The Perfect Present

by Karen Swan

  But before she knew it, too soon, she ran out of mountain. She was too fast, too good. The slope levelled off and she and Mark slid to an easy stop at the back of the queue for the chairlifts.

  ‘Wow, Laura!’ Mark said, grinning and slapping her matily on the shoulders as she giggled delightedly. ‘That was incredible.’

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ she panted, looking back up at the piste, where the skiers looked like ants from this distance. She dropped her face in her hands. ‘I can’t believe I did it.’

  ‘And with some serious style, too. Come on, out with it! What’s your background?’

  Laura hesitated as they reached the front and the chair-lift scooped them off their feet and lifted them into the blue sky. ‘I skied for my university.’

  Mark narrowed his eyes. ‘And . . . ?’

  Laura snuck a glance across at him.

  ‘There’s something else too, isn’t there? I can feel it.’

  She looked ahead. ‘I was invited into the British Juniors.’

  Mark’s mouth dropped open. ‘And you let me demonstrate a freaking snowplough? Man!’

  ‘I didn’t join, though,’ she said hastily, rebutting his admiration. ‘So where are we going now?’

  ‘I’m taking you on to the best runs on this mountain.’ He winked at her. ‘You just became my favourite client!’

  Two hours later, Laura’s thighs were burning and her cheeks were hot pink, but she didn’t want to stop. She’d lost the fight spectacularly. Up there, in the virgin snow, the passion had rushed down on her like an avalanche, burying her resistance, and she’d given herself up to it completely. It was too late now; it had been too late this morning when she’d glimpsed the peaks through her curtains. It wasn’t just because it was a pretty view; the mountains were part of her. Something in her physical make-up, her DNA, remembered what her conscious mind would not allow: that she was happy here.

  Faced with the off-piste, she’d made her deal in a heartbeat: she would ski this weekend. She would ski her heart out, pounding, carving, slicing and scarring the snow; she would write her signature on skis; she would bounce over the moguls like a buggy on the moon. She would give herself up to this exhilarating happiness, this unadulterated passion, here in the midst of strangers who knew nothing about her. She would stop being Laura Cunningham this weekend. She would be simply Laura-the-jeweller. For once, she was prepared to pay the price when the joy turned to torment and she had to parcel this up and hide it somewhere deep inside her.

  ‘Look, still no white bum!’ she laughed, showing off her spotless, snow-free suit as she and Mark readied themselves at the top of a black run. They had gone across to the far side of the Four Valleys ski area where it was quiet and hard core, and she’d taken everything he’d thrown at her in her stride – bump fields, woods . . .

  ‘See you at the bottom!’ she called out, pushing herself off and pointing directly downhill. She had no fear. She trusted her body’s instincts on this in a way that she didn’t on anything else.

  ‘Hey!’ Mark called, setting off after her and racing in her tracks. She only just beat him to the bottom, laughing so hard that she did, finally, topple over when she was almost at a stop.

  She lay there, spreadeagled in the snow, her hands across her stomach as she laughed and laughed and laughed. She couldn’t remember when she’d last been so happy.

  ‘What have I created?’ Mark chuckled, sidestepping over to her to pull her up. But a sudden wave of snow obscured Laura from his sight as another skier came to a dramatic stop between them.

  ‘Do my eyes deceive me?’ the skier asked, looking down at her. He pushed his goggles back and Laura found herself looking into those distinctive blue eyes again.

  ‘Alex!’ she exclaimed, propping herself up on her elbows.

  ‘You said you couldn’t ski.’

  ‘No, I said I didn’t,’ she sighed. ‘There’s a difference.’

  Alex shook his head. ‘I’ve just watched you bomb down that run like a pro. He couldn’t catch you,’ he said, indicating to Mark.

  ‘How did you know it was me?’

  ‘Looking like that?’ he asked, holding out a hand and pulling her up. ‘Who else could it have been, Laura-the-jeweller?’

  He held her hand for a beat longer than was necessary. ‘So where are you off to next, then?’ he asked, looking round at Mark.

  ‘Well, actually, we’re heading back to Médran. I’ve got another lesson in a quarter of an hour.’ He looked over at Laura. ‘Unfortunately. I could ski with you all day.’

