Dreaming of Christmas Read online

  She was on her seventh length when she felt a touch on her bare shoulder. She turned to find Grant bobbing up and down behind her.

  ‘Hello, Grant. Recovered from your ordeal?’

  He nodded, obviously glad she was speaking to him.

  ‘It wasn’t a big deal, really. I think Erika panicked a bit. We weren’t in any serious danger. Listen, is this a good time for us to talk?’

  ‘Treading water in the middle of a sulphurous pool, surrounded by screaming kids? Why, I can’t think of anywhere better. Besides, what have we got to talk about? I sent you your half of the deposit on the flat months ago, and you collected all your bits and pieces while I was down at my mum’s last winter. What else is there to discuss?’

  She let herself drift gently towards the side of the pool and caught hold of the ladder. As she climbed out of the water, she could feel his eyes on her body and once again found herself feeling confused. Whatever her pragmatic self might think, she couldn’t ignore the fact that she actually found his gaze nothing like as objectionable as she had imagined.

  She was so thrown by this realisation that she evidently wasn’t watching her step. Alternatively, it might just have been her usual clumsiness. Whatever it was, as she turned to walk to where she had left her towel, her foot landed on what she later identified as a child’s discarded armband, her leg shot sideways, and she was catapulted unceremoniously back into the pool, filling her nose with water and soaking her hair. As she returned to the surface, coughing and spluttering, she felt Grant’s hands catch hold of her.

  ‘You okay, Zo?’

  She spat out a mouthful of sulphurous water and splashed out of his reach.

  ‘I’m fine. Thank you.’

  This time, as she climbed out of the pool, she could not only sense his eyes on her, she could still feel the touch of his hands where he had grabbed her. She carefully avoided the armband and made her way back along to a series of shelves carved out of the bare rock, where she had left her towel. She picked it up and set about drying herself, starting with her hair. A few moments later, she heard his voice and looked out from the folds of the towel.

  ‘How about here? For our talk?’

  Seeing him bare-chested, she realised that her hunch that he had been working out was correct. He was definitely in better shape than he had been for a good few years. In fact, he looked really rather good. Burying her face hastily in her towel once more, she replied in a resigned tone, ‘If you must, then here’s as good a place as any.’

  She wrapped the towel primly around herself and sat down on a stone bench, deliberately at the far end of it. She saw an expression of relief on his face, but he respected her wish to keep space between them and took up position at the opposite end of the bench.

  ‘Thanks, Zo.’ There was a pause during which he was presumably marshalling his thoughts. ‘Look, it’s like this. This time last year, I wasn’t thinking straight. What I did to you was unforgivable, despicable.’ He paused again and looked up, but she wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

  ‘You keep on going. I’ll stop you if you say anything I disagree with.’

  ‘I think I was going through some sort of mid-life crisis – well, early mid-life. I suppose I thought that by finding myself a younger woman, I’d suddenly, magically, turn the clock back. But it doesn’t work like that.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t.’ Zoë could hear the acid in her own voice, and no doubt so could he.

  ‘Anyway, my relationship with Claire only lasted a couple of months and I’ve been on my own since then. I didn’t want anybody else. I realised – and I feel all the more certain now – that it’s you I want, Zo. Only you…’ His voice tailed off.

  ‘Is that all you wanted to say?’

  ‘Um, yes. So I’m asking if you could find it in your heart to forgive me and take me back.’

  She knew there was no way she was going to give him an answer right away, so she shook her head and stood up.

  ‘Right, then, if you’ve finished what you needed to say, I’m going to have a shower and wash my hair for the second time today.’

  ‘Will you think about what I’ve said? Please?’

  ‘Of course I’ll think about it, Grant. But if you could only begin to imagine what I’ve been through these past months, you’d know that the chances of me saying yes are very, very slim indeed.’

  She pushed her way out through the glass doors and disappeared into the ladies’ changing room before he had the chance to say anything else. She didn’t stop for a shower, but towelled herself dry, dressed, and went straight up to her room to take another long, hot bath and let her mind roam over everything he had said.

