Dreaming of Christmas Read online

  Zoë nodded her head even more cautiously, beginning to realise where this was leading.

  ‘Now, given that you’re an old friend of the reclusive Mr Fischer, I was thinking how good it would be if you could get HC magazine an exclusive about the man, his company, his home, his wardrobe, his personal life, his wife, girlfriend or boyfriend. You know, a full exposé for our readers. If you can get some photos, even better, although I’d be prepared to send over a photographer if necessary.’ His smile broadened – or it might have been acid indigestion. ‘Now, how do you feel about that as an idea?’

  Zoë knew when she was trapped. If she refused, she had few illusions as to her future here at HC. Although she had been keeping an eye on the jobs websites, journalism was in crisis at the moment, with papers all round the country closing down as people increasingly got their news from their phones. She really needed to hang onto the HC job at least until she found something better. Regretfully she nodded, but did her best to insert a few caveats in her acceptance.

  ‘I’ll do my best, Damien, but I wouldn’t want to do anything to screw up my friendship with Billy… William.’

  ‘Of course, of course.’ The bonhomie Damien was exuding was disturbing.

  ‘I’ll certainly try to put something together, but I can’t betray his hospitality or his trust. You do understand that, don’t you, Damien?’

  ‘Naturally, Zoë. I’m sure you’ll be able to square the circle. Excellent.’

  As the weeks passed, she still found herself dreaming of Christmas, but now she had two things to worry her: not only being reunited with Grant and meeting his new woman, but also having in effect to spy on her old friend. Both were uncomfortable prospects.

  * * *

  In early December, she met up with Juliet in central London, their mission to find themselves suitably smart gowns for the Christmas Eve gala ball. Zoë was delighted to see Juliet again and to see her looking so good. She was definitely sounding much happier since moving from A&E, although there might, of course, be another reason for the transformation. The journalist in Zoë couldn’t resist doing a bit of digging as they sat in the cafe on the top floor of John Lewis in Oxford Street.

  ‘The big smile on your face, Jules – could it be down to something other than your job? Maybe somebody special?’

  She saw Juliet’s cheeks flush and wondered if she had struck gold, but the answer did little to clarify the situation.

  ‘Nobody special, Zo. But now I’ve finally got a bit of time to myself, I’ve definitely been making some new friends. I’ve bought myself a bike and I go cycling most weekends with a bunch of people. Most of them are nice – some very nice.’

  ‘Male and female?’

  Juliet gave her a long-suffering look. ‘Yes, Zoë, men and women, but I’m not about to leap into a deep and meaningful relationship any time soon, if that’s what you’re hinting at. Friends, Zo, just friends.’ She caught Zoë’s eye across the table. ‘Besides, after your experience of deep and meaningful relationships, I would have thought you’d be the last person to be pushing me into one.’

  Zoë nodded apologetically. ‘Sorry, Jules. Just natural curiosity. You’re bright and you’re good-looking, I’d have thought you’d be hitched by now, that’s all.’

  ‘It’ll happen for both of us in due course, if we want it to. After all, we’re both only just thirty-two. There’s bags of time.’

  ‘Yes, I know, and you’re right.’

  She took a sip of her cappuccino and looked around the store, realising how little she had been out this year. It really did feel good to be doing something other than working or sitting in her flat on her own.

  ‘It’s taken me the best part of a year, but it’s only just now that I’m beginning to realise that there is life beyond Grant. After acting as his personal housekeeper for years while he went gallivanting around all over the place, I’ve been starting to think I should maybe look around for some new friends of my own.’

  ‘That sounds much better than the last time we talked. I was afraid for a while that you still hadn’t got over everything that happened.’

  Zoë shook her head. ‘It’s been a long, hard slog, but I think I’m just about there.’

  ‘So the thought of seeing him again in a few weeks’ time doesn’t bother you any more?’

  ‘Of course it bothers me, Jules. I really have no idea how I’m going to react – or how he’ll react for that matter. But I’m going to tough it out. I need to.’

