Snowflakes and Mistletoe at the Inglenook Inn

by Helen J Rolfe

  Back at the Inn, Darcy read the note from Rupert to say he’d restocked the refrigerator and left more supplies in the bigger one in the basement, so she had plenty of food to make up snacks for guests if required, and enough to put on light breakfasts if anyone requested a super-early start. She took off her coat, fired up the laptop to check the emails, but there wasn’t anything from any of the guests so she went over to tend to the fire, which was still crackling away steadily.

  Darcy allowed herself some time to take in the ambience she’d been a part of creating today and it made her feel proud. Since she’d begun working here she’d been looking at the Inglenook Inn from a different perspective. If she were the owner and she had the funds, she’d make a few changes for sure. She’d begun to wonder how lucrative the top floor and some of the other apartments really were. The top floor was beautiful but because of its square footage, the luxury bathroom and office space, it commanded a hefty price and wasn’t always rented out. They’d got lucky with this corporate client, in Darcy’s opinion. If this place were hers, she’d separate it into two, possibly three, apartments. She’d also reduce the size of the two apartments on the third floor to accommodate more separate bookings. She hadn’t studied the figures much – it wasn’t for her to interfere unless Sofia wanted her to – but she knew that bookings had been sparse before the festive season and Sofia wasn’t all that big on advertising.

  She checked her watch. Nine fifteen. She suspected the family with young kids were tucked up in their apartment, but the young couple would be out and about, taking in the sights of the city at night, a truly wondrous experience for first-timers like them. Isabella was wrong to think she’d taken more of an interest in Myles Cunningham than anyone else. She liked to get to know all of her guests. It was all part of her job.

  She spent the next couple of hours planning her morning tomorrow and answering email queries about potential new bookings. She swept the hallway of the inevitable dirt that crept in every time the front door was opened to the Manhattan streets and when the fire had almost gone out in the grate, the moonlight had risen high above the clouds outside, Darcy took the stairs to her own apartment and prepared to turn in, ready to get up tomorrow and do what she loved all over again.

  Chapter Four

  Myles

  Two weeks until Christmas

  Myles had been so busy with work that he hadn’t seen much of Darcy over the last week. But after their run-in outside her apartment, it was probably a good thing. When he passed her in the hallway or came home to see her sitting at the desk, or chatting with other guests in the lounge, they were both cordial but he had the feeling it was all down to her professionalism rather than her choice.

  Today, with a low-lying mist refusing to leave Manhattan alone, Myles spent lunchtime at the office talking with his brother on the phone. He generally didn’t have much time to do so, but Winston had taken it upon himself to badger his younger brother with text messages, and talking to him now was the only way to shut him up.

  ‘How are Mum and Dad?’ Myles asked, already anticipating the answer.

  ‘Still not happy about your move, still talking about you coming home sooner rather than later. And still going on about how nice it would be to see you settle down.’

  Myles had been relieved he’d managed to time this move before Christmas. Christmas was something his family did insanely well. The meal was sumptuous, home-cooked, fit for a king. Every year the house was bedecked in the most exquisite decorations sourced from Liberty, Harrods, Fortnum & Mason. White lights hung in the trees lining the driveway up to the family home, a wreath on the door – always fresh, always welcoming – marked the way and the presents beneath the tree could rival those of the aristocracy. But it hadn’t always been that way, and the other times were the ones that Myles couldn’t help but remember. Those were the Christmases that had spoilt this time of the year for him for good.

  Myles sighed. ‘You’d think Dad would get it. He was a businessman and out of the country on plenty of occasions over the years.’ Hard work had been ingrained in the Cunningham boys’ psyche, so his dad could hardly criticise Myles for doing what he’d always been taught to do. It was what the Cunningham men did. They were businessmen above all else. And for either of his parents to criticise his personal life, well that always had been an unwelcome intrusion. Even a harmless ‘Are you dating anyone right now?’ was a question that had the power to see his anger levels rise.

