The Perfect Present

by Karen Swan

  ‘Hey! Where are you going?’ Laura asked her.

  ‘Into the snow room. Alex and Orlando have promised to buy one each of Joe’s pigs next Christmas if I manage five minutes in there.’

  ‘Oh well, if it’s for the pigs . . . a noble cause,’ Laura quipped.

  Kitty laughed. ‘I could buy the kids’ stocking presents alone from the proceeds. Want to join me? I could do with the moral support.’

  Laura did – it sounded a laugh.

  ‘Actually, Kit, I was hoping to take the opportunity to get to hear a bit more about Laura’s jewellery business,’ Cat said, peering from under her towel and placing a hand on Laura’s arm. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

  The disappointment in Kitty’s eyes was only evident for a moment before it was blinked away and replaced with a careless smile. ‘Sure thing,’ Kitty shrugged, running selfconsciously towards the snow room and leaving Laura behind with the cool girls.

  An hour later, there was a knock at Laura’s door. She had just finished painting her toenails, having bought some red polish in town earlier – as much as she was inspired by Cat’s edgy green, she didn’t fool herself that she could pull that look off – and was wondering how to achieve a ‘smoky eye’ with a four-year-old Rimmel kohl stick and some Avon eyeshadow which was damp from the steam in the bathroom. She usually didn’t bother with make-up at all, but tonight . . . well, tonight she felt different. She had completely stepped out of her own skin today and it was as if she had champagne flowing through her veins. She felt enervated, fizzy and giggly all at once, perpetually ready to laugh and smile, to chat, to flirt even – she’d held her own against Alex earlier and was revelling in Cat’s attention. And she didn’t want to give these feelings up. At least, not yet.

  ‘Come in,’ she called, sitting on the stool by the dressing table.

  Rob popped his head round the door. ‘Hi. Cat wondered if you could just nip in to her for a moment?’

  Laura nodded, but before she could get up, he checked the corridor was clear and stepped into the room, quickly shutting the door behind him. ‘Before you go, have you managed to speak to anyone yet?’ He leant against the wall looking immaculate in his dinner jacket, his eyes glittering with excitement at the surprise he was planning.

  ‘Well, I managed to get some time with Sam.’

  ‘Ah, and how was our quiet friend? Soft and fluffy, obviously.’

  ‘Yes, exactly.’

  ‘You’ve heard her nickname, I assume?’

  Laura shook her head.

  ‘The Blazing Assassin.’

  ‘I didn’t think it was going to be the Easter Bunny! Well, she was very forthcoming. She told me all about her and Cat’s time at Manchester, inter-railing, moving to London together . . .’ She pulled a face. ‘It sounds like they were pretty scary, to be honest.’

  ‘They were quite a force to be reckoned with. If I’d met Cat when she was out with Sam, I’m not sure I’d have approached her.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘Actually, no, that’s not true. I’d have walked through fire to get to her.’

  Laura stared at him in amazement as he realized what he’d said and looked away in embarrassment. She hadn’t ever met anyone who was so clearly as besotted with his own wife as he was. Other people’s, certainly . . .

  ‘Cat must be a strong character herself,’ she said. ‘To be able to take on a woman like Sam.’

  Rob considered for a moment. ‘She is. But Sam’s not really as tough and scary as she makes out. A lot of it’s an act.’

  ‘Oscar-winning act.’

  ‘What else did she say about Cat? I’m intrigued.’

  ‘Well, it would appear your wife was an atrocious cook. I can only assume the way has been up since then?’

  ‘In that we have a cook.’

  ‘Oh!’ Laura giggled. ‘Well, as a chalet girl, she had a repertoire of just six recipes – pretty much all ham and cheese.’

  ‘You mean like raclette, omelette, fondue . . . ?’

  ‘Something like that – and those were the glory days! Toast kept her alive up until that point, I gather.’

  ‘She still loves hot buttered toast.’

  ‘But did you know she served it once at a black-tie dinner?’

  Rob’s face crumpled with laughter and again she saw exactly how he had looked as a twelve-year-old boy, just like she had that first day in her studio. Most of the time he came across as so bluff and buttoned-up, but occasionally she glimpsed this other side to him – relaxed, witty, playful, teasing . . . Rob-lite.

  ‘It sounds like it went really well, then.’

  ‘. . . Yes.’ She had survived at least.

