Christmas in London

by Anita Hughes

  “Then one weekend I read there was a new exhibit,” he continued. “It was ten years ago, I can’t even remember the name of the artist. But I milled around with tourists and schoolchildren and realized something as thrilling as any Rembrandt. I was at the gallery because I wanted to see a painting, not because I wanted to forget about you.”

  “It was bad luck that we ran into Ian,” she cut in. “But he’ll go back to Spain and we won’t see him again. His kiss was for old times’ sake, it didn’t mean anything.”

  “I’m more sorry than you can imagine, Kate,” Trevor began. “But I don’t think I can carry on.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked. “You are the one who said we wouldn’t talk about the past, we were two adults alone in London at Christmas. I just wanted to stay friends and you said that even though you weren’t divorced you were ready for a new relationship.”

  “I’ve loved everything about this week: showing you The Arts Club and The Nutcracker at Covent Garden and dinner in my suite.” He shook his head. “But I can’t go back to being the boy who spent all his time in an art gallery to avoid thinking about a girl.”

  “I was quite content before you showed up,” she continued hotly. “But you couldn’t be without me. Now you’re saying you don’t want a future because Ian Cunningham pulled up in a taxi? How dare you! We made love, doesn’t that count for anything?”

  “I thought it would be easy: dinners and conversation with a sophisticated, beautiful woman,” he said slowly. “But you broke my heart and there are some things I can’t forget. I can’t risk it happening again. I am sorry, Kate.”

  “I see.” Kate glanced down at her wool jacket and wondered why she felt so cold. She was a successful producer with everything ahead of her. She wasn’t going to ask Trevor to change his mind.

  “We’re both so busy for the next two days, I’m sure we won’t run into each other.” She smoothed her hair. “Maybe you’ll watch the show when it airs. Louisa’s croquembouche will be superb.”

  “I’ll look for it.” He nodded. “Would you like me to call you a cab?”

  “You go back to Claridge’s. I’ll stay and look at the paintings,” she said and her eyes were bright. “I don’t know when I’ll be back in London, and I don’t want to miss seeing the Holbeins.”

  Kate waited until Trevor left and sat on the wood bench. Trevor was right, the painting by Bellini was all browns and grays. But she didn’t feel like jostling the crowds and she wasn’t ready to go back to Claridge’s.

  She pulled her jacket around her and tried to make her heart stop racing. It had been foolish getting involved with Trevor. It was so complicated; how could it have ended differently?

  But Trevor had been so confident about their future; she was swept along as if a genie offered her a ride on a magic carpet. And it had been wonderful exploring London together! She was so lucky to fall in love with her best friend.

  Perhaps if they had talked about the past, they would have had a chance. You couldn’t lock away certain events and hope they wouldn’t resurface. It was like living on a fault line and being surprised by an earthquake. It was bound to happen so it was better to be prepared.

  She tried to remember the day after graduation. It was all so long ago and she had been young and inexperienced. How could she know that waiting a few hours could decide her whole future?

  * * *

  Kate pulled back the curtains of her room and the sun streamed onto the wood floor. It was the day after graduation and already the campus looked different. It was like the last day of summer camp when the cabins were invaded by parents carrying cardboard boxes. All the things that had belonged to them for six weeks: the lockers where they kept care packages of Ritz crackers, the desks filled with writing paper and markers, were being emptied for a new batch of campers.

  Last night she had been so upset, she never joined Trevor and his parents for dinner. She ate instant porridge in her room and tried to figure out what to do. Of course, she couldn’t marry Ian. It was flattering that he asked, and she still felt a pinprick of attraction, like a gorgeous evening dress she passed in a store window. It was too expensive and it wasn’t the kind of thing she’d wear, but it was still lovely to look at.

  But she wasn’t going to give up her future to become Mrs. Ian Cunningham. Even if she could trust him, they were too young and she wanted a career. And he would never change. If Ian went too long without being adored by women, he withered like a rose during winter.