  ‘You know what they’re like, they both worry,’ said Winston, peacemaker as always.

  Myles’s shortcoming was that although he’d scored well on the career side of things, his personal life had yet to reach the same dizzy heights or even a height that would make him feel remotely lightheaded. And his mum, especially, had taken it upon herself to worry about him to the point where he almost felt suffocated. But where had that worry been when he was a young boy? Back then she’d been in her own world of pain, had her own way of coping, and now it was as though she was making up for it. But she couldn’t turn back the clock. Nobody could. Myles sometimes wondered whether his brother had forgotten half of the stuff that went on when they were growing up, or perhaps he was just a huge believer in second chances. Myles had to hand it to his brother because he’d turned out to be the good one, a real family man setting an entirely different example for his own kids from the one they’d had growing up. And he hadn’t neglected his career path either. Somehow he’d managed to get the balance just right. Winston ran his own construction firm, something out of the norm for their genealogy, where men had gone into corporate careers along the finance line, but he’d made it a roaring success.

  Winston was also married with two children, whom Myles saw enough of to be called the Fun Uncle, and now they were in the background during the call demanding to know whether it was snowing in America, were all the skyscrapers five times as tall as their house in England, and was Myles ever coming back?

  ‘How about you come home for Christmas?’ Winston suggested. ‘It’s not too late. You could get a last-minute flight, stay with us, we’ll do Christmas dinner at the parents’ place and then come home here to recover. I’ll even be the designated driver. I can’t say fairer than that.’

  He appreciated it, he really did. Winston had an insatiable energy when it came to trying to include Myles, no matter how much Myles tried to push them all away. ‘You know how I feel about Christmas. I’m sorry, Winston. Another year perhaps.’

  ‘It was all such a long time ago,’ Winston tried.

  It was. And yet, it was still so raw in his mind.

  ‘I’ve too much work on.’ Myles continued his protestations as he cradled the phone between his shoulder and his ear while simultaneously skimming over some figures he needed to translate into something meaningful before a client meeting. ‘Christmas is all about the kids. You make sure yours have a great time.’ He always felt a pang of sadness when his brother asked him to do something and he didn’t want to do it. And Christmas was invariably the time when he felt the guilt rise up to an almost untenable level like it was doing now.

  His brother’s voice softened. ‘I will. I know you can’t be bothered with it, but maybe one year, eh?’

  Myles laughed when he heard his sister-in-law, Victoria, in the background calling him the Grinch, the name she’d jokingly called him ever since she’d first met Winston’s brother on Christmas Eve at the pub, where Myles had begrudgingly gone along with them.

  ‘Say hello to Victoria for me.’ Myles checked his watch – he was out of time. ‘I’d better go or I’ll have nothing to show my client and all they’ll get is a platter full of pastries in meeting room four.’

  ‘Sounds all right to me.’

  Myles felt instantly hungry at the thought of food, but that would have to wait until he’d formulated a mini presentation.

  ‘Just send them a Christmas card at least,’ Winston said before his brother could hang up.

  Knowing exactly who he was
referring to, Myles said, ‘Already done. I posted one yesterday and it’s as festive as you can get, they’ll love it. There’s an enormous hamper arriving soon too. Mum’s favourite, from Fortnum & Mason, with the requisite foie gras, ham, stilton, caviar, champagne.’ He stopped at the mention of the alcohol. He wondered whether Winston would berate him for it, but sensed his brother wanted to keep him on side right now. Since ordering the hamper that came with champagne, Myles wondered whether he should’ve done it. To some it was a nice gesture, but to his mum it was like waving a red flag at her and he just hoped she wouldn’t charge.

  ‘Well done, I knew you’d make a fuss somehow,’ was all Winston said. ‘Mum will love being spoiled.’

  If Winston were here now, Myles would meet him at the nearest bar after work and buy him the biggest beer he could find. His brother, always by his side, never stopped trying to bring him back into this family.

