Christmas at the Chalet

by Anita Hughes

  Nell gulped and remembered saying one of the benefits of New York was not having to drive. There were so many choices: you could take a car service or call an Uber or ride the subway.

  “I didn’t drive myself,” she corrected hurriedly. “It’s one of the hotel services. The scenery was breathtaking, but the car didn’t have proper heating. I’ll change and meet you here.”

  What if her father saw them browsing in the shops? If she let her mother go alone, her parents might run into each other in the village. It was better if she went; she could always drag her mother into a store if she saw her father coming.

  “What’s in your purse?” Her mother pointed to her bag.

  Nell noticed the jewelry box sticking out of her purse. “It’s just something I picked up this morning.”

  “You bought something at Chopard for no reason?” Her mother said in surprise. “Modeling must pay even better than I thought. Maybe I should sell the bookstore and become one of those older models for face cream.”

  “You should; you’ve never looked more beautiful,” Nell said warmly.

  “You’ve been spoiling me with massages.” Her mother smiled. “I’m dying to see what you bought.”

  Before Nell could stop her, her mother reached for the box.

  “A diamond pendant!” She looked at Nell. “Are you sure you bought it for yourself?”

  “What do you mean?” Nell colored.

  “I bumped into Raj and he asked if you were feeling well,” she commented. “Apparently you went to find aspirin at two o’clock in the morning. Now you’re returning from a mysterious outing with expensive jewelry.”

  “What are you implying?” Nell asked.

  “If you’re having second thoughts about the wedding or seeing someone else, you should admit it now. Infidelity will ruin any marriage,” her mother offered. “It’s better to sort things out before it’s too late.”

  “Of course I’m not seeing someone!” Nell exclaimed. “Look, there are diamond cufflinks for Eliot.” She rummaged in her purse for the smaller box. “I thought it would make a nice wedding-day gift between the bride and groom.”

  “Those are stunning.” Patty examined the cufflinks. “The only thing your father gave me on our wedding day was his shirt to take to the cleaners. He forgot to get it ironed, and he didn’t have any pressed shirts. But shouldn’t Eliot buy your present?”

  Nell was suddenly tired of bending the truth. She wanted to crawl into bed with a hot-water bottle and a magazine.

  “I’m a successful career woman.” She closed the box. “Why shouldn’t I buy myself diamonds?”

  * * *

  Nell sat on the rim of the bathtub and turned on the hot water. The marble counter had a selection of lotions and a stack of fluffy bath towels.

  She wished she could tell Eliot that her parents were in St. Moritz. But he was filming a week-long segment on Christmas trees in Maine, and there was terrible cell phone service.

  There had been something odd in her mother’s voice when she’d asked if Nell was seeing someone. What if her mother or father had had an affair? She’d never imagined it was possible, but maybe she was wrong. Perhaps her mother was lonely and had taken up with Pete’s tennis coach, or her father had been flattered by a young starlet who’d complimented his flat stomach.

  She slipped off her robe and stepped into the bath. There were four days until New Year’s Eve, and she had to find out what had ended her parents’ marriage. Then she was going to do everything in her power to persuade them to put aside their feelings and come to her wedding.

  Eight

  Four Days Before the Fashion Show

  6:00 p.m.

  Felicity

  IT WAS EARLY EVENING, FOUR days before the fashion show. Outside Felicity’s window, a light snow was falling on the hotel awnings. Festive ornaments twinkled on the Christmas tree, and the whole Engadin valley was bathed in a yellow glow.

  Her sketchpad lay open on the coffee table, and she stared at the page. Camilla had loved the purple brocade gown the bride wore at the Knickerbocker Club, but could she submit something so daring for Bergdorf’s fashion show—a crepe dress with a bodice painted with flowers from a spring garden? Or should she create something more classical, like an empire-style gown with crocheted undergarments and white crocheted gloves?

  Gabriel had called while she was working on her sketches to ask if her shoulder was all right, and she’d told him about her phone call with Adam. He couldn’t understand why Adam had made such a fuss about the photos online, when it was Adam’s decision to take a break. He’d offered to meet her for a drink, but she’d said she had to get ready for dinner at Chesa Veglia.

