Dreaming of Christmas

by Dreaming of Christmas (retail) (epub)

  Mandy and Martin took Bella out onto the dance floor and did their best to join in with twenty or thirty guests, some of whom appeared to know what they were doing and were prancing about slapping their thighs vigorously. As Zoë described it to her mother on the phone next morning, watching them was like watching Morris dancers performing in a Wagnerian opera. She took a good look round. There were probably almost a hundred people in the room already – most standing at the edges clapping, or sitting at tables strategically positioned round the dance floor. She followed Imogen and Fergus to a free table and took a seat. Billy, no doubt in his role as host, had disappeared somewhere, although Daniela was standing chatting to Juliet close to the next table, where Lorna and Grant had already sat down.

  Imogen disappeared back to her room to dump her clutch bag, leaving Fergus and Zoë sitting and looking on. After a few seconds, Fergus leant towards Zoë and lowered his voice until it was just audible over the noise of the band.

  ‘Zoë, I gather you’ve definitely finished with Grant. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes. All over now and I’ve told him so.’

  ‘Well seeing as it is, there’s something I’ve been wanting to get off my chest. I’ve got a guilty conscience.’

  Zoë gave him a curious look. ‘Really?’

  He nodded, looking quite ashamed. ‘You know the other day – the day of the snowstorm and the white-out?’ She nodded. ‘Well, it was all a put-up job, a charade.’

  ‘All what was a charade?’

  ‘Grant falling over and us getting lost. He deliberately stopped as we were coming down through the woods and let Erika ski off ahead of us, thinking we’d got lost – or worse. He made me promise not to breathe a word to you, but now that you’re definitely broken up, you need to know the truth. To be quite honest, I didn’t want anything to do with it, but he pretty much presented me with a fait accompli.’

  Zoë was still trying to take in the implications of what she had just heard.

  ‘But why? Why put the emergency services to the trouble of going out in a snowstorm to look for you both, and why let us all get worried? Erika was in a right state.’

  ‘That was the whole point, Zoë – Grant wanted you to be worried. The idea was, if you were worried on his behalf, it might make you realise you still had feelings for him.’

  ‘Oh, dear God.’ Zoë was appalled. Grant’s selfishness knew no bounds. ‘I just can’t believe even he’d do something so stupid.’

  She sat in silence watching the antics on the dance floor for a few moments before turning back towards Fergus.

  ‘Well thanks a lot, Fergus, for coming clean. I don’t blame you for your part in the deception. Grant can be very persuasive when he wants to be. In a way, it’s just more proof that my decision was the right one.’ She smiled as a thought struck her and she lowered her voice, even though there was nobody close by. ‘Mind you, somehow I get the impression that that moment when Imogen thought she might have lost you didn’t do any harm to your relationship.’

  Fergus smiled back. ‘You’re right. That’s the other thing I’ve been meaning to say, Zoë. Imogen told me you gave her some good advice the other day. I can see now why everybody used to come to you for help when you were at university. From what she told me, you made her come to her senses about a lot of things – particularly our relationship. Thanks a lot. I owe you.’

  Zoë gave him a smile. She liked this big, friendly Scot. ‘You’re very welcome, Fergus. I wish you both all the very best for the future.’ And she leant closer and kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘Fergus, I leave you alone for one second and the next thing I know, you’re in the arms of another woman!’

  Imogen reappeared, a bright smile on her face. There was no missing the fact that she was looking and sounding a lot more relaxed and happy now.

  Fergus stood up and held out his hand to his wife. ‘I’m glad you’re back. I was just thinking how this song they’re playing reminds me of the Gay Gordons. I feel the urge to dance.’

  Imogen rolled her eyes theatrically at Zoë. ‘My mother told me not to trust anybody from north of the border, but would I listen? Look what I’ve got myself into now.’

  Nevertheless, she went off smiling and she and Fergus were soon giving a creditable rendition of Scottish dancing to the appreciative crowd – even if Zoë couldn’t discern the slightest hint of similarity in the music to any Scottish folk song she had ever heard.

  Zoë got up and joined Juliet and Daniela as they clapped their encouragement. Before long, a decent crowd had formed. Suddenly she heard a voice at her ear.