  After he hung up, Myles stared out the window across the Manhattan skyline. It was peaceful up here, nowhere near the mayhem at street level. Myles sometimes wondered why he didn’t resent his older brother more for his all-round contentment, but it was because they got on so famously, always had. Only two years separated them and they’d grown up together, messing around down at the allotment with their grandad, running wild around the fields at the back of their house in the school holidays. And whenever it had snowed in winter, they’d always built an igloo in the garden if the snow was plentiful enough and then they’d used it as their hideout until the weather melted their creation and it was back to reality. Myles should’ve known then that Winston would go into the construction industry. He’d bossed Myles around until they’d laid the foundations of the igloo, supervised the entire build. But they’d worked as a tight little unit, and Myles saw the same thing now with Winston and Victoria, who complemented one another. He ran the business, she ran the household; he coached the football team at weekends, she was on the Parent Teacher Association at the kids’ school. It was the way they worked, a husband and wife team, something their parents had never really been. Myles often wondered how he and his brother had turned out so different, his own feet firmly following the path of his career, never straying for a moment. He’d had relationships along the way, a lot of women saw the attraction in a man who would be reliable and who could provide for them and a family, but somehow he’d never gelled with any of those women. He’d wondered whether it was them or him. Or was it his past experience of family holding him back?

  He got to work on the figures and gathered everything up ready to meet the client. His daydreams only continued as far as meeting room four, where he switched back to corporate mode, shook hands with the people he was hoping to impress, and began his spiel about the company and how this venture could work in both of their favour.

  *

  New York was freezing! Myles was sure the temperature had dropped ten degrees since he’d arrived at the office that morning.

  He took the subway and got off a stop earlier to grab a bite to eat at a Mexican place he’d found on his first day here. It was a no-frills establishment but service was speedy, the food was good and filling, and he could sit on his own without feeling too out of the ordinary.

  The wind whipped around, hurting his ears as he walked the few blocks back to the Inn. The air promised snow but he wasn’t used to this weather and had no idea whether they’d get a light dusting or a serious snowstorm, or dump as he’d heard New Yorkers refer to it. He was hoping for the light dusting if anything, because his days of wanting to build an igloo were long gone. He wanted to be able to navigate the streets, get to work on time and home at a reasonable hour.

  He pushed his key into the lock of the brownstone with its sign and curly writing out front announcing that it was an inn. He liked the informality of this place, the fact it felt like coming back to his own separate apartment in many ways.

  ‘Good evening,’ he said to a young couple who were making their way outside as he wiped his shoes on the mat.

  The young man replied with a more casual, ‘Hey there’, something Myles was still getting used to. At the office his colleagues were of all nationalities, many American but lots from overseas. Myles remembered his dad’s British accent had taken a few dips and dives along the way as he worked for a multinational company, although now he was as British as they came and you’d never know he’d spent a second out of his birthplace.

  When he passed by the lounge room, to the left of the wooden-floored corridor, there she was. Darcy was crouched down in front of the fire, positioning logs just so, and he paused, watching her.

  When she turned to pick up the box of firelighters beside her she saw him and stood up, straightened her skirt and brushed the front as though some of the residue from the fireplace might have found its way onto her clothes. ‘Good evening,’ she said, very formally.

  ‘Good to see you, Darcy.’

  She smiled. ‘Will you be needing dinner this evening? The chef is here for another hour, or I can order a takeout for you if you’d prefer.’

  Very professional. ‘No, thank you, I’ve just eaten.’

  She tidied the newspapers in the stand on the table to one side of the lounge. She’d left the fire for now, clearly deciding it would be rude to literally turn her back on her guest.

  ‘I went to Casa Alessandra.’ He decided to try and make conversation to make his stay as pleasant as possible, even though he’d thought she would’ve thawed by now. Maybe that was what made him do it – the frustration that she was being so aloof. He wasn’t used to being ignored and he was still annoyed that his meeting today hadn’t gone as well as he’d hoped for.

