Christmas in London

by Anita Hughes

  “Then why were you so upset?” She remembered Noah storming out of Selfridges. “You were like a boy who broke his favorite train set and wanted to blame someone else.”

  “Digby is handsome and charismatic. Women flock to him like shoppers to a Saks after-Christmas sale.” He stopped and looked at Louisa. “I’m falling in love with you and I was afraid he would sweep you off your feet.”

  “You’re falling in love with me?” Her fork froze in midair.

  “I told you I had feelings for you,” he reminded her gently.

  “Having feelings for someone can mean lots of things,” she mused. “That you like spending time together, or are hopelessly attracted or think about the person when you’re apart.” She hesitated. “But falling in love is different.”

  “I do like being together, and I want to do more than just kiss you, and I think about you all the time.” He nodded. “But you’re right, falling in love is different. It gets in the way of your work and keeps you awake at night, and sometimes makes you say things you regret. But I don’t want to fight it, unless you think I should.”

  “Should what?” She felt like she was back on the carousel at Hyde Park. All Noah’s words were delightful but when he stopped talking she felt dizzy.

  “Falling in love might be inconvenient. But I’m not going to fight it if there’s a chance you feel the same.”

  Louisa cut her omelet as if she was a surgeon performing a delicate operation. She swallowed a piece and her heart hammered in her chest.

  “Yes,” she breathed. “There is certainly a chance.”

  “Good,” he said and ate another bite of muffin. “Because if there wasn’t, I don’t know what I’d do.”

  They shared the omelet and talked about Christmas Dinner at Claridge’s and Louisa’s croquembouche. She buttered toast and felt like she’d stepped into a storybook. The strawberry jam tasted sweeter and the sounds of rustling newspapers and clinking silverware seemed like a symphony.

  “I don’t know what shade of lipstick to wear for the photo shoot.” She opened her purse. She placed a velvet box on the tablecloth and searched for two tubes of lipstick.

  “What’s that?” Noah pointed to the box.

  “Digby sent me a pair of earrings, but I’m going to return them.” She shrugged.

  “Digby gave you earrings,” he repeated.

  “The card said he thought they were perfect for the photo shoot, but he did say I could keep them,” she said uncomfortably.

  Noah snapped the box open and gasped. There were diamond stud earrings with platinum backs.

  “Digby gave you diamond earrings?” Noah looked at her incredulously. “These must cost a fortune!”

  “He didn’t show up with them at my suite, he had them delivered,” she corrected. “And it’s not a gift. It’s a prop for the photo shoot.”

  “I’m sure he meant it as a gift.” He pointed to the box. “The box is from Harry Winston and it’s tied with a red bow.”

  “It’s for the shoot for Town & Country,” she said. “You wanted me to wear an Asprey watch on the show. I don’t see any difference.”

  “Why don’t you tell him that you appreciate it, but you’d rather wear earrings of your own?”

  “I said I was going to return them, I would never accept such an expensive gift.” She snatched up the box. “But there is nothing wrong with wearing them on the shoot. It would be rude to return them for no reason.”

  “Don’t you see, it’s as clear as that ice sculpture?” he urged, waving at an ice sculpture of a fish. “Digby plans on seducing you! Maybe he’s not preparing a Christmas lunch at all. He reserved a room at some picturesque inn and he’s going to ply you with champagne and caviar.”

  “Of course he’s preparing a Christmas lunch, he sent me the menu.” She bristled. “But what would it matter if he wanted to sleep with me?”

  “What do you mean?” Noah was shocked.

  “I just said I’m falling in love with you,” she said slowly. “Now you’re saying you don’t trust me to be alone with another man.”

  “Of course I trust you.” He ran his hands through his hair. “But it’s Digby Bunting. He’s the Pied Piper of pastry.”

  “I don’t care if he’s Chris Hemsworth! If you had Chrissy Teigen on the show I wouldn’t mind.” Her voice rose.

  “I don’t even know who Chris Hemsworth is. And Chrissy Teigen is married with a child,” he said and stopped. “You’re missing the point. Digby Bunting is an attractive available man and you’re a beautiful young woman. I’d be a fool to let you traipse across the English countryside with him.”

