Christmas in the Snow

by Karen Swan

  She blinked at the near miss. They both knew what he’d almost said, and as his mouth covered hers again, she knew this thing between them was fast getting out of control.

  It was Mrs Yong’s laughter that she heard first, the crystalline sound of femininity blowing through the house like a spring breeze as Massi and Sam stood beside her in front of the lit fire, glasses in hands, polite smiles on their faces.

  Sam was wearing a navy suit, no tie, freshly shaven and freshly showered. If they only knew, she thought with a flutter in her stomach as she approached; what they’d been doing twenty minutes ago in that shower had been as far away from clean cut as it was possible to get.

  Mr Yong and Zhou were nowhere to be seen and Massi looked back at her with grateful eyes, like a bored child at an adults’ party, Sam with adoring ones that paid no heed to her pleas to keep their relationship a secret from the Yongs – at least until the details of the deal had been announced.

  But this was no time for distractions. The moment of reckoning was upon them all and she squared her shoulders as she walked, making rapid visual deductions with each step. Mrs Yong was taller than she had expected – five feet eight and very slim, with jet hair styled short. Pearl globes were fastened at her ears and throat, and she wore a navy wool Valentino skirt suit with a satin bow at the neck. Her face was beautiful, so finely boned she was almost birdlike, and as Allegra came to a stop in front of her, she showed that her smile had been passed to her son.

  ‘Miss Fisher, I have heard so very much about you.’ Her handshake was firm and perfectly pitched, her English better than most Brits’.

  ‘The pleasure is mine, Mrs Yong. I am deeply honoured to have been invited into your home, especially at such a special time of year. You must be relieved to be here at last.’ Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Sam’s stare change as he slowly realized she was wearing his pale pink shirt with her black trousers. He was already up here when she’d darted into his room and pinched it in panic, once she’d been faced again with the limitations of her wardrobe out here.

  ‘I am. It does become very wearing living in hotels all the time, and this is our favourite home. Estelle does a marvellous job of making everything so inviting. Don’t you agree the town is just so pretty at this time of year?’

  ‘It’s magical,’ Allegra smiled, fiddling with the rolled-back cuffs. ‘It’s my first visit here, so I’ve been non-stop enchanted.’

  ‘Sam and Massi have been telling me how much skiing they’ve been doing. Apparently the snow’s wonderful this season.’

  ‘Oh yes, we’re so lucky with this early fall. It’s certainly among the best I’ve known.’

  ‘They’re talking about potentially doing the Haute Route later in the season. Do you know it?’

  ‘Chamonix to Zermatt? I’ve never done it myself,’ Allegra said. ‘Do you ski?’

  Mrs Yong laughed again, that light tinkling sound skittering over the polished surfaces like a sprite. ‘Well, if you asked my son, he’d say no, I don’t. I am not what you would call a speed freak. I like to keep my skiing . . .’ She thought, considering the word carefully. ‘Tidy.’

  ‘Tidy. I like that,’ Allegra smiled back. ‘I should keep it in mind myself. I grew up with a speed freak for a sister, so in trying to keep up, I’ve learned to ski by clattering down everything without any style.’

  ‘Yes, your sister. Isobel, isn’t it? How is she?’

  ‘Much better, thank you. In fact, she should be up any minute. She was getting changed when I passed her room just now. She’s finding it rather slow going, getting used to the crutches.’

  ‘Of course she is. Oh dear, the poor thing. What rotten luck taking that fall.’

  ‘Oh, talk of the devil.’

  Estelle came into the room, sweeping chairs and rugs out of the way like a minesweeper as Isobel followed several seconds behind her, panting and with flushed cheeks, her long encased leg held out in front of her as she planted and swung her way into the room – wearing last night’s gold mesh dress.

  A stunned silence greeted her arrival and Allegra felt her smile freeze.

  Oh good God. Who did she think she was lunching with? The Kardashians?

  Isobel stopped moving as she took in everybody’s sombre clothes – work shirts and trousers, low-key couture – and a look of such abject horror and panic ran across her face that Massi, Allegra and Mrs Yong all advanced towards her in a rush. But it was Mrs Yong who got there first.

