Christmas at Tiffany's

by Karen Swan

  ‘Henry?’ Bas asked, palms outstretched. ‘And who – pray tell – is he? And why am I only hearing about him now?’ He gasped suddenly and leant forward. ‘Is he the reason you’re playing it so cool with Coody?’

  ‘Don’t call him that!’ Cassie said, annoyed. She poured more tea.

  ‘Sorry,’ he soothed. ‘But who’s Henry?’

  ‘Henry’s no one, an old family friend. He’s just Suzy’s little brother. He’s an explorer, you know.’

  Bas shook his head. ‘No. I didn’t know. I didn’t know there was any such thing these days.’

  ‘Me neither. But there you go.’ She blew gentle ripples on the surface of her tea. ‘Anyway, he always draws up a list of things to do every time he goes somewhere new, to try to get the essence of the place, you know?’

  Bas nodded, taking in her earnest expression.

  ‘So he did one for me, and it says I’ve got to throw a dinner party – from Kelly’s kitchen.’

  ‘Tch. He’s obviously never stood in it.’ Bas shook his head. ‘What else did this list say?’

  ‘Ummm, go to the public library . . . run round Central Park . . .’ She and Bas pulled faces at each other. ‘I know. Visit Ground Zero – which I’ve done. That’s where it all kicked off for me and Luke,’ she said, a dreamy smile coming over her face as she remembered the way he’d chased after her that morning, clicking away as she’d run nude across the apartment to the bathroom.

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Pretty much,’ Cassie shrugged. ‘The last one just said I had to get to Paris no matter what.’

  Bas threw his hands up in the air in disgust. ‘Hate him! I totally hate him!’

  ‘You’d love him. If you ever met him, you’d love him,’ Cassie insisted from behind her tea cup. ‘He looks phenomenal in his boxers!’

  Bas’s jaw dropped. ‘And how do you know that?’

  ‘It’s not like that, Bas. I just told you – he’s Suzy’s little brother. He’s practically my little brother. No!’

  Bas looked at her from beneath raised eyebrows. ‘You’re the one that brought up the sight of him in his boxers.’

  ‘Tch.’

  ‘There’s no use in getting all huffy on me.’ He drank his own tea. ‘Anyway, you do realize Thanksgiving is all about the turkey? I hope you’re good with turkey?’

  ‘Actually, I was thinking of going one better than that,’ Cassie said, arching one eyebrow. ‘I figure if I’m going to actually do this, then I may as well go the whole banana. I’m going to do Thanksgiving my way.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘Tell me you’re kidding,’ Bas gasped, looking pale for once as he scanned the deflated birds laid out in descending order on the tiny, metre-long worktop. The turkey’s left leg and wing were dangling precariously over the side.

  Cassie shook her head, hands on hips.

  ‘And where are we supposed to work, given that the birds are completely filling up the kitchen?’

  ‘Well, we’ll have a whole lot more room in a minute,’ Cassie said, opening the small fridge she’d bought and which was sitting out in the hall area. ‘And look, I’ve already made the stuffing. Smell that.’ She held a bowl up to Bas’s face, but he recoiled as if he was expecting her to hit him with it.

  ‘Isn’t it gorgeous? Minced pork, goose fat, herbs, mace, chopped apple and cranberry. Mmmmm.’

  Bas looked sceptical. He couldn’t stop looking at the birds. ‘And you’re seriously telling me you’re going to be able to get all those birds into each other, like babushka dolls?’

  ‘Mm-hmm.’ Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, her hair pinned up in rollers. It was three in the afternoon and Kelly, Brett and Lou had been told Bill wouldn’t be granting them entry before eight o’clock. ‘I’ve already deboned them, look.’ She stepped on the pedal bin and Bas looked down, bracing himself.

  ‘Ewww!’ he said, jumping back. ‘It’s like archaeological dig meets slasher movie.’

  ‘You can’t be feeble about it,’ Cassie said, walking over to the smallest bird and beginning to fill it with the stuffing so that it regained its shape again. ‘This is where I need your help.’

  ‘I thought you said I was just doing the wine.’

  ‘Yes, I might have lied about that,’ Cassie said, reaching for the pheasant. ‘Now, come and hold this in position for me whilst I stitch.’

  Bas moved towards her slowly. ‘You have checked no one’s vegetarian, right?’