  “I don’t remember asking your permission.” She gathered her purse and stood up. “Put the omelet on your own expense account, I just lost my appetite.”

  Louisa ran through the lobby and down Claridge’s steps. She’d rather wait in the cold for Digby than sit and listen to Noah. How dare Noah say he loved her and then didn’t trust her? Trust was one of the most important things about love; it’s what set it apart.

  A navy Range Rover pulled up and a blond man wearing sunglasses and a ribbed sweater stepped out. He must be a movie star: Leonardo DiCaprio or Ryan Gosling. He took off his sunglasses and she realized it was Digby.

  “Louisa!” he called. “I’m afraid I’m early. I was going to come inside and wait for you.”

  “You don’t have to,” she answered. “I’m ready.”

  “Shall we go?” he asked.

  Digby helped her into the passenger seat and closed the door. She pictured Noah finishing her omelet and turned to Digby.

  “Yes,” she said and her mouth trembled. “I’ve never been more excited.”

  They had so much to talk about on the drive; Louisa barely noticed the quaint British villages with their thatched houses. Digby shared his favorite pudding recipes: Colchester pudding with pink meringue and tapioca; strawberry-and-cream sandwich sponge which was named for Queen Victoria and made with double cream and vanilla. His fried Cox apples with cinnamon sugar sounded so good she wanted to ask if she could use the recipe at her restaurant, and his frozen blueberry cheesecake made her long for summer.

  The car pulled up in front of iron gates and there was a stone house perched on top of a hill. It was three stories with slanted roofs and tall chimneys.

  “Oh, it’s gorgeous!” Louisa peered out the window at the snow-covered fields. There was a pond and pine trees decorated with colored lights.

  “The house was built in the eighteenth century,” Digby said. “It sits on the hill so the owner could keep an eye on all his land.”

  “It’s like something out of a Jane Austen novel. I expect to see a man in a morning coat gallop across the fields on horseback,” she breathed. “That sounds silly. I’m sure you’re invited to estates like this all the time.”

  “On the contrary, your enthusiasm is infectious.” He pulled into the circular driveway. “Why don’t I give you a tour?”

  “We can’t just walk through someone else’s house.” She hesitated.

  “I’m friends with the hostess.” He jumped out and opened her door. “And the whole house party is attending Christmas Eve services at Chichester Cathedral. We have the place to ourselves.”

  The foyer had polished wood floors and gold leaf end tables and ivory pillars. There were drawing rooms with damask wallpaper and patterned rugs and heavy walnut furniture. And the fireplaces! She tried to count them on her hands but ran out of fingers.

  A dining room had a marble-topped dining table and high-backed velvet chairs and portraits behind gilt frames. The music room reminded her of a State Room at Buckingham Palace with a grand piano and gold harpsichord. The rolltop desk was filled with sheet music.

  The kitchen was down a flight of stairs and had stone floors and granite counters. Pots and pans hung from wood beams and French doors opened onto a frozen vegetable garden.

  The camera crew set up lights and Louisa relaxed. She had been posing for the camera all w
eek; this wouldn’t be difficult at all. And it would be thrilling to make her rice pudding with the stainless-steel mixing bowls and whisks that came in three sizes.

  “I wanted to thank you.” She turned to Digby. “We just met and you’ve been so kind. I’m very grateful.”

  “We all need a helping hand when we’re starting out.” He stood in front of the fridge and touched up his hair. “Besides, I told you my life can be very mundane. It’s nice to have someone to share it with, even if it’s only for a little while.”

  “To share it with?” Louisa repeated.

  “The piles of cookbooks at Waterstones and Digby Bunting aprons at Harrods don’t mean anything unless I have someone to come home to. Don’t you agree?”

  Louisa felt a little faint and wondered if the furnace was on high. She tried to think of something to say but Digby kept talking.

  “You are talented and pretty. You must have a boyfriend in New York,” he continued. “Next time you’re in London, I’ll give you both a tour of the kitchen at Kensington Gardens. I know one of the queen’s chefs and it’s quite impressive.”

