Christmas at the Chalet

by Anita Hughes

  “The Little Nell,” Nell repeated.

  “Haven’t I ever told you? You were named after it,” her mother asked. “We stayed there before you were born, and it was one of the best vacations we ever had. Aspen is gorgeous, and we had so much fun. But then your father and grandfather returned years later for the Aspen Film Festival.”

  “What happened?” Nell leaned forward.

  Her mother sat back in her chair and sipped her wine. “I really shouldn’t talk about it, but you’re old enough now that there’s no reason to keep it a secret. It’s what happened afterward. I should have divorced your father then; it would have saved us years of torture. But I thought I was wrong, so I gave him another chance.”

  Beverly Hills

  Fifteen Years Ago

  Patty

  Patty stood at the marble island in her parents’ kitchen and sliced avocados. There was a platter of stuffed artichokes and spinach quiche.

  Patty wasn’t thrilled about Sunday dinners with her parents at the hacienda on Beverly Drive. Her father and Todd always rattled on about movie grosses, while her mother would prod Patty to attend ladies’ luncheons, and Nell and Pete would get bored and start squabbling.

  The children’s voices sounded from the garden, and Patty knew she had so much to be grateful for. Todd had worked for her father for twelve years, and they had their own home a few blocks away with a swimming pool. The children were healthy, and she didn’t have to worry about money.

  But sometimes when she waited for Todd to come home, the only way she could account for her day was by checking the receipts in her purse: the supermarket, for eggs and peanut butter; the gas station, because she drove the kids to swimming and soccer; and the pharmacy, for Todd’s Dramamine for flying, and her earplugs because he snored in bed.

  Of course, she wished she could accompany him on trips: to Rome when they filmed a remake of Three Coins in the Fountain, and to Tahiti when they shot a romance set in the tropics. Her father was all about the bottom line, however, and the movie budget didn’t include Todd’s wife tagging along, not to mention hiring someone to take care of Pete and Nell and two guinea pigs.

  The doorbell rang, and Patty waited for someone to answer it. Her father and Todd were drinking bourbon in the den, and her mother was still upstairs. She wiped her hands and walked to the entryway.

  “Can I help you?” she said, opening the door.

  An attractive woman stood outside. Her blond hair was cut in a bob, and she wore a navy dress and sandals.

  “I’m looking for Todd Mason—I believe this is his house,” the woman said.

  “His house?” Patty repeated.

  “This is his phone number and address.” The woman showed her a slip of paper. “I didn’t realize it was in the flats of Beverly Hills. I thought the only people who lived here are the actors whose homes you see in those guided tours.”

  “Where did you get this paper?” She glanced at Todd’s name, scribbled with a phone number.

  “He gave it to me in Aspen,” she explained. “I did try calling, but a woman who only spoke Spanish answered.”

  Patty took in the woman’s wide mouth and long eyelashes, and her heart hammered. She was about to say something when her mother appeared beside her.

  “Can we help you?” she asked.

  “This woman is looking for Todd,” Patty said tightly. “She thought he lived here.”

  Todd and her father emerged from the study and turned toward the entryway. Todd was nursing his martini and laughing at something her father said.

  “A woman is here to see you,” Patty said to Todd, her blood boiling up inside her. “You gave her your phone number in Aspen and she thought this was your address.”

  Todd’s face was blank and then he hurried toward them.

  “Thank God, the hotel sent you,” he said. “Is the script in your car? I’ll come with you and get it.”

  “The script?” the woman repeated.

  “I left a script at The Little Nell,” Todd explained to the group. “It’s top secret, and there are some important people attached.” He turned to Alistair. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to worry until I resolved the issue.”

  Todd followed the woman outside and Patty bit her lip. She wasn’t going to accuse Todd of lying in front of her parents. She would wait until they got home, and talk to him in private.

  “Shall we have dinner?” Patty turned to her parents, wondering how she would get through the meal. “I took the quiche out of the oven, and everything looks delicious.”