  ‘I’m not a real Scot, but I’ve got Scottish blood, and I’ve always wanted to try Scottish dancing. Would you care to join me?’

  His accent was unmistakably American. Zoë turned towards him and looked up at his face – and it was a long way up. The man was a giant. He wasn’t fat by any means, but there was a lot of him. He sounded pleasant, and there was a friendly smile on his bearded face, but if this was Prince Charming, he had almost certainly been on steroids. Zoë grinned back at him.

  ‘I haven’t done Scottish dancing since I was a teenager, but what the hell? Yes, I’d love to.’

  His smile broadened. ‘Well thank you. My name’s Max, by the way.’

  ‘And I’m Zoë. Pleased to meet you, Max.’

  The next half-hour was hilarious. Zoë positioned herself as close as possible to Fergus, so she and Max could watch and try to imitate what he did, but there was always a few seconds’ satellite delay between his steps and their attempts. To the onlookers – and there were quite a few by this time – it must have looked bizarre, but they were soon joined by an assortment of other guests, most with even less idea of what they should be doing.

  By this time, the band had realised that there was now Celtic competition among the revellers and the accordion player even managed a creditable version of something approaching ‘Scotland the Brave’. As this finished, she and the trumpet player relinquished their instruments and began to give a sort of Teutonic dancing tutorial, and the guests all did their best to follow suit, slapping their thighs and prancing about with hoots and cries.

  Finally Max leant in close to Zoë’s ear. ‘I think it’s time for a sit-down before I have a coronary. Can I buy you a drink?’

  Zoë led him back to her table, where a bottle of Sekt in an ice bucket had appeared along with half a dozen glasses. They sat down and moments later were joined by Juliet, looking flushed and happy.

  ‘Hi, Zo. I haven’t laughed so much for ages,’

  ‘Max and I were just saying the same thing. This is Max, by the way. Max, this is Juliet.’

  ‘Hi, Juliet. Glass of fizz?’ He lifted the heavy bottle out of the bucket with minimal effort and filled three glasses. ‘So, are you both guests here at the hotel?’

  ‘Yes. Isn’t it a marvellous place?’

  ‘It sure is.’

  ‘Are you staying here too?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, I live down the road in Salzburg. I know the owner.’

  Zoë looked up. ‘You know Billy? So do we. We were both at university with him.’

  A smile of comprehension spread across Max’s face. ‘Got it. So you’re the famous Zoë.’

  Zoë found herself blushing. ‘Famous, me? I think you’ve got me confused with somebody else.’

  He shook his head again. ‘Nope, no confusion. I spend a lot of time with Billy and he’s told me all about you.’ He hesitated before adding, ‘He’s really been looking forward to seeing you all.’

  Zoë was puzzled. ‘So how do you know Billy, Max?’

  ‘I work for him. I’m head of production at WF. He designs the computers. My guys build them. I usually work out of LA, but I’ve been here for a few months, getting the European production line up and running. I like it so much, I might even set up home over here’

  ‘Hi, girls. I see you’ve met Big Max.’ Zoë looked up to see Billy, with Daniela hanging on his arm. ‘I saw y
ou dancing earlier, Max – if that’s the word for it. Would a mixture of Austrian and Scottish be termed McTanzmusik, I wonder?’

  ‘I don’t know what you call it, but it was damn hard work.’ Max stood up and gave Daniela a kiss on the cheek. ‘Hi there, Danni. Enjoying the dance?’

  Daniela smiled back at him. ‘Definitely – although maybe not as much as you, Max. You were on fire out there.’

  At that moment, the band finally stopped and the silence that ensued was wonderful – but it didn’t last long. As the oompah people trooped off the stage to a tumult of applause, the lights dimmed and a single light illuminated a DJ dressed as Father Christmas behind a battery of disco equipment. Seconds later, ‘Jailhouse Rock’ by none other than the King himself echoed out, and people started flocking back to the dance floor. Max glanced across at Billy.

  ‘Mind if I ask Danni for a dance?’

  ‘Be my guest. I’m going to have to go off and play the gracious host anyway.’ Billy smiled at Daniela. ‘Word of warning – stay clear of his feet. He stepped on Arnie the other day.’

