Christmas at the Chalet

by Anita Hughes

  “Are they still married?” she asked.

  “My mother died in a car accident when I was fifteen,” he answered quietly. “She was visiting relatives in Munich.”

  “I’m sorry.” Felicity looked at Gabriel.

  “When I was growing up, my father worked all the time. I fixed everything around the house, the toaster and the dishwasher.” He paused. “After my mother died, my father took me with him to see his patients. That’s when I realized I wanted to fix people.

  “I had to come home when my father had a heart attack,” Gabriel finished. “Besides me, his patients are the only family he has. Without them, he is all alone.”

  They left the museum and walked around the building. Upstairs there was a conference room and a viewing area that looked out at the mountains. They could see skiers waiting for the gondola, and children throwing snowballs.

  “And what about Felicity Grant?” He turned to Felicity. “When did you decide to become a bridal designer?”

  “I can’t remember a time when I didn’t sketch dresses for my dolls. But I really knew the summer during high school, when my parents took me to New York.” She leaned against the railing. “Do you know the moment in Breakfast at Tiffany’s when Audrey Hepburn stands in front of Tiffany’s? Fifth Avenue is deserted, and she’s holding a coffee cup and a pastry. She takes off her sunglasses and smiles, and the viewer knows she’s exactly where she belongs.

  “That’s how I felt when I discovered Vera Wang’s atelier on Madison Avenue.” She hugged her arms around her chest. “There was a beige organza gown in the window that looked like tufts of cotton candy. Another dress had a veil shaped like an enormous bow. I knew I had to design bridal gowns, and it had to be in New York. I went home and applied to Parsons. The day I was accepted was one of the happiest of my life.”

  “And now?” Gabriel asked.

  “What do you mean?” Felicity turned to him.

  “If your work gives you so much pleasure, why are you trying to convince your boyfriend to marry you?” Gabriel asked.

  “Everything is better when you share it with the person you love,” Felicity said slowly, images of wedding gowns with skirts like whipped cream dissolving before her eyes. “It makes getting up with your alarm easier, and gives you something to look forward to when you work late.”

  Tears filled her eyes. She longed to be strolling down Lexington Avenue with Adam. How many Sundays had they spent visiting the bridal salon in Sak’s so she could soak up the atmosphere? And all those nights when she wouldn’t go to bed until she finished a sketch, and Adam had massaged her shoulders.

  “My parents had the happiest marriage.” Gabriel interrupted her thoughts. “My mother waited to eat dinner with my father even when he visited patients until midnight, and he saw foreign movies with her even though it strained his eyes.” He looked at Felicity. “My father told me that he was offered a position at a hospital in Dublin, but my mother loved St. Moritz, so he never mentioned it. And my mother won a baking contest, and the prize was a three-month course in New York with a celebrated chef. She didn’t tell my father because she didn’t want him to have to take care of me alone. They were in love, and wanted the best for each other.”

  “That’s a lovely story,” she ruminated. “I do love Adam, and I know he loves me. I’ll call Adam, and we’ll come to a compromise. Perhaps Adam can propose next summer and we can have a long engagement. Or we’ll buy a house and get married later when we’re more settled.”

  Felicity took a deep breath, and for the first time since Raj had showed her the blog, she felt relaxed.

  “It’s my turn to buy lunch”—she waved toward the outdoor café—“and we’ll order something to go for your father. He sounds like a nice man, and I owe him something for helping me figure it out.”

  They sat at a table facing the lake and ordered farmer’s bread with ricotta and eggs. There were sweet pancakes with apricot cream and mugs of hot chocolate. Felicity leaned back and let the air leave her lungs.

  “St. Moritz really is heavenly.” She ate a bite of pancake. “If I was in New York, I’d be sitting in my workroom wondering if I should brave the slush on the sidewalk. I always forget the time, and by the time I stop working it’s ten p.m. and I wonder if it’s worth going home.” She stopped and laughed. “The next day, I do it all over again.”

  “All vacations are wonderful,” Gabriel agreed, eating a bacon burger with Emmental cheese. “But eventually one has to go back to work.”

