Christmas in the Snow

by Karen Swan

  Allegra let a beat pass. Besakovitch’s money – a $28-billion family trust built on water-sanitation products sold throughout the Third World – had been the start-up fund for Pierre’s company, and for nearly a decade they had made each other significantly richer. But the men’s once-close relationship had foundered and Besakovitch was pulling his investment a few days before Christmas. Allegra wasn’t sure if it was the emotional or financial rupture that had sent Pierre into such paroxysms of rage, but to his mind, success was the best revenge and he had been driving them all even harder since Besakovitch’s pull-out announcement three months ago. And it was working – their average returns had increased from 11 per cent to 14 per cent – but Pierre wanted more than just good results on the money they had. He wanted a new big investor, a show pony to restore his pride and put PLF back on top again, and they both knew Yong was the man to do it.

  Besakovitch who? Sam Kemp’s loss would be her gain, unfortunate but true. It was her contact – a Chinese friend from LSE – who’d tipped her off that Yong was looking to grow his capital outside the Chinese economy for the first time; she was the one who’d spent weeks delicately brokering the meeting, finally managing to secure it in the no-man’s-land of Zurich, studying their accounts twenty-four seven and formulating an investment strategy that would promise Yong the returns that would procure his investment and, crucially, bump PLF’s returns up from the basic 2 per cent management fee to the 20 per cent of profits payouts.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t see what the problem is.’

  Pierre’s eyes flitted down her quickly – resting fractionally on the feathers – as though the words he was about to say were as surprising to him as to her. ‘You are a woman, Allegra.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In the interpreter’s report, it clearly states that Yong doesn’t feel comfortable negotiating with a woman.’

  Allegra’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She didn’t know where to begin. She couldn’t believe the words had even been articulated. It had been bad enough seeing it on the report, knowing Yong had said it, but for her own boss to put it out there as a ‘problem’ – it was a discrimination lawsuit waiting to happen, and he knew it.

  She closed her mouth again and narrowed her eyes, knowing he wasn’t that stupid. Pierre wouldn’t bring up this problem without having first configured a solution.

  ‘Well, what do you suggest we do about it, Pierre?’

  Pierre looked over her shoulder, jerking his chin up slightly. ‘We give Mr Yong what he wants, of course.’

  Allegra tilted her head fractionally, glimpsing where he was going to take this, daring him to do it. He and she both knew what the legal position would be on this if he said it. The law would very clearly be on her side.

  Someone moved from behind her. ‘I believe you and Mr Kemp met in Zurich this week. Trouble with your car, wasn’t it?’

  But Allegra had stopped listening. She was looking straight into the blue eyes that had last locked with hers on a pillow. What? What was he doing here? She’d never expected to see him again, much less here, standing with her boss.

  He smiled and a rush of memories flooded back to her.

  She wrenched her gaze away, certain their brief intimacy could be read openly by anyone who happened to look; she couldn’t deal with him right now, not when all this . . .

  The penny dropped.

  She looked back at Pierre in dismay. ‘You’re not saying what I think you’re saying.’ She smiled and forced herself to take a sip of her champagne to hide the spike of anger that was making her hand begin to shake.

  Pierre regarded her coolly. ‘You probably know Sam was the lead on Leo’s pot, but with the fat bastard leaving, Sam’s relocating to the London office with immediate effect. By a stroke of luck, he and Yong’s son, Zhou, were contemporaries at Harvard Business School. Room-mates, wasn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Sam nodded, his eyes on Allegra all the while. ‘I happened to run into him on our way out of the building the other day.’

  ‘Did you?’ Allegra replied, pleading ignorance and ignoring the flicker of heat in his eyes. She looked back at Pierre. ‘So your suggestion is that Sam takes on the Yong account and I just . . . fade into the background?’ A threatening note sounded in her voice.

  ‘Au contraire, Allegra.’ He smiled, tackling her barb head on. ‘I am proposing that you and Sam work jointly on this account. You are the business lead, devising investment strategy and managing the team; Sam will take the lead on the client-management side of things.’

  ‘How cosy,’ Allegra said to Sam. ‘Taking your former room-mate out for lunches on the company? You can catch up on old times.’