  Trevor was her best friend and she loved spending every minute with him. They could hike the Old Course without saying a word, or sit on the fire escape and talk for so long, they forgot the time and had to stay up late finishing an essay.

  But Trevor coming to New York was completely different. She would be responsible for his happiness and she wasn’t even sure of her own. What if she failed and ended up working at a local television station in Santa Barbara? Then Trevor would have changed his whole life and it would be her fault.

  Trevor said she was courageous, attending university on another continent without knowing a soul. Why shouldn’t Trevor do the same? If he wanted to come to New York, she shouldn’t stop him.

  And wasn’t love the most important thing? If she said no, they would drift apart and she might not see him again. One day she would notice a photo of Trevor in an alumni magazine and wish she’d given it a chance.

  Now she peered out the window and saw students climbing into station wagons. Guys carried boxes and girls hugged each other and scribbled down addresses. Parents waited patiently, thrilled that they got to spend a few hours with their grown children.

  Why had she picked today to oversleep! She missed the postgraduation brunch and she couldn’t even remember when Trevor was leaving. She had to go to his parents’ hotel and tell him she wanted to give them a chance. But first she had to see Ian. She put the two rings in her purse and raced down the staircase and across the playing field.

  The door to Ian’s room was ajar and there was a pile of Ian’s blazers on the bed. The leather shaving kit she gave him last Christmas was tossed on the floor, and there was a stack of old magazines.

  “If it isn’t Sleeping Beauty. You’re still dressed for the ball.” Ian appeared at the door, taking in her yellow organza gown and silver sandals. “I thought I was going to have to come over and kiss you to rouse you from your deep sleep.”

  “I couldn’t fall asleep last night. I finally dozed off sitting in an armchair and then I overslept.” She flushed, gazing down at her dress. “I didn’t have time to change this morning, I wanted to see you as soon as possible.”

  “I hope it’s with good news.” He ushered her inside. “You’re going to say yes to my proposal.”

  She glanced in the mirror and wished she had at least fixed her hair and reapplied her makeup. But she had been in such a hurry; the most important thing was saying no to Ian and then finding Trevor.

  “I can’t marry you, Ian.” She shook her head. “I don’t love you.”

  “That’s not how you sounded last night,” he muttered. His shoulders sagged and there was disappointment in his eyes. “You were quite nostalgic about our time together.”

  “I had too much champagne and nothing to eat,” she admitted. “I apologize if I led you on. I didn’t mean to.”

  “I promised to spend the rest of my life making you happy.” He paced around the room. “I’ve been waiting all morning for your answer.”

  “I did love you once, but I don’t anymore.” She fished the ring out of her purse. “You want me most when you can’t quite have me, and that’s no way to have a relationship.”

  “Are you sure?” He looked at Kate and his eyes were bluer than the summer sky. “We had the best time fishing in Scotland and sailing on the French Riviera. You’ll never have so much fun again.”

  “Perfectly sure.” She handed him the ring. “Good luck with everything. I have to go.”

  “It’s too bad you missed the
postgraduation brunch. Everyone was asking about you,” he said suddenly. “I told them I asked you to marry me and you had my ring.”

  “You did what?” she gasped.

  “I could tell you loved me last night. I was certain you would say yes,” he explained. “And you did have my ring. I gave it to you and you kept it.”

  “You wouldn’t let me return it!” she exclaimed. “You’ll have to tell them you were wrong. Anyway, we’re all leaving. Your friends won’t notice when you arrive at a summer house party with a different blonde.”

  “Trevor was there with his parents,” he admitted. “They seem like nice people, he introduced me.”

  “Trevor was at the brunch?” She suddenly felt uneasy. “You didn’t tell him I had your ring.”

  “Not directly.” Ian shrugged. “But I can’t be sure what he overheard.”

  Kate walked to the door. She had to find Trevor and tell him she gave Ian back his ring.

  “You are making a big mistake, Kate.” Ian stopped her. “Trevor is from a different world, you’ll never be happy. We belong together. I’ll give you everything you ever wanted.”