  “If you lived in St. Moritz, it would never seem like work at all.” She waved her arms around the deck. “Everyone looks happy, and the scenery is breathtaking.” She looked at Gabriel. “If I were you, I’d take over your father’s practice and find a girl to marry. You do want to fall in love, don’t you? No one wants to be alone forever.”

  “Of course I do,” Gabriel agreed. “But the local girls either get married when they’re twenty or move to Zurich or Geneva. And the jet-setters who arrive on their private planes are too wealthy to marry doctors. Anyway, I’m only staying until my father gets better. The minute he gets the all-clear, I hope to get my job back at the clinic in Geneva.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find someone special, and it will be a fairy-tale romance like your mother and father’s,” Felicity said, nodding. The fresh air and the prospect of working it out with Adam were making her almost giddy. “Would you tell me one of your stories?” she asked, leaning forward.

  “My stories?” Gabriel looked up from his crepe.

  “It’s Christmas, and they put me in such a good mood.” She sipped her hot chocolate. “You don’t hear folktales in New York. Everyone is scrolling through their phones and reading gloomy articles about politics and the economy.”

  “There’s an Austrian folktale I used to love,” Gabriel said. “It’s about a little boy who lives alone with his mother high in the Alps. They’re very poor and can never afford enough to eat. One day the boy goes into the forest and meets an old woman. The woman knows of their dire circumstances and offers him a small magic pot. Whenever he says ‘cook, little pot, cook,’ it makes a bowl of sweet porridge. And when he says ‘stop, little pot,’ it stops cooking.

  “The boy takes the pot home and he and his mother are no longer hungry. Whenever they want to eat the boy says ‘cook, little pot, cook,’ and it makes a bowl of delicious porridge. Soon they’re making porridge for all the poor people in the village. One day the boy goes into the forest and is gone for a long time. His mother instructs the pot to cook, but she doesn’t know the word to make it stop. The pot keeps cooking and the whole house is submerged in porridge. Porridge overflows into the street and seeps through the windows of other houses.

  “By the time the boy returns home, the mother is in a panic. The boy turns to the pot and says, ‘stop, little pot,’ and it stops cooking. The porridge dries up and the inhabitants of the village can return safely to their houses. From then on, only the boy instructs the pot to cook, and they have sweet porridge for years to come.”

  Gabriel finished the story and Felicity burst out laughing.

  “That’s one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard,” she said, spreading apricot crème on her pancake. “I picture a whole village covered in porridge.”

  “My mother used to tell it to me at bedtime. In her version the little boy was named Gabriel, and he could fix anything.”

  Felicity put down her fork and looked at Gabriel. His brow was furrowed as he wrestled with a jar of mustard.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up difficult memories. You say you know nothing about love, but you’re wrong,” she said slowly. “You loved your mother so much you remember bedtime stories she told you twenty years ago. And you love your father enough to put your life on hold to take care of him. Maybe you were right to give me advice; maybe you have it all figured out.”

  “Nobody has it figured out.” The lid popped open and he spread mustard on his burger. He looked up and there was some
thing new in his eyes. “But when something is important, you never give up.”

  They ordered steak with tomatoes for Gabriel’s father and strolled through the village. The mountain was filled with skiers, and Badrutt’s Palace was nestled against the forest.

  “You should come back in the summer,” Gabriel said. “It’s completely different, but just as beautiful. There are jazz concerts and boating on the lake.”

  “It would be wonderful to return to St. Moritz with Adam,” Felicity said dreamily. “We’d pack a picnic of rye bread and Edam cheese and go hiking. There would be hidden lakes and fields filled with orange and gold poppies. Adam would kiss me and whisper that he’s never been anywhere so magical.”

  There was an odd silence and Gabriel walked faster along the path. He seemed like he was about to say something, but suddenly there was the sound of horses galloping and people shouting.

  “Look! It’s a snow polo match.” Felicity pointed to the frozen lake. Men in leather jackets were riding horses and waving polo mallets in the air. “Can we stop and watch? I read about these matches, and it sounds exciting.”