  ‘Good for you, Zo. And just keep reminding yourself how badly he hurt you. He’s always been a smooth talker. Don’t let him persuade you into doing something you know you’ll regret.’

  ‘Oh, I won’t forget how he treated me, Jules. Believe me.’

  They spent a couple of hours and quite a bit of money kitting themselves out for the ball, and Zoë couldn’t suppress a feeling of growing excitement at the prospect of spending a week in the mountains – and in a luxury hotel to boot. The weather forecasters were predicting a cold, snowy few weeks to come, so hopefully there would be good skiing conditions in Austria. She had checked Bad Bergstein on Google and discovered that, like most Austrian resorts, it wasn’t particularly high. According to a few online blogs she had found, it was not unheard of for the ski slopes at Christmas to be green rather than white. At least if she could get out and ski, she felt sure she would be able to put up with Grant’s presence. The worst possible scenario would be a grey, rainy week when they would all be trapped in the confined space of the hotel together. She kept her fingers crossed.

  She hadn’t skied for several years now and she missed it. And it would be good to see her old university friends again – with or without Grant. However, there was always the article about Billy hanging over her head. Of course, she told herself, remembering the shy, retiring Billy of old, she might be able to persuade him to do an interview with her as an old friend and it might actually do something to help bolster his self-confidence. And, she told herself, she would do her best to make the piece kind, friendly, supportive, unlike some of the celebrity hatchet jobs that appeared in the media.

  She hadn’t mentioned the article to anybody, and she had no intention of doing so, but the thought of Billy made her comment to Juliet as they were trying on shoes, ‘It’s funny thinking of Computer Billy as a celebrity. Of all the people I knew back then, he’s one of the last I could possibly have imagined. At uni, we hardly ever saw him and he rarely went out. I wonder if he’s changed.’

  ‘I was reading up about him and his company. Everybody says he’s a bit of a mystery man. I couldn’t even find a recent photo.’

  ‘The reclusive Mr Fischer.’

  ‘That’s right. I imagine that means he’s just the same. I wonder if he’s still got those thick glasses.’

  ‘Probably. You know, I don’t think I ever saw him without them. I couldn’t even tell you what colour his eyes are. In fact – and I know it sounds awful, seeing as he’s offering us a wonderful free holiday – I don’t really remember much about him at all.’

  ‘I know what you mean. He lived in his room, ate in his room, worked in his room – round the clock, too. And when he did emerge, like a mole from its tunnel, he barely spoke a word.’

  ‘He was a nice boy, though. On the few occasions we did exchange a few words, he was always very kind and eager to please. He was just so chronically shy. I bet he still is shy, and that’s why they call him reclusive today.’

  Juliet looked up from a pile of shoeboxes. ‘You should offer to do a celebrity interview with him. That would be good for your career and it might be just what he needs to get him out of himself a bit more.’

  Zoë couldn’t stop the blood rushing to her cheeks, so she dropped her head and concentrated on removing the paper wads from the toes of a pair of gorgeous Italian shoes with far higher heels than she normally wore. As she did so, she mumbled, ‘Good idea, Jules. I’ll have to ask him if he’s interested in something like that.’

 
; * * *

  At work on Friday, the subject came up again. Zoë found herself summoned to Damien’s office mid morning to be introduced to a face she recognised, even though they had never met before.

  ‘Zoë, I’d like you to meet a legend in the world of celebrity journalism. This is Crystal, from our New York office. She’s over for a few days to interview Prince Harry. I’ve been telling her you’ve got an intro to the mysterious Mr Fischer from WF Computers, and I’m sure she’ll be able to give you some useful advice about how to handle the very rich.’

