Dreaming of Christmas Read online

  Dreaming of Christmas

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Acknowledgements

  Dreaming Of…

  Copyright

  To Mariangela and Christina with love, as always

  Prologue

  ‘Zoë, we need to talk.’

  ‘What about?’ Zoë was making notes and didn’t raise her eyes from the recipe book open in front of her.

  ‘About us.’

  ‘What about us? I’ve got to stuff the turkey and start getting the veg ready. In case you’d forgotten, it’s Christmas Day tomorrow and we’ve got my parents coming. What’s the matter? Has something happened?’

  ‘Yes, something’s happened.’

  There was something about Grant’s tone that made her look up. Directly behind his head, the Christmas decorations had slipped off the corner of the kitchen cupboard, but she was far too busy to think about fiddling with tinsel and mistletoe this morning.

  ‘What is it?’

  She saw him take a deep breath. ‘It’s like this, Zoë. I’ve found somebody else.’

  She sat bolt upright, not trusting her ears.

  ‘You’ve what?’

  He was wearing his sheepish expression, the one normally reserved for those times when he came home hours later than promised, reeking of beer, after an evening with his rugby-playing mates.

  ‘I’ve found somebody else, Zo. I’m leaving.’

  ‘Leaving? You mean leaving me… this flat?’ For an intelligent woman, her brain function was remarkably slow this morning.

  She saw him nod his head. The sheepish expression had now been replaced by his equally familiar stubborn look.

  ‘Things haven’t been so great between us for a while now, have they?’

  ‘They haven’t?’

  As she asked the question, her brain slowly started working again. Maybe he was right. It wasn’t as if they had been arguing any more than usual, but on reflection, they hadn’t been talking much either. Her job in particular had been taking up more and more of her free time, and he had been away a lot. Maybe he had a point. She started to formulate a reply, but he carried on.

  ‘I haven’t been happy for quite some time now, and I just can’t go on as we are.’

  ‘But you haven’t said anything… and now, all of a sudden…?’

  ‘Would it have made any difference? Let’s face it, you’re more interested in your job than you are in me.’

  ‘That’s not fair, Grant. I work hard, but I still care about you. Surely you can see that?’

  ‘Not from where I’m standing. Ten years is a long time, Zo. I think it’s time to make a fresh start. My mind’s made up. I’ll collect my things and leave straight away.’

  ‘You’re leaving now?’ She was genuinely stunned, even to the extent of wondering if this might all be a dream – a very bad dream. ‘That’s leaving… as in leaving forever?’

  ‘Forever, Zo.’ He hesitated for a few moments. ‘I’m sorry.’

  As Zoë’s brain finally kicked into gear, she felt a surge of different emotions burning through her, uppermost of which was anger – coupled with disbelief. She knew he could be thoughtless, but his sense of timing was worse than that. By far.

  ‘And you thought that today, the day before Christmas, would be the best moment to tell me you’re leaving after ten years together? Did I get that right?’

  He pushed back his chair and stood up, his cornflakes only half-eaten.

  ‘I’m afraid so. Like I say, Zo, I’m sorry.’

  ‘And who is this other woman?’

  ‘Her name’s Claire. I know her from kitesurfing.’

  It was beginning to sink in properly now. The woman had a name. He meant it. He was leaving.

  Hot on the heels of the anger, she could feel something even more powerful building inside her and she knew it was sorrow – a deep, dark, all-consuming sadness that rose and threatened to spread across her like a shroud. Her stomach turned to ice, her knees to jelly, and her eyes began to sting. Rather than let him see her break down and cry like a baby, she turned away, uttering the last words she would say to him in this house.

  ‘Then I suppose you’d better go.’

  He made no response, but she heard the door close behind him.

  There was so much she didn’t understand, so much she hadn’t asked, so much he hadn’t said. For a moment she almost followed him out of the door to try to get more sense out of him, but she stopped herself. His tone had said it all. He was leaving and that was that.

  Chapter 1

  The radio in the car said this was the hottest day of the year. At least, that appeared to be the message – the loose connection somewhere under the dashboard meant that Zoë only heard about half of what was said. Even now, at half past six, and with all four windows open, she was sweating buckets as she drove home after spending a few days with her parents in Bath. She didn’t need the radio to tell her it was hot.

  The lights changed to red as she reached the crossroads just before her turning and she pulled up, fanning herself with this week’s copy of Hello Celebrity magazine from the pile on the seat beside her. As she sat there quietly melting, she glanced to her left and saw the familiar kitesurfing poster in the travel agent’s window, and as always, she thought of Grant. He had been crazy about the sport.

  He doubtless still was.

  She was helpless to prevent a growl from escaping her lips, and she immediately felt annoyed with herself that he could still get to her. Grant had no place in her thoughts or her life any more and she had been working so hard to forget him. But all it had needed was a casual glimpse of a poster to bring it all back, and she felt a wave of frustration. After the way he had behaved, she had considerable sympathy with those women you read about who chopped up all their exes’ clothes and dumped them on the pavement. But along with anger, there was still the ever-present cold sense of loss she had been feeling since Christmas. She had loved him, but she had lost him – or rather, he had turned his back on her.

