Christmas at the Chalet

by Anita Hughes

  Her father insisted they follow their late dinner with a nightcap at Hotel Europa, and they ran into an Italian director he’d met at the Venice Film Festival. Someone started snapping photos of them, and Nell was terrified they would show up on social media. She didn’t want her mother seeing pictures of her sipping vodka with her father at the Hotel Europa’s Allegra Bar.

  She didn’t get back to the hotel until two a.m., and by then she was certain Raj would be patrolling the hall. She ran up the fire-exit stairs and tried to slip into her room like a cat burglar. But Raj stopped her before she opened the door and she had to think up an excuse why she was out after curfew.

  But she couldn’t quit now. She hadn’t wanted anything so badly since she’d moved to New York to become a model. Back then, everyone said she was crazy. Of course, she was beautiful; her friends longed for her jet-black hair and eyelashes that went on forever. But Manhattan was filled with gorgeous girls. They worked out at twenty-four-hour fitness centers and sent their headshots with all sorts of swag: a box of salted-caramel cupcakes, or a lipstick from a sample sale. Nell couldn’t afford to send anything except a note saying she would be the hardest-working model they ever signed.

  A vintage orange car pulled into the driveway and Nell shielded her eyes from the sun. A man jumped out and she recognized her father’s dark hair and green eyes.

  “What are you doing in that car?” She laughed. “It’s like something out of a Hitchcock film.”

  “It’s a 1971 Lancia. My friend brought it to Switzerland to compete in the Winter Raid. It’s a car rally held in St. Moritz in January.” He stroked the orange paint. “He said I could borrow it, and it’s the perfect car to explore the valley. We’re going to drive over the Albula Pass and have lunch in La Punt.”

  “Are you sure it can handle the roads?” Nell asked nervously. The front seats were separated by a stick shift, and it had old-fashioned windshield wipers.

  “Cars have been driving over the mountain passes for decades.” He opened the passenger door. “If you drive one of those new cars with temperature-controlled seats and assisted braking, you miss the whole experience.”

  “If you say so.” Nell climbed inside. “It doesn’t look very sturdy. I hope it has seat belts.”

  At first the ride was so bumpy, Nell wished they were in a Mercedes with soft bucket seats, or a BMW with surround sound and power steering. Then they drove through a forest like something in a fairy tale. It was completely quiet except for the crunch of the tires on the snow. Her father had one hand on the wheel, while the other rested on the window.

  “I didn’t know you could drive a stick shift,” she said as they approached a clearing. The mountains were dotted with fir trees and there were barns with snow-covered roofs.

  “It’s the only way to drive; you’re in complete control of the car,” Todd said, and handed her a paper sack. “The hotel provided a healthy snack. I’ve never felt so fit. I swam fifty laps and did forty minutes on the stair machine. Your mother always accused me of being vain when I worked out. I wasn’t doing it for myself; I want to live to see my grandchildren.”

  Nell ate a cracker and thought that this was the perfect time to insist her father attend the wedding. Before she could open her mouth, he kept talking.

  “I was always afraid you and Pete would never find love with such lousy role models as parents,” he began. “I tried to tell myself you both had everything you needed: tennis lessons and summer camps. Remember the summer you and Pete went to secret agent camp? It cost a thousand dollars, and you came home with a codebook and a magnifying glass.” He chuckled. “But you didn’t have parents who could order a pizza without arguing whether it should be sausage or pepperoni.” He paused. “I love you and Pete so much; I wish we could have done better.”

  “Pete has a wonderful girlfriend, and I couldn’t have found a better guy than Eliot.” She ate a slice of apple thoughtfully. “I never knew before that Mom wanted to run the studio. I thought it was her choice to stay home with us.”

  “It’s not something she liked to talk about,” he explained. “Your mother loved to suffer in silence. She saw herself as a modern-day Joan of Arc. And she’s always been good at hiding her feelings. I had to trick her into going on a second date.”