  ‘I’ll bet. Call this a job?’ Laura teased as Mark grinned and Alex looked on.

  Alex slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Well, tell you what, you get back to your next lesson and I’ll take Laura from here.’

  Mark looked from Alex over to Laura. ‘Are you sure? You’re a great skier, but you don’t know the runs yet.’

  ‘No. But I do,’ Alex insisted. ‘The rest of us are meeting at Chottes for lunch, so I’ll take her with me.’

  ‘Is that okay with you, Laura? I’m very happy to take you back to Médran.’

  Laura didn’t hesitate. As if she was done for the day. ‘Yes, it’s absolutely fine. My legs are up for a bit more.’

  ‘Aaah!’ Alex grinned, slapping a hand over his chest. ‘A woman after my own heart.’

  Laura giggled as she shook Mark’s hand. ‘Thanks for everything. You’ve been brilliant.’

  ‘No,’ Mark argued. ‘You have. That was seriously fun.’

  They watched him hop on the ski lift that would take him back to the resort.

  ‘So,’ Alex said, turning back to Laura. ‘Alone at last.’ A wicked smile crept on to his berry-red lips. ‘What are we going to do with ourselves?’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Although it was only the first full week of the season, the heavy snow had drafted in plenty of skiers, and the restaurant was filling up by the time they got there. Laura had never been so happy at the thought of sitting down. If she’d pushed herself skiing with Mark, she’d practically skied for her life against Alex. They had taken five runs to get here, and on each one Alex had weaved round her, giving chase, recognizing in her the thrill of speed and knowing she couldn’t resist the challenge. And she couldn’t. Each time, against her own better judgement, she’d taken the bait, sometimes beginning her descent with a bluff, arcing across the plain in languid sweeps before suddenly pointing her skis downhill and crouching down to improve her aerodynamics. Other times she was off and speeding away before he’d got his goggles back on. But every time, she’d known that, for all her skill, he could still just about take her. He liked chasing her, but he liked catching her more.

  Sticking their skis in the snow and unbuckling their boots, they walked into the restaurant, a traditional Savoyard-style chalet with rows of pine tables set out on various levels. Laura swept the room, looking for Rob, Kitty, Orlando and the rest. And Sam – where was she?

  ‘Table for two,’ Alex said to a waiter as they walked in.

  Laura turned back to him. ‘For two? But you said we were meeting everyone for lunch.’

  ‘So I lied,’ Alex said, his eyes challenging her as they had on the slopes.

  The waiter, standing at their table, gestured for them to join him.

  ‘Of course, if you want to ski the five runs back to where they’re meeting, we can,’ he shrugged.

  ‘Back? You mean we were already there when you saw me with Mark?’

  ‘I was just about to join them. But then I saw you laughing in the snow and what was I supposed to do? Share you with everyone else?’

  They sat down. ‘You know I’m living with someone,’ she said as the waiter handed her a menu.

  ‘I’d prefer not to think about it, actually.’

  Laura couldn’t help but laugh, enjoying his humour. She felt positively euphoric with the afterglow of her morning’s exercise – her skin was glowing, her heart was still pumping double-time, and this badinage was upl
ifting and fun. ‘Poor Isabella. I hope she knows what she’s letting herself in for. When’s the wedding?’

  Alex motioned for some drinks. ‘Yet to be decided. Summer, probably.’

  ‘And how did the two of you meet?’

  ‘Through work.’

  She dropped her menu down and gave him an exasperated look. Blood. Stone. ‘And what is it that you do?’

  ‘I’m a sports broker.’

  ‘Ooh. I bet you’re popular with the lads in the pub, then.’

  Alex agreed. ‘I get to do what every little boy dreams of.’

  ‘And Isabella? Is she a broker too?’

  Alex shook his head. ‘She’s a marketing executive for Nike, Ronaldo’s sponsor. Ronaldo’s one of my clients.’

  ‘Oh wow. So you’re a power couple,’ she said.

  Alex sat back to let the waiter set down their drinks and a bowl of warm bread rolls. ‘Hardly.’

  ‘No? If I wanted tickets to the World Cup final, could you get them for me?’

  ‘Sure, although it’s not for ages.’ He placed his elbows on the table and leaned in towards her. ‘But is this really what you want to know about me? My job and my fiancée?’

