Christmas at the Chalet

by Anita Hughes

  “My suite?” her mother repeated, confused.

  “Raj doesn’t want us to buy anything from the minibar.” Nell pushed the elevator button. She couldn’t take any chances and go to her own room; her father might come up to find her. First she had to get her mother safely to her suite. Nell looked at Felicity pointedly. “You and Felicity can talk about holding the trunk show in Beverly Hills. It would be a huge success.”

  “That’s an excellent idea.” Felicity followed Nell’s lead. “Raj is always saying we need to break into the Hollywood market. If Jennifer Lawrence or Charlize Theron wore one of my gowns, Raj would swoon.”

  “I suppose I could fix amaretto and cream from the minibar.” Her mother shrugged. “I haven’t craved cream liqueur in years, but it sounds like the perfect way to end the evening.”

  * * *

  They sat on the yellow damask love seats in her mother’s suite and talked about Felicity opening an atelier on Rodeo Drive. Finally her mother announced that she was going to take a bath, and Nell and Felicity took the elevator to Nell’s floor.

  “I thought she’d never go to bed,” Nell sighed when they entered her room. She pulled off her sweater and grabbed a miniskirt from her closet.

  “Where are you going?” Felicity asked, perching on the bed.

  “I was supposed to meet my father at the Dracula Club, but he texted that he was waiting at the Polo Bar.” Nell looked for a pair of stockings. “I turned off my phone and didn’t notice until we entered the lobby. I had to keep my mother away from the bar; there would have been a showdown, like in a Western movie.”

  “You can’t go out now, it’s past curfew.” Felicity glanced at her watch.

  “I won’t be long.” Nell pulled on suede boots. “If you see Raj, tell him I went to the village pharmacy for some aspirin. I do have a headache—the fondue was so rich, and I didn’t want any nuts, but I had to make up an excuse to get my mother upstairs.”

  “At least you know why she’s angry at your father.” Felicity curled her feet under her.

  “What do you mean?” Nell turned around.

  “She was left at home with the children while he ran around the world making movies,” Felicity continued. “It would be like someone saying I couldn’t design bridal gowns, or you had to stop modeling.”

  “I don’t believe that. There must be something else.” Nell picked up a hairbrush.

  “What do you mean, you don’t believe it?” Felicity asked.

  “My mother never mentioned wanting to run the studio before. And she loved being a mother.” She spritzed her wrists with perfume. “I doubt my father was unfaithful; he’s the most loyal person I know. And I can’t imagine my mother having an affair. Something happened, and I have to find out what.”

  “Finding out what ended a marriage is different from trying to make your parents remember why they fell in love,” Felicity warned her. “What if you uncover something terrible?”

  “It can’t get any worse,” Nell said. “You heard my mother; she refuses to attend the wedding if my father’s there.”

  “Maybe two weddings isn’t a bad idea,” Felicity offered. “I can make you a fabulous dress for a vineyard wedding, something rustic and elegant. A hand-draped tulle sheath with a twelve-foot lace veil.”

  “I don’t want two dresses, and we’re only having one wedding.” Nell dropped her lipstick into her purse. “I have to go before my father gets impatient and comes upstairs.” She sighed. “Maybe I should get a GPS tracker for his phone so I know where he is.”

  Nell stepped out of the elevator and walked through the lobby. The pianist was playing “Fly Me to the Moon” and she flinched. Was wanting to perform the father–daughter dance while Eliot danced with her mother too much to ask? She was going to find out what happened in her parents’ marriage, and then she was going to fix it. Her father waved, and she waved back and entered the bar.

  Six

  Four Days Before the Fashion Show

  11:00 a.m.

  Felicity

  FELICITY PULLED A BLUE SWEATER over her turtleneck and brushed her hair in the mirror. It was four days before the collection, and she had planned to spend the morning matching accessories with dresses, but she had overslept. One of her favorite parts of the fashion show was finding just the right piece to go with each gown: an ivory cameo to adorn a princess-style ball gown, or a colored glass necklace draped around an off-the-shoulder crepe sheath. At the moment, all the brooches and necklaces were wedged together in a trunk, and she was going to sort them out.