  Nell swallowed a chunk of Gruyère and gulped. She wished she could sit them down at the Polo Bar and tell them to get along. But if that were possible, her father wouldn’t be living in a bachelor pad in Malibu, and her mother wouldn’t be rattling around the house in Beverly Hills.

  “You said she was the one who kissed you,” Nell remarked.

  “She was. But then she wouldn’t return my calls.” He reached for a grape. “I only had two weeks left in St. Moritz. I would have stopped an avalanche with my hands if it meant she would go out with me again.”

  St. Moritz

  Twenty-Eight Years Ago

  Todd

  Todd stood in the chalet’s dining room and surveyed the oak table. On it were Älplermagronen in a covered pot, and fried cheese balls arranged on a serving dish. There was a loaf of pumpernickel bread and a selection of Swiss cheeses.

  Patty was waiting in the living room, and everything had to be perfect: the flickering candles and bottle of red wine and chocolate meringue he’d picked up at the bakery.

  Ever since the night Todd ran into her at the party, Patty had been avoiding him. At first he thought she was busy with her duties as a chalet girl. But each time he called, her roommate said she was in the shower. One night he bumped into her at the Zoo Bar and she hurried out before he could say hello.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about her. She was beautiful and impulsive and said whatever she liked. Now, by some miracle, she was going to have dinner with him. He collected the wine glasses and pushed open the swinging doors.

  “Your friend has wonderful taste in books.” Patty stood next to the bookshelf in tan ski pants and a green sweater. “Have you read James Michener? I could curl up for hours with The Drifters.”

  “I don’t read.” Todd opened the wine bottle and poured two glasses.

  “What do you mean, you don’t read?” Patty walked to the coffee table. “Everyone reads; it’s how you learn about the world.”

  “Perhaps people who can afford to own a ski chalet they use once a year.” He shrugged. “I never had time to read. I always worked.”

  “Always?” she repeated.

  “Since I was fourteen,” he said, nodding. “I had a car-detailing business, and I cleaned swimming pools. Once I dog-sat a Doberman for a week. It didn’t go well; he loved to terrorize my mother’s dachshund.”

  “No one works all the time.” Patty accepted the glass of wine. “You must have hobbies.”

  “I’m a fan of the Cleveland Indians, and I like to cook,” he offered.

  “You cook?” she asked.

  “Yes, it’s the thing you do in the kitchen.” Maybe this had been a bad idea; he and Patty were from different worlds. Then she looked at him with her large blue eyes, and his throat constricted.

  “I know what you do in the kitchen.” She laughed. “I love baking cheesecake, and I make a decent lasagna. I don’t know many men who cook. My father practically needs directions to find the kitchen at our house.”

  “What about boyfriends?” Todd asked, thinking that this was the perfect opportunity to find out if she was seeing someone.

  “I haven’t had a serious boyfriend. My father scares them away. On my senior prom, he waited outside with a flashlight.” She smiled. “I didn’t mind. My date was drunk, and I wasn’t looking forward to pushing him away.”

  “When I turned fourteen, I discovered there were two things I loved: making money and eating,” Todd mused. “My parents worked, so I learned to cook: pork chops and an excellent meatloaf.”

  “Those were the only two things you loved?” she asked mischievously. “What about girls?”

  “I couldn’t afford girls.” His cheeks colored. “Let’s eat.
The soup will get cold and the bread is fresh out of the oven.”

  “Shouldn’t we wait for Amy and Christopher?” she asked. “They went to buy sour cream.”

  Todd sipped his wine and wondered if now was the time to tell Patty the truth. She might walk out, and all his efforts would be wasted. But if he waited until after dinner, she might be furious and never talk to him again.

  “They aren’t coming back.” He put his glass on the coffee table.

  “What do you mean, they aren’t coming back? You and Christopher invited us to dinner.”

  “I knew Amy wouldn’t turn down a free meal, so I asked Christopher’s friend if we could borrow the chalet for the evening.” He paused. Then I gave Christopher money to take Amy to Pizzeria Caruso so we could eat by ourselves.”

  “Why would you do that? If you can afford to pay Christopher, you could have taken me to a restaurant.”