  As Zoë shook hands with the Ice Maiden, as Crystal liked to be known, her first impression was that the Maiden appellation was almost certainly misplaced. You didn’t need to be Sigmund Freud to see that this lady had been round the block a good few times. Zoë knew her to be well into her fifties, but she was a masterpiece of the American cosmetic surgery industry. Anything worth nipping had been nipped. Tucks had been tucked and implants had been implanted. She had also probably emptied the poison sacs of a good number of unfortunate snakes in order to give her lips a Bardot pout and her cheeks the soft, smooth texture normally found on newborn children – or oil slicks. There wasn’t a wrinkle on her. Her wrists and fingers were so laden down with gold jewellery, it was a wonder her arm muscles weren’t bulging under the strain. From the immaculately styled hair, the perfect make-up and the designer clothes to the tips of her six-inch heels, she was every bit the queen of the celebrity press that she claimed to be. She couldn’t have been more different from Zoë if she had just climbed out of a flying saucer.

  ‘Zoë, great to meet you. Damien’s been telling me wonderful things about you.’

  Zoë felt the great lady give her a close forensic investigation. From the way her eyes bored into her, she felt sure Crystal had even noted her appendix scar and the fact that the labels on her underwear had started to fray. It was an uncomfortable feeling and she began to feel sorry for Prince Harry.

  ‘And you’re so beautiful, Zoë. That’s marvellous. Use it. It’s your most powerful weapon.’

  ‘Not my brain?’ Zoë did her best to keep the distaste she was feeling out of her voice.

  ‘Listen, darling, this Mr Fischer is a man. Play to your strengths. A low-cut blouse can get through to a man far better than any number of incisive questions.’

  Zoë shook her head in disbelief. ‘Surely those days have passed? With all the hoo-ha about sexual predators nowadays, I would have thought we’d moved on a bit.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it, Zoë. Beneath the surface, all men are suckers for a nice-looking girl. Trust me, those’re quite some assets you have there. Lock and load – and take no prisoners.’

  Even Damien must have started to feel awkward at this point, in itself something of a rarity – shame and embarrassment were normally totally absent from his repertoire. He stood up and muttered that he had ‘something to attend to’ and hastened out of the office, leaving Zoë to face a half-hour masterclass on how to use feminine wiles to obtain pretty much anything from men. In Crystal’s case, this had resulted in a penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park, a beach house in the Hamptons, and an Aston Martin.

  After Zoë had finally shaken the Ice Maiden’s immaculately manicured hand and left Damien’s office, she stopped off in the ladies’ to scrub her own hands under the tap before returning to her workstation. Her battered old car and her rented flat would do her just fine. Not for the first time, she determined to do her very best to find a new job as soon as one presented itself – as far from the world of celebrity journalism as possible.

  Her mum and dad were in London that weekend, and she related her experiences with Crystal to them over an Indian takeaway that night. Her mother was predictably disgusted.

  ‘Really! With everything you read in the papers and see on the TV these days, I thought those days were over. Don’t you agree, Bernard?’

  ‘Yes… yes, of course.’

  Zoë’s dad’s answer was immediate, although Zoë thought she sensed a certain amount of scepticism.

  ‘What is it, Dad? Do you think she’s got a point?’

  He shook his head. ‘What, that you should flutter your eyelashes at this Billy in order to get him to reveal his deep dark secrets? Definitely not. The woman’s attitude strikes me as repellent, but she has got a point to some extent. There’s no getting away from it. However you look at it, men like pretty girls. You’re a pretty girl, but you’re a sensible girl. You won’t do anything improper or stupid, I know.’

  ‘Something as stupid as shacking up with a man who dumped me on Christmas Eve and went off with another woman?’ There was a bitter edge to Zoë’s voice.

  ‘We all make mistakes, Zoë. Besides, you’re better off without that Grant character, aren’t you? Your mother and I never really liked him, you know.’

  ‘But of course, you’re going to see him at Christmas, aren’t you, dear?’ Her mum sounded concerned. ‘Are you going to be all right?’

  Zoë sighed. ‘Everybody keeps asking me that. I’ll be fine, I’m sure.’

  Under the table, her fingers were, once again, firmly crossed.

  Chapter 4

  ‘Zoë, is that you?’

