Dammit! I wanted to throw it against the wall, tell whoever was on the other end to go to hell. But a small part of me hoped it was Jonathan with some information. Lily smiled and told me to take my time. I nodded sadly and answered.
‘Is this Andrea?’ asked a man’s voice.
‘Yes, is this Jonathan?’
‘It is indeed. I just called home and got your message. I’m flying back from Paris right now, somewhere over the Atlantic as we speak, but you sounded so worried I wanted to call you back right away.’
‘Thank you! Thank you! I really appreciate it. Yes, I am a bit worried, because I got a call from Miranda earlier today and it seems strange that she hadn’t yet received the package. You did give it to the driver in Paris, right?’
‘Sure did. You know, miss, in my business I don’t ask any questions. Just fly where I’m told and when and try to get everyone there in one piece. But it’s sure not often I end up flying overseas with nothing onboard but a package. Must’ve been something real important, I imagine, like an organ for a transplant or maybe some classified documents. So yes, I took real good care of that package and I gave it to the driver, just like I was told. Nice fella from the Ritz. No problems.’
I thanked him and hung up. The concierge at the Ritz had arranged for a driver to meet Mr Tomlinson’s private plane at de Gaulle and transfer Harry back to the hotel. If everything went as planned, Miranda should’ve had those books by seven in the morning local time, and considering it was already late afternoon there, I couldn’t imagine what had gone wrong. There was no choice: I had to call the concierge, and since my cell wouldn’t dial internationally, I had to find a phone that did.
I took the plate of now cold waffles back to the kitchen and dumped them in the garbage. Lily was lying on the couch again, half-asleep. I hugged her good-bye and told her I’d call her later and headed out to hail a cab back to the office.
‘What about today?’ she whined. ‘I have The American President all lined up and ready to go. You can’t leave yet – our weekend’s not over!’
‘I know, I’m sorry, Lil. I have to deal with this now. There’s nothing I’d rather do than stay here, but she’s got me on a pretty short leash right now. I’ll call you later?’
The office was, of course, deserted, as everyone was surely brunching at Pastis with their investment banker boyfriends. I sat in my darkened area, took a deep breath, and dialed. Blissfully, Monsieur Renaud, my favorite of the Ritz concierges, was available.
‘Andrea, dear, how are you? We’re simply delighted to have Miranda and the twins back with us again so soon,’ he lied. Emily told me that Miranda stayed at the Ritz so frequently that the entire hotel staff knew her and the girls by name.
‘Yes, Monsieur Renaud, and I know she’s just thrilled to be there,’ I lied back. No matter how accommodating the poor concierge was, Miranda found fault with his every move. To his credit, he never stopped trying, and he never stopped lying about how much he loved her, either. ‘Listen, I’m wondering if that car you sent to meet Miranda’s plane made it back to the hotel already?’
‘Well of course, dear. That was hours ago. He must’ve returned here before eight o’clock this morning. I sent the best driver we have on staff,’ he said proudly. If only he knew what his best driver had been sent to shuttle around town.
‘Well, that’s so strange, because I got a message from Miranda saying that she never received the package, but I’ve checked with the driver here who swears he dropped it at the airport, the pilot who swears he flew it to Paris and gave it to your driver, and now you who remember it arriving at the hotel. How could she not have received it?’
‘It seems the only way to solve this is to ask the lady herself,’ he trilled in a fake-happy voice. ‘Why don’t I connect you?’
I had hoped against all hope that it wouldn’t come to this, that I’d be able to identify and fix the problem without having to speak to her. What would I tell her if she still insisted that she’d never received the package? Was I supposed to suggest that she look on the table in her suite, where it was inevitably left hours earlier? Or was I supposed to go through the whole thing, private jet and all, and get her two more copies by the end of the day? Or perhaps I should hire a secret service agent next time to accompany the books on their journey overseas and ensure that nothing compromises their safe arrival? Something to think about.
‘Sure, Monsieur Renaud. Thanks for your help.’
A few clicks and the phone was ringing. I was sweating slightly from the tension, so I wiped my palm on my sweatpants and tried not to think what would happen if Miranda saw me wearing sweatpants in her office. Be calm, be confident, I coached myself. She can’t disembowel me over the phone.
‘Yes?’ I heard from a faraway place, jolting myself out of my self-help thoughts. It was Caroline who, at a mere ten years, had perfected her mother’s brusque phone manner perfectly. Cassidy at least had the courtesy to answer the phone with a ‘hello.’
‘Hi, sweetie,’ I crooned, hating myself for sucking up to a child. ‘It’s Andrea, from the office. Is your mom there?’
‘You mean my mum?’ she corrected as she always did when I used the American pronunciation. ‘Sure, I’ll get her.’
A moment or two later, Miranda was on the line.
‘Yes, Ahn-dre-ah? This had better be important. You know how I feel about being interrupted when I’m spending time with the girls,’ she stated in her cold, clipped way. You know how I feel about being interrupted when I’m spending time with the girls? I wanted to scream. Are you fucking kidding me, lady? You think I’m calling for my goddamn health? Because I couldn’t bear to go a single weekend without hearing your miserable voice? And what about me spending time with my girls? I thought I’d pass out from anger, but I took a deep breath and dove right in.
‘Miranda, I’m sorry if this is a bad time, but I’m calling to ensure that you received the Harry Potter books. I heard your message saying that you hadn’t yet received them, but I’ve spoken to everyone and—’
She interrupted me midsentence and spoke slowly and surely. ‘Ahn-dre-ah. You should really listen more closely. I said no such thing. We received the package early this morning. Incidentally, it came so early that they woke us all up for the silly thing.’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I didn’t dream that she’d left the message, did I? I was still too young even for early-onset Alzheimer’s, right?
‘What I said was that we didn’t receive both copies of the book, as I had requested. The package included only one, and I’m sure you can imagine just how disappointed the girls are. They were really looking forward to each having their own copy, as I had requested. I need you to explain why my orders weren’t followed.’
This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. I was definitely dreaming now, living some sort of alternate-universe existence where anything resembling rationality and logic were suspended indefinitely. I wouldn’t even let myself consider the absurdity of what was unfolding.
‘Miranda, I do recall that you requested two copies, and I ordered two,’ I stammered, hating myself yet again for pandering. ‘I spoke to the girl at Scholastic and am quite sure that she understood that you needed two copies of the book, so I can’t imagine—’
‘Ahn-dre-ah, you know how I feel about excuses. I’m not particularly interested in hearing yours now. I expect something like this will never happen again, correct? That’s all.’ She hung up.
I stood there for what must have been five full minutes,