A Winter Wonderland

by Fern Michaels

  “Of course it’s real,” Toni replied, giving her wavy blond hair a toss. “I saw it in the window at the Chanel store. I can tell the difference between a genuine Chanel bag and a knockoff and I’m surprised you can’t.”

  Elizabeth shrugged and tucked her short, dark hair behind her ears. “If it’s real, it’s the only genuine thing about her. Her hair’s bleached, and I bet she’s had quite a bit of work done.” She gazed across the vast, luxuriously appointed lobby—where a round gilt and marble table with an enormous display of pink poinsettias was centered beneath a fabulous crystal chandelier—and through the glass doors, where the sun was shining brightly on a flower bed filled with colorful tropical plants. She shook her head. “I’ve been in Florida for almost six months and I’m still not used to this weather. Eighty-two degrees and sunny—can you believe it’s almost Christmas?”

  “Uh, yeah,” Toni said, winding a lock of hair around her finger. “They put the poinsettias and amaryllis plants in the lobby weeks ago.” She’d lived in Florida her entire life and didn’t find the climate the least bit odd, unlike Elizabeth, who had grown up in Tinker’s Cove, a small town located on the coast of Maine. “Don’t tell me you miss the snow—most people come to Florida to get away from the cold winters up north.”

  Elizabeth hit a few keys on her computer and went to a favorite site. “It’s twenty-five and snowing in Tinker’s Cove,” she said. “Looks like we’re going to have a white Christmas.”

  Toni looked over her shoulder at the live-cam image showing a lighthouse with snow swirling all around it and rough surf crashing on the rugged gray rocks below. “I don’t get it,” she said. “Why do you want to go there for Christmas?”

  Elizabeth smiled. “It’s home. There’ll be tree trimming and carol singing. . . .”

  “You can do that here.”

  “It’s not the same,” Elizabeth said. “You have to go caroling in the snow and have hot chocolate afterward, in front of a roaring fire.”

  “I’d rather have a chilled martini on a deck overlooking the ocean, watching the sunset.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “That’s nice, too, but Christmas is about family. I miss my mom and dad and my sisters and my brother and especially my little nephew, Patrick. He’s almost three now and he’s very excited about Santa Claus.”

  “Well, you’ve only got to wait a little more than two weeks and you’ll be on your way, flying north.” She shivered. “Personally, I think you’re crazy to take your vacation in December. The hotel’s really busy at Christmas and I’m going to be keeping an eye out for Mr. Right.”

  “Tell me, again, what makes him Mr. Right?” Elizabeth urged.

  “Well, he has to be tall, and good-looking, and sweet, really considerate,” said Toni, just as a very ugly, very short man came through the revolving door, dressed head to toe in Ralph Lauren resort wear and sporting an enormous gold watch on a very hairy wrist. “But I’ll be willing to overlook all that if he’s rich,” she added, under her breath as she pasted on a smile. “Welcome to the Cavendish, Mr. Moore. It’s so nice to see you again.”

  “It’s nice to be back,” he replied. “This place feels like home. I don’t know how you do it but I know I’m going to find my bags waiting for me in my room, there’ll be an extra-firm pillow on my bed with a sugar-free chocolate, and my favorite low-cal beer is going to be in the minibar.”

  “That’s our little secret,” Toni said. “Is it the same Visa account?”

  “No, no.” Mr. Moore produced an American Express platinum card. “I’ve got a new one.”

  “Very well.” Toni was clicking away at her keyboard, adding the new information to the extensive database the Cavendish chain maintained about all its customers. That database, envied throughout the entire hospitality industry, allowed Cavendish employees to provide top notch service personally tailored to every guest, and was the reason why Mr. Moore found that extra-firm pillow, sugar-free chocolate, and light beer waiting for him in his room. “Have a pleasant stay,” Toni said, handing him the key card. “Room three-oh-five, overlooking the pool.”

  “See?” he asked Elizabeth, holding up the key card. “My favorite room. You guys take better care of me than my wife does.”

