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  Especially for Mam

  With lots of love

  Acknowledgements

  Lots of love and thanks to my wonderful agent Sheila Crowley and everyone at Hodder UK and Hachette Ireland for looking after me so well, and to the lovely booksellers all over the world who continuously give my books such amazing support.

  To Kevin and Carrie for always putting a smile on my face.

  This book is dedicated to my mother, Nell, who many years ago introduced me to the delights of the charm bracelet. Thanks also to my dad, Noel, and two lovely sisters, Amanda and Sharon, who are all wonderful supporters.

  To Alexandra Konecki and Inga Laurila, who each make a special appearance in this book because of their wonderful support of charities Autism Speaks (thank you Rosemary Konecki) and Authors for Japan.

  As always, special thanks to readers everywhere who buy and read my books. I’m so very grateful and I love hearing from you via my website www.melissahill.info or chatting on Facebook and Twitter.

  I very much hope you enjoy The Gift of a Charm.

  Chapter 1

  Holly O’Neill always figured that life was just like a snow globe. From the outside things looked peaceful, until you shook it and everything inside got jumbled up.

  She pressed her nose closer to the windowpane as a delicate snowflake landed on the glass in front of her before quickly dissolving into nothingness.

  Holly loved the first winter snowfall of the year. It meant that Christmas would be here soon – time for curling up next to warm log fires in her cosy walk-up apartment. It meant twinkling lights, mulled wine and pink cheeks, while immersed in a bustling city made all the more romantic under a blanket of snow.

  Closing her eyes, she imagined the goodwill that seemed to automatically blossom in Manhattan when the temperatures outside dropped, and general feelings of cheer permeated. She smiled in anticipation of the holiday season and wondered what fantastic things the snow would bring with it.

  ‘Mom! I can’t find my iPod!’

  Holly opened her eyes and quickly brought herself back to reality. Smiling, she turned from the window at the same moment the door to the living room flew open to reveal a ten-year-old in the midst of a technological-related meltdown.

  ‘I don’t know where I put it, and I need it now. I just downloaded a new Kanye song and I want Chris to listen to it at school.’ Her son Danny stood before her, his bright blue eyes wide with worry, and the dark brown hair that Holly had already so diligently smoothed down with water once again in the throes of bed-head.

  ‘Danny, calm down – I borrowed it, it’s right there.’ She pointed to the antique rosewood side table that she had rescued from certain doom at a thrift store on Canal Street.

  He raised his eyebrows sceptically. ‘You … borrowed my iPod?’ He went to retrieve the little device and quickly turned it on, as if to make sure his technologically challenged mother hadn’t done anything to time-warp it back to a long-forgotten era. ‘I didn’t think you even knew how to use it.’

  Holly puffed out her chest. ‘Now, I’ll have you know, I have truly mastered the BlackBerry Carole bought me for my birthday.’ She thought back to her boss’s attempt at bringing Holly into the twenty-first century, thinking it would be valuable for her to have a way to easily manage the client list, deliveries and other goings-on at the Secret Closet, the Greenwich vintage store in which she worked.

  ‘Only ’cause I taught you, Mom,’ smiled Danny sheepishly as he scrolled through his playlist. ‘Uh, who is Dean Martin?’ he asked, as if he had just smelled something bad.

  Holly threw up her hands in mock disbelief. ‘A son of mine who doesn’t know who Dean Martin is? “When the moon hits your eye like a big ole pizza pie that’s … amore!”’ she sang while Danny rolled his eyes.

  ‘A song about pizza? Weird.’

  Holly giggled. ‘It’s not about pizza; it’s about love. Listen to it, I downloaded it. I think my record must be somewhere in storage because I can’t find it.’

  ‘I’ll listen to it, if you listen to Kanye.’

  Holly laughed. ‘Ha, quite the negotiator as usual. Maybe later, sweetheart, but we need to go soon. I’m running late, and the store has a shipment coming in this morning.’

  Her son sat down on Holly’s expertly made bed, which was hidden behind a pretty silk curtain in the living room. She had given Danny the apartment’s only bedroom so he could have space for his things and privacy.

  ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘Don’t get what, honey?’ Holly asked as she perused her closet, looking for the vintage Dior jacket she had salvaged from the bottom of a heap at work. Her employee discount was the only way she could afford beautiful clothes from another era, or more importantly, keep Danny in shoes and pay rent.

  ‘Why do people want to buy other people’s old stuff?’

  Holly sighed. This was a conversation they had had many times before and, as always, she tried to explain about the appeal of vintage clothes, things that had a real history and had been worn when their previous owners fell in love, when they cried, and all throughout life’s great adventures. She truly believed the clothes that passed through the store were each unique in their own way: they had a personality; they had lived.

  Danny, however, being a young boy, only truly loved the new Nikes on his feet.

  ‘Someday you will understand – or, more likely, you will meet a girl who understands.’

  Danny rolled his eyes, a typical response. He was still at the age when girls were considered ‘gross’. Holly figured that in a couple of years or so, he would be singing a different tune.