  Digby thought she had a boyfriend, he wasn’t talking about her at all! She wished Noah were here so he could see once and for all that Digby didn’t want to seduce her. But it didn’t matter. If Noah didn’t trust her, she didn’t want anything to do with him.

  They littered the counters with cartons of eggs and bottles of whole cream. Digby was making viennetta parfait so there was butterscotch and chocolate caramel and puffed pastry. The stylist arranged bowls of fruit and a miniature Christmas tree hung with oranges and lemons.

  “You aren’t wearing the earrings,” Digby noticed. “Don’t tell me they didn’t arrive.”

  “They’re right here.” She opened her purse and took out the velvet box.

  “Why didn’t you put them on?” he asked.

  Louisa couldn’t tell him she didn’t want to wear them in front of the camera crew, it would be terribly rude. And why shouldn’t she wear them? They were gorgeous and Digby was wearing a Patek Philippe watch. After the shoot, she would thank Digby and say she couldn’t keep them.

  “I must have forgotten.” She opened the box.

  “Would you like me to help you?” he offered.

  “No, thank you.” She fastened the earring on her ear. “I can manage.”

  * * *

  Louisa wiped the counter and put the measuring cup in the sink. The photo session had gone perfectly. Her rice pudding with blackberry jam was delicious; Digby even asked if he could include her recipe in his cookbook. He showed her how to make the crust on a Cambridge burnt cream, and laughed when she tasted his lemon ripple tart and it was too sour.

  Now he was loading up the Range Rover and they were returning to London. It was early afternoon and she even had time for a bath. Digby had been a perfect gentleman and all Noah’s worries were for nothing. She turned on the hot water and had to stop thinking about Noah.

  “I have some bad news.” Digby entered the kitchen. “The starter on the Range Rover froze. The car won’t turn on.”

  “What do you mean it won’t turn on?” she asked. “It’s a brand-new car!”

  “The interior of a Range Rover is like the most luxurious living room but the engine can be finicky.” He shrugged. “I’ve had it for six months and it’s been in the shop three times.”

  “Call the mechanic,” she urged. “There must be something he can do.”

  “It’s Christmas Eve,” he reminded her. “Even if I could get hold of him, I doubt he’d trek out to Chichester to work on my car.”

  “There must be a mechanic around here,” Louisa insisted. “Maybe there’s a phone book upstairs.”

  “I already checked.” He shook his head. “It wouldn’t do any good, anyway. There’s no cell phone reception.”

  “What about the house phone?” she asked and her heart beat a little faster.

  “I found one but it doesn’t seem to be working,” he said.

  “But we can’t be stranded.” Louisa suddenly felt as if she’d entered the walk-in freezer and the door closed behind her. “We have to be at Claridge’s in a few hours.”

  “I’m terribly sorry.” He rubbed his brow. “Everyone will be back from Chichester Cathedral soon and someone will give us a jump. We still have plenty of time.”

  Louisa let out a sigh of relief. Of course, someone would help them! It was an unfortunate blip but these things happened. And Digby was very apologetic; it wasn’t his fault.

  “I’m sure everything will be fine,” she said and tried to keep her voice steady.

  “Why don’t we move into the drawing room? There’s a nice fire and I’ll find a couple of brandy snifters,” he said and smiled. “We could both use a drink.”

  Louisa followed him up the stairs into a room with high ceilings and velvet sofas scattered over a patterned carpet. There was a giant Christmas tree and stone fireplace hung with stockings. French doors opened onto a wide porch and there were pots of geraniums.

  Digby poured her a glass of brandy and she perched on an armchair. She took a small sip and then put it down. A shiver ran down her spine and she would have given anything to be sitting in the Foyer with Noah, furious with him for not wanting her to go to the countryside with Digby.

