Christmas at the Chalet

by Anita Hughes

  Adam reached for his jacket. “We don’t have to make any decisions, so why don’t we talk about it later? I have to go—I’m meeting Doug for breakfast, and tonight we’re going to a Knicks game. You know I love you, Felicity, I just think we both have some thinking to do.”

  The screen went dark and Felicity slammed the laptop shut as if she could erase their whole conversation. How could Adam accuse her of caring more about marriage than she did about his feelings? What if he’d met someone? That wasn’t likely; there wasn’t time for anything besides work.

  She remembered when she and Adam had met, just after she’d graduated from college. Adam was a friend of Raj’s, and had come to the apartment. It was pouring rain, and Raj had texted that he was stuck at the laundromat. Felicity was making dinner, and offered Adam a bowl of soup and half a lamb chop.

  * * *

  They talked about the impossibility of making ends meet in Manhattan, and how lucky Felicity was to have Raj as a roommate. He was incredibly neat, and kept them on a strict household budget. And whenever a girl brought him homemade brownies, he left them on the counter to share.

  It was when she was clearing the dishes that she thought Adam might be someone special. He came into the kitchen carrying two empty soup bowls.

  “Did you know you have a leak in your bathroom ceiling?” he asked. “If you give me a bucket, I can put it on the floor.”

  “A leak in the bathroom?” Felicity’s eyes widened. The first wedding gown she had ever sold was hanging on the shower-curtain railing. It was a white charmeuse gown with lace sleeves. She’d spent every penny she received from graduation on the fabric, and was supposed to deliver it to the bride in the morning.

  She dropped the dish towel and raced down the hall. There was a water stain on the skirt, and the veil was a sodden ball.

  “Oh, it can’t be,” she cried. Adam stood behind her, and she was afraid she was going to burst into tears in front of one of the most attractive men she had ever met.

  “Are you getting married?” he asked. “We’ve been talking for an hour and you didn’t mention anything about a boyfriend.”

  “Of course I’m not getting married.” She stroked the fabric. “I’m a wedding dress designer. It’s my first sale, and I’ve been working on this dress for months. I’m supposed to deliver it to the bride’s hotel tomorrow, but now it’s ruined.”

  Adam unhooked the dress and gathered it in his arms. “Wait here,” he said, and walked to the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  “You can’t just take my dress!” She ran after him. “I don’t even know your last name. And it’s pouring rain—if you take it outside, it will get drenched.”

  Adam was already clattering down the staircase and into the street. Felicity peered out the window and saw him standing under the awning. She was about to run after him, but he hopped into a taxi and disappeared.

  She paced around the room and tried to stay calm. Twenty-something men in New York didn’t steal wedding dresses. But what could he possibly be doing with it? She’d finally opened the emergency bottle of brandy Raj kept under the sink when she heard a knock at the door.

  Adam was standing in the hallway carrying a dress wrapped in plastic. His wet hair was plastered to his head, and his leather jacket was spattered with raindrops.

  “Where did you go?” Felicity demanded, cradling a shot of brandy. “I was about to call NYPD and report a stolen wedding dress.”

  He unwrapped the plastic and Felicity gasped. The wet spot was gone, and the veil was perfectly pressed.

  “My parents live uptown, and my mother has a steam room,” he said, and grinned. “She can get the wrinkles out of anything. She even gave me the sheet of plastic so it wouldn’t get wet.”

  “You did that for me?” Felicity’s cheeks colored. “We don’t know each other.”

  “At first she was worried I was getting married and didn’t tell her,” he said. She noticed his eyes were very blue. “When I explained you designed the dress, she was impressed. She asked for your card, and said she’d recommend you to her friends whose daughters were engaged.”

  “I’m so glad it’s back.” Felicity sighed as if a beloved pet had gone missing and been returned to her. “Do you see these pearls?” She pointed to the sleeve. “I sold my grandmother’s ruby earrings to pay for them. And it was either go on a post-graduation weekend to the Berkshires or buy the appliqués for the train. I couldn’t pass on the appliqués. When the bride walks down the aisle, the train is what the guests remember.” She looked up. “That was so kind—how can I repay you?”