  ‘Whatever, Mom.’

  ‘Whatever, you’ll see. Many a man comes into our store desperately searching for a handbag, or a scarf, or a dress that his girlfriend, fiancée or wife saw and just simply can’t live without. Someday that will be you. Rummaging through a store like ours in search of a particular handbag.’

  ‘Not a chance. I’m never going to like a girl who is into handbags.’

  Holly found the jacket that she had been searching for and turned round to face her son, a grin on her face. ‘Ha, that’s sort of like saying you only like fish that don’t swim. It’s simply not possible.’

  Danny shrugged and conceded a tiny smile. ‘Well, I guess as long as she doesn’t make me listen to pizza music it might be OK.’

  ‘Ha-ha.’ Holly smiled, glancing around the room. ‘OK, I think I’m ready.’ As organised as she tried to be most days, there was no denying that she usually struggled to get out the door in the morning. ‘How do I look?’

  She had on a brown pencil skirt that skimmed her figure and a white blouse with a ruffled cravat that complemented her orange brushed velvet jacket. Slouched brown leather knee-high boots finished off the ensemble.

  She wasn’t very tall, and only stood about five foot five in her stockinged feet, so she felt compelled to wear heels
almost all the time. The boots, though lovely, would have been impractical for some, as they sported four-inch heels. Fortunately Holly had been wearing heels for so long that she was adept at walking in them, and wore them as if they were a pair of running shoes. She was reasonably slender, though in her mind she was never slender enough. She never really dieted, but tried to stay away from junk food, and of course all the walking helped. What didn’t help was living so close to some of the Manhattan modelling agencies.

  Her auburn hair was piled loosely on her head, and her emerald-green eyes sparkled, setting off the creaminess of her skin. With a surname like O’Neill, and looking the way she did, people naturally assumed she was of Irish background. But while Holly had been brought up by Irish parents, she wasn’t altogether sure if she was Irish by blood, as she’d been adopted by Seamus and Eileen O’Neill when she was just eight months old.

  They were practically New Yorkers by then, having emigrated from different parts of Ireland in their youth, and met and fallen in love in Queens, where Holly’s mother still lived. Sadly her dad had died years ago.

  Danny was sizing her up. ‘Actually,’ he said pensively, ‘I think you’re missing something.’ He smiled at her, wiggling his hand back and forth to see if she would catch on.

  Holly looked down at herself, a frown on her face. ‘Well, I don’t see what … Oh!’ She pulled her sleeve back, displaying a right wrist that was usually adorned with a very important piece of jewellery.

  Danny got up and walked to Holly’s dresser, and looked through a small crystal bowl that contained several pieces of jewellery. He found what he was looking for and turned round to face his mother.

  ‘Here you go.’ He placed a silver charm bracelet in her palm. ‘You almost forgot.’

  Holly smiled warmly at the boy who knew her so well. True, she rarely ever took her bracelet off, but she’d removed it the night before when she was cleaning the kitchen, afraid to tarnish it or snag it on something. But even if Danny hadn’t reminded her about it just then, she knew she wouldn’t have gone far without realising it was absent from her wrist. She felt naked when she didn’t have it on.

  ‘Can I see my charm again?’ her son asked.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, fastening the bracelet round her wrist. ‘There it is, right here.’ She wiggled the bracelet and displayed a charm in the shape of a stork carrying a small bundle, a baby. ‘I got this one not long after I found out I was going to have you.’

  Danny studied the tiny trinket. ‘From Dad, right?’

  Holly smiled tightly, her heart speeding up a little. ‘Erm, yes, I think so. Anyway, it’s time to go. You don’t want to be late for school, do you?’ She hoped to distract Danny from asking any other questions about his father. Holly really didn’t feel like going down that road again, at least not now.

  Danny caressed the charm one more time. ‘OK, let me grab my backpack. Are you picking me up from school today?’

  She shook her head, regretfully. ‘No, not today, but I should be home a little earlier than usual. Kate has a date,’ she said, referring to her good friend who usually did the honours with the school run.

  ‘Oh, OK,’ he said, slightly melancholy all of a sudden.

  She leaned down to his level, worried. ‘Hey,’ she said, tilting his chin up. ‘What’s wrong? You like Kate, don’t you? You guys always have fun.’

  He shrugged and avoided Holly’s eyes. ‘I know, she’s cool. It’s not that. It’s just…’ He stalled for a moment, looking ashamed and uncomfortable.

  Holly furrowed her brow. ‘What is it, Danny? What’s going on?’

  ‘It’s nothing, it’s just I know you work so hard, and Kate is a lot of fun. But sometimes, the other kids, their dads pick them up at school.’

  She smiled sadly. The subject of ‘Dad’ was always such a sensitive topic, and one Holly usually worked to avoid at all costs, but inevitably it came up. Usually during the worst times, like now when she was running late.

  Danny looked up at her guiltily. ‘It’s just the other moms, they have help from the dads, you know? I wish you had a bit of help sometimes.’