  ‘I told you it wasn’t my fault, and I’ve got witnesses.’ Max grinned at Daniela. ‘As long as you don’t try to eat my shoes, you’ll be fine.’ He led her out onto the dance floor, where he stood out a good foot above almost everybody else.

  ‘What a nice guy.’ Zoë looked up at Billy. ‘You two seem to get on very well together.’

  ‘I’ve known Big Max since before I went to university. He’s the closest thing to a brother I’ve got.’

  ‘How brilliant to work with somebody you really like. So did you say you’d got to go and be sociable?’

  Billy gave her a nod and a wry smile. ‘I’ve just heard that the contingent from Vienna has arrived.’

  ‘Who’s come all the way from Vienna?’

  ‘Two cabinet ministers and a celebrity chef, apparently.’ He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. ‘My PA sent out the invites. Apart from you guys and the guests at the hotel, I don’t really know who’s been invited.’ His smile broadened to a grin. ‘Although I do know she sent an invite to Arnie’s namesake, but he couldn’t make it this time.’

  ‘You know Schwarzenegger?’

  ‘I’ve met him a few times now. He’s been here to Bad Bergstein twice. He’s still very Austrian. But he’s staying in the States this Christmas.’

  ‘Do you know lots of celebrities?’ Zoë was fascinated.

  ‘I get invited to all sorts of events – mostly charity do’s to raise money for good causes. In the course of them I’ve met quite a few of the great and the good – and a fair few of the not so great and good.’

  Zoë exchanged glances with Juliet. Computer Billy really had come up in the world.

  Billy glanced at his watch and then looked back at Juliet and Zoë. ‘Would either of you girls feel like a quick dance before I go off and do my duty? Jules?’

  Juliet swallowed her champagne and followed Billy out onto the dance floor. Zoë was watching them – surprised to see that William Fischer, the artist formerly known as Computer Billy, the nerd, was a surprisingly good dancer – when she felt a touch on her shoulder. She looked up. It was Grant.

  ‘Feel like dancing, Zoë?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Yes, I do, Grant, but not with you.’ Seeing the expression on his face, she explained, ‘I’ve been talking to Mandy. Now why don’t you go and bother some other unsuspecting girl? Or maybe Erika’s here.’

  His face fell, and for just about the first time ever, Zoë saw what could have been an expression of remorse. If it was, it was a positive sign of personal development. She allowed her expression and her tone to soften a fraction.

  ‘It’s over, Grant. It was good while it lasted, but I’ve moved on and you need to do the same.’

  ‘So is it Billy, then?’

  ‘Billy? What do you mean?’

  ‘I saw you looking at him, and you know he fancies the pants off you.’

  ‘He does no such thing.’ Zoë could feel her cheeks reddening. ‘And I’m certainly not getting involved with a married man. Marital infidelity’s your speciality, Grant, not mine. Now go and bother somebody else.’

  ‘Suit yourself. See you round, Zoë.’ He ambled off, leaving her even more puzzled.

  She glanced across towards the next table and saw a man in a dark jacket sitting opposite Lorna. His back was towards Zoë, but presumably he was Lorna’s former lover. The expression on Lorna’s face was far from welcoming. Clearly whatever relationship these two had enjoyed in the past, it was now consigned to the annals of history, and anybody could see she was regretting inviting him to the ball. Zoë was delighted to note a suitably chaste distance between the two of them, and out of idle curiosity she got up and went across to see what a man who enjoyed swingers’ parties looked like.

  ‘Hi, Lorn, I see you’ve got company. Hi, I’m Zoë. Pleased to meet you.’ She braced herself and looked down at the man. As she did so, he glanced up and grinned.

  ‘Zoë? Wow, you’re looking gorgeous, sweetheart.’

  Zoë felt her mouth gape and her eyes open wide. Surely not…?

  ‘Do you two know each other, Ron?’ Lorna looked as surprised as Zoë felt.