  * * *

  Patty leaned against the headboard and turned the pages of a book. Dinner with her parents had seemed to drag on forever. Todd was in a particularly good mood, telling stories about the Aspen Film Festival and saying that they should take Nell and Pete skiing there next winter.

  Finally they said goodbye and drove the few blocks home. Now Todd was brushing his teeth, and Patty wondered how she could believe him. What if he had walked back in her parents’ house with the script? That didn’t prove anything. The script might have been in Todd’s car all along.

  In the twelve years of their marriage, Patty could fill a notebook with things that irritated her about Todd: he disregarded her rules and took the kids out for ice cream before dinner. He gave them presents, when she insisted they only spend their allowance. And he regularly forgot important dates like Valentine’s Day and the children’s birthdays. But he never flirted with other women. Whenever they were at a cocktail party, he said that she was the most beautiful woman in the room.

  “What was that about?” she said when he entered the bedroom.

  “What are you talking about?” he said, climbing in beside her.

  “The woman at the door of my parents’ house.” She placed the book on the bedside table.

  “The hotel sent her to deliver my script,” he said nonchalantly. “I’m lucky no one found it. I would have been in a lot of trouble if Jerry Bruckheimer or George Clooney got their hands on it.”

  “You expect me to believe The Little Nell flew a woman to Los Angeles to personally bring your script?” she demanded.

  “I expect you to believe it because it’s the truth. The Little Nell is one of the most exclusive hotels in the world.” He shrugged. “They accept all sorts of crazy requests; the producer staying in the next suite had his coffee flown in daily from Kenya.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Patty said flatly.

  “It’s the movie business,” he said. “I once stayed at the Ritz in Paris and a famous actress took up an entire floor. She insisted no one used key cards, because the magnets made her skin age. They had to deprogram all the rooms and get regular keys.”

  “Well, you’re not a famous actor,” she retorted. “And the woman at the door couldn’t have worked for a hotel. She had expensive highlights and wore a designer dress.”

  “What does that have to do with anything? How would you know she had expensive highlights?” he asked. “Did you get the name of her hairdresser?”

  “I’ll tell you what I think.” Patty turned to him. “She’s an attractive woman who you met at the film festival. You gave her my parents’ phone number so I wouldn’t find out if she called. You were going to set up a rendezvous at the Beverly Hills Hotel.”

  “That’s a ridiculous story. I don’t even know her name,” he fumed.

  “Well, she knew your name,” she said, glowering. “How could you? You embarrassed me in front of everyone.”

  “You’re being absurd. I have never given you a reason to doubt me,” he said indignantly. “If you don’t believe me, you can call the hotel and ask them.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Patty scoffed.

  “We have to do something to put an end to this.” He grabbed the phone and punched in the number. “Information for Aspen, please give me the number for The Little Nell.” He handed Patty the phone.

  “What do you want me to do with this?” She held the receiver.r />
  “I want you to ask them if they delivered a script to Todd Mason in Beverly Hills.”

  Patty waited while she was connected to the concierge. “This is the wife of Todd Mason. I was inquiring about a script my husband left at the hotel.”

  “Yes, of course, Mrs. Mason,” the concierge replied. “I was told it was delivered today to Mr. Mason’s home in Beverly Hills. I trust it was in good condition—there were no pages missing?”

  “It was fine, thank you,” Patty said, and handed the phone back to Todd.

  “Are you satisfied?” He replaced the phone on the receiver.

  “I suppose so.” She turned to her side so Todd couldn’t see the tears in her eyes.

  Todd’s hand brushed her arm and he kissed her neck.

  “I’ve never seen you jealous before,” he whispered. “I quite like it.”

  “I didn’t like it,” she breathed. “I didn’t like it at all.”

  “Then maybe I can make it up to you.” He turned her on her back and kissed her. “I’ll serve you breakfast in bed tomorrow, and then I’ll take the kids to lunch and a movie. You’ll have the house to yourself all afternoon.”

  She kissed him back and the tightness in her chest dissolved.

  “I would like that,” she relented. “But don’t let Pete make the pancakes. He always uses too much syrup.”