  “All I want is to be able to trust someone.” She turned the door handle. “Goodbye, Ian. I hope you have a safe trip home.”

  She strode out the door and clattered down the staircase. There was a man entering the lobby of the dorm. Trevor wore a polo shirt and khakis and his mouth was set in a thin line. He looked up at Kate and suddenly froze.

  Kate clutched the bannister and felt dizzy. Trevor took in the organza gown she wore to the dance and her quilted evening purse. Her hair was unbrushed and her face still had traces of last night’s makeup.

  “Trevor, wait!” Kate called.

  Trevor’s eyes were cold and his skin was the color of putty. He turned and raced out the door. Kate rushed after him but he sprinted across the playing fields. Her sandals slipped on the grass and she sank onto the lawn. By the time she brushed herself off and stood up, he was already gone.

  * * *

  Kate walked down North Street, past Mitchells with its graduation cakes in the windows and the newsagent selling postcards of St Andrews. Her gown was crumpled and her ankle hurt from where she fell and she wanted to take a bath.

  If only Trevor hadn’t appeared at Ian’s dorm. What if Trevor thought she spent the night in Ian’s room? She had to find him and tell him it had been perfectly innocent.

  She entered a hotel lobby with a vinyl sofa and coffee table scattered with brochures. There was a reception desk and watercolor on the wall.

  “I’m looking for Trevor Skyler.” She approached the desk. “The reservation would be under his parents’ name.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Skyler?” He looked up. “I’m afraid they checked out.”

  “Checked out?” Kate repeated and a chill ran down her spine.

  “About half an hour ago,” the man said.

  “They can’t have,” she insisted. “They weren’t supposed to leave until this afternoon.”

  “They did seem in a hurry,” he offered. “Maybe there was an emergency at home.”

  Kate felt the air leave her lungs. She sank onto the sofa and longed for a glass of water.

  “I see this happen all the time,” he said kindly. “Graduation day is supposed to be so joyful, but it can be the hardest day of the year. All those friendships torn apart like confetti at a summer picnic. But I’ve been here twenty years, and real friendships last forever. Whoever you were anxious to see must feel the same.”

  “Yes, of course.” Kate thought about the velvet box in her purse. Tears pricked her eyes and she gulped. “I’m sure he feels exactly the same.”

  * * *

  Kate gazed at the Bellini on the gallery wall and fiddled with her earrings. She had called Trevor at his parents’ house all summer, but he never returned her calls.

  Then Trevor started at the University of London. She was busy with her internship in New York, and had a relationship with a stockbroker that didn’t amount to anything. Eventually she tucked her feelings away with the tartan blanket that didn’t match her décor and the chipped coffee mug from Mitchells.

  She had been perfectly content until she looked up from her tomato and Parmesan salad at Claridge’s and Trevor was standing in front of her. Now she might never be happy again.

  She strode through the gallery and pushed open the glass doors. There was the feeling of snow in the air and people carried shopping bags from Liberty and Harvey Nichols. She flagged a taxi and decided she couldn’t think about Trevor. This evening was Christmas Dinner at Claridge’s and she had so much to do.

  Chapter Seventeen

  LOUISA STOOD IN THE LIBRARY of the country house and thought she had never seen so many books except at the New York Public Library. An end table was littered with glossy coffee table books and paperback books with orange spines reached the ceiling. It really was the coziest room: mustard-colored leather chairs like something in a Sherlock Holmes novel and a fireplace big enough to fit Santa’s sled, and a window seat overlooking frozen fields. If she weren’t about to miss the most important event of her career, she would be perfectly happy to curl up with an Agatha Christie novel.

  In the movies when the heroine was shipwrecked on a desert island or stranded in a rowboat in shark-infested waters, she closed her eyes and imagined being somewhere wonderful. Miraculously a helicopter appeared and she climbed the ladder to safety. She was whisked away to some luxurious hospital that seemed more like a hotel and fed waffles and fresh fruit until she felt better.

  But Louisa was stranded at a country estate outside London. In the last two hours there hadn’t even been the sound of a car in the driveway. Her cell phone didn’t get reception and the house phone still wasn’t working, and she had no idea when someone would come back to save them.