  ‘Yeah, we work together. She writes the words, I take the pictures. Fancy you being here, Zoë, eh?’ The wink he gave her left no doubt in Zoë’s mind as to what was going on. She had been stupid enough to tell Damien about the ball, and when she had informed him in her last email that she wasn’t going to go through with it and wouldn’t write the article, he had obviously sent Ron over to dig up as much dirt and take as many photos as possible. The fact that Ron happened to know Lorna had provided an easy way to get an invitation after Zoë’s refusal to cooperate. One way or another, Damien had been determined to get his scoop.

  ‘So you’re here on business?’ Lorna kept her eyes on the photographer, a stunned expression on her face.

  ‘Yeah, sweetheart, just like Zoë.’

  ‘Like Zoë?’ Now Lorna’s puzzled gaze transferred itself back to Zoë, who was quick to explain.

  ‘No, Ron, not like Zoë. I’m here on holiday – period.’ She added a few words of explanation to Lorna. ‘My editor asked me to see if I could do an interview with Billy, but I told him no.’ She turned back to Ron. ‘That’s why he sent you, isn’t it?’

  ‘Something like that. So where is the great man, anyway? I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him yet. And here’s me with my spy camera as well.’ He tapped a barely discernible lump in the breast pocket of his jacket.

  Zoë and Lorna exchanged glances for a second before Lorna stood up.

  ‘If you would both excuse me for a moment.’ She stalked off, leaving Ron to his large glass of what looked like neat whisky. He took a hefty pull at it and then looked up at Zoë.

  ‘You realise you’re in deep shit back home, don’t you?’

  Zoë made no response, so he elaborated.

  ‘Damien’s hopping mad. The last thing I heard, he was talking about firing you.’

  ‘Let him. I’m not going to betray a friend’s trust just so I can get a company car.’

  Ron shrugged. ‘Suit yourself, but I thought I’d tell you. Anyway, if he does sack you, I can always get you some modelling work.’ He tapped the side of his nose with his finger, and Zoë turned on her heel and left before she either threw up or clobbered him.

  She walked off around the dance floor to the other side, anxious to put as much distance between herself and Ron as possible. The tempo had slowed as the DJ played Frank Sinatra’s ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’, the dancing couples swaying together in time with the music. As she walked, she saw Fergus and Imogen clutching each other tight. She felt mixed emotions – on the one hand she was genuinely pleased for them, but at the same time it made her realise how alone she now was.

  She took her time walking round the room, doing her best to regain some semblance of the festive spirit before heading back to her table, where she found M
andy and Bella. The time according to the clock on the wall was well past ten by now, and Mandy was trying to persuade a sleepy Bella that bedtime had arrived. Keen to get away from Ron, Zoë volunteered to take her up. Bella clearly approved.

  ‘Please, please, please can Zoë take me up to bed and tell me a story? Please, please, Mummy, can she?’

  Mandy caught Zoë’s eye. ‘Well if you’re sure, that would be ever so kind. I’ll come up in half an hour to take over.’

  ‘No rush, Mand. Come at eleven, or send Juliet. You and Martin stay and enjoy yourselves.’

  ‘Don’t you want to stay? Aren’t you having a good time, Zo?’

  The answer was no, not really. Irrespective of the arrival of the photographer, Zoë had been thinking along these lines for a while now. The Christmas lights were twinkling, the baubles strung around the room were sparkling, and everybody looked happy. She should have been having a wonderful time as well, but there was no point kidding herself. Something, or someone, was missing. Christmas was almost here – and Christmas, more than any other time of year, was for families, for couples.

  And she was here alone.

  For just about the first time since arriving in Austria, she found herself feeling a bit down. Not really unhappy, just slightly forlorn, here in the middle of other people’s happiness. And the fact that Ron had just confirmed her fears that she would probably find herself out of a job when she returned to London did nothing to lighten her mood. However, determined not to show weakness, she rallied and produced a smile.

  ‘No, I’m fine, Mand. It’s just a bit hot, that’s all. I need to cool down.’

  She saw that Mandy wasn’t convinced, but after a bit she agreed to let Zoë take over. ‘Well if you’re sure, that’s terrific. Here’s the key to the room. Now Bella, you be a good girl and remember to clean your teeth. I’ll be up a bit later on.’ She bent down and kissed her daughter’s cheek. ‘Goodnight, sweetie.’