Christmas at the Chalet

by Anita Hughes

  * * *

  Felicity stood in front of the powder-room mirror and unhooked her dress. The magical feeling of sipping champagne with the mountain looming behind her dissolved, and she felt like one of the wooden dolls in the Nutcracker ballet after the prince disappeared. She looped the train over the hanger and suddenly missed Adam so much it was a physical ache.

  Their fight had started innocently enough; Adam had urged her to spend the night at his apartment on Christmas Eve and insisted on serving her breakfast in bed. She couldn’t help hoping there would be a velvet box nestled between the slices of toast and pots of jam. They had been talking about getting married all year. But instead there was a flat envelope tied with a gold ribbon.

  * * *

  “I wanted to give you my present before we meet my parents at the club.” Adam perched on the side of the bed. His light brown hair stuck up straight, the way it did first thing in the morning, but he was boyishly handsome in an old NYU T-shirt and sweats.

  Felicity untied the ribbon and opened the envelope. “A day at Elizabeth Arden’s spa.” Felicity looked up and gulped.

  “You never give yourself time off.” Adam kissed her. “And we both don’t have time for a vacation. I figure it was this, or post bodyguards at your apartment and keep you under house arrest until you get some rest.”

  “A spa day is very thoughtful. But…” Felicity’s voice trailed off.

  “St. Moritz might be one of the most glamorous playgrounds in the world, but I know Raj.” Adam chuckled. “Personal massages won’t be in the budget. You’ll be lucky if he pays for your meal on the plane.”

  Felicity put the envelope on the breakfast tray and took a deep breath. She and Adam had been dating for six years, and they told each other everything. She couldn’t hide her feelings about the most important aspect of their lives just because she was afraid of his reaction.

  “You wanted to wait to get married until your management firm was established and Felicity Grant Bridal wasn’t mired in debt,” Felicity said. “Raj thinks we’re going to turn a profit next year, and you’re signing clients faster than you can print contracts.” Her voice wobbled. “An engagement is supposed to be a surprise, but we’ve been talking about it for months. I was hoping you might give me a ring.”

  “You know how it is starting your own company.” He paced around the room. “I wanted to come to St. Moritz, but the quarterback for the LA Rams is in town and begged me to show him around. It’s like that all the time: an NBA basketball player who’s looking for new management, and has always wanted to climb the Empire State Building. A hockey player from Toronto who wants to see a hockey match at Madison Square Garden.”

  “It wouldn’t be any different if we were married,” Felicity said uncertainly.

  “Why are we in a hurry to get married?” He approached the bed and caressed her cheek. “We love each other and always want to be together.”

  They were much happier than many of their newly married friends. They didn’t fight over closet space, or feel guilty if they worked late, or wonder if it was good for their relationship to keep separate bank accounts.

  But Felicity saw the brides when they emerged from the dressing room in her showroom. They studied their reflections in the three-way mirror, and suddenly were transformed from girls with frizzy hair and pale winter skin into gorgeous women with peaches-and-cream complexions.

  “Can we talk about it later?” Adam stripped off his T-shirt and walked to the closet. “We’ll be late for Christmas brunch.”

  “I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay for the whole brunch.” Felicity clutched the envelope. “My flight leaves this evening. I have to finish packing and make sure Raj brings all the veils and stockings.”

  “What do you mean, you’re not staying?” Adam turned around. “It’s Christmas brunch with my parents; they expect us both to be there.”

  Every year she and Adam traded off celebrating Christmas with his parents in Manhattan and her family in Michigan. But she had to keep it short. She couldn’t bear for Adam’s mother, Delilah, to stare at her naked ring finger as if she were examining a turkey to see if it needed more time in the oven.

  At Thanksgiving Delilah had asked for Felicity’s help with the pumpkin pie, and ushered her into the kitchen.

  “I love my son, but he’s a lot like his father.” Delilah took the dessert plates from the cabinet. “When John and I were dating, all my friends were picking out their wedding china, and I was still getting my hair styled for our Saturday nights.” She took a bowl of whipped cream out of the fridge. “John has always been a terrible hypochondriac. One night I invited a few couples for dinner, and one of the men was a medical student. He said studies have shown that men who marry later in life are more likely to die from a heart attack.” She chuckled. “I had a ring on my finger within a month.”