  “A shot of that brandy would be nice.” He brushed the rain from his hair. “I managed to keep the dress dry, but my jacket is soaked.”

  They sat in the cramped living room and sipped brandy and shared a slice of pumpkin pie. By the time Raj came home, Felicity knew that Adam loved deep-dish pizza, volunteered on weekends at the animal shelter, and was crazy about the Knicks and basketball. He’d just started in the mailroom at CAA, and hoped one day to open his own sports management firm.

  “Thank you for the brandy,” he said after Raj had gone to bed. It was almost midnight.

  “If it wasn’t for you, my career would be over before it began,” Felicity said, smiling. “The wedding industry is word-of-mouth, and everyone would know I ruined the bride’s dress.”

  “There is something you can do for me,” he said as he walked to the door. “Next Friday is the company Christmas party. Would you like to come? It would look much better if I had a pretty girl on my arm.”

  Felicity flinched and thought maybe Adam wasn’t special after all. He was like most of the men she knew, who were always after something.

  “You want me to come to the Christmas party to impress your boss?” she asked.

  “No, I want you to come because you’re the most interesting girl I’ve met in ages, and you have beautiful brown eyes.” He paused. “I’d like to see you again.”

  She reached forward and kissed him on the cheek. “In that case, I say yes.”

  * * *

  Now Felicity gazed around the hotel suite of the Badrutt’s Palace and thought of everything they’d done together. Adam had driven her to Michigan in a snowstorm for her grandmother’s eightieth birthday party because all the flights were cancelled. Then there was the vacation in Mexico when they’d both been so sick they took turns rubbing ice on each other’s foreheads. Just last month Adam had found a lost dog, and they’d both spent an entire Sunday plastering posters around the neighborhood.

  Tears filled her eyes and she resolved not to cry. They couldn’t break up over a silly argument on FaceTime while they were five thousand miles apart. But Adam was stubborn; it was one of the reasons he was successful. If a potential client wavered, Adam created a whole spreadsheet of reasons why the client should hire him.

  The suite felt stifling, and she took the elevator to the lobby. She had spent so long just sitting in her suite after talking to Adam that now it was early afternoon; the models were probably soaking in the Jacuzzi. Raj would be calling her soon to go over the plans for the evening. All the models were going to take the train to Alp Grüm to see the winter sunset. It was the highest elevation in Europe, and the views were supposed to be spectacular.

  Felicity entered the Grand Hall and inhaled the scent of pine needles. The winter light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows; men and women were wearing cashmere sweaters and après-ski boots. Waiters in white dinner jackets carried trays of cream-filled cakes, and a pianist was playing the baby-grand piano. Huge vases held purple orchids, and there was a Christmas tree decorated with miniature skis and sleds.

  A young woman wearing an orange sweater and navy leggings sat on a velvet sofa. Felicity recognized the jet-black hair of Nell, her star model. Three waiters were hovering around her, and Felicity had to laugh. Nell was like honey to men: no matter that she wore a two-carat diamond ring on her left hand and never flirted. They couldn’t stay away fr
om her almond-shaped green eyes and legs that went on forever.

  “There you are.” Felicity approached her. “I thought you’d be in the Jacuzzi with the other models.”

  The first time Nell had modeled one of Felicity’s designs—a satin A-line with a strapless embroidered bodice—Felicity knew she would be one of the hottest models in the industry. Nell’s high waist and narrow hips could carry off anything. And she wasn’t just in demand on the runway; her round mouth and fine cheekbones had graced the cover of Vogue and Bazaar.

  “I ordered one of these—it’s called a green spider.” Nell waved at her cocktail. “My mother arrived and I’m going to need it. She’s joining me for afternoon tea in half an hour.”

  “You invited your mother to St. Moritz.” Felicity sat across from Nell and surveyed the coffee table. There were platters of roast beef on rye bread and cucumber sandwiches with sour cream and chives. A silver tray held pastries, and there were plates of custards and scones with jam and clotted cream. “You wanted to spend a whole week with her.”