  ‘No,’ Laura said, shaking her head, playing the game. ‘What I really want is to know about you and Cat, Alex-the-ex.’

  Alex sat back in his chair and studied her. ‘Must we?’

  ‘It’s why I’m here,’ she said, beginning to pick at a bread roll.

  ‘I brought you here so that I could get to know more about you and how you learnt to ski like the devil. It makes me wonder what else you can do.’

  Laura met his eyes and a zip of electricity flashed between them. ‘I make killer jewellery.’

  ‘You must do, if the rumours are right about what Rob’s paying for this necklace of yours.’

  ‘It’s not merely decorative, Alex. It’s going to tell Cat’s life story.’

  ‘You’d better give me an extra-big charm, then. I feature pretty heavily.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure,’ Laura nodded, an amused smile on her lips. ‘You’re her first love, the boy who broke her heart. It makes you unforgettable.’

  He slumped back in his chair, his eyes pinned on her. ‘I want to know why you didn’t say you could ski like that. You could have joined everyone on the heli-ski earlier.’

  Laura shrugged. ‘I’m not here to play.’

  ‘So what are you doing out here now, then?’ He gestured to the chalet they were sitting in, positioned halfway up the piste.

  ‘Being polite.’

  ‘Polite?’

  She burst out laughing. ‘What else could I do? There was no one at home for me to interview. Rob had arranged for Mark to give me a lesson so I couldn’t keep protesting I’d be holding you all back, and Cat told me to wear her clothes so I couldn’t plead that I didn’t have any kit either. If I’d kicked up a fuss about still not going out in the face of all their hospitality, Cat would start wondering exactly what I was doing out here, and this necklace is supposed to be a surprise, remember.’

  He shook his head. ‘No. It’s not that. There’s something else. You’re different. Something’s happened to you since we left you at breakfast this morning.’

  She leaned forward, pressing her weight on to her elbows. ‘Ah, I see you’re a conspiracy theorist,’ she grinned, puncturing his truths with teasing jabs, her eyes sparkling.

  He paused for a beat. ‘I’ll get it out of you, Laura.’

  Laura held his gaze for a moment before looking down at her menu. If he persisted in staring at her like that, he might get more than just plain talking from her. ‘Well, while you’re busy giving me an exotic past, I’m going to order. I’m starving.’

  He cracked a tiny smile. ‘Then we must not delay. Appetite is like desire.’

  Laura lowered the menu. ‘Huh?’

  Those eyes were pinned on her again. ‘The only way to overcome it is to satisfy it.’

  ‘I’m glad we’re just in time, then!’ a familiar voice snapped next to them. Laura looked up to find Rob clicking his fingers at the waiter to bring over another table. He looked down at Laura. ‘And he’s quoting Somerset Maugham, by the way. Don’t be fooled into thinking the words are his own.’

  ‘The sentiments are,’ Alex muttered tetchily, sitting bolt upright as Cat, Isabella, Orlando, Sam, David and Kitty rocked up behind Rob.

  ‘So this is where you’re hiding!’ Kitty grinned, grabbing the chair next to Laura.

  Laura smiled at her, relieved to be rescued from Alex’s attentions. She watched as Cat, looking particularly feline, unzipped her caramel-coloured suit and every pair of eyes in the restaurant swivelled over to her.

  Rob practically threw himself on his seat, looking furious. ‘What are you doing here, anyway? You knew we were all meeting at Marmotte.’

  Alex shrugged. ‘Hello, darling,’ he said as Isabella came over and leant down to give him a kiss. ‘I don’t see what you’re making such a fuss about, Rob. I ran into Laura on the way over and decided to take her to lunch.’ He lowered his voice, throwing a discreet look over at Cat to check she wasn’t listening. ‘She does have to interview me, after all.’

  Laura marvelled at how easily he told the lie. They both knew he hadn’t had interviews on his mind.

  ‘How did you know where to find us?’ Alex asked.

  ‘We ran into Mark. He said you were taking Laura to have lunch with us here.’

  ‘Well, it’s all turned out fine, then, hasn’t it? We’re reunited for lunch after all.’

  ‘Give us another five minutes,’ Rob said to the hovering waiter. ‘And bring over some more vin chaud.’

