by Anita Hughes
“I got your texts. What are you doing in here and what’s the emergency?” Noah burst into the kitchen. “Don’t tell me you hurt yourself! There must be a first-aid kit around here somewhere.”
“It’s nothing like that,” Louisa assured him. “I need you to sample my rice pudding.”
“You sent me a text saying you had an emergency because you wanted me to try a dessert?” He raised his eyebrow.
“It is an emergency. My whole future depends on it.” She waved at the bowls on the counter. “I want you to tell me which rice pudding is better.”
“Why does your whole future depend on two bowls of rice pudding?” he inquired.
“That’s none of your business,” she retorted. “I conducted your silly experiment of wearing sweatpants to Digby’s master class. You can do this for me.”
“This does have something to do with Digby!” Noah exclaimed.
“I may have made a slight miscalculation in my recipe,” she offered. “But I fixed it.”
“All right, I’ll try them.” Noah nodded. “But afterward you have to tell me what happened. If Digby said anything mean, I’m going to have a word with him.”
Louisa handed him a bowl and Noah took a small bite. He tasted the other pudding and placed the bowl on the counter.
“The first pudding is quite good but the texture is lumpy.” He nodded. “It stuck to the roof of my mouth.”
“And the second one?” she asked and held her breath.
“The second one is like a fine cognac,” he mused. “It’s rich and smooth and melts in your throat. It’s the best rice pudding I ever tasted.”
“For a moment I thought you were right, and I wasn’t a good chef at all.” She beamed. “I just used the wrong amount of cream, it could happen to anyone.”
“I never said you weren’t a good chef. I said Digby was too busy admiring your legs in a miniskirt to recognize it,” he corrected. “Of course you look gorgeous in a cocktail dress and stilettos. But it’s when you’re passionate about your baking that you become beautiful.”
“You think I’m beautiful?” Louisa asked in surprise.
“I noticed it the first time we met.” He nodded. “You were explaining how you used molasses in your cinnamon rolls. Your cheeks were flushed and your eyes sparkled, and you were lovelier than a movie star.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” she wondered. “You insisted I get a haircut and have my makeup done and buy a whole new wardrobe.”
“You need those things for television. I did think about it the first day when you were out of sorts.” He grinned. “But it would have gone to your head and you would have been impossible to work with.”
“Well, you’re wrong. I’m not beautiful, my hair is too thin and my eyebrows aren’t even. But I am a good chef.” Louisa finished clearing spices and smoothed her apron.
“I was about to go and see the Christmas tree at Trafalgar Square,” Noah said. “Why don’t you join me?”
“I can’t go now.” She shook her head. “I have to take the pudding to Digby.”
“Leave the pudding in the fridge,” he urged. “The snow almost stopped and Trafalgar Square will be like a winter wonderland.”
“But I’m not even wearing a jacket.” She wavered.
She was tired from making the rice pudding; it would be nice to get some fresh air. And Digby said he was terribly busy, it might be better to take it to him later.
“You can wear mine.” He handed her his jacket. “It won’t take long. You’ll be glad you went.”
The taxi pulled up in front of Trafalgar Square and Louisa gasped. The Christmas tree was more than sixty feet tall and decorated with blue and silver lights.
“Every year, Norway sends a Christmas tree to thank England for its support during World War II,” Noah explained. “Thousands of people gather for the tree-lighting ceremony and there’s ice-skating and caroling.”
“It’s spectacular,” she breathed. The lights were the most beautiful she had seen: bright and luminescent like strands of pearls.
“Do you remember when you kissed me yesterday?” he asked suddenly.
“It was an accident.” She flushed. “I had a glass of brandy and was excited about the cinnamon rolls. It didn’t mean anything.”
“You looked so pretty, all I could think about was kissing you.” He paused. “But I knew it would be a mistake.”
“A mistake?” she wondered.
