by Karen Swan
Isobel was sitting by their feet, a blond and chestnut box, which Timo had made especially, balanced on her lap as she pored over the photographs he had shown Allegra in Zermatt. They were the reason she’d been late for the memorial service; it had turned out Anya had kept her promise as well as her secret. She had written faithfully, and inside were hundreds of letters tied together in a ribbon, all with British stamps and postmarked Hampshire, each one padded with black and white – and later, colour -photographs, and folded drawings of stick men and flowers and rainbows and horses.
Allegra liked best the photo of her mother standing in front of a mossy wall, aged eight, with bobbed hair and freckles and a hand-knitted cardigan buttoned up to the neck; she had easily recognized her grandmother’s looping script, carefree and confident, on postcards from Babbacombe in Devon with red cliffs and sandy beaches; Julia and Anya standing outside a caravan somewhere windy – their hair whipping around both their faces so that wide smiles were all that could be seen; a faded photograph of snow-domed Ben Nevis in Scotland jokily captioned ‘Big. But not big enough.’ No, it wasn’t the Matterhorn.
And then there were the later Kodak photographs – the pigment more intense and clear – of two little girls, one with a gap between her teeth, sitting on some stone steps, ice creams with Flakes sticking out of them, and grubby knees peeking out from apple-patched skirts . . .
‘Legs!’
The voice that had been honed to carry over a windswept Welsh field floated easily to her ear and she hurried back in to find Barry standing at the bottom of the stairs, a glass of wine in his hand.
‘Behind you,’ she smiled, closing the door with a soft thunk.
‘Oh, there you are. It’s time.’ He handed her the glass, shooing her quickly into the room.
Leysa came through from the kitchen. Calm and quietly efficient, she had worked out how to use the oven quite easily – Allegra had been sure it ‘didn’t work’ – and the goose inside it was turning golden.
Nikolai, Noemie and Timo were standing in front of the tree, which was almost bare by British standards – no tinsel, no fairy lights, no angels, no stars. Instead, some narrow red candles were attached, by virtue of counterbalanced clips, to the ends of the branches, from the very top of the tree to the very bottom, bare flames flickering in the fronds.
Isobel looked like she was going to hyperventilate, Ferdy held close in her arms as she began to rock. ‘I’ll be honest – I’m nervous. Fairy lights would be safer.’
Leysa laughed. She made fifty-two look beautiful, with chocolate-brown eyes that were doe-soft and dewy olive skin, and she held out her hands to take Ferdy for a cuddle.
‘Maybe you could have pretend candles but with, you know, LED lights? That way if Ferdy was to touch them, they wouldn’t burn him, and the risk of us all being burnt to death in our beds would be vastly diminished.’
Lloyd hugged her around the shoulders and planted a kiss on her forehead and Allegra saw her sister’s body relax. ‘Iz, we’ve cut away the branches that were too close. It’ll be OK. They’ve done this for many years.’
‘Everyone is ready?’ Noemie asked, standing by the light switch. Barry was positioned next to Julia – just in case – but her eyes were already on the tree.
Nik nodded, pressing ‘play’ on an iPod, and the first vaulted notes of ‘Ave Maria’ filled the air, just as darkness drenched the room and the simple, undressed tree glittered in its own elegant illuminations. Allegra saw Julia’s hands fly to her mouth as she looked around the room in almost childlike wonder – was this tradition something she distantly remembered from early childhood?
Allegra looked around the new house with similar awe herself. Isobel’s collection of scented candles flickered on every surface, the Advent calendar had been given pride of place on the mantelpiece above the fire, and the nativity set was in the bay window, arranged in the traditional Swiss tradition of an Advent window.
Isobel leaned over to her. ‘For someone who doesn’t “do” Christmas, you sure have a funny way of showing it.’
‘Ha, yes, right,’ Allegra smiled, nodding, pretending to laugh. But she felt like the boy with his thumb in the dyke, holding back something much bigger than him, and she could only hold the pose for so long. Here she was, at last, in a house that had become a home, with strangers who had become a family and yet, as ever, they were one person short.