  “I’ve never heard that before.” Felicity cut slices of pumpkin pie.

  “The point is, every man has a weak spot—you just have to find it,” Delilah replied. “I’d love to throw you a beautiful wedding, but mostly I want you both to be happy.”

  “We are happy,” Felicity assured her. “We have the same goals and good careers and fun social lives.”

  “Life is about building something together. Sometimes John is so irritating, I want to stab him with a martini olive, but marrying him is the best thing I’ve ever done,” Delilah answered knowingly. “Talk to Adam about the next steps in your relationship. You’ll both thank me.”

  * * *

  Felicity studied herself in the powder-room mirror at Badrutt’s Palace and remembered the rest of Christmas Day, which had gone miserably. The distance between her and Adam at brunch had been as wide as the Gulf of Mexico. When she had stood up at the table and said she had to pack, she could tell that he was angry.

  Later, on the drive to JFK, she and Adam were silent. At any other time he would rest his hand on her knee and she’d talk excitedly about bringing Adam his favorite Swiss chocolates. Even when they reached the departure terminal, and the sidewalk overflowed with couples hugging goodbye, she couldn’t think of anything to say. She pecked Adam on the cheek and mumbled that the next time they saw each other it would be the new year.

  Perhaps Adam was right. Maybe she could wait a little longer to get married. Even if she hired a wedding planner, she’d have to make so many decisions. As soon as she returned from St. Moritz, she had to start designing the summer collection. Wasn’t the important thing that they loved each other, and wanted to be together? They shared so many things in common. They both planned on donating a percentage of their profits to charity, and their dream was to work hard and retire when they were sixty so they could travel the world.

  She had been so upset yesterday that she hadn’t even given Adam his Christmas present. It was sitting in her apartment in New York, and he wouldn’t get it until after New Year’s. What if she picked up something in the village and asked the concierge to overnight it to him? After all, she was in St. Moritz, and the guidebook said it boasted some of the best shopping in Europe.

  She left the gown with the concierge and walked the few blocks into the village. It was even prettier than it had looked from the balcony. Christmas lights were wrapped around lampposts, and shop windows were decorated with gold and silver snowflakes. Carriages were outfitted with thick blankets and sleigh bells. A mannequin at Prada wore head-to-toe cashmere, and Tiffany’s had a blue Christmas tree festooned with diamond ornaments.

  It was almost seven p.m. and she realized she was starving. The food in the shop windows all looked so tempting. Thick sausages hung in the delicatessen, patisseries held trays of cakes with raspberry fillings, and there were boxes of pralines coated with white chocolate at Godiva Chocolatier. First she would buy the present for Adam, and then she would treat herself to a Swiss delicacy.

  She entered a men’s store and eyed the stacks of wool scarves.

  “Can I help you?” A saleswoman approached her.r />
  “I’m looking for a present for my boyfriend,” Felicity replied. “He’s in New York, and I want to buy something very special.”

  “I have just the thing.” The saleswoman walked to the back. She returned with the softest cashmere sweater Felicity had ever felt.

  “This was handmade in St. Moritz.” The woman handed it to her. “You won’t find anything like it in America.”

  Felicity glanced at the price tag and gulped. It didn’t matter if it did serious damage to her credit card. The important thing was that she sent Adam something to show how much she missed him.

  “I’ll take it.” Felicity handed her the card. “Could you please wrap it up?”

  The saleswoman handed her the wrapped box and Felicity walked back onto the street. A soft snow was falling, and the sidewalk was slick with snowflakes. Suddenly her heel slipped, and the package flew in the air. She reached for it and landed on her back on the pavement. The pain in her ankle was so sharp she couldn’t catch her breath.

  “Are you all right?” A man crouched beside her. “You took a bad fall.”

  “Thank you, I’m fine,” she said, rubbing her ankle. “It’s nothing.”

  “You’re not fine. That’s a nasty bump. I’m a doctor—can I take a look?” he asked. “You shouldn’t move until we see if it’s sprained or broken.”