  “I guess so. I’m in no hurry to get back to the practice.” He joined her at the fence. “My first patient this afternoon has a recurring backache. I tell him to take a break from skiing and he ignores me. He shows up a few days later asking for a prescription for Vicodin.” He rubbed his hands to keep warm. “I don’t know why people see a doctor if they refuse to follow the advice.”

  The polo match grew more intense, and the players sent the balls spinning across the lake. A horse reared on its hind legs, and Felicity worried that the rider would be thrown. But the man rubbed the horse’s neck until it calmed down, and the crowd cheered with relief.

  Even the spectators were thrilling. The women wore mink coats and huge sunglasses to protect their eyes from the sun. The men yelled at the riders in half a dozen languages, and the air reeked of cigars and sweat.

  Suddenly one of the horses skidded and the rider slipped and fell. The horse scrambled on the ice and galloped across the lake. A man tried to stop it, but it shied away and headed straight toward Felicity.

  There was the sound of hooves crunching on hard snow, and then everything happened very quickly. The horse broke through the barrier and Gabriel threw his arms around Felicity and pulled her away. They fell together on the snow and the horse shot past them.

  “Are you all right?” Gabriel gasped, when they were both sitting up. “Good God, that horse was coming right for us.”

  Felicity’s shoulder hurt. Her jacket was soaked, and there was snow in her hair.

  “I’m fine, just a little shaken up.” She rubbed her shoulder. “I said you were my guardian angel, and now I’m sure of it. First you helped me after the sled almost ran me over, and now you save my life. If you hadn’t grabbed me, I would have been killed.”

  “I’ve never understood why men are so fascinated with waving a stick at a ball.” He shuddered. “Why don’t I walk you back to your hotel? I can make sure you get inside safely, and then you can take a bath.”

  “That’s a good idea.” Felicity’s heart was still pounding. “And I think I’ll ignore Raj’s request and open a bottle of brandy from the minibar.”

  Felicity opened the door of her suite and pulled off her gloves. Gabriel offered to cancel his patients and stay, but she assured him she was all right. She promised to call if she got any headaches, and he said he would rush right over.

  Her phone buzzed and she recognized Adam’s number.

  “Felicity, where have you been?” he asked when she pressed Accept. “I sent you all those texts.”

  “I tried calling, but you didn’t reply,” she answered. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  “I want to talk to you about something too.” His voice was sharp. “Namely, why is the internet lighting up with photos of you in the arms of some Swiss doctor?”

  “It’s hardly the whole internet. Just a few wedding sites and posts on Instagram,” she replied. “A sled almost ran me over, and I fell and hurt my head. Gabriel is a doctor, and he carried me into the hotel. It was nothing. I don’t know why it ended up online.”

  “The blogs thought it was something, and they tagged me in their posts!” Adam corrected. “How do you think it looks when I’m having dinner with Doug, and my Facebook feed is littered with photos of you with a strange man?”

  “I didn’t expect you’d be looking at Facebook over dinner.” Felicity was suddenly angry. “You would be too busy introducing him to New York’s finest restaurants.”

  “This isn’t a joke, Felicity,” he said. “And I don’t believe you. Doctors don’t carry patients to their hotel suites, and they don’t meet for cocktails at a bar.”

  “I blacked out for a minute, and could have had a concussion!” she corrected angrily. “And it wasn’t cocktails, it was afternoon tea. What would it matter if it were champagne and oysters? You were the one who said we should take a break.”

  “So we could think about the future,” Adam snapped. “Not so you could cavort around St. Moritz like a debutante on a ski holiday.”

  “I am thinking about the future.” Felicity bit her lip. “That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

  “I don’t see how you’ve had time to think when you’re running around with a Swiss doctor,” he said briskly. “And you look awfully chummy for two people who just met. The blogs said you might be getting married.”

  “That’s ridiculous! And I never saw Gabriel before,” she said, waving her hand. “But what does it matter? You were the one who said we should see other people. You only care because you don’t want to be embarrassed in front of your clients.”