  ‘You must be Isobel,’ Mrs Yong smiled, putting her arms lightly around Isobel’s shoulders and guiding her towards the sofa. ‘I’m Lucy Yong. Do take a seat here.’

  ‘Oh, really I-I’m fine,’ Isobel stammered, trying to smile, but her mouth tipping grotesquely down, perilously close to tears.

  ‘But you must be so tired having to get about on those things,’ Lucy Yong insisted. ‘And to be perfectly honest, I’d be glad of the excuse to sit. My feet are killing me.’ She smiled, perching on the sofa beside her and directing Estelle to place the cushion on the ottoman for Isobel’s leg. ‘Are you chilly? It is quite cool in here.’

  Isobel looked at her blankly, before realizing a rope was being thrown out to her. She nodded.

  ‘Estelle, would you get my cream cardigan from the bedroom, please? It’s the Loro Piana.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Yong.’ Estelle left the room at almost a sprint.

  Allegra, who had walked back to the fireplace and was now standing beside Sam, wanted to throw her arm around their hostess’s shoulders and weep with gratitude. Such small mercies . . .

  But they were all out of time. The sound of voices came into the hall, growing nearer, and Allegra realized Mr Yong and Zhou had been in the study. She realized they must have been discussing her proposal.

  In an instant, her mouth dried up and she swallowed, her eyes flitting anxiously to Sam, who had the nerve not to be looking concerned at all. She felt something graze her wrist and looked down to find his finger stroking her gently. When she looked back up at him, he just winked.

  ‘Oh . . .’ Mrs Yong glanced back at Isobel, who looked like she was trying to dig her way down and hibernate in the cushions. ‘Really, he’s very distracted at the moment. Don’t worry a bit,’ she said as Mr Yong came into the room.

  ‘Ah, husband,’ Mrs Yong smiled, getting up from the sofa and reaching towards him with a gracious arm. ‘It is cool in here. Come and join us by the fire.’

  He strode across the room with a march that was scarcely less than an imperial goosestep, staring at Allegra as he approached, and she knew from the fractional tilt of his head that he had seen the pitch. Nothing in his body language told her, though, which way he was going to go.

  ‘Miss Fisher, it is an honour to see you again,’ he said formally, walking up to her and bowing.

  ‘The honour is mine, Mr Yong.’ Her voice was assured, her movements minimal as she echoed the bow, and they both fell into the roles they had assumed at their first meeting in Zurich, even though they were now in his home. ‘I am humbled to be invited to your home at this special time. Your son has been a generous and thoughtful host.’

  ‘My son makes me a proud father,’ Yong replied, the formalities observed.

  Allegra bowed her head in reply, not daring to look across at Isobel. She could only imagine the look on her sister’s face right now.

  Yong looked over to Sam, his back erect, holding his champagne glass by the stem, one hand in his trouser pocket. ‘Sam.’

  ‘Mr Yong. Happy Christmas.’ They shook hands.

  ‘You and my son have not been terrorizing the locals, I hope.’

  A half-smile twitched the corner of the mouth that had last kissed hers only twenty minutes earlier. ‘Categorically not, sir. We’re far too old for that kind of mischief these days.’

  Yong smiled, his face softening exponentially. ‘Good. There are only so many times I can bribe the mayor.’

  Allegra glanced down at her own drink as the ease between the two men
stood in stark contrast to her rigid formality. What if Zhou had been wrong? Yong circled back into space on the floor and she sensed the moment had come for the decision. After weeks of waiting, it was here as suddenly as a slap.

  He was about to begin talking when Estelle suddenly came back into the room with the cherished cardigan in her hands and hastened over to Isobel, sliding her arms in with a speed and efficiency that would have brought pride to a military sniper.

  Mr Yong looked astonished to notice the broken young golden woman sitting obscured by cushions on his sofa.

  But Mrs Yong had that covered too. ‘Husband, you recall that Miss Fisher’s sister, Isobel, is staying with us too? She is a good friend of Zhou’s, and Dr Baden insisted she should not be moved until her leg improved.’