  Felicity glanced at her borrowed heels and realized she had forgotten to change into her boots. “That’s very kind, but I really have to go.” She gathered her purse. “I have an important package to mail.”

  She tried to stand up, but the pain was so fierce that her cheeks paled and she gasped.

  “I told you not to move—you could do more damage,” he said with a smile. “My name is Dr. Gabriel Innes. Let me help you inside, and I’ll take a look where it’s warm.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t have time.” Felicity looked at him properly. He was in his early thirties, with dark hair and brown eyes. He was wearing a sweater with a snowflake pattern and corduroy slacks. “I have to mail this package tonight. I promise I’ll see the doctor at the hotel, you don’t have to worry.”

  “If you try to limp up the hill to wherever you’re staying, your ankle will be the size of a baby calf’s,” he said, concerned. “Put your arms around my neck and I’ll carry you.”

  Before she could protest, he picked her up in his arms. He carried her across the street and into a brick building with plate glass windows.

  “This is Hotel Hauser,” he said, as they entered a lobby with a stone fireplace. “It’s a St. Moritz institution.”

  “Oh, it’s lovely!” Felicity inhaled the scent of logs burning. Stockings hung from the mantle, and there was a giant Christmas tree with red and green ornaments.

  “We’ll sit in the restaurant and the hostess will get us a cold compress. The concierge is my friend, and I’ll ask him to mail your package. You can relax and have a glass of elderberry punch with vodka.” Gabriel carried her into a wide room with a beamed ceiling.

  Felicity sank into a booth and admired the blond wood floors and velvet wallpaper. The walls were covered with posters of movie stars, and she noticed a glass case filled with tarts and strudels that made her mouth water.

  Gabriel spoke to the waitress in German, and she brought plates of veal sausage and rösti potatoes and homemade ravioli. There was a wedge of semi-hard cheese with a thick orange rind and crusty bread.

  “God, I forgot I was so hungry,” Felicity said when Gabriel had wrapped her ankle in an ice pack and propped it on a chair. “You don’t even know me, and you’re being so kind. This all looks delicious.”

  “It’s my pleasure. I forget to eat all the time when I’m working,” he said, scooping up ravioli. “You can’t miss out on the Hauser’s Emmental cheese, it’s the best in the Engadin valley.” He leaned back and studied Felicity’s pale cheeks. “Sip your drink and you’ll feel better.”

  The ice pack did feel heavenly; the throbbing in her ankle was reduced to a dull ache.

  “I really shouldn’t.” She shook her head. “If I drink alcohol after an international flight I get dizzy. And it’s terrible for jet lag; I won’t get anything done.”

  “Doctor’s orders,” he said jovially. “You’ve had a nasty fall, and it will make you feel much better.” He placed the glass in front of her. “If you don’t, you’ll be knocking at my door at midnight pleading for a Vicodin.” He offered a smile. “I’m afraid my bedside manner won’t be very good. I’m prone to insomnia, and I get cranky if anyone disturbs my sleep.”

  “You’ve done so much, I wouldn’t dream of disturbing you. Anyway, I’m good at handling pain, and I have to stay awake.” She pushed the glass away. “I’ve got to make sure six models are in their beds by eleven p.m., or they’ll never wake up for their morning photo shoot.”

  “That doesn’t sound like someone on holiday,” Gabriel said.

  “I’m a wedding dress designer,” Felicity explained. “I’m debuting my winter collection at Badrutt’s Palace Hotel on New Year’s Eve. Raj had the idea to take photos all week and post them on social media. We’re going to show the girls at snow polo matches, and playing blackjack at the casino, and catching the sun at those wonderful huts on top of the mountain.”

  “Who’s Raj?” Gabriel asked.

  “He’s my business partner,” she answered. She had forgotten about Raj! She grabbed her phone and sent a text explaining that she’d forgotten to give him the shoes, but she’d be back at the hotel shortly.

  “I’m so lucky to have him. He’s a marketing genius.” She looked up from her phone. “While other people count sheep to go to sleep, Raj thinks of ways to make Felicity Grant Bridal one of the premier bridal shops in the world.” She paused. “I can’t remember the last time I had a vacation, and sometimes my back aches from sitting all day in front of a sewing machine. But I’ve wanted to design wedding gowns since I dressed my dolls as a girl.”