  She heard footsteps on a hardwood floor and knew Adam was pacing around the room the way he did when he was anxious. She pictured him ruffling his hair and straightening his tie.

  “That’s not why I’m upset.” His voice softened. “I love you, Felicity. That hasn’t changed.”

  Her suite was perfectly quiet, and the afternoon light caught the star on top of the Christmas tree. She studied the striped drapes and the logs stacked in the fireplace.

  “What has changed?” she asked.

  “I told you I wasn’t ready to get married,” Adam said. “Well, it seems you aren’t either.”

  “What do you mean?” she said wonderingly.

  “Look at the photos on Instagram and figure it out,” he answered. “I have to go. I’m taking Doug to the Union Square Holiday Market, and tonight we’re seeing the Rockettes. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Felicity pressed End and remembered how much she and Adam loved the holiday market in Union Square. Last year they’d hosted a New Year’s Eve party and bought a box of Brookie’s Cookies and a pumpkin pie.

  What had she done? She had been going to tell Adam that she wasn’t in a hurry to get married, that what mattered was that they were happy. Then he’d accused her of carrying on with Gabriel, and she’d had to defend herself.

  The box of accessories sat on the coffee table and she peeled back the cover. There wasn’t time to think about Adam; she had to concentrate on the runway show. She spread snowflake-shaped earrings and opal necklaces on the rug.

  There was a black velvet box, and inside was a ring with a round piece of glass that looked like a diamond. She slipped it on her finger and admired it under the lights of the Christmas tree. A lump formed in her throat and she stifled a sob. If only Adam had proposed at Christmas, she would be the happiest woman in St. Moritz.

  She put the ring in the box and placed it on the side table. Then she crouched down on the carpet and sifted through brooches and earrings. In four days she was going to put on the most fabulous fashion show St. Moritz had ever seen. And she still had to work on the sketches for Camilla! Raj would be thrilled if Felicity Grant was featured in Bergdorf’s bridal salon. Those were the only things that mattered, and she wasn’t going to let herself think about anything else.
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  Seven

  Four Days Before the Fashion Show

  11:00 a.m.

  Nell

  NELL STOOD ON THE STONE steps of Badrutt’s Palace and waited anxiously for her father. It was late morning, four days before the fashion show, and a white Rolls Royce pulled into the circular driveway. A valet wearing white gloves opened the passenger door, and a woman stepped out in a full-length black mink coat and suede boots. Her hair was tucked beneath a fur hat and she wore ruby earrings.

  Nell watched the valet hand her a dozen roses and a box wrapped in silver paper. He escorted her through the revolving glass doors and they disappeared into the lobby.

  The welcome was called the Royal Arrival, and it was part of Badrutt’s Palace Hotel’s services. The hotel prided itself on making guests feel like royalty from the moment they stepped off the train or landed at Samedan Airport. A whole fleet of Rolls Royces had picked up the models, Raj, and Felicity at the train station. They’d reclined against the calfskin upholstery and marveled at the crystal champagne flutes and selection of chocolate truffles. By the time they pulled up at the hotel, the girls couldn’t wait to swim in the indoor pool and slip on robes designed by Karl Lagerfeld.

  Doing a fashion show in St. Moritz was a dream, and Nell should be relaxing in the Jacuzzi or sitting by the fireplace and writing postcards to Eliot. But her father had called and asked her to go for a drive. It’s not that she didn’t want to join him. He was an excellent driver, and she was excited about exploring the Engadin valley. But he’d insisted on picking her up at the hotel, and she was terrified he would run into her mother.

  She had asked her mother to join her for breakfast. Then she’d booked a deep-tissue massage and escorted her to the spa. She didn’t feel safe until her mother disappeared into the treatment room and the heavy oak door closed behind her.

  Keeping her parents apart was harder than she’d imagined. Last night her mother had texted while she was with her father and asked if she could borrow her cold cream. Nell had hastily texted back that she was all out and the hotel was bound to have some. Then she had been afraid her mother would knock on her door, so she sent another text saying she was going to bed.