  Zoë jumped at the sound of the voice. She had been vaguely listening to a choir singing carols over to one side of the check-in desks and wondering how her Austrian holiday would pan out. Her mood was a mixture of anticipation and dread. She turned and found two familiar faces looking at her – well, three really, although the only time she had seen the little girl before had been at her christening. And that was five years ago. She felt a smile forming on her face.

  ‘Mandy, Martin, how great to see you. And this has to be Bella – wow, how she’s grown.’

  Zoë glanced around nervously, her eyes darting across the faces of the other passengers crowding into London Heathrow airport, but without recognising anybody else. It really was good to see her old student friends after so long, but the big unknown, of course, was going to be Grant. Over the months since replying to Billy’s invitation, specifying that she would be coming alone, she had done her best to stifle thoughts of her ex and how she would react to seeing him – and his new woman. She had spent many nights dreaming of Christmas, but not with Juliet’s sense of eager anticipation. In fact, on more than one occasion she had come very close to opening her laptop and emailing Billy to say she had changed her mind. Somehow she had remained resolute, but it had been a close-run thing. Yes, there would be a luxury hotel and the chance to go skiing again but, also, there would be Grant. Now that the big day had finally arrived, the apprehension she felt was almost overwhelming.

  ‘Zoë, you look great.’ Mandy dropped her bag and gave her a big hug. ‘Come here, Bella, and say hello. This is Zoë. Daddy and I went to university with her.’

  Somehow, seeing Mandy as a mother was totally in character. Even back at university, in the far-from-salubrious confines of number 23, she had always been the one to go to if you needed a plaster, a needle and thread, or just a hug.

  Zoë swallowed her fears about her impending encounter with Grant and bent down to give the little girl a hug.

  ‘Hello, Bella. The last time I saw you, you were just a tiny little baby. Look at you now! And you’re the spitting image of your mother.’

  She got a shy smile from the little girl in return, so she kissed her on the cheek and then straightened up and hugged Martin.

  ‘Hi, Mart. You haven’t changed a bit since I last saw you. Still as handsome as ever.’

  He grinned back at her, revealing a double chin that hadn’t been there before. He had grown a moustache as well, and that further aged him. Still, he didn’t look too bad for an old fogey of over thirty – as they all were by now.

  ‘And you’re even more gorgeous than ever, Zoë. With your hair pinned up like that, you look very grown up.’

  ‘I suppose we’re all grown up now.’ Zoë glanced past Martin’s shoulder as she spotted two other familiar figures just coming
into the terminal, pulling their bags behind them. ‘And look who’s here. It’s Juliet and Lorna. Hi, Jules. Hi, Lorn – long time no see.’

  ‘Hello, you lot.’

  Lorna advanced upon their little group with open arms and hugged them all in turn. Juliet followed a little way behind and greeted them slightly less effusively. Zoë took a closer look at both of them. She had seen Juliet only a couple of weeks earlier, on their dress shopping expedition, and she was still looking fit, well and happy – although, as ever, a bit reticent, a bit shy. Lorna, on the other hand, was looking her age. There were dark rings under her eyes and Zoë wondered if these were a result of her still burning the candle at both ends, or whether she was unwell or feeling a bit down. She decided not to comment.

  No sooner had they checked in than Lorna led them up to the bar and insisted on getting them to join her in a bottle of Prosecco, even though it was barely mid morning. Zoë accepted half a glass, as did the others, but Lorna soon disposed of the rest. As she drank, she talked non-stop, telling them about her new job and recounting her amorous exploits – of which there appeared to be too many to count. It was pretty clear that this particular leopard hadn’t changed its spots, even if it was beginning to fray a bit around the edges.

  Once Lorna had finally reached the end of her litany of paramours, the rest of them spent the next few hours at the airport and then on the short flight to Salzburg, reminiscing, exchanging notes and catching up on all the news. There was no sign of Grant and his woman, or of Imogen and her husband. Presumably they were on different flights. Although Zoë felt relieved not to find herself strapped into a seat alongside her ex, she knew the relief would only be short-lived. One way or another she was going to meet up with him soon, and the mixture of emotions coursing through her brain would have kept a psychiatrist fully occupied for hours.