Christmas in the Snow

by Karen Swan

She looked out at the Matterhorn basking in full sun, the sky a speedwell blue behind it, mocking her. He put the tea on the bedside table and leaned in, kissing her on the mouth and pushing her back against the warm pillows. ‘How did you sleep?’

  She nodded again as she looked up at him, trying not to think how good he looked, trying not to panic. She had fallen asleep again. She had fallen asleep in his arms and now it was too late to make the discreet exit that would have told him wordlessly how things had to be.

  His eyes tracked her face lazily, like he had all the time in the world to drink her in. They met hers again. ‘I didn’t want to wake you, but the Yongs are due soon and I didn’t think you’d want to be in your pyjamas. Or worse . . . mine.’

  He grinned at her, a lopsided smile with bright eyes that almost winded her. How could she want him and yet hate him at the same time?

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered as his mouth came down on hers again and the world receded . . .

  No. Her hands found his shoulders and pushed against them. He rolled back, resting his head on one hand, the smile seemingly tattooed to his face.

  ‘I’d better get up,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Well, you can certainly try,’ he grinned, leaning down and kissing her yet again, feeling her immediate response.

  Oh God, oh God . . . She knew she had to re-establish a cool that would draw a line between them again, but her heart was pounding with a wildness she couldn’t tame, and her emotions felt dangerously close to the surface. How could she have fallen back to sleep? Every minute spent with him was wearing her down, making it harder to leave.

  ‘It was a good party,’ she murmured as he tenderly pushed her hair away from her face. At least if they could get on to talking, that might lead to arguing . . .

  ‘No it wasn’t. It was terrible. Far too flashy. You were forty minutes late, and he turned up. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a worse party.’

  ‘Forty minutes?’ She blinked up at him. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Why do you think I was standing where I was standing? I had an uninterrupted view of everyone coming and going. I could clearly see you trying to avoid me,’ he laughed. ‘Not that I had any intention of letting you get away with that.’

  She wriggled away from him, jumping up from the bed, but the duvet was pinned fast beneath him, so she grabbed the nearest thing to hand off the floor. His . . . ? His shirt.

  ‘Oh, now you’re coy?’ he asked, watching as she turned away and shrugged her arms through the sleeves, buttoning it up loosely with trembling hands. She had to get out of here, away from these words, away from those eyes, because the reasons she was here in this chalet were nothing to do with him. The chemistry between them was undeniable, yes, she’d admit that, but she hadn’t come here to be in his bed. She was here because of Yong’s promise, that headline in Sunday’s papers, the report in the room next door . . .

  She couldn’t afford to forget that. She reached down to scoop her knickers and bra off the floor. Her jeans were by the door, and the sooner she got out of here, the better – his words were spinning her off in directions she couldn’t take. She had only one path.

  But he had other ideas, lunging across the bed and whipping her into him as she tried to scoot past. She burst out laughing as his hands skimmed down her waist with deft lightness, tickling her, pushing her into him.

  ‘Nice effort,’ he said, looking down at her in his arms and laying her back on the mattress. ‘But no cigar.’

  They agreed to stagger their entrances. Sam said he would give her a five-minute head start on breakfast before he came upstairs, but everyone’s eyes still flicked over her with seemingly knowing looks when he took his place at the table. Or was that just the paranoia talking?

  ‘Sleep well?’ Massi asked, mischief in his smile as Sam reached for some grapes.

  ‘Yes. You?’ Sam replied, his face and voice neutral, even though his foot had somehow found her ankle and hooked around it under the table. Isobel was still taking breakfast in her room, although Allegra suspected that novelty was wearing thin now that there was a party post-mortem going on.

  ‘You know me – I sleep like the dead,’ Massi said, tearing open a bread roll and buttering it lavishly.

  ‘No you don’t. The dead are a lot quieter than you. You snore like a gorilla,’ Zhou said. ‘I could hear you all the way from my room.’

  Massi tossed his head and then the bread roll at Zhou, who simply ducked and laughed.