  Cassie gave him a sidelong grin as the doorbell rang.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Bas asked. ‘Not loverboy, I hope. You said there would be no conjugal visits today.’

  ‘It’s Cupid.’ She looked up, mischief all over her face. ‘You’d better get that, Bas. Things have stepped up somewhat since we spoke last.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ he asked warily.

  ‘Answer the door and I’ll tell you.’

  Luke arrived bang on the hour, a half case of Château Margaux in his arms that was even more expensive than the camera swinging from his shoulder. He was wearing a black sports jacket and grey cable-knit rollneck that Cassie vowed to pinch next time she stayed over.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he murmured in her ear, his hands shimmying up her body as Bas deplored the coloured tumblers – which looked like they’d been pinched from a kindergarten – that he was going to have to decant the Margaux into.

  Bas had done a fine job of decorating the rest of the apartment as Cassie got on with preparing the vegetables and pudding. An absolutely enormous display of pink roses, vanilla chrysanthemums and night-scented stocks was positioned on the coffee table, and he had lit tiny Moorish tealights along the shelves so that the room flickered with milky light. Nat King Cole crooned softly from the iPod docking station, Cassie’s baby lawn had been moved to centre stage away from the cold windows (her nod to the dinner’s countryside theme), and he’d even polished the silver frames that housed Kelly’s favourite photographs – Kelly on Southampton beach aged eighteen months, with her father planting a bucket on her head; her parents on their wedding day in Nantucket; her little twin sisters blowing out the candles on their sixth birthday cake; Suzy and Archie running out of church together in tails and taffeta, hands held, confetti flying; and, of course, the picture they all had a copy of – Kelly, Cassie, Suzy and Anouk lying on a bed together in striped pyjamas with braced teeth and plump cheeks, crying with laughter at the camera – their first night at boarding school together. It had been one of the few things Cassie had had the presence of mind to pack as she left Gil.

  Kelly and Brett rocked up just as they were moving on to the second bottle, Kelly looking a vision in a black silk blouse and heavily embroidered matador trousers. Cassie was wearing boots and a plum-coloured dress with polo-neck, long sleeves and a cutaway back which Luke just couldn’t keep his hand from, tracing secret messages like ‘let’s go to bed’ with his fingers.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re actually cooking in my kitchen,’ Kelly said, coming to join her after a while. ‘It’s like I’ve entered a parallel universe.’ She peered inside the oven, somewhat amused to find the light on inside and the Thanksgiving feast just about ready. ‘Where did you put my jumpers?’

  ‘In your room.’

  ‘It’ll be a while before I can put them back in here, I guess. How long do turkey smells linger for, do you think?’

  ‘Long enough to permeate cashmere. Besides, it’s not just turkey in there. There’s goose, chicken, pheasant and pigeon as well. You don’t want to smell of pigeon.’

  Kelly stared at her, astonished. ‘You’ve got all that going on in my little oven?’ She bent over again and stared in at the browning birds. ‘Will it cope?’

  ‘Will I, you mean? Honestly, when I get my hands on Henry . . .’ She took another glug of the wine. ‘He’s got a perverse sense of humour. I had to soak the potatoes in the bath, the carrots in the sink and the parsnips in the . . . you know.’

  There was a horrified silen
ce.

  ‘Not the . . . !’ Kelly gasped.

  ‘No!’ Cassie chuckled. ‘They went in with the carrots – just – but I was seriously eyeing up the fish tank, I tell you. There was nowhere else to go.’

  ‘Well, you didn’t have to make it quite so hard on yourself, doing a five-bird roast. I mean, what’s wrong with a pasta bake?’

  Cassie rolled her eyes. ‘Even students would look down on that, Kell. Besides, this was my speciality back –’ She stopped herself from saying ‘home’. ‘Back in Scotland. I rustled these babies up every week in the shooting season. I had to. Cook couldn’t be trusted. On one shoot we cut into it and found a miniature of Gordon’s in the woodcock.’ She paused for a moment, treasuring the memory of Gil’s face.

  ‘Can I do anything to –’ Kelly looked around the destroyed kitchen, immaculate in her black shirt and trousers – ‘help?’

  Cassie wrinkled her nose at the polite but insincere offer. ‘Just ask Bas to take the flowers off the table now. I’m going to serve up. We’re going to be kneeling, I’m afraid – that an option in those trousers?’