  * * *

  “Why are we talking about something that happened fifteen years ago?” her mother said to Nell, putting her wine glass on the table. “I shouldn’t have brought it up; it’s ancient history.”

  “You said you should have divorced him then,” Nell prodded, excited that they were finally getting somewhere. “But he was telling the truth about the script. What happened next?”

  Her mother picked up her wine glass and it tipped and spilled wine on her dress.

  “Oh, goodness, I spilled wine on my dress!” Her mother jumped up and ran into the bathroom.

  Nell watched the logs flicker in the fireplace. The wine and the brandy were making her head spin, and she suddenly felt deflated. What if she was close to learning the truth, but her mother refused to continue with the story?

  “I’m sorry to interrupt our dinner.” Her mother returned to the living room. A robe was knotted around her waist, and she was holding the dress. “I have to call housekeeping to get the stain out. The dress is vintage Cavalli, and I could never replace it.”

  “I’ll go with you, I want to hear the end of the story,” Nell offered. “You were saying that you gave him another chance.”

  “I shouldn’t have mentioned it, and I really don’t want to talk about it,” her mother said, and looked at Nell. “No matter our differences, your father and I want what’s best for you. That’s all that matters.”

  Nell wanted to say that all she wanted was for her parents to be at her wedding. But she had said it so many times before, and it hadn’t made any difference.

  “I should go anyway.” Nell stood up. “Raj booked the models on a morning sleigh ride.”

  “I’m glad I’m here, and I can’t wait for the fashion show.” Her mother kissed her on the cheek. “I’m so proud of you. You are beautiful and successful, and you found a man who makes you happy.”

  “I am happy.” Nell walked to the door.

  “Then hold on to him as hard as you can,” her mother ruminated. “Happiness is hard to find.”

  * * *

  Nell opened the door to her room and kicked off her shoes. It was too late for the bobsled races, and she didn’t feel like joining everyone for Viennese coffee at the Sunny Bar.

  Had her father called her mother? What would happen if she discovered he was here? That was impossible; her father would have said something. But what if her mother grew suspicious and asked Nell if she was hiding anything from her? She couldn’t stop now. She had less than three days in St. Moritz, and she had to convince them to attend her wedding.

  Her diamond ring sparkled under the chandelier, and she remembered when Eliot had proposed. It was the first day of spring in New York, and Nell had just gotten over a cold. She wanted to stay home, but Eliot insisted they go rowing in Central Park. It had been raining for weeks, and finally the sky was blue and the grass was soft under their feet.

  Eliot had rented a rowboat and Nell leaned back against the cushions. The trees were covered with cherry blossoms and the air smelled fresh and clean. There was a picnic basket of bagels and cream cheese and orange juice. Nell bit into a bagel and Eliot kneeled in front of her.

  * * *

  “What are you doing?” she asked, worried that he was going to tip the rowboat.

  “I’ve been carrying this around for weeks.” He drew a blue box out of his pocket. “I didn’t think proposing would be romantic when you had a cold and were sniffling and anyway, we couldn’t go boating in the rain. Nell Mason, I’ve loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you, and all I want is to make you happy.” He opened the box. “Will you marry me?”

  “Yes.” She nodded and kissed him. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  Eliot slipped the ring on her finger and took out the bottle of champagne hidden under the seat.

  “Don’t you think this is a little cheesy?” she said, laughing. “The Upper West Side behind us, a Tiffany’s ring on my finger, and plastic cups of champagne and orange juice.”

  “I never want to be afraid of being cheesy,” he said, kissing her. “Being madly in love is the cheesiest thing of all, and that’s how we’re going to feel for the rest of our lives.”

  * * *

  Nell’s mother was right; she’d found a guy who was warm and handsome and kind. She unzipped her dress and pulled on a robe. If only her parents would be there when she met Eliot at the altar, she’d be the happiest bride in the world.

  Fourteen

  Two Days Before the Fashion Show

  10:30 a.m.