  Chapter 11

  A couple of unexpected things happened that evening.

  First they discovered that the chef had prepared something a little different for them. True to the international nature of the hotel’s cuisine, dinner that night was Swiss rather than Austrian. When they all sat down around the big dining table, they found that they were having a fondue evening. Zoë hadn’t had fondue for years. She remembered her parents had been given a fondue set years ago before she was born, and they had used it once or twice when she was still a little girl before relegating it to the back of a cupboard in the kitchen, where it presumably still lay to this day. Since then, she had always thought of fondue as the sort of thing Austin Powers might have had on his menu.

  However, here in the middle of the mountains, surrounded by deep snow, it suddenly no longer looked like an anachronism. The chef had prepared two types. There was cheese fondue, with cubes of bread that they speared onto long forks and dipped into melted Gruyère and Emmental cheese specially imported from Switzerland. There was also the other type, fondue bourguignonne, where they cooked pieces of meat and vegetables in pots of near-boiling oil.

  It was towards the end of the meal that the second funny thing happened.

  Zoë had been standing up, digging into the melted cheese, trying to rescue a piece of bread that had come unhooked from her fork. After finally locating and removing the offending piece, the regulations the boys had invented for the event obliged her to drink a shot of kirsch as a forfeit. She was by no means the only person to have lost a piece of bread in the course of the meal and, by this time, they were all feeling the effects of a few shots of the powerful cherry liqueur. Imogen had lost no fewer than three pieces and was red in the face and unusually cheerful and relaxed. That in itself was a welcome novelty, but the really odd thing was when Zoë happened to glance down the back of Imogen’s designer dress. To her surprise, she spotted a card label still attached to it, peeking out between Imogen’s shoulder blades.

  She was on the point of drawing Imogen’s attention to this when some instinct made her decide against it and she said nothing. Only later, when they were back in the lounge playing Trivial Pursuit, did she mention it quietly to Imogen, so as not to embarrass her in front of the others, and immediately realised that she had been right not to blurt it out to the whole room over the fondue pots. Imogen blushed the colour of a ripe tomato, jumped to her feet and rushed out of the room.

  ‘What’s the matter with Imogen?’

  Juliet looked up in concern, but Zoë got there first. ‘I’ll go and see. Maybe the kirsch is having an effect.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Zoë. I’ll go.’ Fergus made to stand up, but Zoë was already on her feet.

  ‘You stay there, Fergus. You’re winning. I’ve got to go to the loo anyway. What’s your room number?’

  ‘603. The second on the right.’

  Zoë hurried out after Imogen and tapped on the door of Room 603. She had to wait a minute or two before Imogen appeared, now wearing one of the hotel dressing gowns. From the look of her, she had been crying.

  ‘What is it, Imogen? Are you all right?’

  She patently wasn’t all right, so Zoë pushed past her, walked in and sat down on the sofa.

  ‘Want to talk about it?’

  She saw Imogen p
ause before closing the door and walking reluctantly back to join her on the sofa.

  ‘You’ve probably already guessed.’

  Zoë immediately realised that her hunch had been correct, but she shook her head anyway. It didn’t matter – Imogen had drunk enough that evening to be unusually loquacious.

  ‘You saw the label? They’ve all got them.’ Seeing Zoë’s expression, she blew her nose, wiped her eyes and elaborated. ‘These designer dresses I’ve been wearing, they’re not mine – or rather, in a way they are. You know I told you I’ve got a boutique in Richmond? Well, these dresses are part of my stock. Have you any idea how much this stuff costs? I haven’t got the money to buy this sort of thing for my own personal use, so I borrowed them off the rail, and when I get home, I’ll have them dry-cleaned and put them back on display. I thought I’d removed all the labels, but I must have missed one.’ She rubbed her hand across her eyes and breathed deeply. ‘There… now you know. I’m as poor as a church mouse.’