  ‘Lovely,’ she said. And with everything in the room tidy, she returned to the fireplace.

  ‘Do you need a hand?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘I feel we got off on the wrong foot.’

  She tore off a piece of firelighter and buried it beneath the logs and kindling, then put another on the opposite side and another in the centre. She adjusted the damper at the front of the grate to open. She collected up the firelighter box, pushed the wrapped remains inside and turned to him. ‘It was a long time ago.’

  ‘I was angry.’

  ‘What was done to you was unforgivable.’

  She was saying it all with a straight face and hardly the looks she’d been giving him ever since she realised who he was that night. He hoped it wasn’t the calm before the storm. Was her anger lying dormant and at some point it would rise to the surface, taking him by surprise?

  ‘You didn’t do anything wrong,’ he responded, ‘but you still paid the price.’

  ‘I should’ve been more polite to you at the time,’ she answered diplomatically. ‘It was my job and I didn’t do it well that day.’ She put an end to the conversation by picking up a box of matches. ‘It’s turned cold outside, but you’re welcome to enjoy the fire this evening.’

  He looked at the armchairs and the sofa positioned to look out through the slightly curved bay window. Once the fire was going it’d be a wonderful place to relax with a drink, but when she spoke again he knew he’d rather squirrel himself away upstairs on the top floor, lie on his bed for time out, or sit at his desk and gaze up through the skylight at the night surrounding them.

  ‘The Christmas tree will be here tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s great.’ He said the words but didn’t mean them. Christmas was something that got in the way as far as he was concerned. Along with the bad memories, it was merely commercialism gone wild and although he understood big multinational companies cashing in on the season, all it meant to him was that the office would be quieter and perhaps he could get on top of the backlog of work before everyone came down to earth again in the new year.

  ‘We’re a bit late with it this year,’ she carried on, ‘but I’m assured it will arrive after nine tomorrow, so by the time you come home from work I should have it sorted.’

  Her smile was so genuine he wonder
ed what her Christmases had been like growing up. He wouldn’t mind betting her parents had made it a fun time. There was no way anyone could appear to love it as much as Darcy if they weren’t that way inclined. If she’d grown up with the experiences of the big day in his family she might have a different take on the whole affair.

  ‘Will you be joining us here for Christmas dinner?’ she asked him. ‘It’s just that you haven’t booked in to do so yet, and I don’t want you to miss out.’

  When this place was booked he’d seen an invite in amongst the paraphernalia they’d sent via email that his secretary had printed out. He’d put it to the bottom of the pile and forgotten about it. ‘I hope to, yes.’ He’d be happy to take the meal up to his apartment and treat it like any other day, or rustle something up in the kitchenette in his apartment, but he was trying to make peace. For reasons he wasn’t even sure of himself, he didn’t want to seem like a complete arsehole in front of her.

  ‘Should I write your name down?’

  He nodded. ‘Thanks, I appreciate it. Are many others coming?’ He tried to keep her talking. She seemed to want to end the conversation now the formalities were out of the way.

  Darcy got back to the fireplace. She struck the long match along the side of the box, poked it between the logs and instantly a small flame glowed. She lit the other parts of the firelighter that had been dispersed and then pulled the glass screen down in front. ‘So far we have the six other guests staying here plus another lady from the Upper East side, who’ll join us nearer to Christmas.’ She smiled and for a brief moment she must have forgotten it was him and her expression almost matched the glow from the fire that was taking hold.

  She was an attractive girl. He’d thought the same in London, and he found himself wanting to know more about her. ‘Will you be joining us, or on waitressing duty, or will you be elsewhere?’ His questions were a way to find out more about her, whether she had a significant other who lived here or somewhere else in New York City. But he wished he could turn his curiosity off because it was like prising information from a business associate who played their cards very close to their chest.