, “I’m Fiona,” and extended her hand.
“And I’m Luke.” He grinned, taking her offered hand.
He did not let go right away, and Fiona, the laugher gone now, made no move to pull away. They just sat there, holding hands. And looking at one another with a kind of wonder.
SIX
After spending nearly eight hundred dollars, including the tip, for her new pixie cut, Hayley decided to go all out. She left the salon and walked down Fifth Avenue to Henri Bendel. In the past this store had intimidated her, but she was on a roll today.
She pushed open one of the heavy bronze doors, and stepped inside. The air was filled with a mixture of exotic and expensive perfumes. The sales people all looked alike in their stylish black ensembles and their flawless, heavily made-up faces. Lash extensions were on every eye. Hayley’s face got very hot, and she headed back toward the door.
“Very cool haircut!” a voice called, but she kept on walking, never dreaming the voice was speaking to her. No one had ever mentioned her hair in a favorable light.
“I’m thinking of going pixie myself. Who cut it?” the voice asked.
Hayley turned to find a young woman, who looked very much like the glamorous manikins in the window, eying her hair appreciatively.
“Oh,” she said casually as though it should be obvious. “Frederick.”
“I should have known! A cut by him is on my bucket list. I hope I live that long. So, how may I assist you today?”
Twenty-seven hundred dollars later Hayley left the store dressed in a black-and-white dress by Jason Wu, on sale, that Miss Jane Meeker, her new best friend, assured her was a mix of innocence and aggression. On her feet was a pair of black Christian Louboutins, not on sale. She thought the red soles were more attractive than the tops of most of her other shoes.
Hayley took the subway to the office. Old habits die hard, and she knew she would have to raid the emergency fund she kept for Mikey to pay for this total extravagance. But it would be worth it, if Luke Thompson looked at her like a woman. And not like the little girl he taught how to slide into second base, as well as how to kiss when they were kids.
Hayley knew Fiona planned to meet with Luke at the office at about four. Her plan was to drop by casually, just to say a quick hello. Then she would let nature take its course. She tottered up the subway stairs in her new shoes, and checked her herself out in the window of a shop. Jane Meeker was right. Innocence and aggression personified. She was excited. She knew she looked good. No, wonderful.
Hayley wanted the meeting to be underway before she made her entrance. If they were nearly finished with the details, she could suggest they grab a drink and catch up. Hashing over old times would be boring for Fiona so it would be just the two of them.
She looked at her phone, to check the time. It was only then she realized she had turned it off earlier. When she powered up, she saw that Fiona had called her four times. She dialed voicemail as she continued to admire herself in the window pane.
“Hayley, where are you? I’ve been calling and calling. Change of plans. Something came up for Luke. He has to go to D.C. I’m going with him on the train. I cleared my calendar. I’ll stay over. Be back by tomorrow night.”
Hayley stood frozen, gaping mindlessly at the girl reflected in the window. How ridiculous she looked, like a child playing dressing-up in someone else’s expensive finery.
SEVEN
“You’ll have to move inside the carriage.”
The voice of the conductor startled both Fiona and Luke. They were sitting where they had landed, on the floor of the vestibule of the Acela fast train, munching on the Krispy Kremes which Luke had miraculously saved.
“It’s very pleasant right here,” Fiona murmured, finishing off a powdered-sugar-dusted espresso donut.
“As a matter of fact,” Luke said, offering the conductor the bag, “I believe I booked these seats.”
“Must have been a glitch in your reservation, Mr. Thompson.” The conductor grinned, helping himself to one of the donuts. “My records show you’ve got your usual seat in the first-class car. I thought you’d missed the train.”
“It was close, Charlie. But the lady here is an Olympic sprinter, and she got me here in time.” Luke scrambled to his feet and offered Fiona his hand.
She laughed. “I believe for my next race I’ll choose a different kind of track shoes.” She flashed her four-inch platform heels.
“I couldn’t walk two steps in those,” Charlie said. “Women are amazing.”
“Some more than others,” Luke replied, carefully removing a speck of powdered sugar from her cheek.
The gesture felt strangely intimate to Fiona, and the butterflies circled back. She smiled up at Luke, and the electricity between the two of them was so potent, Charlie felt the need to turn away and open the heavy door. He cleared his throat.
“Not far to go,” the conductor said, breaking the mood. “I’ve got you in the middle of this car, where there's less rocking and rolling.” He led them to an empty four-seater.
“And your usual is all ready to pour, Mr. Thompson. Vodka martini, extra dry with a twist. And what can I get the lady?”
&
“Champagne, of course,” Luke responded.
Charlie nodded and lurched away down the aisle of the speeding train. Luke helped Fiona to sit down in a cushy leather chair by the window.
“Apparently you take this train a lot,” Fiona said.
“Too often,” Luke answered, stashing her bag overhead. “If I’m not on location, I usually broadcast from D.C.”
“But you live in New York City?”
“Technically,” Luke said, slipping out of his sports coat, and hanging it on the hook by his seat. “I keep a small apartment in Chelsea. But I really live wherever the news is breaking.”
“Do you ever miss having a home?”
“To me,” Luke said, “home is a place you share with someone you love. I haven’t found that person. Yet.”
He sat down opposite her. “I like to ride backwards.” He grinned. “Then I never forget where I came from.”
Fiona studied him thoughtfully. “Hayley told me a little bit about how you two grew up together.”
“Living in a shelter was no party, I’ll say that. But we both survived.”
“You did a lot more than survive. You're at the top of your profession, and Hayley, well, Hayley is one of the most amazing, resilient people I’ve ever known.”
“She wrote to me about you,” he said, smiling at her. “About how you threw her a lifeline, when she was drowning up there at Miss Porter’s. She said she would never have survived without your help.”
“She gives me too much credit,” Fiona answered.
“She’s a great kid. Always was. Don’t ever cross her though.” He laughed. “She’s a take-no-prisoners kind of girl.”
“I saw that at school. Once, she found another pupil in her room, snooping through her desk. Hayley didn’t say a word to her, just smiled pleasantly and asked if she’d found everything she’d been looking for. But two days later, a term paper the girl had been working on, and for most of the semester, was mysteriously erased from her computer.”