  Mr Yong looked at his wife, perplexed but obedient. ‘Of course. Of course,’ he said, hesitantly bowing his head at Isobel as she hesitantly bowed back, clutching the cardigan closed over her chest, and using a large cushion to obscure her legs. ‘You are . . . healing, I hope?’

  ‘I am, thank you.’

  ‘Good. Good.’

  ‘And your doctor’s just lovely. He’s been really nice to me – all your staff have.’

  ‘Well, that’s good to hear.’

  There was a tiny silence. ‘Thank you very much for letting us stay.’

  ‘It is my great pleasure.’

  ‘Your home is lovely.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘The wallpaper in my room is—’

  Oh God. Allegra could see her sister beginning to relax with the billionaire she’d been so frightened of meeting, and she gave a sudden cough, pretending to choke a little on her drink. Isobel had no idea of the enormity of this moment.

  ‘You OK?’ Sam asked, his hand immediately on her back and patting her lightly.

  She nodded, recovering quickly, just as he twanged her bra strap.

  Mr Yong, grasping the opportunity to withdraw from Isobel’s gracious company, walked to the centre of the room again.

  Isobel glanced across at Allegra – knowing exactly what she’d done – and as Allegra looked back, Isobel crossed her eyes – an age-old trick that never failed to make Allegra laugh and had always got her into trouble when their father had asked them to be on their best behaviour. But for once it didn’t work. Yong was about to announce who had won and she was too nervous for childish pranks.

  Mr Yong dropped his head down as he considered his words and Allegra felt her heart begin to accelerate.

  ‘I would like to begin by saying that I am so pleased that you are all here today. I have waited a long time, it feels, to make this announcement.’ His eyes flickered over Allegra and Sam, revealing nothing, and she wondered whether Sam felt as she did at this moment – the adrenalin spiking her brain, her hands tingling as she held the crystal glass, butterflies taking wing in her stomach.

  ‘I know that it probably strikes you as . . . superstitious to consult the stars for something as trivial or arbitrary as a date, but in my country, we place much store by the traditions and wisdom of our forebears, and if I am a man of my time, I am also a man of my country. This is simply how we do it.’

  He paused and Allegra felt her mouth go dry.

  ‘But I am glad too that Zhou has asked to have his friends present at this momentous occasion. It is the modern way and I try to embrace that too – believe it or not.’

  Allegra processed that he was trying to make a joke and she laughed politely. Zhou was coming slowly into the room behind his father, and beside him, a petite Chinese girl with straight black hair and a fringe that tapped her eyes. She had wide cheekbones and a pretty pointed chin, her mouth pressed tight like a bud, and Allegra guessed her to be eighteen or nineteen.

  A sister? She had heard that some particularly wealthy Chinese were able to buy their way round the one-child policy by paying a substantial fine. Why wouldn’t the Yongs do that if they’d wanted another child? Money was no object.

  She looked at Zhou as he came to stand beside his father. The memory of him at the party last night, of him lobbing the bread roll at breakfast this morning seemed farcical, absurd now. He was standing with almost military bearing, his palms flat against the sides of his thighs, his gaze fixed on a point on the wall behind his mother’s head, his expression utterly neutral, his eyes flat.

  She looked back up at Yong, forcing herself to focus. Everything she had been through in the past few weeks had been dovetailed into this moment. This was what it had all been for – the thrill of the win, the kill.

  She hung her attention on his words, waiting for her name, willing it to enter this room and fill it, pushing out once and for all any other emotion.

  ‘. . . is a decision that has been taken with utmost care and integrity, not only to preserve the historical high regard of the Yong dynasty name but also that going forwards. We have taken many months to consider every aspect of this partnership, and in the final step, my advisers have, today, confirmed our highest hopes. And so I am very happy to formally announce that . . .’ Yong’s eyes swung over their small group like a swing’s shadow on the grass.

  She waited, an offhand joke Massi had made yesterday drifting back through her subconscious. ‘It’s just as well for you there’s a one-child policy in China . . .’

  ‘. . . our only son and heir, Zhou Yong, is now formally engaged to Min-Wae Hijan.’