  Last night after the fondue dinner with Nell and her mother, she had planned on going straight to bed after her bath. Soaking in the bubbles had been just what she needed. Her worries about Adam receded, and she even thought of a new design for Bergdorf’s. She was tempted to wait until she finished the bath before she started sketching. The more she saw the image in her head—a mermaid-style gown with a swirling skirt—the more she knew she had to work on it.

  There was paper and a pen on the bathroom counter, and she grabbed them and started drawing. It would have a strapless satin bodice with silver beading. The skirt would flare at the knees, and be made of faux fur. When the model walked down the runway at the fashion show, it would look as if she were floating on a fluffy white cloud.

  Then the notepad fell in the bath, and she had to lay it on the towel rack to dry. By the time she climbed back in, the water was cool, and she had to fill the bath all over again. But it was worth it; there was nothing better than creating a new dress. And she was hopeful that Camilla would like it!

  She stayed up past midnight sketching more ideas for Camilla: a pleated V-neck dress the color of Swiss butter, and a tea-length gown with white gloves and a pillbox hat. When she finally fell asleep, she’d missed her alarm, and now she had wasted half the morning. She had to submit the designs to Camilla in five days, and she still had so much to do to get them right.

  There hadn’t been any more texts or phone calls from Adam. She had decided not to text him after all; whatever she wrote might come out wrong. Now she was tempted to call him, but first she had to think. Gabriel had said it was silly for Adam to be angry about the photos, since he’d been the one who suggested they see other people. But what if Adam thought something had been going on for a while? Anyway, she wasn’t involved with anyone; it was a misunderstanding.

  There was a knock on the door. Raj was standing in the hallway. He balanced two coffee cups in one hand and a shopping bag in the other.

  “Can I come in? I brought a late breakfast.” Raj placed the bag on the coffee table. “Yogurt with hazelnuts, apple bread with snow Camembert, and banana-and-goat’s-milk yogurt. Greta’s cousin works at Pur Alps bakery on Via Maistra.”

  “You and Greta were together last night and had breakfast this morning?” Felicity peeled off the lid of the yogurt and took a small scoop.

  “We didn’t sleep together,” Raj said, cutting a piece of apple bread. “We met for an early breakfast before she went skiing in Diavolezza. She asked me to join her, but I couldn’t leave the models alone. Katie has recovered from her altitude sickness, and is now being pursued by an Italian race-car driver she met at the Cava Bar. He wants to take her over the Julier Pass in a vintage Bugatti. I told her if she sets one foot in that car, I’ll send her to her room and take away the key. All I need is one of the models to hurtle down the mountain in a fiery car crash.”

  “You’ll make a wonderful father some day,” Felicity chuckled. “You are like that duck in the children’s book who spends all his time keeping the ducklings safe.”

  “Why are you all dressed?” Raj asked. “I’ve left the day free until our dinner reservations at Chesa Veglia. Their white pizza with buffalo mozzarella and truffle shavings is world famous, and at midnight it turns into the hottest nightclub in St. Moritz.”

  “Midnight?” Felicity raised her eyebrows. “Isn’t that past curfew?”

  “I’m making an exception. The place wil
l be teeming with celebrities, and we’ll get lots of coverage.” Raj ate a bite of Camembert. “Speaking of coverage, you’re all over the blogs this morning.”

  “What do you mean?” Felicity put down her spoon, a sudden chill running down her spine.

  Raj clicked through his phone and read out loud: “St. Moritz seems to be heating up for New York wedding designer Felicity Grant. While her models braved the cold temperatures for a hearty lunch of bratwurst and raclette at the Alpine Hut, Felicity was spotted enjoying afternoon tea in the historic Kulm Hotel. Granted, she may just be recovering from yesterday’s near miss of getting run over by a sled. The dark-haired hunk eating scones with her seems to be the same doctor who carried her into Badrutt’s Palace after her accident. Her cheeks looked rosy, and judging by the intent look in her face, she wasn’t suffering from a concussion. A word to Felicity: maybe it’s time to check in with your boyfriend, sports manager Adam Burton, and update him on your recovery.”