  Sam’s expression changed.

  Allegra didn’t care. She stared at Pierre long and hard, the betrayal arousing in her emotions that never – never – assailed her. Quickly, she drained her glass and handed it to a passing waiter. ‘Well, on that note, I have to skip off.’

  ‘You have somewhere to be?’ Pasha asked, the volatile undercurrents of the conversation passing her by completely.

  Allegra flashed a dazzling, extra-wide smile that radiated a hostility even her toothy gap couldn’t assuage. ‘Yes, actually. A boxing lesson. It’s time for me to beat the shit out of something.’

  And with that, she turned on her heel and strode off, furious to know her feathers were flouncing.

  ‘I do love her dress,’ she heard Pasha sigh, as the men watched her leave in silence.

  She was at the top of the steps outside when Sam caught up with her.

  ‘Allegra, wait!’ he called, grabbing her by the elbow and spinning her round with ease. ‘Look, I didn’t plan it like this.’

  ‘No?’

  Her fury was palpable and he raked a hand through his hair, taken aback. ‘No. I mean, I admit I wanted to see you again. Making the move to London seemed . . . attractive after the other night.’

  Allegra wrenched her elbow from his grip, laughing. ‘You moved to London because of me?’ The scorn in her voice was scorching.

  ‘Not just because of you. London’s a lot closer to New York than Zurich . . .’ His voice trailed away. It was a flimsy excuse and they both knew it.

  She stared at him, classically handsome in black tie, other women staring at him as they passed by on the steps. Why, why did it have to be him?

  ‘You think something’s going to happen between us, Sam?’ she asked, her voice low and shaky. ‘Because let me put you straight right now. I was never supposed to see you again. That was the deal. The other night was just . . .’ She shrugged, not sure she could pull this off. ‘Sport. Exercise. A nightcap. A nice way to relax before the pitch.’

  But she saw the muscle twitch in his jaw and knew she’d landed a strike.

  ‘What? You weren’t honestly expecting a different outcome? Did you really think I wouldn’t mind you coming in and stealing from me everything that I’ve spent months working on? I cultivated the contact, nailed that meeting down, made the numbers work. But because you’re a man, because you’re his friend, you get to come in here and take all that away from me, and I’m supposed to be flattered that you followed me here?’

  She laughed again – a cold, bitter sound that clattered to the frosted ground like shards of shattered glass – shaking her head slowly from side to side. ‘You just made the biggest mistake of your career, Sam Kemp.’

  They both had.

  ‘Allegra—’

  ‘It’s Fisher to you,’ she said, aggressively pointing a finger at him, knowing she was overcompensating as she tried to push him back out of her life – there was no room for him in it. But he grabbed her by the wrist and the world contracted in a sudden violent pulse to just the two of them on the steps, his hand hot on her skin, his eyes burning into hers. ‘We need to be able to work together,’ he said quietly, but there was strain in his voice.

  She swallowed. ‘No. We don’t. What I need is for you to be gone from my life. Gone from this
company. Gone from this country. And I won’t stop until you are.’

  He stared at her for a long moment, his expression hardening before her. ‘That’s really how you want to play this?’

  ‘That’s how we’re already playing this.’ And with a sharp tug, she released her wrist and ran down the steps, arm outstretched for a taxi.

  Chapter Six

  Day Five: Gold-tipped Pine Cone

  Floral carpets – £3,000 a month and still you couldn’t have decent carpets? Her eyes scanned them as she held open the door for a private nurse in a blue tunic who was pushing a gentleman in a wheelchair. He was wearing a tweed jacket and silk cravat at the neck, a bone-handled walking cane between his knees, the knuckles on his hands swollen and white.

  ‘Thank you,’ he smiled with a dignified nod as they passed.

  ‘My pleasure,’ Allegra murmured, stepping after them into the hall area and wondering where to go. Her mother hadn’t been in her flat, and Barry’s text (when she had enquired) had told her to find them in the morning room, but she wasn’t clued up yet on the layout of the crescent of low-rise red-brick buildings – only that the block her mother’s flat was in was opposite the fountain and had an orange front door.