  “It’s our pleasure,” she said. “Just give us a call if there’s anything we can do for you.”

  “Right-o,” he said, giving them a little salute with his key card and making his way to the elevator, pausing here and there to admire the blooming orchids and other holiday decorations.

  “You know why he likes room three-oh-five, don’t you?” Toni asked.

  “The view of the pool?” Elizabeth suggested.

  “Think again. It’s not the pool, it’s the women in skimpy swimsuits.”

  “So Mr. Moore is a bit of a voyeur,” said Elizabeth, giggling, just as the hotel manager, Sergei Dimitri, came out of his office, which was located behind the reception desk.

  Mr. Dimitri was a neat, middle-aged man with slicked back hair, a small mustache, and a pronounced French accent. Guests adored him, frequently commenting on his warm smile and accommodating nature, but staff members had a somewhat less favorable opinion of him. “Ladies, ladies, how many times must I warn you not to talk about the guests? They pay your salaries, remember that.”

  “Of course, Mr. Dimitri,” Toni said with an innocent expression.

  His gaze rested on Elizabeth. “I’m surprised at you, Elizabeth. I don’t want to have to place you on probation.”

  Elizabeth didn’t like the sound of that—employees who were on probation could not take vacation time. “Oh, please no, Mr. Dimitri,” she said. “I’m terribly sorry.”

  Mr. Dimitri’s eyes were hard, like round black buttons, and his mustache bristled. “You’ve been warned. Don’t let it happen again.”

  “Oh, it won’t,” she said. “I promise.”

  “And don’t forget,” he told them, “there’s a staff meeting this afternoon, when your shift ends.”

  Elizabeth felt like groaning, but restrained the impulse. Staff meetings were held off the clock, on employees’ own time, and she had been planning to spend the evening digging her cold-weather clothes out of storage, in anticipation of her vacation.

  “We’ll be there,” Toni said. “Never fear.”

  “Good,” Mr. Dimitri said, spying an elderly guest exiting the elevator, looking a bit lost. “Mrs. Fahnstock,” he cooed, hurrying toward her. “What can I do for you?”

  Mrs. Fahnstock’s wrinkled face immediately brightened. “Oh, Mr. Dimitri, how lovely to see you.”

  “Is something the matter, dear lady?”

  “Well, this is so silly of me, but I’m supposed to meet my friend, Doris, and I can’t seem to find the Victorian Tea Room. Has it been moved?” she asked, furrowing her brow.

  “Never fear, these corridors can be confusing.” Mr. Dimitri snapped his fingers. “Elizabeth, please escort Mrs. Fahnstock to the Victorian Tea Room.”

  Elizabeth hurried across the thickly carpeted space and Mrs. Fahnstock’s look of befuddlement was replaced with a serene smile. “You’re such a darling to help me,” she said.

  “It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Fahnstock,” Elizabeth said, taking her arm. “Now if you’ll just come this way I’m sure we’ll find your friend waiting for you.”

  Mr. Dimitri stood watching, a thoughtful expression on his face, as Elizabeth escorted the elderly guest through the spacious lobby, which was dotted with numerous luxuriously appointed seating areas. He noticed with approval the way she matched her pace to the old woman’s, and kept up a lively conversation as they proceeded along the paneled and carpeted corridor leading to the tea room.

  The hotel’s largest function room, the Bougainvillea Room, was packed with employees when Elizabeth and Toni arrived, and everybody was talking, expressing different expectations about the staff meeting.

  “Bonuses . . . holiday bonuses. I’m sure they’re going to announce bonuses,” Toni said, taking a seat next to Kie
ran, one of the doormen.

  “Don’t be daft,” Kieran said gloomily. “Layoffs. It’s this recession, don’t you see? They’re going to cut staff. The hotel’s got something like five hundred rooms and more than fifteen hundred employees. Do the math.”

  “Nonsense,” said Ada, one of the housekeepers. She was wearing the lavender shirtwaist dress with a white lace collar that all the housekeepers wore. “The rich are doing just fine, there’s no recession for them, and that’s who comes to this hotel. The one percent.”