  * * *

  “How could they! I was at the Alpine Hut with the models.” Felicity studied the photos of her and Gabriel sitting by the fireplace. Gabriel must have been telling her the folktale, because she was leaning forward and her eyes were sparkling.

  “If I recall, you took off before we sat down to eat our raclette.” Raj took back his phone.

  “Adam sent me a bunch of angry texts, and I discovered them when we reached the Alpine Hut,” Felicity said worriedly. “I tried to call him back, but he wouldn’t answer.” She looked at the photos again. “Gabriel was just showing me around St. Moritz to make me feel better.”

  “Who is this doctor?” Raj asked. “Maybe Adam has reason to be jealous.”

  “Gabriel is a friend; he was giving me advice.” Felicity’s cheeks grew warm. “I didn’t think any more photos would show up online! If Adam sees them, he’ll be livid.”

  “This is why I have a strict no-serious-girlfriend policy,” Raj chuckled. “If you and Adam can’t stay together, what chance is there for the rest of us?” He touched her hand. “I’m kidding—Adam will come round. I’ll text him myself. I’ll tell him about skiing the magic carpet and having lunch at the Alpine Hut and make him wish he was here.”

  “I doubt that will help.” Felicity was trying very hard not to cry. “He’ll think I’m living it up and not working at all.”

  “Speaking of working, I have to go. I decided the whole runway should be rimmed with colored lights so the models’ shoes glitter like precious jewels. Even Badrutt’s Palace can run out of something. Every strand of lights in the hotel is draped around an indoor Christmas tree or a fireplace mantle. I have to go down to the village.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea.” Felicity pictured pink and green and blue lights like confetti.

  “One more thing before I go,” Raj said as he opened the door. “Is something going on with Nell?”

  “What do you mean?” Felicity asked.

  “I caught her sneaking into her room from the fire-exit stairs at two a.m.,” he said.

  “What did she say?” Felicity gulped.

  “She made up some story that she woke up with a headache and went to get aspirin. The elevator was too slow, so she took the stairs up to her room.” He paused. “She was wearing a miniskirt and heels, and there was a stamp on her hand from a nightclub.”

  “She must have gone to a club and got a headache after she went to bed,” Felicity suggested. “That’s happened to me. You think going to sleep will cure it, but then you wake up an hour later and it’s worse.”

  “I suppose it’s possible.” Raj shrugged. “I hope she’s not seeing someone. Eliot is a nice guy, and it wouldn’t look good if our star model was cheating on her fiancé.”

  “Nell would never do that! She and Eliot are madly in love,” Felicity said, and put on her sweetest smile. “Thank you for the Camembert. I’ll put it in the minifridge. It must have cost you a fortune, and it will make an excellent snack.”

  Raj left, and Felicity opened the trunk of accessories. Ordinarily they cheered her up immediately. She adored the aquamarine pendant that Raj had found in a thrift store, and the triple-strand glass necklace that looked exactly like real diamonds. But all she could think about was Adam discovering the new photos online. She really needed to warn Gabriel about the photos; after all, he was a respected doctor in the village. And at the same time, maybe he could help her decide what to do next. It was only noon; she could run down to Gabriel’s office and still have all afternoon to work. She closed the trunk and hurried out the door.

  Last night’s snowfall had made the village look like the window in a pastry shop. The snow-covered lampposts resembled candy canes, and the chalets looked like gingerbread houses coated with white icing. She rounded a corner and saw Gabriel walking down the street. His doctor bag was slung over his wrist, and he wore an overcoat.

  “Felicity!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here? Were we supposed to meet?”

  “I was going to text you, but I didn’t want to bother you if you were with patients,” she said. “I need to talk to you.”

  “You’re walking properly, so you can’t have fallen down again. And it’s too early to be drinking, even for you,” he joked. “What happened?”

  “I’d rather talk somewhere quieter.” She waved at the sidewalk bustling with tourists. “Could we go back to your office?”