  She had spent part of the afternoon matching accessories with the dresses and making a list of the undergarments. There was nothing worse than models milling around backstage and realizing they didn’t have the correct bustier, or noticing that a satin fascinator was missing. And the stockings! She’d packed six pairs for each model—one pulled thread and the whole stocking could unravel. But four pairs were missing, and she wondered if they’d ended up in Raj’s carry-on.

  She stuck a pen behind her ear and admired the wedding dress hanging over the marble fireplace. It was an A-line organza gown with a crystal-beaded bodice. The beads had cost a fortune and it had taken her weeks to attach them, but when the model stood in front of the three-way mirror, she knew it was worth it.

  The dress had been designed last spring after a brainstorming session with Adam about his new company. When Adam had fallen asleep, Felicity pulled on his shirt and crept out of bed. She couldn’t sketch the dress fast enough: a wide skirt like layers of marshmallow and a headpiece adorned with pearls.

  It had all seemed so easy: they were two young professionals about to reap the rewards of their hard work. But now she was sitting in a hotel suite and Adam was barely talking to her. She glanced at the phone and wondered if she could call him. But she didn’t know what to say without making it worse.

  There was a knock on the door, and she opened it.

  “Can I come in?” Nell stood in the hallway. She wore a fuchsia dress, and her dark hair was curled in ringlets.

  “You look gorgeous.” Felicity ushered her inside. “God, I lost track of time. I haven’t started getting ready. Raj will be furious if I’m late for our reservation.”

  “I got reprimanded by Raj last night,” Nell admitted. “He saw me entering my room at two a.m. I said I had a headache and went out for aspirin.”

  “He told me.” Felicity nodded. “Don’t worry, I confirmed your story. I said I get headaches late at night all the time.”

  “The headache is real,” Nell groaned. “My father took me on a drive over the Albula Pass this morning, and then my mother insisted I go shopping in the village. All I wanted was to curl up with a hot chocolate, and I had to try on sweaters and ski pants.”

  “You’re a model, you love trying on clothes,” Felicity reminded her.

  “Not when I’m peering over my shoulder to see if my father is walking by,” Nell sighed. “I feel like I’m in a spy novel and I’m not making any progress. Neither of them will come to the wedding.”

  “I hate to say it, but maybe you should give up,” Felicity suggested gently.

  “I can’t do that. My mother said something odd this afternoon,” Nell answered. “My father gave me a diamond pendant, and she thought it was from another man. She asked if I was seeing someone, and said infidelity would end any marriage.”

  “That’s not strange,” Felicity countered. “I could never be with someone who cheated.”

  “It was the way she said it. As if it happened to her,” Nell explained. “Perhaps after I left for New York, my mother was bored and took up with a member of her book club. Or my father felt like he was getting old, and succumbed to the advances of a young actress.”

  “I don’t know any co-ed book clubs, and your father never gets older.” Felicity grinned. “He could pass for a man
in his thirties.”

  “You know what I mean,” Nell responded. “I never thought either of my parents were capable of cheating, but maybe I’m wrong.”

  “You were twenty-two when they separated. Why wouldn’t they tell you if something happened?” Felicity asked.

  “There’s something gnawing at me, but I don’t know what it is.” Nell picked up her phone. “I can’t see either of them tonight. I just hope they don’t run into each other while we’re at Chesa Veglia. I ordered room service for my mother, and suggested she watch a movie. And my father is going to Hemingway’s Club with an Italian director.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine. Adam finally called,” Felicity said. “He is furious about the wedding blogs. He even implied that I had known Gabriel for a while.”

  “This probably isn’t going to help.” Nell handed her the phone. “It was just posted on Silver Weddings.”

  Felicity took the phone and saw a photo of her and Gabriel having lunch at the Olympic Pavilion. There was another photo of them watching the snow polo match. Gabriel was pointing at the players, while Felicity watched with rapt attention.