  The girl didn’t stir as a stunned silence erupted. Allegra saw Sam’s head whip round sharply to Zhou’s, but no one else moved. Not Zhou himself, not Massi, not her.

  Zhou was engaged? That was the big announcement? She looked across at Sam. Had he known? But Sam was staring across at Zhou with an expression she couldn’t read.

  She didn’t understand. Zhou had expressly told her to be here for this. He had said his father would be announcing his decision then. Had she really put herself through all the turmoil of the past thirty-six hours for an engagement party?

  She looked back at Zhou, but his eyes remained fixed and distant on the spot beyond his mother’s head, and she realized how unhappy he looked. The change was marked. How easily he had laughed with his friends, how vital he’d seemed out of his parents’ shadows. Was this as much a surprise to Zhou himself as it was to her? Neither Zhou nor any of the others had ever said a word about him becoming engaged.

  She looked back at the so-called happy couple. From the physical distance between Zhou and Min-Wae, and their mutually isolated body language, it seemed more than likely that the marriage was arranged. She looked across at Massi as though he held the answers, but he too was limp with surprise, his expansive bonhomie completely vanquished in the face of the Yongs’ austere formality. And as she stared, her brain began to buzz with static interference. Anomalies and slips of etiquette began to crowd her mind . . .

  Mr Yong hadn’t greeted him, she realized. He had welcomed her and Sam – even Isobel, when he’d found her – with a fastidious social diligence, but he had ignored Massi completely as though he wasn’t even there. Zhou and Massi were old friends from Harvard, just like Sam, and Massi was no scrounger – he’d built his own empire – so why would Zhou’s father do that?

  But as his eyes rose to meet hers, she understood exactly. You snore like a gorilla.

  A friend’s tease, a lover’s privilege.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The chalet was so quiet it was as though Death had visited. Lunch had been a disaster: the food was barely touched, and the conversation flickered as weakly as a flame on green wood. Eyes slid like they were on ice – skittish and flighty. Entire conversations were carried on looks, and the celebratory scene at the table was no more real than a mirage: Massi wouldn’t look at Zhou; Zhou wouldn’t look at his father; his father wouldn’t look at Min-Wae.

  Neither one of the happy couple had said a word, not one, and it had been down to Sam, Allegra and the Yongs to fill the silences that kept opening up like sinkholes, threatening to swallow them all. But they knew
. She knew from the way Mrs Yong insisted on discussing the upcoming couture collections in Paris after Christmas – talking about her and Min-Wae visiting Mr Valentino’s and Mr Lagerfeld’s ateliers in January without once looking at the girl she was locking in to a sterile marriage. She knew from the way Mr Yong collared Sam on the iron-ore surplus in Australia that he knew. They knew, but they were resolute in their actions. Fortunes and names needed to be preserved. This marriage would happen.

  Massi had broken the stalemate first as coffees were brought out, saying something about a headache, and Allegra had watched in frigid sorrow as he left, heavy-footed and silent. But it had been the cue they had all been waiting for, and the rest of the party had dispersed minutes later, scattering to their rooms like lead shot, agreeing to meet up at 6 p.m. for drinks before venturing out for dinner – Mr Yong had arranged for a Cat to get them all up the mountain to a private yurt, where the Michelin-starred chef Michaele Lambretto was cooking for them.

  Allegra was lying on the bed, her head full of other people’s sorrows, when Sam put his head round her door. He had only been able to shoot an apologetic look over to her as he had made a beeline from the table to Massi’s room and she had heard the low hum of their voices as she’d passed the door.

  She propped herself up on her elbow, her heart leaping just to set eyes on him again.

  ‘Hey.’ He smiled, though his face was tense. ‘I’m just going to go out with Massi. He needs to . . . uh, vent.’

  ‘Sure, OK,’ she murmured earnestly, her eyes wide, wanting to help but not sure how. This was between families and old friends, and she had no place in either camp. ‘What’s happening with Zhou?’

  ‘He’s at a private appointment at some jeweller’s with his parents and Min-Wae.’

  ‘Oh God. Poor Zhou. Surely he’s not going to go through with it? He has to say something.’

  Sam’s eyebrows hitched up sceptically. ‘You think?’