  Digby was in the drawing room nursing his third scotch, but Louisa was too anxious to sit still. What if he drank too much and wasn’t able to drive? She had never driven on the left side of the road in her life. Navigating holiday traffic on the A23 was as terrifying as Noah’s anger when they returned to London.

  She thought about Noah and shuddered. The only good thing about not having cell phone reception was that she wasn’t tempted to call him. He would offer to come get them, of course. But she’d rather hitchhike in a snowstorm than have to hear Noah say she should have listened to him and never left Claridge’s.

  Digby would get them back in time. His whole reputation was at stake. She was just overwrought from the shot of brandy and the central heating that was turned on too high. A brisk walk around the grounds would clear her head.

  But she was wearing a dress and pumps. If she went outside she could catch pneumonia or slip on the ice. Then she wouldn’t be able to do the show and Noah would never forgive her. She wished she were back at the bakery on the Lower East Side with cinnamon rolls in the oven and rain pounding on the window. At least then she couldn’t disappoint anyone.

  Kate had been so good to her: giving her Bianca’s suite at Claridge’s and letting her have an expense account and telling Noah to buy her clothes and a Christmas gift. What had she done in return? Flitted off to a photo shoot with Digby Bunting on Christmas Eve morning.

  A clock chimed two o’clock and she thought she was overreacting. Even if Digby drank the whole bottle of scotch, someone could drive them. They were only two hours outside of London; it wasn’t as if they were stuck on a remote moor in Scotland.

  She turned and Digby stood in the doorway. He held a glass and looked as relaxed as if they were waiting for a massage at some fancy spa.

  “You disappeared from the drawing room. I had to finish that lovely scotch by myself.” He entered the library. “Don’t worry, I switched to water. Drinking too much alcohol in the afternoon gives me a headache.”

  “I wasn’t worried.” Louisa concealed her relief. “I am a little concerned about getting back to London. Everyone is counting on me and I can’t let them dow
n.”

  “Our hostess probably decided to do some last-minute Christmas shopping in Chichester,” he assured her. “They’ll be back soon and we’ll be on the road in no time.”

  Digby was right; she wasn’t achieving anything by worrying. And everyone did last-minute shopping the day before Christmas. Last Christmas Eve, she left her apartment in New York for a croissant and returned with lipsticks from Duane Reade and a book she saw in the window at Barnes & Noble.

  “It is a gorgeous house,” she relented. “I’ve always wanted a library where the books are stacked so high you need a ladder to reach the ones on top. And the kitchen is like a movie set. It has the biggest walk-in freezer I’ve ever seen and the pantry is stocked with more spices than Harrods. I just know the rice pudding is the best I ever made.”

  “I was never allowed in our kitchen when I was growing up.” Digby rubbed the rim of his glass. “My mother was a serious hostess and was afraid I would smudge the silverware.”

  “How odd, I imagined you were always tinkering with recipes,” she mused. “I made my first pancakes when I was seven. The middle was a little soft and it was almost burnt around the edges. But the blueberry and whipped cream topping was delicious.”

  “The first time I really used a kitchen was when I worked at Gordon Ramsay’s restaurant at the Connaught,” he began. “I was nineteen and not interested in attending university. My father was friends with Gordon and arranged an interview.”

  “Gordon Ramsay is one of the most famous chefs in the world!” she breathed. “He must have recognized your talent right away.”

  “I never baked for him, but we are both big football fans.” Digby shrugged. “We root for the same team.”

  “Gordon Ramsay gave you a job because you both liked football?” she asked doubtfully.

  “At first I was against it,” he remembered. “I’d rather go to the nightclubs. But I liked the camaraderie in the kitchen, and the waitresses were very pretty.”

  “Is that where you created your chocolate and salted caramel cake?” she asked. “It was in your first cookbook and it’s one of my favorite recipes. The chocolate ganache filling is delicious and the white chocolate shavings are the perfect topping.”