  ‘Kneeling at a dinner party? Henry didn’t have that in mind.’

  ‘Knowing Henry, he probably did.’

  Everyone whooped with delight as Cassie carried the bird to the coffee table, her arms trembling slightly with the strain. It weighed nigh on 30 pounds, and with all the trimmings as well, it was all she could do not to thump it down like a weight.

  Luke jumped up to help her, positioning it safely in the middle of the table and taking the opportunity to ‘kiss the chef’, which elicited more whoops of delight.

  ‘Who’s carving?’ he asked, fork and knife in his hands as Cassie brought through the hot plates.

  ‘I will,’ Brett said, sharpening the knife against the fork with a flourish, the blades flashing. He was casually dressed in navy chinos, a blue Oxford shirt and orange Ralph Lauren V-neck, and Cassie noticed how Kelly’s eyes followed him everywhere. When they sat, it was with legs touching. When they talked, it was with eyes locked. When they laughed, it was together. Her friend was a goner.

  Within minutes, the plates were heaped with food and the scented candles completely overwhelmed by the aroma of gravy and peppery red wine. Brett stood up to say grace, and as Cassie closed her eyes, his voice faded away and she was back in the dining room at Lammermuir, the dusty deer staring down from the walls, huge bunches of heather picked from the moors arranged at the windows, an aromatic peat-fire in the ancient fireplace throwing out ferocious heat and making the cut-crystal twinkle in its glow. And Gil, his mellifluous voice soft against the harsh laughter and boorish shouts of the shoot dinner as he told an elegant joke – or maybe a filthy one, just told elegantly . . .

  ‘You okay?’ She felt a warm hand on her back.

  She opened her eyes. Everyone was looking at her. Luke was scanning her face.

  ‘Sorry – what?’

  Kelly glanced at Bas, concerned. ‘Brett just raised a toast to you and Bas for putting this together. It’s absolutely wonderful, Cass – thank you.’

  Everyone raised their glasses. ‘Hear, hear.’

  ‘Although,’ Kelly said, looking from her plate to everyone else’s, ‘why have I got the smallest bird? Is it the woodcock?’

  ‘Pigeon.’

  ‘Why have I got the entire pigeon and everyone else has got the medley?’

  Brett winked at her. ‘Because it’s got the tenderest flesh. Carver’s prerogative. Why else do you think I offered?’

  Kelly tipped her head to the side, touched, and everyone tucked in. Nat King Cole had segued into Ella Fitzgerald, and were it not for the fact that they were eating their roast sitting cross-legged on sofa cushions on the floor, they could have been anywhere but the centre of Manhattan. The room glittered like a jewel with the tealights, and the conversation bubbled and hummed along with the clatter of cutlery and bursts of laughter.

  ‘Oh!’ Kelly said after a while. ‘I thought this was boned.’

  ‘What’s wrong? Hit gold?’ Bas asked, drinking his wine. His lips had stained to the colour of port, and in the gathering dark, his eyes beamed out against his tan. He looked drunk but happy, and for once didn’t look like he was thinking about Stefano.

  ‘Wouldn’t that be nice,’ Kelly said, trying to winkle the bone out with her fork. ‘That would solve a few problems.’

  ‘Maybe it’s the wishbone,’ Luke said, looking at Cassie. ‘She could make a wish, right?’

  Cassie frowned. ‘Does a pigeon have a wishbone? Do you know, I’m not sure.’ A small light suddenly shone in her eye, making her wince. She moved away as the light bounced around the table, darting from one person to the next, like Tinkerbell on day-release from the bell jar.

  The gasp that followed drew all eyes to Kelly. A diamond solitaire was dangling on the prongs of her fork, and Brett, thanks to the shortcomings of the apartment’s dining facilities, was already, conveniently, on his knees.

  ‘I know it’s only been a couple of months,’ he began.

  ‘Ten weeks last Thursday . . .’ Kelly murmured. ‘But I’m not . . . you know, counting.’

  Brett shook his head at her. ‘Well, it’s been the longest ten weeks of my life, wondering how long I had to hold out for before enough time had passed for me to acceptably do this. But I just can’t wait another day, Kelly. I knew the moment I saw you shielding Cassie like some . . . bodyguard. I just knew you were the one.’