  “I’m thrilled that she’s here.” Nell nodded. “Ever since the divorce, her world gets smaller and smaller. She says she loves puttering around the house in Beverly Hills and managing the bookstore. But she’s forty-eight—why did she have to open an antiquarian bookshop? The only customers are dusty old professors looking for outdated texts; she’ll never find someone new.” Nell stirred her drink.

  “Did you know my parents met in St. Moritz twenty-eight years ago? My mother was one of those chalet girls who get paid for doing practically nothing except looking pretty, and my father was a hotel waiter,” Nell continued, laughing. “He pretended to be rich to impress her, and she saw right through him. Now I can’t imagine her putting on a pair of skis and schussing down a mountain. The only way I convinced her to come was by promising better shopping than Rodeo Drive, and the finest dark-roast coffee.” Nell paused. “And she couldn’t resist spending a week with her only daughter. I am glad she’s here; it’s the perfect opportunity to insist she come to the wedding.”

  “She isn’t really going to miss your wedding?” Felicity scooped up a handful of pistachio nuts. Nell and her fiancé, Eliot, were having a June wedding on Nantucket. Nell had planned an intimate ceremony in a stone church followed by a reception at the yacht club. She’d told Felicity that they would serve lobster and oysters, and the wedding cake would be a tree of pink and yellow cake pops.

  “She said being in the same place as my father gives her heart palpitations,” Nell sighed. “I tried to appeal to my father, but he claimed being around my mother raises his blood pressure to dangerous levels. He offered to pay for two weddings, but I don’t want to get married twice. I want both my parents there when I walk down the aisle.”

  “Of course you do. Having both parents present is the number-two item on every bride’s dream wedding list. I read it on the wedding blogs,” Felicity agreed. “Followed by a honeymoon trousseau of string bikinis and one good black dress to wear at night.”

  “Speaking of wedding blogs,” Nell said, “I saw the gorgeous photo of you in the wedding dress. We’ve both been busy since we arrived, but how could you not tell me that Adam proposed? I want all the details.”

  “What are you talking about?” Felicity looked up.

  Nell clicked on her phone and read, “Felicity Grant, whose bridal salon of the same name is one of the most renowned in New York, might just be in the market for a wedding dress. She was spotted at the glamorous Badrutt’s Palace Hotel in St. Moritz wearing one of her own designs. Is she planning her nuptials to sports-star-manager boyfriend Adam Burton? And if so, will she go with a traditional gown, or will she create a new style that will become the most wanted dress of the season? Stay tuned! Our spies on the ground will keep you posted.”

  “Where did you get that?” Felicity gasped.

  “It’s everywhere: the Post, Elle.” Nell handed her the phone. “You look stunning. I want to know everything: how did Adam propose, and where’s the ring? Eliot didn’t want me to wear mine when I was traveling, but I couldn’t take it off.” She gazed at the pear-shaped diamond on its platinum band. “Just looking at it makes me smile.”

  “There’s no ring and no engagement.” Felicity gave the phone to Nell. “Adam and I sort of broke up.”

  “What did you say?” Nell downed her cocktail.

  “I hoped Adam was going to propose at Christmas, but he said he wasn’t ready,” Felicity began. “Yesterday I went to the village to buy him a present, and I slipped and fell. A doctor helped me up and wrapped my ankle in a cold compress. Somehow I told him the whole story, and he said I had to tell Adam how I felt.” She looked at Nell. “Adam accused me of only caring about the dress and the wedding and said we should take a break. He even suggested we see other people.”

  “You need one of these,” Nell said, pointing at her drink, and waved to the waiter. “Let’s start at the beginning. You let an old Swiss doctor give you advice on your love life.”

  “He wasn’t old, and he was very kind. He carried me inside and wrapped my foot in a bandage,” Felicity defended herself. “And it made sense: I can’t be in a relationship if we’re not honest with each other.”

  “All couples tell little white lies.” Nell shrugged. “Eliot can’t make waffles without burning them, but I say they’re delicious and eat them anyway. You have to ignore the small stuff, or it’ll never work.”