  ‘It was a great party, Zhou,’ Allegra said, sipping her tea as she eyed her host, looking for signs of an epic comedown, but he seemed to be brimming with barely restrained ebullience, clearly still buoyed by last night’s success. ‘So many people. You’ve got a lot of friends.’

  ‘Oh, I think we all know they’re not my friends,’ Zhou said with a knowing smile. ‘But I agree. It was a great party.’

  He carried on nodding, very pleased about something, and Allegra wondered what else had gone on after she and Sam had retired early. Zhou was playing a risky game cutting fast and loose in the chalet with the Alpine elite only hours before his parents arrived.

  She shifted in her chair slightly to see whether any damage had been done to the chalet – she and Sam had been awake till three and the music had still been playing then – but everything looked as pristine as ever: no red wine on the sofas, no curtains hanging off their hooks, no rips in the sheepskin rugs, no three-legged chairs . . . No doubt because Estelle and the staff had worked as a crack team before first light, restoring everything to order before breakfast.

  ‘I don’t remember seeing you after the French boy ate snow,’ Massi said, slopping jam on the roll.

  The mention of Max made her eyes dim and she looked over at Massi with newfound appreciation. Her unsung guardian angel. ‘No? Oh, I was around. Mingling, you know.’ She busied herself with quartering a strawberry as Sam’s foot hooked her tighter.

  ‘Mingling,’ Massi echoed, his eyes watching her closely.

  ‘New word for you there, Mass,’ Sam quipped. ‘What time are your parents getting here?’ he asked Zhou.

  Zhou inhaled deeply at the question, his spine straightening so that he sat an inch taller. ‘Their plane’s due to land in Geneva in an hour. Then it’s forty minutes in the helicopter to here.’

  ‘You want us to be here as a welcoming party, or shall we scoot?’

  ‘You should be out when they arrive. My parents will want to rest after their journey and . . .’ He cleared his throat, glancing at Allegra. ‘There are some things I need to discuss with them.’

  ‘OK, then.’ Sam arched an eyebrow curiously and Allegra felt her stomach lurch. This was why she should have run from the room. This was why she should have crept from his room in the black of night. How could she do her job if she let emotions get in the way?

  She unhooked her leg from his and tucked it under her chair.

  ‘Well, that should give us time to get a few runs in. Where do you fancy skiing this morning?’ Sam asked, his foot clearly trying to find hers under the table.

  ‘Gornergrat?’ Massi shrugged, chewing on his pastry. ‘We could stop by the snow park and do some jumps.’

  ‘Allegra, does that sound good to you?’ Sam asked, more directly. His tone was deliberately casual, but she wondered whether that alone would give them away. He had, after all, distinguished himself by being unreservedly silent in her presence to date.

  ‘Actually, I’ve got some things to do in town again this morning. Why don’t I meet up with you all later, again?’ She said it as lightly as possible, putting her elbows on the table and sipping from her tea.

  ‘Sure,’ Sam said after a pause, resuming chewing, but she saw the question mark flash in his eyes.

  ‘It is not another boyfriend of yours, I hope, Allegra,’ Massi said, his eyes shining wickedly.

  ‘Rest assured you don’t need to beat anybody up for me today,’ she replied with a smile, subtly acknowledging what he’d done fo
r her and Iz.

  ‘Good,’ Massi said with a wink. ‘Although I do not think anyone could be so bald as the French boy.’

  ‘Bold, Massi! You are a nightmare,’ she chuckled.

  Zhou laughed too, throwing a napkin at his head.

  But Sam wasn’t laughing, and as she jogged down the stairs ten minutes later, he was straight after her.

  ‘What was all that about?’ he whispered, catching her by her bedroom door.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Pulling away from me, refusing to look at me . . .’ He put his hands on her hips and drew her into him, his mouth on hers before she could protest, as though he understood that words were her best defence.

  ‘I just don’t want them to suspect us,’ she said when they pulled away, unable to meet his eyes.

  He put his finger under chin and made her look at him. ‘And why do we have to be a secret? Why do I have to enter a room five minutes after you, anyway? These guys are two of my oldest friends. I don’t think I can hide us from them. You must have noticed they’ve been trying to get us together.’