  This, though, was the community’s hub, and she saw a sign pointing the way to the laundry room. The morning room had to be around here somewhere. She followed at a distance after the gentleman and nurse, hearing the ambient noise level pick up. She rounded a corner and stopped in the doorway of a large octagonal room, taking a few deep breaths as she scanned the activity inside. It was busy, with armchairs positioned in sociable fours and twos, the ones by the fireplace already taken. Some people were sitting alone reading newspapers, others playing board games, yet others engaged in conversations . . .

  She looked around for Barry first, as he was the one who stood out here – his ruddy cheeks and bristly brown beard in stark youthful contrast to the wan complexions and bald pates found here in abundance – but it was her mother that she found, sitting in a far corner, the shiny crown of her still head – her once-dark hair grey and slightly wiry now – gleaming under the lights.

  It was early evening and condensation had misted the large windows slightly, blurring the landscape, and Allegra knew there would be a slight chill coming from the glass. She picked up a lambswool tartan blanket from one of the empty chairs as she passed.

  She stopped just shy of the chair and swallowed, her heart banging like a drum in her chest. ‘Hi, Mum.’

  Her mother looked up – Allegra thirty-five years from now – her hair plaited loosely and positioned over one shoulder, her raisin-dark eyes so enquiring, so curious.

  ‘Allegra.’ The smile, her name . . . Allegra felt the tension inside her slacken.

  ‘How are you, Mum?’ she beamed, sinking into the angled chair beside her and automatically opening out the blanket over her mother’s legs. ‘Where’s Barry? Aren’t you getting a chill from sitting so close to that window?’

  ‘He’s gone to get my cardigan. You fuss too much,’ she said, but her eyes were soft as Allegra tucked the blanket in around her.

  ‘Well, you should be in front of the fire. There was a hard frost last night.’

  ‘Just how I like it. You know I’ve always loved the cold.’

  ‘Don’t I just! I still haven’t forgiven you for taking eighteen years to install central heating.’

  Her mother chuckled, reaching for Allegra’s hand and holding it between both of hers. ‘You look pale, darling.’

  ‘I just need to get some more fresh air, that’s all. I don’t think I’ve spent even twenty minutes outside this week.’

  She refused to dwell on the last of those minutes – out on the steps of the V&A with Sam last night.

  ‘Don’t tell me – you’re working too hard again.’ Julia patted her hand. ‘I worry about you.’

  ‘I know you do,’ Allegra nodded. ‘But please don’t. I’m happy, Mum. I’m doing what I love.’

  Her mother’s eyes roamed her face, a blend of sadness and pride in her eyes. ‘So what have you been up to, then?’

  ‘Well, I was in Switzerland earlier this week,’ she said brightly. ‘Zurich. Only for an overnight stay, but . . .’ She shrugged, her voice trailing away. Did all roads lead back to Kemp? ‘The lake looked so beautiful with all the lights on it. One of these days I’ll actually stay long enough to take a boat out on it.’

  ‘Aren’t you skiing soon? I get confused with your comings and goings. Barry’s written it down for me, but you’re always on a plane somewhere.’

  ‘Yes, I’m going to Verbier over the New Year.’

  ‘With friends?’ Her mother’s voice lifted.

  ‘Clients.’ She saw her mother’s expression. ‘That I get on with really well. They’re lovely. Almost friends.’ She swallowed. ‘It’ll be fun.’

  ‘When did you last see your sister?’

  ‘Last weekend, actually. We spent Saturday morning together – Isobel and I took Ferdy for a walk in the park.’ She didn’t want to tell her mother how they’d spent Sunday, closing up their family home for the last time, ridding it of all traces of them.

  ‘Isobel.’ Her mother’s voice was wistful. ‘I haven’t seen her lately.’

  ‘Really? She said she was going to come by this morning.’

  Julia shook her head. ‘But it’s lovely that you’re here. I know how busy you are. What are your plans for this evening?’

  She grimaced, already knowing the response she was going to get. ‘I’ve got to go back to the office. I’ve got some work to do.’