  She smiled at her son’s gallantry. ‘Hey, buddy, I have everything I need. Don’t you worry about me. I think we make a good team, don’t you?’ She pinched his cheeks and kissed his forehead.

  ‘I just want you to be happy. The other dads buy their wives flowers and jewellery and stuff. Someone should do that for you.’

  Finally, she laughed. ‘What do I need flowers and jewellery for when I have you to educate me on the finer workings of the iPod? Trust me, Danny. I’m fine. I have you and that means I have everything I want. Now let’s get you to school. And maybe later on this week, you and I can head down to the Apple Store – see what you want from Santa this year. Christmas is right around the corner, you know.’

  Danny rolled his eyes. ‘Mom, you know I don’t believe in Santa any more. That’s for little kids.’

  Holly gathered up her handbag and looked again to the window, where the snow was coming down, harder than before. She smiled in anticipation of getting outside and smelling winter in the air, of feeling the wind on her face. During this time of year, New York truly was like a fairy tale.

  She hustled Danny out through the door as she switched off the light. ‘Well, humour me for now, OK? I happen to believe in him. Anyway, take it from me, you’re never too old to believe in a little magic.’

  Chapter 2

  As she made her way to Greenwich Village after safely seeing Danny to the school gates, Holly marvelled once again at the fairy lights that seemed to dominate the city streets in this part of town. Bleecker Street was often covered in lights anyway, but at this time of year they were festive rather than just funky.

  She checked her watch and stopped by her usual deli, a Korean place on the corner of Tenth and Waverly, for a cup of coffee. Warming her hands round the hot cardboard cup, she held it to her face, letting the steam rise. Even though she had been working at the vintage store for almost four years, she could still not get the journey to work down pat. She was always late, despite the short walk from her place via Danny’s school only a few blocks away.

  As she quickened her pace, she stole a look at some of the other store windows and paused for a moment in front of Encore, the Secret Closet’s main competition. Encore had some hot-pepper lights around the window frame and a display of handbags in muted leathers and plaids. A mannequin wearing a full-on fifties evening dress stood in one corner of the window, and a second wearing a motorcycle jacket and jeans à la James Dean crouched in another. Holly shook her head fondly. An out-and-out thrift-store display. Pity, as she could tell the bags were authentic, and it was even possible that the evening dress on the mannequin might well have been worn by someone like Greta Garbo at some point.

  Frank, the owner, just did not know how to dress a window. Suddenly the man himself appeared from behind the James Dean mannequin and waved at her happily, pointing to the display and giving her a thumbs-up suggesting, ‘Not bad, huh?’ Holly laughed and returned the gesture.

  Her boss, Carole, was already at work when she arrived at the store, as the shutters were up but no lights were on yet. Holly pushed the door open, letting in cold air, and the bells that hung from the knob jingled.

  ‘Morning, Carole!’ she called cheerily, as she worked to brush some stray hair out of her face and wipe melting snow from her pink cheeks.

  ‘I’m in the back. Be out in a sec,’ a thin voice called from the rear of the store.

  Holly unwound her scarf and folded it up along with her bag behind the counter.

  She began switching on the lights that accented the various clothing racks around the store. Her boots clacked on the polished hardwood floor, and she could glimpse flashes of herself in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that graced each wall.

  There were only about ten racks out at a time; Carole liked to rotate clothing by season, keeping an eye on the trends that her many stylist clients (as wel
l as the latest issue of Vogue) clued her into.

  Each rack was stainless steel and uncrowded, and each beautifully restored and pressed vintage piece hung carefully on its own wooden hanger. Carole was strict about every garment being hung four inches apart from the next; she hated customers having to dig through piles of clothes to find something.

  There were simple ladder-style shelves in one corner of the store, upon which hats and scarves were meticulously displayed, and in front of the windows, facing inwards, were two long benches with glass cases full of smaller accessories – brooches, hairclips and fascinators.

  Holly leaned into the store window to make sure there was no dirt on the glass. Their window display could not have been more different than Encore’s. Carole found regular store mannequins tacky, so ages back she had got hold of two dress dummies from a Metropolitan Museum of Art costume exhibit.

  How she had managed it, Holly never knew, but they looked great. Beautifully sculpted in wood and covered with a sheer layer of creamy velvet, one dummy wore a black Ralph Lauren pinstripe suit from the sixties, and the other an Oscar de la Renta early seventies ivory lace floor-length dress.

  There was nothing else in the display but good lighting and a view to the inside.

  Most days Carole was out on the prowl for that perfect vintage piece, even attending Sotheby’s auctions when she knew a big estate was being sold off, but most of her mornings were spent going through new stock and donations. A percentage of all their profits automatically went to the Red Cross, and as the store had a distinguished and wealthy client base, the prices were not for the faint of heart.

  Holly looked up, suddenly noticing the UPS delivery person standing in front of the counter. ‘Oh gosh, Harold, I’m sorry, I was daydreaming … Can I help you?’ She recognised their usual delivery person, who visited their store at least once a week. ‘I hope you haven’t been waiting long.’