  She frowned. ‘No.’

  ‘Legs, it’s why Zhou invited you to stay here.’ He shrugged and his ignorance of the real reason she was here hammered a crack in her heart. ‘He told me after the meeting in Paris that he knew there was something between us.’

  ‘What? How?’

  ‘He said no one who hates each other as much as we hated each other really hates each other.’

  She fell silent. She knew this was the moment to tell him why she was really here. She could be his rival and his lover. The two states could exist independently of each other, but the words wouldn’t come. She didn’t believe them, and in just a few hours from now, her career would blow them apart.

  ‘Anyway, what are you doing this morning that you can’t ski with us?’ He stepped towards her, one hand sliding behind her neck and angling her face up to his. ‘Because I don’t want you out of my bed, much less my sight.’

  She felt the gravitational pull between them as his eyes locked on hers and their mutual desire ignited again. Was this what Lars had felt for Valentina? Was this the all-encompassing love that would bring down the walls of her world if she were to lose him? They had fought and loved and warred across Europe – in Zurich, Paris, London and Zermatt – and she couldn’t outrun him, couldn’t shake him off.

  The sound of footsteps on the staircase made them leap apart, but not quickly enough for Massi to miss seeing them standing together.

  ‘You two look guilty as hell,’ Massi grinned delightedly, his eyes wide.

  ‘We’re just discussing where to meet for lunch,’ Sam replied, slouching against the doorframe for good measure. ‘I was thinking Findlerhof?’

  ‘No,’ Massi sighed, his smile fading. ‘Lunch must be back here today. We must pay lipstick to the Yongs.’

  Allegra heard Sam laugh under his breath. ‘Fair enough,’ he muttered, pushing himself back to standing again.

  ‘We’d better all make the most of this morning, then,’ Allegra said briskly, stepping towards her room. ‘See you later, boys.’

  ‘OK, man, I see you upstairs in ten,’ Massi called over his shoulder to Sam, walking back to his room.

  ‘Sure,’ Sam said back, but with his eyes on Allegra. ‘Ten minutes ought to do it . . .’ he murmured.

  She shut the door behind them quickly as his mouth found the sweet spot between her shoulder and neck, and she closed her eyes, lost already. Her head told her she was letting herself get carried away. Her head told her not to allow this to become anything more than a straightforward case of sexual attraction, but what hope did she have? Two nights with him and her world was already spinning off its own axis. Two nights with him and she was beginning to believe she’d found someone to trust. Two nights with him and her heart was already telling her that maybe he was worth more than a deal.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Her boots weren’t tall enough for the night’s newly laid drifts and puffs of snow gathered at her calves, ready to melt and drip into her jeans and socks. But she didn’t notice. She was too busy waving as Massi and Sam pressed their faces to the windows of the ski train as it pulled out from the station and across the town’s streets, ahead of its climb to the top of Zermatt’s middle mountain.

  Massi was making faces for her amusement, but although she was laughing, her eyes never once left Sam’s. And long after the train had snaked into the trees, she stood looking at where they’d been, fresh memories playing over in her mind and making her heart bounce.

  He’d been right. They weren’t going to be able to hide it for much longer. She was distracted to the point of delirium and she hardly remembered why she was out here at all and not flying down a mountain with him, letting her body take flight and catch up with her soaring soul. She walked through the crowds with a smile on her lips that she knew, by rights, shouldn’t be there, but it wouldn’t come off, wouldn’t die down.

  Her feet knew where to take her now and she moved with the careless eyes of a local, unseeing of the majesty of the mountain arena, the pretty glitter of the Christmas lights. She walked past the wooden gift shop again and her feet stopped. The drawer of the Advent calendar numbered ‘18’ had been opened since yesterday to reveal an ornate wire star that had been threaded with white and red glass beads, but her eyes fell again to the fat-cheeked wooden angel in the fifth drawer.

  Allegra pushed open the door and wandered in. It was warm inside the little shop, a red carpet bouncing a rosy glow up the walls, which were covered with shelves of wooden figures, musical boxes, doll’s houses and animals; puppets dangled by their strings from the ceiling; the traditional cuckoo clocks hung on the wall behind the long red wooden counter – as shiny as any sleigh – their faces all set to different times.

