Reading – Hidden
Books by Barbara Taylor Bradford
It was in the fifth grade, when they were ten, that Fiona Chambers crossed the soccer field to stand with, and up for, the new girl. Skinny, awkward, out of place at the posh prep school in New York, Hayley Martin had become a target for the establishment’s well-heeled bullies.
She was taunted about everything: her clothes, an unruly tangle of auburn curls, her status as a scholarship student, and the street slang that popped out of her mouth at inopportune times.
After an essay Hayley wrote about her time living in a homeless shelter was deemed best in the English class, and published in the school paper, the torment became almost intolerable.
Then one day Fiona walked over to the embattled girl, put an arm around her, and asked if they could sit together at lunch. That act of compassion changed everything for Hayley.
Fiona Chambers was a superstar. It wasn’t simply her classic blonde beauty, or her sense of humour, or the fact that she was very smart that drew people to her. Fiona had an inborn shimmer that could not be counterfeited. It was called charisma.
From that day forward, if anyone wanted to hang out with Fiona, they had to put up with this ‘rescue’ girl of hers. And just like that, Hayley was part of the in-crowd. In exchange, Fiona garnered the lifelong devotion of her new friend.
Well, lifelong is perhaps an overstatement. There would come a time when Hayley Martin’s raison d’être would be the complete and utter destruction of her former friend.
The transformation from acolyte to enemy was complicated. And perhaps it was inevitable.
‘I just don’t see how we can do it, Hayley,’ Fiona said. ‘We have the Met Costume Gala that Saturday, Cancer the following week, and the Whitney wedding two days later.’
‘For Luke Thompson, we’ll find a way. And could you say Cancer Benefit, please.’ Hayley wrinkled her nose. ‘Cancer next week doesn’t sound that festive. Just the opposite.’
Fiona laughed. ‘Point well taken.’
‘Listen, I’d set my hair on fire if Luke asked me to. He wants us to do this party, so we do it. And that’s that.’
Still shy as a fawn in public, Hayley was a different person when she and Fiona were alone. Smart, accomplished and irreverent. The two girls had become inseparable at Miss Porter’s School, and beyond. They were roommates in college, had backpacked around Europe after graduation, and eventually landed in a tiny apartment in St Mark’s Place on the Lower East Side of Manhattan.
It was an ancient railroad flat, which meant that in 1910 three rooms were lined up in a row, like train carriages, and the bathtub was in the kitchen. It was a quirky little place but the girls loved it. The combination of Fiona’s creative ideas, and Hayley’s uncanny ability to transform dreams into reality, had changed an eyesore into a charming little gem. That rare blend of skills was to prove invaluable, when later they launched their joint venture from the fifth-floor walkup. They started an event planning company which they called Celebration.
Outsiders wondered what kind of glue made these two disparate personalities into such a cohesive team. It was simple really. Fiona admired Hayley’s grit and determination to overcome a background Dickensian in its bleakness. She took hard work and perseverance to a new level.
Hayley, on the other hand, was in awe of Fiona’s seemingly effortless ability to accomplish whatever she set out to do. And instead of being full of herself because of it, Fiona had a huge heart. She was capable of acts of profound compassion, such as taking a lonely young girl under her wing and changing her life.
This morning, twenty years after that event, the two women were sitting at the cluttered round table that served as an operations centre for Celebration. It was the spring of 2013, and they had a burgeoning business.
‘Could you not set your hair on fire, no matter who requests it,’ Fiona begged. ‘That blue tint you thought was so cool has almost grown out.’
‘If we do this for Luke, I promise I’ll only dye it colours found in nature,’ Hayley answered. ‘He’s family, Fiona. We taught each other how to kiss, underneath the stairs at that shelter on 86th Street.’
‘You never told me you were romantically involved with the hunkiest newsman on the air!’
Hayley laughed dismissively. ‘Hardly. I was eight, he was nine. And it wasn’t romance, it was a science experiment. When I was sent to Miss Porter’s, we swore to be friends for life, and we have been. Plus he looked after Mikey the best he could, after I’d gone.’
Fiona stiffened at the mention of Hayley’s younger brother. Mikey was trouble. But Hayley, who usually had an infallible radar about people, could not see it. She had practically raised the boy, in the absence of their will-o’-the-wisp mother, and in Hayley’s eyes he could do no wrong.
Fiona had an urge to say that Luke Thompson would have done better to watch out for the people Mikey conned, but she thought better of it. It would only upset Hayley. Instead, she said, ‘When am I going to get to meet this wonder?’
The investigative reporter was a household name, and Fiona admired him for the work he did. And he was a champion of the underdog, which made him extra special to her.
‘He’s hard to pin down. He’s always flying around the globe, covering disasters. Or exposing corruption,’ Hayley replied. ‘But when we plan this party for him, which we absolutely, positively must, you’ll finally meet him.’ Although she was usually indifferent about such things, she was growing agitated. ‘His television team is getting the Edward R. Murrow Award for their reporting on human trafficking.’
‘Talk about festive,’ Fiona murmured, raising a brow.
‘Figure it out, Fiona. Please.’
Fiona studied her friend. ‘You’re practically shaking, Hayley. Are you sure you don’t have strong feelings for Luke?’
‘Of course I have feelings for him. But not the kind you’re thinking. He’s like a brother. Romance would be like incest! Ick.’ She made a face, grimacing.
‘Okay, okay. Got it,’ Fiona said, examining the huge calendar that was displayed on the wall opposite. It was covered with neat printing which denoted events scheduled well into the next year. It hadn’t always been that way.
For the first few years, Celebration’s calendar was practically blank. A small wedding, a party on election night. They had