  “Is that for Raj?” Gabriel pointed to the box tied with a green ribbon.

  Felicity thought about Adam, and tears formed in her eyes. “It’s a gift for my boyfriend in New York. We got into a fight on Christmas yesterday, and I forgot to give him his present. That’s why I have to get back to the hotel. I’m going to ask the concierge to overnight it to him. Do you think you could ask your friend to ship it urgently?”

  “It sounds serious.” Gabriel frowned. “I’m used to listening to my patients’ problems, if you want to talk about it.”

  Felicity hastily wiped her eyes and ate a small bite of potato.

  “You fixed my ankle; I can’t expect you to help with my love life, too,” she said weakly. “It’s just that Adam and I have been together for six years. I’m worried that I said the wrong thing and spoiled everything.”

  “I promise I don’t mind,” he urged. “We’re going to be here for a while. You aren’t moving until the swelling goes down.”

  Felicity remembered Adam driving away from the terminal at JFK, and a lump formed in her throat.

  “I was hoping Adam would ask me to marry him at Christmas,” she began. “We’re both almost thirty, and we’ve talked about getting married for ages. He said it wasn’t the right time because he just started his own company.” She paused. “I bought him this sweater, and I’m going to send it to him. Then I’ll call and apologize. I’ve been here less than a day, and I already miss him.”

  Gabriel ran his fingers over the glass.

  “So you don’t want to get married?”

  “Of course I do.” She nodded. “I love my career, but I want children and a family. And I love Adam. He’s everything I dreamed of.”

  “Tell him how you feel.” He looked up from his plate. “If he loves you enough to want to spend the rest of his life with you, he’ll propose.”

  “Do you really think so?” she wondered. “We want the same things, and I know he loves me.”

  “Then you have nothing to worry about,” Gabriel said confidently. �
�Have a shot of vodka and I’ll order some dessert.”

  * * *

  “The first thing you’ll learn about the Swiss is, we are passionate about our chocolate,” he said when the waitress set down a plate of chocolate cracknel with honey, and nut cake dipped in milk chocolate. “This is called a ‘non torte,’” he said, handing her a sliver of nut cake. “It’s one of our most beloved treats.”

  “It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” Felicity bit into walnuts and brown sugar and chocolate. “What’s it like being a doctor in St. Moritz? You must meet all sorts of interesting people.”

  “It can be challenging,” he admitted. “Yesterday I treated a sixty-year old tourist who attempted the piste at Corviglia and ended up with a fractured pelvis. It’s hardly surprising; that’s one of the steepest runs in the Alps. And then there was the young woman who went dancing in heels and broke her ankle. I spent the whole morning with a boy whose mother let him eat anything on the Christmas menu. He feasted on cheese fondue and chestnut puree and ended up with a terrible stomachache.”

  “I didn’t realize St. Moritz was such a dangerous place,” Felicity laughed.

  “It isn’t if you use common sense,” he replied. “But most visitors leave theirs in the hotel safe, with their passports and Cartier watches.”

  “Then why are you here?” she asked.

  “I studied medicine at the University of Zurich, with a specialty in pediatric allergies and immunology,” he answered. “I had asthma as a child, and if someday I can help one child fall asleep without worrying if his inhaler is on his bedside table, I’ll be happy. I worked at a clinic in Geneva, but my father had a mild heart attack and I had to come home.” He paused. “He’s had a practice in the village for over thirty years, and he’s a terrible patient. If I hadn’t taken over, he’d be braving the snow at all hours to fix broken bones and prescribe altitude medicine. I’m stuck here until he recovers.”

  “I can’t think of a place I’d rather be,” Felicity said dreamily. “The village square is like the Christmas window at Bloomingdale’s, and the mountains are so peaceful. In New York, you can’t move without cars honking and bicycle messengers yelling and the constant drone of construction.” She ate another bite of torte. “Being in St. Moritz is like diving under a down comforter on Sunday morning and never having to get out of bed.”