  He smiled, looking around the room casually. ‘And are you comfortable in here? Is there anything you need?’ His eyes fell upon the red bikini drying in the bathroom and she saw him notice that she had made up the bed with hospital corners, the towels were hanging as she’d found them, and all her make-up was still packed in her bag, not strewn across the counters like Sam’s, which had looked more like an explosion in a flour factory. A baffled expression registered across his features at how little she had settled herself in.

  ‘It’s like being in a five-star hotel. It’s amazing. I can’t believe you live here,’ she said nervously.

  ‘Huh, I wish. I’d stay here all winter if I could.’

  ‘But you come out for weekends and holidays, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, as much as possible. It never feels enough, though. I love the mountains,’ he said, walking across to the windows and looking out. The curtains were still open and Verbier sparkled back at them like diamonds on velvet.

  ‘Me too.’

  He looked back at her. ‘So what’s the story on you, then? I’m curious. Why did you lead us all to believe you couldn’t ski?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to mislead anyone. I just genuinely didn’t think that I would be skiing this weekend. It was very much a work trip in my mind.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Still a work trip. I’ll get it all done, I promise.’

  He laughed lightly. ‘No, I mean . . . I don’t know. You just seem completely different out here,’ he said, his words echoing Alex’s at lunch. Was the distinction really so obvious?

  ‘Well, so do you. We’re all off-duty and relaxed now,’ she continued, trying to close down the conversation and stop the questions before they started. ‘But look, I’d better go and see what Cat wants. I don’t want to keep her waiting.’

  Rob looked disappointed that the conversation was being cut off so obviously, but he followed her as she got up and walked to the door.

  ‘See you downstairs, then,’ he said, bounding athletically down the stairs.

  Laura nodded and knocked on the door of the Leopard suite before opening it. Kitty was sitting on the tub chair, looking lovely in a greeny-grey chiffon dress, which had puffed sleeves to show off her freckled arms and a gold lace detail at the bust. Her gold sandals had been kicked off and she was hugging her knees.

  Cat, who had been peering into her wardrobe, walked over to the bed and held up a dress. It was black lace with a slash neck and sleeves that stopped at the elbow. There was a pronounced waist and a skirt so tight it looked like castors were going to be the only way of getting about in it.

  ‘Oh wow,’ Laura breathed reflexively, feeling infinitely flattered that Cat was asking for her opinion. ‘Yes. Whatever else you were going to show me – yes. It has to be that one.’

  ‘I’m glad you said that,’ Cat laughed, winking at Kitty. ‘Because it’s got your name on it.’

  There was a moment’s delay as Laura realized Cat’s intention.

  ‘It’s got someone called Dolce & Gabbana’s name on it,’ she protested, and Kitty threw her head back, giggling like a schoolgirl. Laura watched her, amused – she was sure the snow shower had gone to her head. Brain freeze?

  She looked back at Cat. ‘It’s gorgeous, Cat – and I really do appreciate the thought, but I couldn’t possibly. That d
ress is worth more than my house, and I’ve already worn quite enough of your clothes today. I’ll get by with what I’ve got . . .’

  Cat stared at her evenly, all friendliness suddenly gone. ‘Laura. This is Orlando’s fortieth-birthday dinner. He’s been on the brink of a breakdown since he turned thirty. The absolute only thing that’s going to get him through this crisis is if we, his girls, dress top to toe in Italian labels – basically his porn – and dirty-dance with him till dawn.’

  ‘Do it for Orlando,’ Kitty pleaded.

  ‘Orlando, the pigs . . .’ Laura muttered at her. ‘Tch, talk about a pound of flesh.’

  Cat took a step closer to her, swinging the dress ever nearer.

  ‘I’ll try it on,’ Laura said finally, reaching out for it. ‘But it probably won’t even fit.’

  ‘Oh, it will,’ Kitty said, as though the dress wouldn’t dare not to.

  ‘Well, thank you,’ Laura said, turning to go.

  ‘Not so fast.’ Cat planted her hands on her hips. ‘We’re not done yet.’

  A small shiver danced up Laura’s spine. She looked down at Kitty – dear, sweet, gentle Kitty – who merely shrugged. ‘We’re not?’

  Cat swept an arm towards the bathroom, and Laura spied Gemma in there, her sleeves rolled up and towels in her hand.