Only it wasn’t the one she’d been missing for the last eighteen years. It was the one she hadn’t seen for the past four days.
‘What was in the last drawer, by the way?’ Isobel’s voice drew her out of her reverie.
‘Huh?’
‘In the calendar.’ Isobel jerked her head towards the Advent calendar sitting in the window.
Allegra’s eyes widened. ‘How would I know? I was in Ikea at dawn and I’ve not seen it all day. You were the one who wanted to be in charge of the decorations.’
‘Oh, please.’ Isobel rolled her eyes dramatically. ‘Like that’s an excuse. It’s Christmas Eve. This is the big one. It’s what the whole calendar’s been counting down to!’
‘Why didn’t you open it, then?’
‘Duh. Because it’s yours!’
‘It’s ours.’
‘No.’ Isobel patted her shoulder. ‘It’s very definitely yours. I’ve got the clock. Go on.’ She grabbed the glass from Allegra’s hand and pushed her bossily towards the fireplace. Allegra took the Advent calendar over to the window seat and opened the final drawer. Number 24.
She blinked at what she saw there, her hands beginning to tremble at the sight of her own likeness staring up at her – not an image of Valentina this time, but the cameo from the PLF Christmas party. Her mouth parted in astonishment as she carefully lifted it out.
What on earth was it doing here? She thought back to that night. . . . She had given it to a waiter to throw away. She was certain of it. So how could it be here? Who had put it here?
The silhouette sagged lightly against her fingers as her eyes traced the note-perfect form. Unthinkingly, she turned it over. ‘Open the door’ was written across the back.
What?
She looked up, out of the window, past the steady rise of the snow on the sills. Had the lights been on, she would have seen only her reflection, but the gentle light of the candles kept the room in relative darkness and she could easily see the figure standing at the bottom of the steps, watching her.
Her heart pirouetted defiantly at the sight of Sam, his hair flecked with snow, a red scarf wrapped several times round his neck and his hands under his armpits as he kept his feet moving in the cold.
She turned away, looking back into the room at her family, but no one was paying any attention to her, it seemed. Nikolai and Lloyd were crawling around at the base of the tree, looking for the presents with red bows on that denoted the special Swiss Christmas Eve preview, a tradition they intended to continue, Timo, Julia and Barry were all together on the sofa, and Allegra had to assume Isobel had taken Ferds with her back into the kitchen with Leysa.
Silently, unnoticed, she got up and walked to the front door, pressing her hand to the wood for a moment, before opening it.
Sam stared back at her from the top step. ‘Hey.’
She immediately looked down, away from those eyes that made everything so difficult, those eyes that had been looking into hers when he’d said his last words to her: ‘Just be here when I get back.’ An impossible request.
‘Allegra, if I could have told you earlier, I would have done.’ They were straight into it.
‘So why didn’t you, then?’
He hesitated. ‘I wasn’t sure where your loyalties lay. I thought after you quit, when you saw what he was capable of and how disposable you were to him, maybe I could tell you. I wanted to. I wanted everything to be open between us. But then you pitched up in Zermatt still trying to get the deal, and I thought you might be trying to win it for Pierre still. I couldn’t be sure you’d trust me over him.’
>
She swallowed, embarrassed and ashamed that he’d so accurately assessed her tangled emotions about the man who’d been more of a father figure to her than her own.
‘You know that Pierre had planned it all so that if suspicions were raised, they’d be led to you?’
Allegra nodded. Isobel had got her facts right. ‘How did you know it wasn’t me?’
He almost laughed. ‘You mean, you looking like you wanted to punch me when I gave the Garrard tip wasn’t convincing enough that you’re straight?’
‘So you did have doubts about me.’
He shrugged. ‘I needed absolute proof. I gave you Garrard, and Pierre, Demontignac. He acted; you didn’t.’ His expression changed, his eyes on her mouth. ‘But for what it’s worth, I realized before we got in Crivelli’s car it couldn’t be you.’
‘How?’