  Sam’s eyes skidded over Laura’s light blue ski-bunny outfit and pink cheeks. ‘Had a fun morning?’ she asked, still pale in spite of the day’s exercise.

  Laura straightened up and looked her straight in the eye. ‘Yes, thanks. Fabulous.’

  ‘Bully for you,’ Sam muttered, lunging at the bottle of wine that Alex and Laura had already ordered.

  ‘Orlando? Was it fun?’ Laura asked, turning her attentions to him.

  ‘Two wipeouts.’

  ‘Oooh, ouch!’ She placed a sympathetic hand on his arm. ‘Poor you.’

  ‘My own fault. I am never drinking again. As you are my witness.’

  ‘Not God as your witness, Orly?’ Kitty asked from Laura’s other side, smiling indulgently.

  ‘Let us not be hasty,’ Orlando said, a smile growing on his lips. ‘I say “never”, but I mean . . . “until tonight”.’

  ‘We’d better not make this a long lunch,’ Sam sighed wearily, lighting a cigarette. ‘We’ve got to get Laura back now. That’s going to take some time.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about me, please.’

  Sam snorted, arching a plucked eyebrow at Laura’s newly assertive behaviour. ‘You think you can keep up, do you?’

  Laura fixed her with an even stare. She was actually going to enjoy this. ‘You know, Sam, yes, I think I just might.’

  By the time they’d skied back – everyone almost falling over as Laura zipped past them effortlessly – and stopped off in town to buy their Secret Santa presents, it was getting dark. They fell through the front door, laughing, pink-cheeked and half drunk, unzipping their top layers and unbuckling their boots in the porch. Sam – first through – was surprised to find a large Christmas tree set up by the windows in the sitting room, a box of decorations sitting alongside it. ‘A delivery for you, Rob!’ she called.

  Laura hung up her jacket carefully as Cat stripped back down to her thermals. ‘Cat, I just want to thank you again for lending me this kit. It’s amazingly kind, and completely unexpected.’

  ‘If I had known you were such a great skier, I might have thought twice,’ Cat smiled. ‘You made us all look bad out there today. And my bum doesn’t look half as good as yours in those trousers,’ she chuckled, patting her lightly on the bottom. ‘No fair,’ she winked.

  Laura laughed, not taken in
that Cat thought she looked good, and kept her trousers on as she walked down the stairs, unlike the others, who had stripped down to catwalk-ready thermals. Cat looked lean in chocolate silk long-johns, Isabella cosy-cool in pale grey ribbed leggings, and Sam was in a Dolce & Gabbana knitted reindeer-print playsuit that was almost inducing an on-the-spot heart attack in Orlando – she was wearing a pair of navy opaque tights over white knickers. Not a good look. The fact that Kitty was also staying covered up suggested she felt she had just as much to hide as Laura.

  Laura joined Kitty by the sixteen-foot tree and peered into the box of decorations, curious to see how the Other Half decorated Christmas. She was guessing it wouldn’t feature tinsel or plastic reindeer.

  ‘I thought we could all decorate it later, when we have drinks,’ Rob said, leaning over the mezzanine and addressing them both. Laura looked up. He had stripped down too and was wearing a black cotton vest that revealed muscles that were clearly primed to cope with more than just off-piste skiing. He hadn’t shaved from the day before and the two-day-old stubble glinted like metal filings. From this distance – with his hair dishevelled and the delight of a hard day’s skiing reflected in his eyes – he looked more like a logger than that stiff, polished businessman who’d knocked at her studio door and Laura found herself thinking this rugged look suited him better. If she was Cat, she’d keep him here all year round, so that he’d stay looking like that – vital, strong, happy. ‘It’s something of a tradition,’ he added.

  Laura realized she was staring and nodded quickly. ‘Great.’

  He smiled and headed off to his bedroom.

  ‘A sixteen-foot Christmas tree? It seems rather extravagant for just a weekend jolly,’ Laura murmured, turning back to Kitty, before remembering that if he didn’t count a chartered chopper as an extravagance, a non-drop blue spruce was hardly going to cause him any sleepless nights.

  ‘I know,’ Kitty sighed, reaching into the box and twirling a Lalique crystal snowflake on the end of her finger. ‘He doesn’t realize, of course. He’s not trying to be flash.’