  “Why don’t you walk with me? I have to see a patient at one of the ski lodges,” he answered. “I had a young boy this morning with possible appendicitis. Each time I asked where it hurt, the pain changed sides. It turned out he was afraid of riding the chairlift, and didn’t want to tell his parents. He begged me to keep his secret, so I said I’d bring some medicine to the lodge. Then I went down to the Confiserie Hanselmann and bought a box of caramelized marroni cooked in sugar.” He showed her the package. “His parents will think it’s some kind of edible pill, but it’s actually candy.”

  They strolled along Via Somplaz and stopped in front of an orange chalet with carved wood windows. Gabriel gave the package to the concierge and Felicity waited outside.

  “That should allow him to miss two more days of skiing,” Gabriel said cheerfully when he returned. “Why don’t we keep walking, and you can tell me what’s wrong?”

  “I thought you should know—photos of us having afternoon tea together ended up online.” Felicity handed him her phone. “I’m sorry. I hope it’s not a problem for you. And there was a snarky item on a wedding blog; I’m afraid Adam will see it.”

  “It doesn’t matter to me, but you must be famous!” Gabriel scanned the article. “I have afternoon tea at Kulm Hotel occasionally, and no one ever takes my photo.”

  “Perhaps some journalists who are covering the collection arrived in St. Moritz early,” Felicity guessed. “Adam hasn’t called or texted, and I don’t know what to do.”

  “Why do you have to do anything?” Gabriel wondered. “You weren’t doing anything wrong, unless there’s a law about eating chestnut puree in the afternoon.” He glanced at the photo again. “I could complain that my nose looks too long, but you look lovely.”

  “Your nose is fine,” Felicity laughed. “I’m worried that Adam will believe the blogger and think I’m involved with someone else. Maybe he thinks it’s been going on for a while and I’ve been hiding it from him.”

  “That’s unlikely.” Gabriel shook his head. “How would we have met?”

  Gabriel made it sound so simple. But when she explained it to Adam in her head, it became as complicated as a spool of thread she couldn’t unravel. She wished she were sitting in her atelier, sipping coffee and nibbling a Christmas cookie. The bell above the door would tinkle, and Adam would rush in with news about a new client. They’d go out for drinks to celebrate, and it would all be so exciting.

  “I wish we’d never argued,” Felicity sighed. “Adam is a wonderful boyfriend. He doesn’t mind when I only have frozen lasagna for dinner, and he never complains when I sleep at his
apartment and forget to turn off the coffee pot when I leave.”

  “That’s fine, but those are the actions of a polite roommate.” Gabriel turned toward a long wooden building. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

  They entered a foyer with a massive wood staircase and high ceilings. In front of them was a skating rink with a retractable roof, and to the right was an outdoor terrace with round tables and colored umbrellas.

  “This is the Olympic Pavilion. It reopened last year in the same location where the first Winter Olympics were held in 1928. Back then spectators from all over the world arrived in Bugattis and Mercedes. Charlie Chaplin was there, and Calvin Coolidge.”

  He led her into a room that served as the museum. Olympic medals sat in glass cases and wooden skis rested against the walls. There was a bobsled with a Swiss flag and a pair of snowshoes.

  “St. Moritz hosted the games again in 1948, but the war had just ended and many countries couldn’t afford to compete. The Norwegian cross-country team had to borrow skis from the Americans because they couldn’t buy their own.”

  “How do you know all this history?” Felicity studied the photos of young men standing on pedestals and holding bouquets of flowers. There was a photo of luges careening down the track, and of a figure skater lifting his partner in the air.

  “See this picture?” Gabriel pointed to a photo of a young man clutching a silver medal. “Lawrence Buchwald was on the Swiss team that won the silver medal for the bobsled. He was eighteen and grew up in St. Moritz. He was my grandfather.”

  “Your grandfather!” Felicity’s eyes widened.

  “Lawrence was my mother’s father,” Gabriel said, nodding. “He traveled to England and America. The press adored him, and all the mothers wanted him to marry their daughters.” He chuckled. “But he returned to St. Moritz and married his childhood sweetheart.”

  “What a wonderful story.” Felicity beamed. “And what about your parents? Did they grow up here?”

  “My father is Irish; he came to St. Moritz on holiday after he finished medical school,” Gabriel said. “My mother was working as a hostess at a restaurant on the mountain. It was love at first sight, and he never went back to Dublin.”