  “I have some pride. I didn’t want you to walk out on me in front of a room full of people.” He looked up. “Are you going to walk out on me?”

  “I should,” she responded. “I don’t like someone who lies, and I’ve never gone to a man’s place on a second date.”

  “I didn’t lie, exactly—Christopher and Amy are having dinner,” he corrected. “And it’s our third date, if you count the kiss outside the Carlton Hotel.”

  “I suppose I could make an exception, and I am hungry.” She wavered. “Christopher told Amy you were a wonderful chef.”

  “More like line cook at the International House of Pancakes,” Todd grinned. “I’ve become quite good at preparing Swiss dishes. My Älplermagronen is delicious.”

  “I have no idea what that is.” She wrinkled her nose.

  “The proper translation is ‘alpine herder’s macaroni.’” He ushered her into the dining room. “The herdsmen used all the ingredients in their huts: macaroni, potatoes, onions, and bacon with melted cheese. It’s the best thing I’ve tasted.”

  * * *

  They ate fried cheese balls and talked about all the wonderful things to do in St. Moritz: snowshoeing on Lake Silvaplana and tobogganing in the Bever forest and seeing modern art at the Segantini Museum. Patty’s blue eyes were luminous in the candlelight, and Todd felt a surge of happiness.

  “This is the best meal I’ve had in weeks,” she said when Todd replaced the bread and cheese with meringues and strawberry cream.

  “Don’t they feed you at the chalet?” Todd poured two cups of coffee. “One of the perks of the job must be the leftover sausage and bacon.”

  “If you hang out in the kitchen, the male guests think you’re waiting to be asked on a date,” she explained. “There are never any snacks in our room. The other chalet girls save their calories for when they go out to dinner.”

  “Why don’t you go on a date if you’re not seeing anyone?” Todd asked.

  “I didn’t come to St. Moritz to meet someone.” She ate a bite of meringue. “I just wanted to ski and be on my own.”

  “You’re on a date with me,” he reminded her.

  “I suppose I am,” she laughed. “And I’m enjoying it. So maybe I was wrong.”

  “Wrong?”

  “To not answer your calls,” she admitted.

  “You were avoiding me!” Todd exclaimed. “I don’t understand. You kissed me the first night, and then we kissed again when I punched that guy out at the party.”

  “The first time I was a bit tipsy, and it was daring to kiss a boy I just met,” she explained. “And the second time, there was a full moon and it was so romantic.”

  “And after that?” he prompted.

  “After that I discovered I quite liked it.” She sipped her coffee.

  “That’s a good thing.” He was puzzled. “Why would you want to stop?”

  “We’re never going to see each other again. There’s nothing worse than couples exchanging addresses that will be left at the bottom of the suitcase along with an old boarding pass and a bag of airplane peanuts.” She put down her cup. “My roommate at UCLA met a boy in Croatia last summer and spent the fall semester waiting for him to call. She gained five pounds sitting by the phone eating Snickers and missed the auditions for Newsies.”

  “What if it isn’t a holiday romance?” He moved to her side of the table. “What if it’s fate bringing two people together? What if the guy knows by the way she talks and the color of her eyes that he’s going to be crazy about her?”

  Todd leaned forward and kissed her.

  “That might be different,” she said, and kissed him back.

  * * *

  “God, the young are the most ignorant and arrogant people on the planet,” Todd groaned, maneuvering the car around a sharp turn. “We didn’t even ask each other the right questions. I didn’t know her goals or who she wanted to be president. We were too busy admiring the scenery to discuss anything important.”

  “It sounds wonderful,” Nell said. “Eliot loves to cook. He made Christmas dinner this year. Turkey with gravy and sweet potatoes.”

  “I make an excellent gravy,” her father said proudly. “On Thanksgiving your mother called and said she was missing a platter, but it was really an excuse to get my gravy recipe. I always made the gravy for Thanksgiving. I pretended I didn’t understand what she wanted. It’s ridiculous, the amount of pleasure it gave me. I felt guilty afterward.”