  The lights changed and she drove the last half-mile to her flat, gradually calming her still raw emotions. She was a little bit later than normal and all the parking spaces in front had already been taken, so she had to park round the corner in the spot where vehicles regularly got vandalised. As she locked the car and checked that she had left nothing of value inside, she reflected that the only good thing about not having a better car was the fact that this one looked as if it had already been vandalised. Hopefully that would make it a less attractive target for the mindless adolescents round here.

  She had barely stepped into her flat when the phone started ringing. Pushing the door closed behind her, she set down her weekend bag and her briefcase and answered it.

  ‘Zoë Lumsley, hello.’

  ‘Hi, Zo, it’s me.’

  ‘Hi, Jules. Long time no speak. How’re things with you?’

  She and Juliet had shared a tacky old house with a bunch of other students when they were in their last year at university. That was all of ten years ago now and she had pretty much lost contact with
most of the others – apart from Grant, of course. She and Juliet had remained really good friends and, seeing as they both lived in London, normally managed to meet up several times a year, but she realised she hadn’t heard from her since the winter, and now it was already late summer.

  ‘Not bad really. I’ve moved on from A & E and have suddenly discovered my life again. I even find I have the time and energy to go out in the evenings.’

  While Zoë had studied English, Juliet had studied medicine and had plunged straight from university into the busiest period in the history of the health service. Zoë was really pleased to hear her sounding cheery for a change. The last time they had met up – shortly after Grant had left – the evening they had spent together had been more like a funerary wake.

  ‘Brilliant news. You deserve a bit of time off.’

  ‘And how about you, Zo, and Grant…?’

  There was no need for her to say more. Immediately after Zoë and Grant had split up last Christmas, Juliet’s had been one of the first numbers Zoë had called, knowing she could count on her friend for support and advice. As a result, Juliet knew all the gory details of how the ten-year relationship had gone down the plughole so swiftly. And so unexpectedly, at least as far as Zoë was concerned.

  Zoë answered as determinedly as she could. ‘I’m fine. I don’t know if you heard I’d changed jobs. The new one’s not exactly my dream job, but it’ll tide me over until I find something better. And as for Grant, I’ll survive.’ She was pleased to hear her voice sounding fairly firm. She now managed to talk about her ex without welling up or boiling over, but it had taken time. A long time.

  ‘So, no replacement lined up?’

  ‘For Grant? God, no. I have no intention of getting involved with another man, thank you very much.’

  ‘What, never?’

  Over the past few weeks, Zoë had begun to ask herself the same question. Eight months had gone by and she was gradually starting to think about Grant less and less. Pretty soon now the time would come for her to begin to get on with her life once more, but maybe not quite yet. She attempted an honest answer.

  ‘Well, maybe not never, but for now, I’m happy enough as I am. I’m not exactly being paid a fortune, but I can afford the rent, and the job certainly keeps me busy.’

  ‘So what’s the new job? Still journalism, I presume.’

  ‘Hello Celebrity magazine. You can probably work out its raison d’être for yourself. The clue’s in the title.’

  ‘Writing about the lives of the rich and famous?’

  ‘Would-be rich and would-be famous, mostly, but yes. HC magazine may not be The Times, but it sells, unlike most newspapers these days.’

  Her previous job with a big national daily paper had suddenly finished back at Easter when the owners had announced they were having to restructure. After almost eight years with them, she had found herself out of a job. Coming on top of Grant’s desertion, it had added to making this a really tough year – what Ron the photographer had described with his usual gutter humour as her ‘anus’ horribilis. As an English graduate, the spelling annoyed her, but she couldn’t fault the sentiment. It had been brutal.

  ‘But like I say, Jules, it’s keeping me busy while I look for something a bit more to my taste. I find myself working all hours, and my boss is one of those workaholics who expects the rest of us to have no personal life as well. Luckily for me, I have no personal life these days, so I fit in fine.’ Realising that this sounded a bit too gloomy, she hastily injected a bit more cheer into her tone. ‘But for now, it’s okay. Being so busy means I don’t really have the time for a man – even if I was in the market for one, which I’m not.’

  She sensed scepticism at the other end of the line, but then, mercifully, Juliet changed the subject.

  ‘Anyway, Zo, apart from seeing how you are, the other reason I was calling was to ask if you’d got Billy’s invitation.’

  ‘Invitation? To be honest, I’ve just come back from a few days with Mum and I’ve got a pile of post here I haven’t looked at yet. Billy, did you say? Computer Billy?’

  Computer Billy had been Grant’s nickname for their nerdy friend who had occupied the little attic room on the top floor of their student house. She hadn’t seen or heard from him for years now.

  ‘Yes, and it sounds amazing.’ Juliet paused. ‘I tell you what. You check out the invite and then call me back. See what you think. If you’re going, I’ll go.’