“We’ll go back to New York and you’ll be working long hours and I’ll spend every minute studying for law school,” he began. “Even if we find time to see each other, we can’t afford to go to dinner or the movies.”
“I thought exactly the same thing.” Louisa nodded vigorously.
“It would be the worst time in our lives to have feelings for each other, so it’s better to stop before we begin.”
Louisa gulped and it was as if the world froze. The lights on the Christmas tree stopped flickering and the ice-skaters stood still, and even the light snow falling on the ground seemed to pause.
“You have feelings for me?” she whispered.
“Why else would I want to kiss you?” he wondered.
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. She kissed him back and inhaled the scent of vanilla and nutmeg.
“What do we do now?” she asked when they pulled apart.
“We go to a pub and get hot apple cider.” He rubbed his hands. “You’re wearing my jacket and I’m freezing.”
* * *
Louisa curled up on the sofa in her suite and tucked her feet under her. It had started snowing again and she decided to take Digby the rice pudding in the morning.
The whole night had been wonderful. She and Noah wandered around Trafalgar Square and sampled mulled wine and hot chocolate. He took her hand when the boys’ choir sang “Silent Night” and she felt festive and happy.
Christmas in London was like being trapped in a fabulous snow globe. But what would happen when they returned to New York? Noah said they would be too busy to see each other, and she wouldn’t let anything get in the way of opening her restaurant.
She couldn’t think about that now. Christmas Eve Dinner was in two days and she had to make sure her croquembouche was perfect. She closed her eyes and tried to picture the golden pastry puffs wrapped in spun sugar. But all she saw was the blue and silver lights on the Christmas tree, and all she could think about was Noah’s lips on her mouth.
Chapter Twelve
KATE SAT AT A TABLE in Claridge’s Reading Room and sipped a cup of Earl Grey tea. It was early evening and the restaurant hummed with activity. Waiters carried platters of rock oysters and couples sipped Bellinis. It felt so festive.
She had been relieved when it started snowing and the day’s filming was canceled. She could relax in her suite and catch up on her e-mails. But the central heating made her sleepy, and her bed was so perfectly made, she’d feel guilty if she took a nap. She finally closed her laptop and took the elevator to the Reading Room.
Trevor hadn’t called all day and she wondered if last night was a mistake. They were two people alone in London at Christmas. Just because they enjoyed each other’s company didn’t mean they should start a relationship.
She recalled all the times she’d called Trevor at St Andrews: at midnight when she couldn’t figure out an algorithm, and at 5:00 a.m. to remind him he had an early-morning chemistry lab, and when her cat died and she needed someone to talk to.
But if she called Trevor now she would be getting herself in deeper. It would be better to treat last night like a pleasant interlude. They had been at Buckingham Palace! It was easy to feel romantic when they passed State Rooms where Prince Philip courted Queen Elizabeth and Charles and Diana gave fabulous balls.
A waiter approached her. He wore a white dinner jacket and carried a phone on a silver tray.
“Miss Crawford, I have a phone call for you.”
“A phone call?” She looked up.
“It’s a gentleman.” He nodded. “He said you were already acquainted.”
She took the phone and wondered if someone at the network was calling from New York.
“Hello?” she said into the receiver.
“You’re harder to track down than a CIA agent.” Trevor’s voice came over the line. “Your phone didn’t answer and the butler knocked on your suite but you weren’t there. I finally asked the concierge to search the hotel for a beautiful blonde with green eyes.”
“I must have left my phone upstairs,” Kate laughed. “I’m drinking tea and contemplating ordering something very British for dinner. I only have two more full days and I haven’t tried the venison Wellington with wilted leaf spinach.”
“Wilted leaf spinach tastes as bad as it sounds. I’d leave the country to avoid eating it,” he warned her. “I hoped we could have dinner together.”
“Where did you have in mind?” she asked.
“It’s snowing so hard it’s impossible to get a cab, and I don’t feel like being surrounded by tourists in Claridge’s dining room.” He paused. “Why don’t we order room service in my suite?”