  Felicity

  IT WAS MID-MORNING TWO DAYS before the fashion show, and Felicity was admiring the room-service tray on the coffee table. There were fluffy pastries and a poached egg on brioche and a glass of grapefruit juice. Raj couldn’t even get upset with Felicity for ordering from the menu; breakfast was included with her suite and didn’t cost a thing.

  Felicity hadn’t touched anything except for the coffee and whole cream. Even the cream made her stomach turn. She poured it out and drank her coffee black.

  She should be getting ready to go on a sleigh ride with the models. They were going to drive through the Staz forest and stop at Hotel Staz for bratwurst and apple bread. The snow had stopped, and the trees were covered with icicles. It would be so pretty.

  She’d barely slept, and the last thing she wanted was to have to smile and make conversation. She told Raj she’d had to make some last-minute alterations and she’d see him this evening. It wasn’t a complete lie. She’d had to take in the waist of Chelsea’s oyster-colored sheath because Chelsea had had food poisoning and lost a couple of pounds. And Emily’s empire-style gown needed a shorter train to show the amethysts sewn into the hem. When Emily glided down the runway, Felicity wanted everyone to notice the gems twinkling against white satin.

  All night she’d tossed and turned, remembering her kiss with Gabriel. When she woke up there were two missed calls from Adam on her phone. But he hadn’t left a message, and she was too anxious to call him back. What if Adam had seen the kiss and was furious? And why had she kissed Gabriel in the first place?

  Finally she got up and grabbed her notepad. She loved the sketch of the mermaid gown with the faux-fur skirt she had created for Camilla, but she still had to create one more design. She worked for an hour, but nothing seemed to work: she couldn’t get the strapless bodice right, and the illusion sleeves reminded her of a fisherman’s net. She crumpled the paper and tossed it in the garbage.

  There was a knock on the door and she answered it. A bellboy held the largest bouquet of flowers she had ever seen. There were two dozen red roses, mixed with tulips and baby’s
breath.

  “Good morning, Miss Grant.” He nodded to her, carrying the flowers into the suite. “These are for you.”

  “Are you sure?” Felicity asked, wondering who’d sent them. Raj never sent flowers before a show. He knew how much florists in Manhattan marked up roses, and thought the company money was best spent elsewhere.

  “Your name is on the card.” He handed her the envelope. “I’m supposed to wait for the reply.”

  “You want me to read it now?” she repeated, pulling the robe tightly around her waist.

  “If you don’t mind.” He nodded. “I have strict orders not to leave until you’ve answered.”

  Felicity opened the card and scanned the lines:

  Dear Felicity,

  You disappeared from the nightclub, and I couldn’t reach you on your cell phone. I even called your suite, but there was no answer. I apologize if I said something to upset you. I came all the way to St. Moritz to see you. Can we have dinner tonight? I asked the concierge and he recommended Le Restaurant. If the answer is yes, I’ll meet you in the lobby at 8 p.m.

  Love,

  Adam

  Felicity looked from the note to the bouquet and her heart hammered. It was a Christmas miracle! Adam had said he was sorry, and he’d sent the most beautiful roses. Maybe their relationship wasn’t over after all.

  “What should I tell him?” The bellboy’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  “Sorry?” She looked up, having forgotten he was there.

  “What’s your answer?” he prompted.

  The sun made patterns on the Persian rugs and the silver coffee pot gleamed under the chandelier. She held the card tightly and smiled. “The answer is yes.”

  Felicity ate the last bite of brioche and put the plate on the tray. Her appetite had returned, and she finished the poached egg and half a bowl of muesli. Then she searched her closet for something to wear to dinner: her vintage Gucci dress with knee-high boots, or the cashmere sweater Adam had bought her last Christmas with a chenille skirt.

  The afternoon stretched in front of her, and she was tempted to play hooky and get a massage or go ice-skating. But Raj would see the charge on the hotel bill, and she couldn’t take the chance of getting injured. It was better to stay in her suite and work on the sketches, and finish sewing the hem on Emily’s gown.