‘I was reading up on you in New York, trying to get the lowdown on who you were, long before we actually met. It was your name on the trades and I was so sure when I got on that plane that I knew how things were going to pan out. I thought I had you. But then when I first saw you and you saw me . . .’ His voice faded at the memory and she thought her knees might buckle at the look in his eyes. ‘No one who was involved in criminal activity would have blushed to their fingertips like that. They just wouldn’t.’
‘I’m not a blusher,’ she protested weakly, aware that that wasn’t the point.
He took a step closer. ‘I’m afraid you are. It’s one of the things I love about you.’
‘You . . . ?’
He nodded, toe to toe with her now, one arm beginning to snake loosely around her hips, the other trailing down her nose onto her lips. ‘Mainly, though, it’s the gap.’
‘You like my gap?’ Her hand flew to her mouth.
‘I love the gap. The gap kills me.’ He gave a slow smile. ‘As long as you have a gap, you’ll have me.’
‘Well, I guess I could work with that,’ she murmured, as his grip around her tightened and she remembered how it felt to be in his arms: the feel of him as he’d brought her safely down the mountain, the heat of his hands on her arms as he stopped her from running at Zhou’s party, his hands everywhere else as they finally succumbed to what was inevitable between them when the fighting stopped.
And as he kissed her, her fingers fiddled with the little tin ring and slid it sideways, the secret heart visible, at last, for all to see.
When they walked into the house together, no one seemed surprised; in fact, Lloyd appeared to have a beer ready-poured for him, and Isobel was rushing around – as quickly as is possible in a knee brace – with a tray of canapés and speaking in a very fast, very high, overexcited voice.
‘Ready for the next bit?’ she trilled with exquisite ambiguity, standing in front of them both, offering Sam a vol-au-vent but her eyes firmly on her sister.
‘Finally? Yes,’ Allegra smiled, throwing her arms around Isobel’s neck, knowing full well her sister had been complicit in planning and scheming this. No doubt Massi and Zhou were standing on the street corner ready to launch into carols.
‘Good,’ Isobel laughed, having to dab at her eyes, before throwing her arms around Sam’s neck too. ‘Good. Because we have to get these presents opened before Ferds goes down or he’ll become overtired and I’ll never get him to settle.’
‘Nightmare,’ Allegra laughed, slapping her sister on the arm.
Leading Sam by the hand, she went over to the sofa, where Timo, Julia and Barry were still sitting. Barry’s eyes met hers briefly and she knew from the way he nodded that now was a good time.
‘Opa, Barry, Mum, I want you to meet Sam.’
Julia’s eyes brightened at the sight of him and she leaned forward, covering his hand with hers. ‘Are you the one who’s going to look after my girl?’ she asked intently.
Allegra looked across at him, crouched down in front of her mother. He already had, more than Julia could ever know.
‘Yes. I’m the one,’ he smiled.
Julia’s eyes slid over to Allegra’s in delight. ‘American,’ she mouthed, as though this fact might have passed Allegra by.
‘Canadian,’ Allegra grinned, flashing her gap and making Sam take a half-step back to her again, his arm round her waist.
‘Here, for you.’
They turned. Isobel was holding out two envelopes with red bows attached. Allegra took them with a wry smile. ‘A present for Sam?’ she asked her sister. Isobel winked. ‘It was obviously considered a foregone conclusion that I was going to let you in,’ Allegra said archly, handing Sam the one with his name on. His only reply was to kiss her again, a smile playing on his lips.
Behind them, they saw Lloyd handing the wrapped memory book to Julia and the framed photograph of Granny, Julia, Isobel and herself to Timo.
‘Don’t get too excited. It’s probably an iTunes voucher,’ Allegra joked, her smile fading as she pulled out a folded, thick cream sheet of paper from her envelope. ‘What . . . ?’ She gasped, her hand slapping over her mouth and making everyone turn. ‘Who . . . who had this?’ Her eyes swung over Timo, Nik, Leysa, Noemie, but they were all staring back at her blankly, and she looked at Isobel with a dumbstruck expression.