  His voice wobbled, and he coughed to try and regain some composure. Then he took the ring off the fork, quickly dunking it in his water glass. ‘Thank God it’s platinum,’ he murmured. ‘God knows what temperatures it got up to in the middle of five birds.’ Everyone chuckled, as he polished it with his napkin.

  He looked at Kelly again and everyone else was forgotten.

  ‘Kelly Emma Hartford . . . will you make me the happiest man alive and agree to be my wife?’

  There was a deafening silence – Bas had grabbed the remote as soon as she’d started fishing for the wishbone – as Kelly beamed back at him, the answer never in doubt.

  ‘There’s only one thing to say to that,’ Kelly whispered, a smile on her lips and a tremor in her voice. ‘What’s taken you so long?’

  ‘Is that a yes?’ he croaked.

  Kelly wrapped her arms around him. ‘Just try and stop me.’

  Cassie and Bas yelled with joy, jumping around the apartment, arms around each other as the two lovers kissed until they came up for air and were mobbed as well. And in the background, Luke’s camera whirred and click-click-clicked, capturing the happiest Thanksgiving day ever for posterity.

  ‘You realize those will be the best engagement photos of all time,’ Cassie slurred happily, her arm locked through his. They were walking back to his apartment downtown – a formidable forty-eight-block walk, but Cassie was craving some fresh air after a day spent cooped up in the kitchenette.

  ‘I know,’ Luke smiled. ‘I’ll give them the set as an engagement present.’

  ‘The girls will go nuts. Nooks because it’ll mean a fabulous new dress; Suzy will just be panicking because it’s so soon.’

  ‘Yeah, but she hasn’t seen them together. She’d be fine if she did. They’re clearly meant for each other.’

  Cassie nudged him in the ribs. ‘Who knew you were such a romantic,’ she teased. ‘Don’t tell me you believe in destiny.’

  Luke looked down at her. ‘Of course I do. Doesn’t everybody?’

  Cassie stared at the yellow taxi cabs chuntering stop-start down Park Avenue. It was two in the morning but as busy as if it had been twelve hours earlier, truly earning its name as the city that never slept. The only people in bed were the under-tens. Everyone was in party spirit.

  ‘No,’ she shrugged. ‘I don’t.’

  Luke stopped walking. ‘You don’t believe that there’s someone out there who’s destined to be with you – and you alone?’

  Cassie shook her head. ‘Nope.’ She sighe
d, trying to smile. ‘Not any more.’

  ‘So what do you believe in, then?’

  ‘I don’t believe in anything – fate, destiny, serendipity. Call it what you will. It’s all just sentimentality for justifying the choices we make and choose to live with.’

  ‘I never had you down as cynical.’

  ‘I’m not saying I don’t believe in love. I just don’t believe that there’s only one person we’re supposed to live our lives with. I mean, I think we can love various people in our lives – it just comes down to timing and circumstance when you decide to finally quit the search and say, “Okay, I’ll stop with you. You can be The One for me.”’

  ‘Wow,’ Luke said softly after a moment, stroking her cheek with his hand. ‘I bet you didn’t think that three months ago.’

  Cassie looked away. She hated seeing the pity in his eyes. ‘Well of course not. You don’t stay in a marriage for ten years if you don’t fully believe that your life belongs with that person.’ She gave a derisive laugh. ‘Although obviously Gil managed it.’ She breathed out slowly.

  After a moment she looked back up at him, her poise recovered. ‘But look at me now. I’m living in New York, working in the fashion industry, for God’s sake, enjoying a delicious affair with a renowned and highly disreputable photographer. I didn’t see that coming three months ago either.’ She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. ‘I am living proof that there’s no such thing as destiny.’

  Luke, drawn though he was by her kiss, pulled away.

  ‘And what if this – your life out here, with me – this is your destiny? What if you made a mistake marrying Gil? Maybe I’ve been waiting all these years for his secret to come out so that you would be propelled over here and into my arms. What about looking at it that way, huh?’

  Cassie laughed. ‘It’s a nice thought,’ she giggled. ‘But I don’t think so. You can hardly wait for the bath to run.’ She tickled him in the sides and he laughed with her.

  ‘I’ll tell you one thing I definitely can’t wait for,’ he said suddenly, shooting out his arm to hail a passing cab. ‘I can’t wait to get you back to bed.’ And he grabbed her hand, pulling her into a run, determined not to lose another second.