  “Things are heating up in St. Moritz for bridal designer Felicity Grant. And it’s not caused by the steam rising from the indoor swimming pools. Felicity and her Swiss doctor were spotted having lunch at one of St. Moritz’s favorite watering holes. They say laughter is the best medicine, and from the expression on Felicity’s face, she seems to be on the road to recovery. Now if she’d only follow our advice and tell sports manager boyfriend Adam Burton about her misadventures in St. Moritz.

  “Maybe Felicity has more on her mind than hoping the bump on her head will recede. The dark-haired doctor and Felicity were later caught at the snow polo matches. Everyone knows you practically need a Patek Philippe watch and partial ownership of a private jet just to blend in as a spectator. What if the doctor cures concussions as a hobby and he’s rolling in dough?

  “Remember, this all started when we spotted Felicity wearing her own wedding gown. Could our first assumptions be correct, and she and the doctor are enjoying a week of pre-wedding festivities? We’re going to be watching this one closely. Word to Felicity: what happens in St. Moritz does not stay in St. Moritz.”

  She looked more closely at the photo of her and Gabriel at lunch. He must have been telling her the story about the magic porridge pot, because she was laughing.

  “Oh God, how did this happen? I offered to buy Gabriel lunch, because he has been so kind.” She looked frantically at Nell. “When Adam sees this, he’s going to think I was lying and there’s something going on between us.”

  “Is there something going on?” Nell wondered. “Gabriel is handsome, and doctors have great hands.”

  “I’ve hardly noticed Gabriel’s hands, and nothing is going on.” Felicity looked at Nell with huge eyes. “Adam and I were a team. He knows every dress in my collection; I’m the one who furnished his office. Now we’re on opposite sides of some kind of war.”

  “It’s the middle of the night in New York; there’s nothing you can do now,” Nell said. “Get dressed and we’ll go to Chesa Veglia together. Everyone is probably waiting for us.”

  “I hope they serve very strong cocktails,” Felicity said, walking to her closet. “I’m going to need a steady stream of alcohol to get me through the night.”

  * * *

  Felicity sat at the bar sipping a Swiss Alps with crème de cacao and schnapps and thought she really should be enjoying herself. Chesa Veglia was so charming. It was housed in a hundred-year-old farmhouse in the middle of St. Moritz. There was a beamed ceiling and plank floors, and booths made of carved wood.

  Dinner in the pizzeria had been delicious. They shared deer bresaola with porcini mushrooms as an antipasto, and Alpenrose Pizza with mozzarella and goat cheese and ham. Raj wasn’t happy at first, complaining that the servers were rude and the table was cramped. But then Gwyneth Paltrow arrived with her children, who were all squeezed into a table near the back, and his mood brightened. By the end of the meal, Raj was sitting with Gwyneth and chatting about Goop and the merits of online newsletters.

  Then they all went upstairs to the nightclub. The walls were purple velvet, the floor was black granite, and colored lights bounced off the tables. The dance floor was crowded with men and women with deep tans and gold jewelry, and even the bartenders were ridiculously good-looking.

  Felicity watched Raj chat with a Russian industrialist whose daughter was getting married, and had to smile. At least she didn’t have to worry about the future of Felicity Grant Bridal. As long as she designed gorgeous gowns, Raj would never let them fail.

  At dinner Raj had announced he’d received an RSVP from the editor-in-chief of Vogue Italia, and the society editor of Tatler was flying in on New Year’s Eve. It was possible the society editor was only in St. Moritz to attend a New Year’s Eve party, and had never heard of Felicity Grant. But Raj was certain that a dozen roses delivered with a handwritten card would convince her to attend the fashion show.

  Her phone was sitting on the counter. She missed Adam so much it was like a physical ache. He should be sitting beside her and sipping a gin and tonic. He’d lean into her and whisper that she was the sexiest woman in the bar.

  She remembered how once, when they were first dating, Adam had been stuck at a nightclub with his boss’s client. Felicity had rescued him, and it had turned into one of the best nights of her life.

  * * *

  Felicity’s eyes adjusted to the dimly lit bar and she searched for Adam. They had only been dating for two months, and she still felt a jolt of excitement whenever she saw him. It wasn’t just that he was handsome and a gentleman: sending her flowers, carrying her groceries up five flights to her apartment. It was that they never ran out of things to talk about.