  ‘Allegra! It’s seven o’clock. You should be relaxing. You work long enough hours as it is.’

  ‘I know, but . . .’ It was pointless trying to explain. ‘You’re probably right. Maybe I’ll go to the gym.’

  Julia frowned. ‘Have you lost weight, darling?’

  Allegra looked down at her narrow thighs. ‘No. I don’t think so.’

  ‘You look thin.’

  ‘I’m just tired.’ Allegra squeezed her mother’s hand, touched by the maternal concern that so rarely surfaced these days.

  ‘You need to eat more. You can’t afford to be so thin once the snow comes. What if you got left outside?’

  Allegra smiled. ‘I can assure you I never leave my bag anywhere. My keys are on me at all times.’

  ‘It’s never warm enough in the stables, no matter how much straw you’ve got.’

  Allegra fell silent. ‘Well . . . I’ll try to remember that,’ she said. What had it been today? Four minutes, if that? She took a deep breath, trying to pull her mother back, before she drifted too far to reach again. ‘Listen, why don’t you show me around here? I’d love to see it properly. Isobel said there was a small shop. Perhaps we could get some bits and make supper in your flat.’

  Julia looked at her with an unforgiving, hostile stare, a new opacity to her eyes that hadn’t been there before. ‘You’re not coming to my flat,’ she hissed ominously. ‘Why on earth would I go anywhere with you? I don’t know you.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry.’ Allegra’s voice was quieter.

  ‘Why would you say that? Why would you want me to go outside in these conditions?’

  ‘I don’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘Who are you? How did you get in here?’ Julia’s voice was climbing, her hands beginning to grip the armrests.

  ‘I’m Allegra,’ Allegra said quietly, aware of heads beginning to turn, a murmur rustling through the tweeds.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Barry running towards them, Julia’s favourite lilac cardigan slung over one burly arm, his rugby-player thighs chafing in his jeans. His eyes met Allegra’s in silent communication and she got up out of the chair as he winked and swept past, crouching in front of Julia with kind eyes.

  ‘Come on, Julia. It’s time for your rest now. Can you stand for me?’ His Welsh accent was lilting, almost like he was singing to her.

 
‘Who are you?’ she demanded, her fury and aggression switching to him.

  ‘I’m Barry, you know that,’ he said in confident tones, a smile that came with double dimples spreading across his face, softening her scowl.

  ‘Have we met?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Barry nodded, immediately beginning to sing the opening lines of ‘Delilah’ as he got his arm under Julia’s and lifted her easily from the chair. It wasn’t her body that was weak. ‘I just went to get your cardigan for you. You were feeling a bit chilly. See? It’s your favourite one. You asked me to get it because you wanted to look nice for your daughter.’

  ‘But I don’t have a daughter,’ she said, her face turned to him in bafflement as he scrunched up one arm of the cardigan.

  ‘Oh, well then, I must have misheard you – my mistake,’ he replied with an easy smile, sliding the sleeves over her arms and shooting Allegra an apologetic look as she remained rooted to the spot. Slowly, he began to wheel her round towards the doors as he picked up the tune again.

  ‘Why’s she looking at me like that? Who is she?’ Julia demanded, never taking her eyes off Allegra as he led her away.

  ‘Come along, Julia, just sing with me,’ Barry said cheerfully, their voices retreating.

  Allegra watched in silence as her mother took up the lyrics and they disappeared from sight. The muscles in her neck strained from the effort to remain impassive as she registered the silence in the room and all the eyes on her. She thrust her chin in the air as she reached for her bag and made her way quickly from the room. She knew the drill – experience had taught her not to move a muscle, not to say a word. Nothing would have helped. She couldn’t have leaned forward to kiss her goodbye, to put her arms around her in a comforting hug. Julia would have screamed. She would have screamed like she was being murdered and Barry would have had to pull her off like an aggressor, for her mother was no longer her mother; Allegra was no longer her daughter. They were strangers again, and both of them were alone.

  ‘You have to sign this.’ Allegra tapped the paperwork on the table as Isobel tried to lose herself in freezing ice-cube trays of courgette purée. ‘And I’m not leaving until you do.’