  ‘What’s she going to do?’ Laura mumbled.

  ‘Don’t worry, Laur,’ Kitty smiled, jumping off the bed and propelling her along. ‘There’s actually nothing she can’t do. She’s got more strings to her bow than Gwyneth Paltrow’s nanny.’

  Laura swallowed hard as Cat and Kitty shoved her into the bathroom with Gemma and shut the door behind her. She shrugged at Gemma helplessly. ‘I didn’t know Gwyneth Paltrow’s nanny played the violin.’

  Chapter Twenty

  An hour later, Laura wandered back into the corridor, bouncing into the walls as she turned the dress in her hands through all angles as though it was a riddle that had to be solved. It was too beautiful. She’d feel too conspicuous in it. She steadied the towel turban Sam and Kitty had insisted she wear back to the room, even though Laura was sure it would undo all Gemma’s excellent work. And it was excellent. Flawless.

  The towel fell, lopsided, to the side of her head, and she had to rebalance it in one hand. She could already hear the men chatting in the sitting room below the mezzanine. Alex and Isabella’s door opened as she passed, and they wandered out, stony-faced.

  ‘Hi,’ Isabella muttered in a distinctly frosty tone as she passed by, looking glorious in a skimpy gold lurex knitted dress that clung to her like a prayer. Alex said nothing, just gave the merest shake of his head, as if to say, ‘Don’t ask.’

  ‘See you down there,’ she said quietly to their backs.

  The dress fitted like a dream. It clung and curved and positively kissed her body, and the red shoe-boots gave it a modern edge that was more like Scarlett Johansson than Anita Ekberg. Laura smoothed her hair nervously as she turned the final curve of the staircase and stepped into view.

  Everyone was dressing the tree. Kitty had accessorized herself with a length of thick purple tinsel wrapped round her neck like a feather boa. ‘I never get to do this at home. The kids always hog the tree in our house,’ she trilled, artfully draping a particularly bushy length of silver tinsel.

  ‘Tinsel, Rob?’ Sam asked, wearing a tiny hot-pink strapless dress that was so tight it was more like a compression suit, and spike heels that doubled as weapons and had no doubt left dot-to-dot pinpricks on the leather floor of their bedroom. The memory of her slurring and waxy on the bed a couple of hours previously was like a distant dream.

  Rob shrugged. ‘My niece insists. She says it’s not a proper Christmas tree without tinsel.’

  ‘That’s the lovely thing about Christmas,’ Kitty said. ‘Everyone’s got their own rituals. I’ve started up a tradition of making gingerbread stars with the children to put on our tree, even though every single year, Pocket and the ducks eat them all. I tell myself I won’t bother next time and yet come the first weekend in December I still find myself elbow-deep in golden syrup and cookie-cutters,’ she sighed, blowing out through rosy cheeks. ‘Here, Isabella – can you pull this round? Try and get it to go in and out of the branches.’

  Isabella began weaving the tinsel to Kitty’s instructions, whilst Sam looked disapprovingly at a bunch of glitter-covered laminated snowflakes that were clearly home-made. ‘You know, there’s such a thing as giving kids too much power, Rob,’ she drawled.

  It was Orlando who saw Laura first, and his jaw dropped open with a Latin appreciation of the female form that completely disregarded whether he wanted to sleep with her or not.

  ‘Bella!’ he whispered, causing the others to turn too, their glasses in their hands. They all looked so imposing in their tuxedos, like one of those group shots of impossibly good-looking men in Ralph Lauren ads. The room fell silent. Except for Sam.

  ‘Fuck me!’ she hollered. ‘Who the hell did that?’

  Laura instantly turned to race back up the stairs and hide under her duvet, but Cat – laughing delightedly in her red silk wisp of a dress that gave less coverage than lipstick – ran over and grabbed her. ‘Doesn’t she look amazing?’ she asked, tugging Laura towards them all.

  The entire group was open-mouthed – even Kitty, who had been in on Cat’s plan. The combination of the new hair and dress was dazzling.

  ‘Well . . .’ David blustered, breaking the silence first. ‘Blonde s-suits you.’

  ‘Suits her?’ Cat repeated, rotating Laura on the spot. ‘Look at her! She’s a goddess.’ She nodded proudly, squeezing Laura’s arm in her own. ‘My work here is done.’