  “But you hardly ever cooked at home,” Nell protested.

  “When we were first married, we cooked together: lasagna, and your mother’s cheesecake. Then I started working late and didn’t make it home for dinner.” He rubbed his forehead. “One year she signed us up for cooking classes. I missed the first three classes and she was so angry, she wouldn’t let me back in the kitchen. In Malibu, I cook all the time.”

  He smiled brightly. “I have an idea. After the wedding in Napa, you and Eliot should stay with me. I’ll make blueberry waffles and eggs benedict. After breakfast, we’ll work it off by running on the beach.”

  “There’s only going to be one wedding,” Nell cut in. “It’s going to be in Nantucket, and I want you to be there.”

  “We’ve gone over this,” Todd said. “It’s not possible.”

  Nell was suddenly angry. “Anything is possible. You’re choosing not to come.”

  Her father patted her hand and gunned the engine. “Let’s not discuss this at the top of the Albula Pass. I promised I’d show you La Punt. We’ll talk about it at lunch.”

  * * *

  The car drove over the Albula Pass and into La Punt. The whole village was just four interconnecting streets with a stone church and a train station.

  They entered a hotel with painted shutters and carved windows. It was perched on the bank of a river. Inside was a fir tree decorated with Christmas ornaments.

  “It’s lovely,” Nell said after they were seated at a table in the restaurant. The floor was made of pine, and picture windows looked out on the river. The sun gleamed on the bridge, and the buildings were quaint and pristine.

  “I forgot to give this to you.” Her father reached into his pocket and took out a box. “I picked it up this morning.”

  “I don’t want any more presents.” Nell put the box on the table. “I want to talk about the wedding.”

  “Open it first.” He pressed it into her hand. “I think you’ll like it.”

  Nell unwrapped the tissue paper and discovered a diamond pendant. There was a smaller box with matching diamond cufflinks.

  “The bride and groom always exchange presents on the wedding day, but I thought I’d start a new tradition.” He beamed. “The pendant is for you, and the cufflinks are for Eliot.”

  “They’re gorgeous, but I don’t want them.” Nell closed the box firmly.

  “What do you mean, you don’t want them? The diamonds are from Chopard, and the clarity is exquisite.”

  “I don’t want a necklace or a coffee maker or a cashmere blanket,” she announced. “All I want is for you to come to our wedding.”
/>   “Sometimes we can’t have everything we want. It’s part of becoming an adult,” he said.

  “You’re the one being childish,” Nell fumed. “How can you deprive me of having the two most important people there when I walk down the aisle?”

  “Don’t you see?” he pleaded. “Even if I could ignore the fact that sharing the head table with your mother might put me in the hospital, I couldn’t do that to you.”

  “Do what to me?” Nell asked.

  “If your mother found out I said yes, she might not come,” he said, and his mouth sagged. “It would be my fault, and I’d never forgive myself.”

  * * *

  Nell chewed her food while her father chatted about filming in Athens. Nothing tasted good: not the Alps lamb racks recommended by the chef, or the dumplings in a cream-cheese sauce. She remembered when she was a child and her parents had had an argument at dinner. All she’d wanted was to leave the table and run to her room.

  They drove back to St. Moritz and Nell clutched the dashboard. The road was bumpy and her stomach dropped every time her father took a curve. Even the weather had turned: the blue sky was replaced by clouds, and there were snowflakes on the windshield.

  He dropped her off and she hurried into Badrutt’s Palace. It was mid-afternoon, and the lobby buzzed with skiers returning from the slopes. They all wore parkas and talked about the fresh powder and spectacular vistas.

  “Nell, there you are.” Her mother sat by the fireplace. There was a silver tea service and an open book on the coffee table. “You weren’t in your room. I was about to walk to the village, and wanted to know if you would join me.”

  “I need to take a hot bath first,” Nell said. “I went for a drive and I’m freezing.”

  “You went for a drive?” Patty was puzzled. “The last time I was in New York, you said you didn’t have your license.”