“That’s not a good idea.” Kate hesitated.
“It’s an innocent invitation,” he persisted. “I can ask the butler to stay, and I promise to behave like a gentleman.”
“If the butler stays I’ll feel like a schoolgirl being watched by the lunch monitor,” she laughed. “All right, I’ll come.”
“I’ll see you at seven.” He paused. “I promise it will be a lovely evening.”
* * *
Kate rang the doorbell of Trevor’s suite and smoothed her skirt. She wore a black cocktail dress and silver pumps.
“Kate.” Trevor opened the door. “You see, this was a good idea. I don’t have to take your coat and there isn’t any snow in your hair.”
She gazed around the living room and her nervousness was replaced by a girlish delight. It was like an illustration in an Eloise book with rounded windows and striped drapes and a baby grand piano. Yellow silk sofas were scattered with pastel cushions and there was a leopard skin rug.
“Goodness!” she exclaimed. “This is nothing like my suite.”
“It’s the Prince Alexander suite, it’s meant for someone with more extravagant tastes,” he said with a sigh. “I keep telling the maids they should take the flowers home but they just smile and bring me more.”
“It’s like the bachelor pads you see in movies,” she said. “The male lead gets divorced and finds himself in a suite at the Plaza with a four-poster bed and mirrored bar.”
“Tell me about your apartment.” He handed her a gin and tonic.
“You want me to describe my apartment?” She frowned.
“I know everything about the Kate from ten years ago, I want to know more about Kate who lives in New York,” he prodded.
“It’s a studio on the Upper East Side,” she said. “The kitchen is the size of the galley kitchens you see on airplanes, and I’m lucky I don’t have time to entertain because there are only two chairs. But it’s three blocks from Central Park and there’s a wonderful coffee roastery on the corner.”
“Kate, I—” Trevor was interrupted by the doorbell. “That must be our dinner. I hope you don’t mind, I ordered for both of us.”
The table was set with green-and-white-striped china. There was a basket of fresh bread and whipped butter. And the food! Platters of Cornish lobster risotto and Parmesan gnocchi. Claridge’s chicken pie with quail’s eggs as the main course with sides of truffle macaroni and cauliflower cheese.
“Do we need all this?” she asked, glancing at the warm apple crumble and crème fraîche cheesecake.
“I didn’t know what you’d like, so I asked them to send a selection,” he admitted. “We can send it all back and just order fish and chips.”
Trevor fiddled with his collar and Kate’s tension disappeared. They might be in a suite with a baby grand piano and view of Hyde Park, but Trevor was still the boy who was completely uninterested in food and could happily exist on a box of crackers.
“It looks delicious.” She smiled. “I’m starving, I can’t wait to start.”
They ate roasted tomato and basil soup and talked about St Andrews and London and New York.
“Do you remember when I’d knock on your door with sausage rolls and Yorkshire pudding?” she asked. “You’d be sitting at your desk with a half-eaten packet of crisps. You wouldn’t even look up, I’d have to threaten to feed you like a preschooler.”
“Eating took up too much time, it was more important to study trigonometry,” he recalled.
“Once I said there was a gas leak to get you to dine in the residence hall,” she said. “I was afraid you’d get scurvy if you didn’t eat some cooked vegetables.”
“That was worse.” He shuddered. “All the other students talking about their summer plans and the internships their parents got them in the city. I was much happier eating a bowl of instant porridge in my room.”
“You didn’t give it a chance,” she insisted. “Everyone was friendly and there were students from all over the world.”
Trevor put down his fork and looked at Kate.
“There were so many things I didn’t know then: that enjoying a thick steak didn’t diminish my desire to succeed, that taking a week’s holiday didn’t mean I wasn’t serious about my work.” He stopped. “But even then I realized there was nothing more important than being with the person who made me happy.”
Kate reached for her wineglass and her sleeve got stuck in her necklace. She tried to loosen it, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Let me help,” he offered.