  Laura glowed happily, delighted by Cat’s response.

  Sasha came over with a drink for Laura and Cat handed it to her. Laura looked at the glass in her hand and at the same time the other small badge of belonging – the grey Chanel polish that Cat had insisted was painted on her fingernails – shone under the lights.

  ‘Thanks.’ She looked up hesitantly at the others, keeping her eyes off Isabella. She could feel the chill six feet away. The men were all gathered in front of what appeared to be a giant box that had been shrouded in red velvet. Some present!

  Rob nodded. ‘Stunning, Laura,’ he said chivalrously, but with a look in his eyes that suggested he wasn’t merely being polite. ‘And the, uh . . . dress, too.’

  ‘Thanks to Cat,’ she murmured, sending her mentor another grateful smile. Looking at everyone gathered here, she only now realized how woefully underdressed she would have been in cords.

  She felt Alex’s eyes on her and turned to look at him, intrigued to know his reaction – she bet he was a man who loved blondes – but he walked away and started fiddling with the stereo system with his back to her. Inexplicably, her spirits dived.

  ‘Nice shoes,’ David commented.

  Laura bit her lip. ‘Yessss . . . Something of a weakness. My boyfriend doesn’t strictly know about these yet,’ she smiled.

  ‘Oh, you’re one of those! You buy something and hide it for a few weeks, and then, when your other half asks if it’s new, you reply, “What? This old thing? I’ve had it for ages, dear.”’

  Laura held her hand up. ‘Busted!’

  ‘Yes. We have one of those in our house,’ he said, glancing over at his dramatic wife, who was delicately – with one hand – placing stripy Murano-glass baubles on the tree, completely unprepared to put down her drink, even for a minute. ‘Here you go,’ he said, handing her one of the Lalique crystal snowflakes.

  Laura took it nervously, hoping it was insured. It didn’t matter quite so much when a bauble slipped off the tree at home – their decorations were from Debenhams.

  ‘Well,’ Rob said after a while, once the tree was as decorated as the guests, ‘there’s a tree in my house and snow on the ground. But neither Christmas, nor – and I can’t believe I’m going to say this – skiing are the real reason we’re here.’ He took a step closer to the red velve
t box and put his hand on the cloth. ‘We’ve had to keep this a secret or we knew he’d never come, but Orlando – happy fortieth, buddy!’ And with a quick tug, he pulled away the velvet to reveal an ice bar, sculpted into the shape of the Eiger, with a luge funnelled through the middle.

  ‘What? No!’ the big man gasped, as everyone cheered and burst into a spontaneous round of ‘Happy Birthday’. ‘I am so old,’ he wailed, real tears sliding down his cheeks as he touched a finger to the ice.

  ‘Yes, but so handsome,’ Kitty smiled, patting him on the arm.

  ‘And so buff,’ Sam drawled. ‘I’d so do you if you weren’t gay.’

  ‘You promise?’ he sniffed.

  ‘Totally,’ she grinned, and Laura caught the mischievous glint in her eyes. Was this what Rob had meant earlier, when he’d said a lot of her outrageous behaviour was an act? She was playing for laughs? Or gasps?

  ‘Anyone in the mood for some games? Let’s play charades!’ Kitty half asked, half ordered. A murmur of easy assent rose up.

  ‘So long as you go first,’ Cat said, tucking herself into the corner of a sofa.

  Kitty stood patiently in front of the fire, whilst everyone settled themselves on the cushions. The flames leapt behind her excitedly, trying to compete with Sam’s hair.

  Laura sat down – perched on one buttock, the skirt was so tight – squeezing herself between Isabella, and Rob and Cat. Sam, David, Orlando and Alex were on the opposite sofa. Alex kept staring at the floor, clearly lost in thought. He looked stupidly handsome in his dinner jacket and appeared to be brooding about something. He had mimed the rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’, she’d noticed. She looked at Isabella, next to her, and saw the same scowl on her pretty face as his. No doubt ferocious arguments were part and parcel of their passionate relationship – the making up would be so much more fun. Laura sighed as she looked back at Kitty. She and Jack never argued. Ever.

  ‘Book,’ Rob said beside her as Kitty mimed the signals. ‘. . . and film . . . three words.’

  ‘First word . . . The,’ David cried, and Kitty stabbed a jubilant finger in the air at him.