  She told him all about the lace sheath she was designing for a wedding in Bermuda. The veil had a seashell appliqué, and the hem was stitched with iridescent aquamarine thread. And they spent hours discussing Adam’s new position. He had been promoted to assistant, and had already accompanied his boss to baseball spring training in North Carolina.

  “Felicity, over here.” Adam waved. He was wearing jeans with a narrow tie, and there was a line of perspiration on his forehead.

  “This place is amazing,” she said, joining him. “I’ve lived in Manhattan for four years and I’ve never been anywhere like it. The sign outside says it sells hot dogs, and I had to enter through a vintage phone booth.”

  “It’s called Please Don’t Tell, and it used to be the best-kept secret in the East Village.” Adam kissed her. “Then word got out, and it’s practically impossible to get a reservation. The whiskey sours are terrific, and the hot dogs and truffle fries are the finest in New York.”

  “They really serve hot dogs?” Felicity laughed, glancing at the table set with retro bottles of ketchup and mustard. “What are you doing here alone? I thought you had to take that South African rugby player out on the town.”

  “I’m not alone.” Adam pointed across the room. “Roger is drinking straight vodka like 7-Up, and hitting on every woman in the bar. He propositioned the wife of the deputy mayor. If I don’t get him out of here, he’ll get deported and I’ll be fired.”

  Felicity followed his gaze and saw Roger chatting to a woman wearing a red dress. Felicity turned to Adam. “I’ll be right back.”

  A few minutes later, she brought Roger to where Adam was standing.

  “Roger wants to leave,” she said. “Would you pay the bill and meet us out front?”

  “Roger wants to leave?” Adam repeated incredulously.

  “He has a craving for rice pudding,” she answered mischievously. “I told him we’d take him to Rice to Riches on Spring Street. The ‘Sex, Drugs and Rocky Road’ flavor is delicious, and the ‘Fluent in French Toast’ is out of this world.”

  * * *

  “How did you know Roger liked rice pudding?” Adam asked after they’d put Roger in a
taxi and returned to Felicity’s apartment.

  “I read an interview of him online. The thing he misses most about South Africa is malva pudding—it’s a type of sweet rice pudding. I mentioned to him I knew a store with the best rice pudding,” she chuckled. “I was lucky. The woman he was flirting with raved about Rice to Riches’ ‘Take Me To Tiramisu.’”

  Adam leaned forward and kissed her. He tasted of rocky road and vanilla, and he curled his arm around her.

  “Where’s Raj?” he asked, when they separated.

  “You mean, when is he coming back?” Felicity repeated nervously. Even though they had been dating for almost two months, they hadn’t made love. Adam’s roommate was usually home, and they never knew when Raj would appear at Felicity’s apartment.

  “Something like that,” Adam whispered, kissing her again.

  “He’s breaking up with a girl.” She waved at the chocolate cheesecake on the counter. “She started dropping off desserts every day. He was worried that she was getting too serious and he was getting fat,” she laughed. “She lives in outer Williamsburg; he won’t be back for hours.”

  Adam drew her close and wrapped his arms around her. He tipped her face up to his and their lips met. Suddenly all she wanted was to feel his chest against her breasts.

  She led him into the bedroom and gulped. The bed was littered with sketches, and there were swatches of fabric on the side table. A teddy bear was propped against the headboard, and there was a framed photo of her family on the dresser.

  “It’s not very sexy,” she said shyly. “My parents gave me the teddy bear when I left for college. They were afraid I’d get lonely in New York.”

  “You’re sexy,” he said, lifting her hair from her ears, “and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  Adam unzipped her dress and it fell to the floor. His hand cupped her breast and a shiver ran down her spine. She fumbled with his buttons and ran her fingers over his chest. Her mouth found his and she never wanted to stop kissing.

  “Come here,” he said, moving the sketchpad off the bed, and pulled her onto the bedspread. His fingers brushed her thighs and she tried to draw him on top of her. He pulled away and rolled onto his elbow.