  As she listened to Imogen’s confession, Zoë felt terribly sorry for this girl who would always want to be something she wasn’t. She reached over and caught hold of her arm.

  ‘Some church mouse! Just think of the value of the stock you must have in that shop. Besides, Fergus is a banker – he’s not short of money, surely?’

  To her surprise, Imogen shook her head.

  ‘Fergus works for a bank, but he’s not one of the fat cats with million-pound bonuses. He’s only middle management, not top level.’

  Zoë couldn’t miss the bitter tone in Imogen’s voice and, rightly or wrongly, she decided to pitch in.

  ‘So what? Does that mean you think Fergus isn’t good enough for you? You know you love him. Earlier on, when we thought he was lost out in the snow, I saw the worry on your face and the way you hugged him when he came back safe and well. Surely that proves something?’

  Imogen sniffed again. ‘Of course I love him.’ She sounded as if she was trying to convince herself of the truth of her words. ‘I’m not saying he isn’t good enough for me… It’s just that I thought he’d be doing better by now and our standard of living would be higher.’

  ‘Promotion doesn’t come overnight, you know.’

  ‘I know. But we’ve got a big house and a massive mortgage, and all our money disappears into paying that off. My shop’s only just breaking even, so we’re constantly scraping the bottom of the barrel just to survive.’

  ‘Survive in a big house that you own in a lovely part of London! Imogen, I’m still living in a rented flat. You’re your own boss, and you’re married to a good-looking, bright man who’s brilliant on a snowboard. I’ve got nobody. If I were you, I’d sit down and spend a few minutes thinking about just how good your life is.’

  Imogen raised her eyes from her fingers, which were playing nervously with the long belt of her dressing gown.

  ‘I know, Zoë, but it’s so unfair. Look at Billy. He was the geekiest person I knew at university and yet now he’s got all this.’

  ‘And he worked his pants off to get to where he is. Have you ever considered that? I was just remembering how he never went out, never had a girlfriend, and how he was always working. Well, it paid off for him. There’s nothing unfair about it.’

  Zoë could hear the annoyance in her voice, so she made a conscious effort to be more conciliatory – even if she felt that Imogen was sounding like a spoilt brat.

  ‘You’ve got a lovely man, an enviable lifestyle – so what if you aren’t multimillionaires? If you don’t change your attitude, it’s going to screw up your life and probably your marriage.’

  For the first time, she saw Imogen’s expression change from unhappy to worried.

  ‘What do you mean? Has Fergus said something?’

  Zoë remembered his comments at breakfast today, but decided not to mention them to Imogen. Instead, she limited herself to some general advice.

  ‘I’m just saying that if you really do love Fergus, it wouldn’t hurt to tell him. And to accept him for what he is, not spend your time constantly wishing your life could be better.’ She glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was almost ten o’clock. ‘Anyway, come on, wipe your eyes and come back through to the lounge. Billy said he was going to tell us about the surprise he’s got in store for us tomorrow.’

  Back in the lounge, the game of Trivial Pursuit was just finishing and Fergus appeared to have won hands down. Bella was snoozing on the floor at her mother’s feet, a cushion under her head and one arm stretched across the back of the sleeping dog beside her. As Zoë walked back in, the Labrador opened one eye and it distinctly looked as though he winked at her before giving a hearty sigh, stretching, and resuming his sleep. Martin was sitting next to Mandy, one hand resting on her thigh, and Zoë repeated her silent prayer that Mandy would be able to sort things out.

  She went over to the other sofa and sat down beside Billy. He looked up and gave her a smile.

  ‘All well with Imogen?’

  Zoë saw Fergus look up as well.

  ‘She’s fine. She knows she has to be more careful with her pieces of bread next time she has a fondue. I think the kirsch got to her, but she’ll be back in a minute.’

  Sure enough, Imogen reappeared a few minutes later, wearing the same dress, but now presumably without the label. Zoë was glad to see her take a seat beside her husband.