  A young girl, maybe eighteen or nineteen, smiled up at her as she walked along the far wall, by the Christmas gifts and decorations. Her hair was long and tied in a loose plait, and she was wearing a traditional red waistcoat and full skirt – no doubt to please the tourist trade. ‘Guten Tag.’

  ‘Guten Tag,’ Allegra nodded, smiling back, as she cast her eye lightly over the shelves. A pile of Angel Barrys were heaped in a shallow basket and she picked one up.

  ‘English?’ the girl enquired.

  Allegra nodded.

  ‘Would you like help with anything, or are you happy to browse?’

  ‘I’ll take this, please.’ She brought it over to the girl, who smiled and immediately began wrapping it in tissue paper.

  ‘That is sixteen Swiss francs, please.’

  Allegra handed over a twenty, her eyes falling to the cuckoo clocks behind her. They were, after all, one of the reasons she’d come in. ‘Could you tell me a little more about those?’

  The girl half turned as she counted out Allegra’s change. ‘These are very special pieces. All hand-made by my father and grandfather. The roof, you can see,’ she said, pointing out the one nearest to her, ‘it is made from one piece of wood, so there are no hinges or nails, and the little stones in the garden are off these mountains. There are over six hundred and fifty separate pieces in each clock.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘Yes,’ the girl beamed, delighted by Allegra’s reaction.

  ‘Is your grandfather still making them?’

  She gave a shrug. ‘Slowly, now. His eyesight is not so good.’

  ‘Oh.’

  The girl handed Allegra back her change and the Angel Barry, now gloved in a small paper bag.

  Allegra hesitated, not wanting to leave so quickly. She had so many questions she wanted to ask, but wasn’t quite sure how . . .

  ‘So this is a family business, then?’

  ‘Yes. My family have been carpenters for five generations. We are very proud.’

  Allegra nodded. ‘My family were goat farmers.’ She said it almost shyly. It felt strange saying the words out loud for the first time, taking ownership of a history she’d never known.


  ‘Oh.’ The girl nodded politely. After a moment, she added: ‘Here?’

  ‘Mm-hmm.’ It was Allegra’s turn to shrug. ‘Not any more, though. Sadly. We can’t claim to be five generations of anything.’ Well, five generations of women – a long line of mothers, the family joke – but now didn’t seem the time.

  A little silence blossomed and the girl gave a tiny, embarrassed shrug.

  ‘Actually, I was admiring the Advent calendar in the window,’ Allegra said, picking up the slack again.

  ‘Oh yes. In truth, it is too small for a window display, but we sold our last nativity scene and had nothing else to put in. I have tried to make it fit with the leaves.’ The girl gave an anxious frown. From this angle, the window did look far too big for the calendar.

  ‘It looks wonderful,’ Allegra said encouragingly. ‘It really caught my eye . . . Is it a local . . . speciality? I’ve never seen an Advent calendar like that before.’

  ‘Yes,’ the girl said, bowing her head politely. ‘And they are becoming more popular. People enjoy coming in and choosing which gifts they want to put inside the drawers. It makes it very personal. No two are ever the same.’

  ‘No, I bet. It’s a great idea.’

  ‘Many people like the Angel Gabriels.’ The girl nodded towards Allegra’s purchase, in her hand.

  ‘Oh yes, right . . . Yes, I bet they do. He’s cute. The cheeks . . .’

  The girl smiled politely and Allegra hesitated at the natural pause. She knew she should leave now. Instead, she placed her hand on the counter. ‘To be honest, the Advent calendar, I’ve already got one and I think it may be one of yours.’

  ‘Ours?’

  ‘Yes. It’s really old, but it’s even got an angel like this one. We found it in the loft at our house.’

  ‘In England?’

  ‘Yes, but our mother’s from here and . . .’ She stopped, not wanting to bore the poor girl with her convoluted family history. ‘Well, given the clock and the calendar, it seems more and more likely they came from here.’

  The girl looked even more surprised. ‘You have one of the clocks too?’