  Zoë dropped the phone and picked up the half-dozen envelopes lying on her doormat. She sifted through the bills and flyers until she found the one she was looking for. It bore an Austrian stamp and it had been typewritten. She slit it open with her fingernail and pulled out a handsome printed card. There was a company name and address at the top and the invitation read:

  Mr William Fischer

  requests the pleasure

  of your company at

  the Grand Hotel Schlossberg, Bad Bergstein, Austria

  From 18th to 27th December

  Her name had been written in the top right-hand corner, and she immediately recognised the spidery handwriting as Billy’s. He had added PTO at the bottom and, turning the card over, she saw he had scrawled a message.

  Hi Zoë,

  Hope you’re well. I’m organising a little reunion for those of us who lived at number 23. It’s been ten years now and I thought it would be fun to meet up and compare notes. I do so hope you can come. I’m dying to see you again after so long.

  Billy

  PS My treat.

  My treat? Zoë had heard that Billy had done pretty well for himself since leaving university, but treating all the people who had shared the house with him to a holiday in an Austrian hotel was going to cost a packet – especially over the Christmas period. Her eyes flicked back to the address at the top of the card. The name of the company was WF Computer Systems, and she remembered he had set up his own business shortly after leaving university.

  She retrieved her laptop from her briefcase and did a quick search. It very soon emerged that WF Computer Systems had grown exponentially over the last ten years and was now internationally acclaimed, as was its founder and CEO, the reclusive William Fischer, aka Computer Billy. The address in the historic city of Salzburg was described as the company’s European centre of operations. A hasty scan down the Wikipedia entry revealed that Billy’s rise to superstardom in the world of electronics had been meteoric. From penniless nerd ten years ago, his company had emerged as a major international player, with hundreds, maybe thousands, of employees around the globe.

  Zoë exhaled in amazement. Good old Billy. She spotted a sheet of paper left in the envelope and pulled it out. It was headed Information and it detailed what Billy’s treat was to be. Bad Bergstein, it transpired, was a ski resort and thermal spa to the south of Salzburg in Austria, and he was offering full board and lodging there for a week before Christmas and a couple of days after. They would be accommodated in deluxe single or double rooms (please specify), provided with ski and boot hire (if required), skiing lessons (if required) and a ski pass for the duration (if required). The hotel had a swimming pool and thermal baths – the Bad in Bad Bergstein meant ‘bath’ – as well as a fitness centre at the disposal of the guests. Transfers would be provided from Salzburg airport and back (please give flight information) and there would be a gala ball on Christmas Eve (dress code: smart). It all sounded wonderful.

  Zoë picked up her phone and called Juliet back.

  ‘Wow, Jules, I heard Billy was doing well, but… wow!’ The more she thought about it, the more amazing it sounded.

  ‘I know, right? He says it’ll be his treat, but it’s going to cost the earth. Have you checked out the hotel?’

  ‘No, but I imagine it’s pretty swanky.’

  ‘Pretty swanky? Zoë, have you got a computer there? Just google it. Go on. I’ll wait.’

  Zoë did as she was told and her amazement grew.

  The Grand Hotel Schlossberg was a lu
xury hotel built in the traditional Tyrolean style, five or six storeys tall, with white walls and carved wooden balustrades to the balconies. In the summer these balustrades were hung with window boxes overflowing with red and white flowers, and the winter shots showed the surrounding fir trees laden with snow. The very top floor, under the eaves, was clad with dark timber, and a thick layer of snow on the gently sloping roof gave it a very cosy air. According to the blurb, it was possible to ski from there to the ski lifts and directly back to the hotel again. Pictures of the interior were every bit as impressive as the facade, and Zoë had to agree with Juliet’s judgement – yes, it certainly looked swanky.

  ‘Blimey, Jules, what a place. It looks incredible. Talk about luxury! So, are you up for it? Can you get the time off?’

  ‘As just about the only unmarried surgeon in the hospital, I’ve worked right through the last three Christmases, so they owe me. Yes, I’m definitely up for it – as long as you are.’ Zoë heard her hesitate. ‘But Zo, you realise what this means? If he’s inviting all of us, then that’ll mean Grant as well.’

  Zoë suddenly had a very rude awakening. She had been so caught up in the excitement of imagining herself in the mountains, she had forgotten about her ex. She and Grant had hooked up during their final year at university and had lived at number 23 as a couple alongside the others. If Billy was inviting everybody from the house, he would no doubt also invite Grant. In fact, there was no reason for him to assume that she and Grant weren’t still together. Although she had lost contact with Billy over the past few years, the last time they had been in touch, she and Grant had still been an item.

  She took a deep breath.

  ‘Bugger! For a moment there, I wasn’t thinking.’

  ‘He might not come, though, Zo.’

  ‘He’ll come all right. Anything to get out on the ski slopes. Besides, the place looks phenomenal.’

  ‘But even if he says yes, you’re still going to come, aren’t you?’ There was a pleading note to Juliet’s voice.

  Zoë stopped to consider her options, but memories of her time with Grant came sweeping back once more, unbidden. The only contact she had had with him since last Christmas had been occasional emails about everyday things like bills, or the deposit on the flat, and she hadn’t met up with him at all. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks and the familiar stinging in the corners of her eyes that she thought she had outgrown. Along with this came a surge of the anger that his callous departure had aroused, which still bubbled beneath the surface. The idea of seeing him again made her blood boil and her heart sink at the same time.