‘What is it?’ Isobel frowned, hobbling over and peering at it over her shoulder. She frowned as she took in the elaborate sloping black script. ‘I can’t understand it. It’s all in Ger—’ Her hand slapped over her mouth too. ‘Oh my God!’ she screeched. ‘The deeds!’
Nik ran over. ‘The deeds? You mean . . . for the farm?’ He read them quickly, looking across at Timo and nodding.
Tears sprang to the old man’s eyes and his hand found Julia’s, squeezing it tightly as his head began to nod.
‘Who found this?’ Nik asked, repeating Allegra’s question.
‘I did,’ Lloyd said, beaming and clearly pleased he’d been able to keep his surprise a secret. ‘Well, strictly speaking, it was the clock repairers who found it. They said they found it in the back compartment of the cuckoo clock.’
‘Valentina hid them in there!’ Allegra said.
‘They’ve been here with us all along!’ Isobel half laughed, half shrieked. ‘And poor Granny never even knew, I bet. If the clock made Mum cry, she wouldn’t have put it up. She probably just boxed it away and forgot all about it.’ Allegra blinked down at the papers in disbelief. It was the proof they had needed. It wouldn’t get the farm back – that was long gone now. The world had changed and Zermatt with it, but Lars would lose everything and Timo could finally know some peace. Valentina’s death had changed her family’s identity, trajectory and destiny, but she had been loved then and she was loved now. Families endure, and theirs hadn’t ended with that sheared slab of snow.
‘I guess this puts quite a bit of pressure on my present now, then, huh?’ Sam said in her ear.
He opened the envelope, pulling out a large copper-brown horse chestnut leaf. He twirled it by the stalk between his fingers. ‘Oh. Ummm . . .’ He grinned.
‘It’s a day of luck,’ Allegra laughed, falling into him and resting her cheek against his shoulder. She thought she could just stay there forever. ‘Iz is big on that. It’s not her fault; it’s a genetic thing. She gets it from our grandfather.’ She looked down at the leaf. ‘It’s a real shame I only got those deeds,’ she sighed. ‘We could have been lucky together.’
He chuckled, his fingers tilting her face up to his, so that she was looking into his eyes. ‘Oh, baby,’ he grinned. ‘We already are.’
Acknowledgements
I decided to set this book in Zermatt following a happy family ski trip there last year. The mighty Matterhorn really is something to behold and rightly attracts visitors from around the world. As I began to research the area in greater detail, I discovered the tragedy of the January 1951 storms and became fascinated by how much the town had changed within two generations, developing from a rustic farming community to one of the ritziest resorts in the chic international ski scene. Much of what you�
�ve just read is true and accurate – the world-class slope-side restaurants such as Zum See, Findlerhof and Chez Vrony (to name a few) are worth the ski pass alone, and the Broken Bar is the regulars’ favourite nightspot. But I have, of course, made full use of my artistic licence, and although the SLF and avalanche zoning maps are real, Zermatt is not and never has been – to my knowledge – classified as a red zone. I’m paid to make things up and so I do. With abandon.
I owe a huge debt of thanks to my great friends the Becks – Johny, Carina, Coco, Codi and Dita – who practically live there through the winter months and have given me the insider’s guide to that beautiful town. I adore the lot of you.
To my editor, Caroline Hogg, your steer on this book has been invaluable. Thank you so much for your patience and calm as I struggled, suitably enough, with a ski injury that knocked me off schedule – although I hope you’ll agree it at least brought a commanding authenticity to Isobel’s corresponding scenes!
To my agent, Amanda Preston, thank you for reading between the lines of my ‘trying to be brave’ tweets and taking charge on this book. You’re always several steps ahead of me in this crazy, mad, fun business and I know how very lucky I am to have you in my corner.
Finally, to my family, you’re not the reason I write; you’re the reason I breathe. I couldn’t love you more.
About the Author
Karen Swan was previously a fashion editor and lives in East Sussex with her husband and three children.
Visit Karen’s website at www.karenswan.com or you can find Karen Swan’s author page on Facebook or follow her on Twitter @KarenSwan1