  “If you ask me, occupancy’s been down,” Kieran insisted. “I know my tips are.”

  “Maybe it’s something about the health insurance plan,” Elizabeth said, following her mother Lucy’s oft-expressed advice not to panic until you had to.

  “There aren’t any charts or books,” Toni observed, indicating the single podium in the front of the room. “Wouldn’t there be stuff like that if it’s only a new health plan?”

  Elizabeth suspected her friend was right and her heart gave a little jump when Mr. Dimitri appeared and took his place, tapping the microphone. “Attention, attention,” he said. “I promise to be brief.”

  The room quieted as everyone waited to hear what he had to say; a few fingers were crossed, and a few people were holding their breath.

  “I see some anxious faces,” he began with a laugh. “Well, you can relax. I have good news.”

  The employees who were holding their breath exhaled, some even chuckled.

  “I have the pleasure of announcing that our hotel has been chosen for a great honor—the entire hotel has been booked by Wall Street financier Jonah Gruber for a Christmas extravaganza for six hundred of his closest friends.”

  Mr. Dimitri nodded, waiting for the employees to absorb this information. While not exactly ecstatic, everyone seemed interested, wondering what the extravaganza meant for them personally. Elizabeth found herself feeling a bit let down since the event would most likely take place during her vacation and she’d miss it. She almost wished she could stay to see all the famous people who would be attending.

  “The highlight of this four-day celebration will be a fantastic black-tie dinner dance, the Blingle Bells Ball, at which Mr. Gruber’s wife, the lovely cinema star Noelle Jones, will wear the amazing ruby and emerald Imperial Parure. You may remember that Mr. Gruber bought the parure, which was originally created for Empress Marie Louise, at auction for forty-seven million dollars.”

  Finally, Mr. Dimitri got the reaction he wanted: there was a collective gasp from the assembled employees.

  “That’s correct, forty-seven million dollars. Needless to say, security will be a top concern. And that is why I would like to turn this meeting over to our security director, Dan Wrayburn.”

  Wrayburn, who had been standing to the side of the room, came forward. He was a stocky, muscular man in early middle age with a gray brush cut, and he had the easy, bouncing movement of a former boxer but rumor had it he was actually ex-FBI.

  “My top concern—and yours, too—is the safety of our guests,” Wrayburn began, his eyes moving restlessly over the group. “This event will bring extra challenges, not only because of the presence of the valuable jewels, but also because the guest list will include European royalty, celebrities, politicians, even the First Lady. All of these high-profile people are potential targets for crimes ranging from simple theft to kidnapping. I am asking you all to remain vigilant—you are the first line against criminal activity. You must keep your eyes and ears open and report anything, anything at all, that appears suspicious to you. If you see something, say something.”

  Everyone nodded in agreement and Wrayburn cracked a grin. “I’ll be issuing more specific instructions in the future, so for now I’ll turn things back to Mr. Dimitri. But first let me say I have every confidence that together we can make this a safe and secure celebration for our guests.”

  Elizabeth nudged Toni. “Sounds like you’ll have some prime husband-hunting opportunities.”

  To her surprise, Toni didn’t look pleased. “Don’t count on it. We’re all going to be under a microscope. And believe me, if anything goes wrong—and something will, count on it—we’re the ones who will be blamed.”

  Mr. Dimitri was again tapping the microphone, demanding silence. “Thank you, Mr. Wrayburn. I know I can count on you all to cooperate with Mr. Wrayburn’s plans for security. And now, just one more thing before you go. . . .”

  There was suddenly an air of tension in the room; they all knew Mr. Dimitri’s habit of delivering bad news just before he ended a meeting.

  “All vacations scheduled for the rest of the month are canceled—we need all hands on deck to prepare for this special event.”

  It hit Elizabeth like a hammer. No vacation! No white Christmas! No little Patrick, squealing with delight at the presents under the tree.

  “Too bad,” Toni said, sympathizing.