  The waiter set a glass in front of her and Felicity swallowed the sweet liqueur. “Wanting to wait years to get married and have children isn’t small stuff! Adam may not talk to me again.”

  “Of course he’ll talk to you.” Nell ran her fingers over the menu. “You just have to make him think getting married is his idea. Pretend there’s a fabulous apartment in a co-op building that only accepts married residents, or make up some tax loophole that applies to married couples.”

  “I don’t think that would work with Adam,” Felicity sighed. “Anyway, I would never trick him into getting married.”

  “What are you going to do?” Nell wondered.

  “I don’t even have time to think about it. I have to go into the village to buy some colored pens.” Felicity thought about the sketches she had to send to Camilla Barnes by New Year’s Day. “Then I have to work on some designs and make sure none of the veils got wrinkled on the flight. After that I’ll think about what to do about Adam.” She sank back on the cushions and groaned. “Maybe I’ll crawl into one of those huts at the top of the mountain and hope there’s an avalanche.”

  “An avalanche won’t do you any good if you’re at the top of the mountain,” Nell said, and laughed. “You’re beautiful and smart and talented. Adam would be a fool to let you go.”

  “Adam doesn’t seem to think so,” Felicity said gloomily. “Maybe he’s already planning who to take to see the ball drop on New Year’s Eve.”

  “He was just upset, he’ll call or text and apologize.” Nell glanced at her watch. “Speaking of texts, you’ll never guess who texted me an hour ago. My father! The company jet arrives this evening, and he asked if I could pick him up at the airport.”

  “Your father is in St. Moritz!” Felicity exclaimed. “You didn’t say he was coming.”

  Felicity had met Nell’s father, Todd, a few times when he’d visited Nell in New York. He was the head of an independent movie studio, and lived in a beach house in Malibu. He was ridiculously handsome for a father, and loved to spoil Nell when he was in town.

  Even after Nell became a supermodel and could afford a car service and a table at the Four Seasons, he insisted on picking her and Felicity up in a town car and taking them to the hottest restaurants in Manhattan. He often brought them small gifts: a pair of earrings, or a bottle of California wine.

  “Shooting for the movie wrapped early, and he doesn’t have to be in LA until January.” Nell reclined on the love seat. “I couldn’t say no, and I would love to see him. Ever since the divorce, he never stays in on
e place.” She paused. “He says he feels twenty years younger. Honestly, I don’t know how my parents were married in the first place. They could fight about anything: whether brussels sprouts had any nutritional value if they were baked with sugar, and if the environmental benefits of putting in a fake lawn outweighed the disadvantages of taking away jobs from the gardener.” She sipped her drink. “It was like living at the United Nations when everyone argues their point at the same time.”

  “Your mother must be furious.” Felicity’s eyes were wide. “If she can’t bear seeing your father at your wedding, how is she going to handle a week together in a tiny ski resort?”

  “I didn’t tell her,” Nell admitted. “She’d pack her bags and take the first taxi to the train station.”

  “What about your father?” Felicity wondered. “He’s not going to be happy when he spots her at breakfast over his bowl of muesli.”

  “I didn’t tell him either,” Nell said guiltily.

  “You’re not serious! You’re going to cause an international incident,” Felicity said, horrified. “They’ll run into each other in line at the chair lift and poke each other’s eyes out with ski poles.”

  “If he had given me some advance warning, I would have said something,” Nell agreed. “But the pilot had already logged the flight plan. Anyway, it might be a good opportunity.”

  “For what?” Felicity inquired. “You said the sight of each other could put either one of them in the hospital.”

  “I planned it out.” Nell unfolded a piece of paper. “My father loves to get up early and ski the first run of the day. He takes a nap in the afternoon, and doesn’t eat dinner until ten p.m.” She stopped and smiled. “He says the best thing about being divorced is not being expected to eat at seven p.m. My mother always eats ridiculously early; she loves to spend the whole night curled up with a book. She sleeps until ten a.m. and enjoys a long walk in the afternoon.”