  Billy tapped his glass to attract everybody’s attention.

  ‘Right then, now that everybody’s here, I thought I’d tell you what I’ve got planned for the next few days.’ He hesitated self-consciously and Zoë gave him an encouraging smile. ‘It’s all optional, guys. I don’t want anybody to feel they’ve got to do any of it. If you just want to stay here and chill, please do. Anyway, the weather forecast’s good, and with all this fresh snow, the skiing conditions should be amazing.’

  A happy murmur ran around the room and Zoë saw Fergus and Grant exchange grins as Billy carried on.

  ‘Tomorrow’s Saturday, and there’ll probably be quite a lot more people on the pistes, so do be careful. Zoë and I are going powder skiing, I hope.’ He shot her an interrogative glance and she nodded vigorously. ‘Great. Of course, anybody else who wants to come along is welcome. The next day, Sunday, if you’re interested, I thought we might have a go at torchlit sledging in the evening. I hope you’ll all come along – and that includes Bella and Arnie.’

  At the sound of her name, the little girl opened her eyes, glanced around sleepily and then yawned and stretched. As she did so, the Labrador did exactly the same, and Zoë found herself giggling at the sight of the two of them together.

  ‘How does that sound? Mandy, Lorna, Imogen – they’re four-man sledges. No horses this time, just gravity. Are you up for it? We’ll come down slowly, I promise.’

  Nobody said no, so he carried on.

  ‘Then on Monday, Christmas Eve, we can all do whatever we feel like – maybe try skating on the lake – but remember, in the evening there’s going to be the Christmas ball. We’ve got about a hundred guests staying here and there’ll be a few other people coming as well, so there should be no shortage of dancing partners. I hope you’ve all remembered your ball gowns.’

  Zoë exchanged glances with Juliet. She had found what she had been looking for on their shopping spree a few weeks ago, and was now the proud owner of a rather daring long silk dress that had been in the Black Friday sale. It was very sleek, a bit more revealing than her normal choice of clothes, and was a delicate shade of light blue, almost grey. Juliet had pointed out that it would match her eyes. It didn’t have a fancy designer label, but it fitted her like a glove and she felt pretty sure she would look okay in it. Juliet had been very complimentary when she saw her in it, so Zoë was quietly confident. Of course, she told herself – not for the first time since buying it – she was only going to be wearing it to look good for her own sake, nobody else’s.

  She glanced across to Grant. His eyes were trained on her and he hastily look
ed away as their eyes met. She had spent a lot of time thinking about what he had said in the swimming pool. Did he really believe she would be able to forgive him for all the hurt he had caused her? Was she crazy even to be considering taking him back? Besides, she had made up her mind to avoid men for the foreseeable future and concentrate on her job… hadn’t she? Her subconscious refused yet again to give her a definite answer, so she snorted to herself and did her best to change to a simpler train of thought. Christmas was a safe topic, so she turned her attention to Billy’s proposals.

  ‘That all sounds fabulous, Billy. What about Christmas itself? Personally I’m not particularly religious, but presumably there’ll be a service on Christmas Day.’

  ‘Yes indeed. And there’s always a midnight mass the night before, so I expect some people will leave the ball early to go down into the town for that. Christmas Eve is pretty big here in Austria, so some people may go to church in the course of the day too. Personally, I’m not fussed, but if anybody wants to go, it’ll be happening.’

  Zoë lowered her voice. ‘I was wondering about Father Christmas. Will he be visiting Bella’s bedroom or coming in here?’

  Billy grinned and replied in similar tones. ‘I’ve had a word with Mandy, and the plan is for presents to magically materialise here under the tree once Bella’s gone to bed on Monday night.’

  ‘Good old Santa.’ She gave his arm a squeeze. ‘Of course, you’re our Santa. I really don’t know how to thank you for all this.’

  For a moment the old, shy Billy reappeared, before he smiled back at her. ‘You’re very welcome. It’s great to catch up with you all after so long. I’m the one who should be thanking you for coming.’