  “Yeah,” Elizabeth said, remembering another favorite expression of her mother’s: be careful what you wish for. For a moment, only a moment, she’d wished she wouldn’t be missing seeing all the famous people—and now she’d gotten that wish.

  “Cheer up,” Toni urged. “We’ll have fun. You’ll see.”

  “I guess it could be worse,” Elizabeth grumbled, joining the crowd of employees flowing through the doors. Absorbed in disappointment, she didn’t notice Mr. Dimitri until he tapped her on the arm.

  “A word, please, Elizabeth.”

  Her eyes met Toni’s in a shared look of dismay, then she followed Mr. Dimitri to his office, certain she was about to be fired, or at the very least, placed on probation. Things weren’t going her way today, that was for sure. She never should have made that remark about Mr. Moore.

  “Sit down, Elizabeth,” he urged, shutting the door after they stepped into the room and seating himself behind his desk.

  Elizabeth obeyed, bracing herself for the bad news. No matter what happened, she vowed, she wasn’t going to cry. And if she got fired, well, she’d be able to go home for Christmas.

  “You’ve been noticed,” he said, smiling.

  What a sadist, Elizabeth thought. He was actually enjoying this.

  “Your excellent work has been noticed.”

  Elizabeth sat up straighter. What the heck was going on?

  “You may have noticed that our assistant concierge, Annemarie, has been on sick leave. She called today and told me she has Epstein-Barr and won’t be able to return for at least four weeks.”

  “My sister had that once,” Elizabeth said. “That’s too bad.”

  “Indeed,” Mr. Dimitri said. “And Annemarie’s absence at this busy time of year poses a problem for us. I’ve discussed the matter with the head concierge, Mr. Kronenberg, and he agrees with me that you should take her place.”

  This wasn’t what she’d been expecting and Elizabeth struggled to process this new information. For a moment she pictured herself sitting at Annemarie’s curvy little French desk in an alcove off the lobby, impressing guests with her knowledge and expertise. Or not, she thought, assailed by doubt. Did she really have the skills and experience the job required? She was still learning to find her way around Palm Beach. But, she realized, brightening, this might be a genuine opportunity. And Mr. Dimitri wouldn’t have suggested it if he didn’t have confidence in her abilities.

  Finally, she spoke. “I’m very flattered,” she said. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Good,” he said. “You can start tomorrow.”

  Elizabeth was seated at Annemarie’s desk the next morning, waiting impatiently for Toni’s arrival. She couldn’t wait to see her friend’s reaction, and Toni didn’t disappoint when she took her place at the reception desk. Her eyes rounded in astonishment when she spotted Elizabeth and she hurried right over.

  “What’s this?” she asked. “Did you get a promotion?”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “It’s temporary. Annemarie’s got Epstein-Barr.”

  “Lucky you.”

  �
��We’ll see. I feel like a fake. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

  Toni grinned. “Just pretend,” she said in parting, dashing back to her post when she spotted the head concierge, Walter Kronenberg, stepping out of the elevator and heading in Elizabeth’s direction. He was a tall man with gray hair brushed straight back; from his stiff, formal manner Elizabeth suspected he might be a retired military officer.

  She stood up to greet him, and said, “I’m very honored to take Annemarie’s place. I know it’s a challenging job but I’m a fast learner and a hard worker.”

  “Very well, Elizabeth,” he said. “Now we must get to work. You have a lot to learn, and we’re under pressure with the Gruber event in just two weeks.” He sat down in her chair, indicating she should take one of the chairs provided for guests and sit beside him. “First of all, you need the computer password.”

  Elizabeth knew that concierges had a higher level of access to the Cavendish data bank and was interested to see what information was now available to her.

  “I must warn you, all of this information is highly confidential. We don’t want to be reading in the National Enquirer that one of our guests has a passion for cashew nuts.”

  Elizabeth was tempted to giggle but stifled the impulse; she didn’t think Mr. Kronenberg was joking. “Of course not,” she said with a serious nod, watching as he wrote the password on a slip of paper.

  “Got it?” he asked, and when she nodded, he tore the paper into tiny bits, which he pocketed.