His fingers brushed her neck and she sucked in her breath. Her sleeve came free and he turned her face toward him. His lips were soft and she tasted butter and wine.
“Kate,” he whispered. “I want you so much.”
“I want you too, but it’s not a good idea.” She pulled away. “It’s better if we stop now.”
“I’ve always listened to you: when you insisted I go home for my parents’ twenty-fifth anniversary a week before finals, and when you said I couldn’t meet the recruiter from Credit Suisse without wearing a tie.” He gulped his wine. “But I’m looking at the girl with the blond ponytail and golden tan I fell in love with and we’re finally together.” He waved at the bedroom. “Why shouldn’t we take advantage of a king-sized bed with fitted Frette sheets?”
“I was looking out for your best interests. Your parents would have been devastated if you missed their anniversary, and I took notes for you in class. And the recruiter from Credit Suisse might have offered you a job, you couldn’t show up in a T-shirt and jeans.” She fiddled with her pearls. “What if it doesn’t work out and we lose everything we gained?”
“You are the girl who flew five thousand miles to attend university on a different continent. You moved to New York without knowing a soul and got a job in television.” He touched her cheek. “You taught me the most important thing: sometimes you have to be brave and take a chance.”
Music drifted over the stereo and Kate couldn’t think of a single reason not to kiss him.
She reached up and kissed him on the mouth. His hands stroked her dress and every nerve in her body tingled.
“You have to see the bedroom.” He took her hand and led her down a short hallway.
The bedroom had a canopied bed and striped wallpaper and love seats upholstered in red velvet. There were Tiffany lamps and an art deco mirror. A painting in a gold frame hung over the fireplace and there was a terrace overlooking Hyde Park.
“We can’t make love here,” she laughed, feeling young and giddy. “It would be like having sex on a movie set. Someone is going to yell ‘cut’ and the whole place will disappear.”
“It’s completely real.” Trevor grinned. “You can test out the bed.”
“If I try the bed do you promise to behave yourself?” She slipped off her pumps and climbed onto the bed.
<
br /> Trevor sat beside her and whispered, “I definitely don’t promise to behave myself.”
He unzipped her dress and pulled it over her head. His mouth traveled over her body and the pleasure welled up inside her.
“Are you sure?” he murmured.
“I’m sure now.” She nodded and lay on the quilted bedspread.
He lay beside her and stroked her breasts. His fingers made circles on her nipples and she turned and kissed him slowly on the mouth. He kissed her deeply and their bodies intertwined.
God, it felt wonderful! She wanted to stay that way forever. Then he pressed against her and she longed to have him inside her. Trevor rolled on top of her and covered her body with his. He pushed in deeper and the warm glow became a liquid center. Her body opened and the luxurious waves started.
She gripped his shoulders and he wrapped his arms around her. Suddenly he groaned and fell against her breasts. The throbbing was so intense; she closed her eyes and wanted it to last forever.
Kate padded to the bathroom and poured a glass of water. She felt a new excitement, like a child attending a birthday party. Was she really falling in love and did Trevor feel the same? She peered out the window and the snow in Hyde Park resembled the softest mink coat. She placed the glass on the marble counter and climbed back into bed.
* * *
Kate sat in the living room of her suite and fiddled with a teacup. It was almost midnight and she didn’t really feel like tea. But brandy might give her a headache, and if she drank coffee, she’d never fall asleep.
She’d told Trevor she had an early-morning meeting and returned to her suite. It had all been so perfect: the room service dinner of tender chicken and red wine and then making love in the canopied bed. She didn’t want anything to spoil it.
God, she had forgotten the pleasure of sex! But she was leaving London in three days and Trevor wasn’t even divorced. She couldn’t pine for him like a girl who had nothing to do except write letters to a boy she met at summer camp.
That was the problem with sex: it heightened everything. Fruit tasted sweeter and the sky seemed bluer and you thought you were the luckiest person in the world.