  Chapter Sixteen

  KATE PAID THE TAXI DRIVER and stepped onto Trafalgar Square. It was Christmas Eve and this evening was Christmas Dinner at Claridge’s. It was only noon, but she had been working for hours, confirming with the stylist and double-checking the kitchen had all the ingredients. The day of a show was like preparing for a rocket launch. No matter how well you anticipated every detail, something could always go wrong on the launchpad.

  Louisa had called and asked if she could spend the morning assisting Digby Bunting. Kate couldn’t say no; Louisa was so easy to work with and it wouldn’t conflict with the schedule. But she would be happy when Louisa returned to Claridge’s. And Noah was strangely out of sorts. He was quite short with her when she asked him to pick up some aprons at Harrods. She couldn’t blame him; he still felt responsible for Louisa and worried it would be his fault if the show weren’t a success.

  The small conflicts distracted her from thinking about Trevor. Maybe she should have knocked on his door last night after she hung up the phone. If they were together, he would realize seeing Ian was a slight inconvenience, like getting a cold when you arrived at a holiday destination. It put a damper on the first day’s activities, but you couldn’t let it spoil your vacation. Of course, Ian shouldn’t have kissed her, but it only lasted a few seconds. And Ian was married! The whole thing was ridiculous.

  This morning Trevor called and asked her to meet him at the National Gallery. She loved looking at paintings, but it was Christmas Eve. Perhaps she would suggest they attend the Christmas Concert at Royal Albert Hall or browse in the Christmas markets.

  She suddenly wished it was her first day at Claridge’s and she was sitting in the Reading Room. What would have happened if she left before Trevor sat down? Now she’d have that electrifying feeling she got before a show, when adrenaline coursed through her veins like the finest coffee. Instead, she was acting like a teenage girl who wasn’t sure if her boyfriend was going to break up with her.

  But she thought of all the things she said to Louisa: that she didn’t want to grow old and only have memories of Bianca’s shades of lipstick, that when you fell in love you wanted to be with that person all the time.

  Perhaps Trevor just wanted to show her a favorite painting. They’d go back to his suite and make love and eat room service lobster bisque. She’d take a nap and wake up refreshed and energized for tonight’s show.

  The gallery was imposing with thick marble pillars and a domed ceiling. She recognized a Caravaggio in a gilt frame and a Degas of dancers in white tutus. Trevor stood in front of a painting by Rubens of a voluptuous woman draped in red velvet.

  “Here you are; I haven’t been to a gallery in ages.
” She approached him. “When I moved to New York, I visited the Met and Guggenheim all the time. But I started working such long hours, all I wanted to do on the weekends was curl up with The New York Times or catch up on my sleep.”

  “Do you remember when we were at St Andrews and visited the National Gallery in Edinburgh?” Trevor asked. “They had well-known artists: Raphael and Monet and Picasso. But there were some we never heard of: Uccello and Velázquez.”

  “Afterward we’d sit in a pub and think we were so cosmopolitan,” she remembered with a smile. “Two college students exploring one of the greatest art collections in Europe.”

  “I’m sorry about last night,” Trevor said. “I overreacted and ruined a lovely evening.”

  Kate looked up and let out her breath. Trevor wasn’t upset about Ian; he just wanted to be together. She worried about nothing and everything was going to be all right.

  “Seeing Ian was a shock, we were both rattled.” Kate nodded. “And he shouldn’t have kissed me. That was wrong.”

  “I want to show you something.” He took her hand. They drifted through spaces filled with Van Dycks and Turners. Kate made him stop in front of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers. She’d read about it so often and now she was seeing it in person.

  They entered a room with a parquet floor and orange walls. It had a wood bench and windows overlooking a garden.

  “When I arrived in London from St Andrews, I used to come here all the time,” he began. “I always ended up in this room. I didn’t even like the painting; it’s a Bellini and quite drab. But no one came in here and I could sit alone for hours.”

  Kate noticed a new tone in his voice and looked up. His eyes dimmed and there were lines on his forehead.

  “I was studying at the University of London and the National Gallery was free,” he said. “After my classes, I’d wander through the rooms until my eyes burned and there were holes in my shoes.” He stopped and looked at Kate. “It was the only way to stop thinking about you.