Christmas at Claridge's

by Karen Swan

  ‘No, I . . .’ Stella grimaced. ‘Sorry I wasn’t really thinking it all through. I just had to see you. Couldn’t go another day—’

  ‘I’m glad. You’d have been ripped off. You can stay here with me. We can share the bed.’

  ‘What about Gabriel?’

  ‘It’s fine. He’s in Paris for a few days.’

  ‘Good,’ Stella said, climbing the stairs. ‘At least he shouldn’t hear me snore from there.’

  Clem looked alarmed. ‘You snore?’

  ‘Like a bear, baby.’ Stella sighed, a tiny amused smile curling her lips. ‘Like a fricking bear.’

  She lay in bed, the round wagon-wheel windows open, one ear automatically listening out for the sound of the V8 over the waves, even though Gabriel wasn’t due back from Paris till the following night. She was trying to sleep but could only manage fitful naps – Stella’s news lodged in her mind – before being jerked out of sleep by full body spasms, her heart hammering in her chest, her head spinning with all the changes. Beside her, Stella was snoring; she’d been sleeping solidly since Clem had sent her up to bed earlier – relieved of the weight of her secret now that she’d burdened Clem with it.

  Clem thought she heard a sound outside and turned her head towards the stairs, waiting for it to materialize into footsteps and a turn of the latch, but nothing came. Her ear tuned back into the splashing, smashing of the waves and she drifted off again.

  When she awoke, the moon was up and she was misted with a sheen of sweat, her legs tangled in the thin cotton sheet. It was the middle of the night now, the lights in the gardens long since turned off, the coast blotted out as if it had been smothered with a coat.

  Clem sat up, sensing a change. Stella was sleeping more soundly beside her now, a small smile on her face.

  A gust whipped around the room, making Clem shiver, and she realized the wind had picked up. The day had been sticky and still, leaching energy and conversation, but now thick, rolling clouds were gathering like armies in the skies, marching past the moon in tangled formations. A sudden crack of light, as if the sky was splitting open, sent the world into negative image – white was black, black was white – and she realized that was what had woken her.

  She got up and walked to the window, watching as the waves steadily reared, row upon row, showing their bellies and beginning to snarl and froth. She looked left, towards Chiara’s. She already knew what the storm would look like from there. Was Chiara watching, too, as she worked through the night again, sitting at her kitchen table with ledgers spread around her while the sky flashed? And what about Luca? Every child loved an electric storm, didn’t they? Or was he scared? No, she thought, probably nothing scared him, except maybe his wish not coming true, whatever that was.

  A sound downstairs, not more than a sigh, made her turn. Gabriel?

  She walked down on tiptoes, finding him asleep in his suit on the sofa, his long legs hanging over the edge. She curled up in the lemon chair beside him and rested her head on the arm, gazing at him as he slept. He was just so beautiful to look at; she thought she would never tire of it. He was the ultimate escape; sometimes she felt as though she could climb inside him and hide. He was her oblivion. She felt shielded by him, protected – as she needed to be.

  Her eyes roamed the length of him – his expression was benign, his fingers unfurled, no tension in his legs or brow. She extended a leg, nudging his foot lightly with hers, and he stirred, groaning lightly before blinking slowly into the gloom. He noticed her curled up in the armchair and smiled, pushing himself up to sitting and stretching out his back.

  ‘What are you doing down here?’ he asked, his accent always thicker at night, his shirt rumpled.

  ‘I was about to ask you the same thing.’ She smiled.

  ‘I came up to bed but saw that you have company.’

  ‘Stella came out and surprised me.’

  ‘So did I, but I didn’t think I should surprise her by joining you.’ He smiled, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry, it’s not fair that you should have to sleep down here.’

  ‘It is one night,’ he said wryly. ‘I will survive. I am not so spoiled as you think,’ he said, jokingly cricking his neck. ‘Is she OK? Was it an emergency?’

  ‘You could say that; she’s pregnant,’ Clem whispered. ‘She needed to talk.’

  Gabriel frowned. ‘Of course. It is very serious. What will she do?’

  ‘I’m trying to persuade her to keep it. I think she wants to but . . .’ she wrinkled her nose. ‘I think she’s frightened. The father doesn’t know yet and he might not want a baby. It wasn’t planned.’

  He watched her keenly. ‘She’s lucky to have you as a friend,’ he murmured, reaching out to clasp her by the wrist and pulling her onto his lap. He tilted his face to kiss her as his hands slowly brushed up her waist, one hand cupping her breast as another combed through her hair. ‘I like to see this side to you.’

  ‘What side?’ she whispered, closing her eyes as he kissed her neck, beginning to lose herself in him again.

  ‘Maternal.’

  She stiffened, her eyes open as his lips met hers. ‘I’m not the maternal type, Gabriel.’

  He chuckled softly. ‘You can’t fool me. I’ve seen you playing with the little boy here sometimes. He makes you laugh . . . It makes me think what you would be like if, one day, we had a son.’

  She pulled back abruptly. ‘That’s not an option.’

  ‘Not now maybe, I agree – I want to keep you to myself a bit longer – but in a few years . . .’

  ‘No. I’m never having children.’

  He stopped kissing her and met her eyes. ‘And you have just made that decision all by yourself? No thought of what I might want?’ he asked after a long pause.

  ‘I made that decision a long time ago, long before I ever met you.’

  ‘But why?’ he asked, incredulous.

  ‘Because I wouldn’t be any good.’

  ‘Of course you—’

  ‘Trust me. I’m never going to change my mind on this.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ He frowned as she got up off his lap, pulling down her T-shirt in jerky, agitated movements.

  ‘You don’t need to.’

  ‘Well, were you ever going to tell me?’ he asked, a throb of anger in his voice at her casual flippancy.

  ‘We’ve been together six weeks, Gabriel,’ she said impatiently. ‘I didn’t think it was a discussion we needed to have right now.’

  She saw the muscle clench in his jaw and she shifted her weight, anxious suddenly that she’d been too vehement in her proclamations. This could be a deal-breaker – it very probably was – but that didn’t mean she could be without him now, not while she was still out here. She changed tack. ‘I’m sorry I . . . I’m just a bit freaked out because of Stella. It’s a lot to take in. It’s going to change my life as much as hers. We’re inseparable back home.’

  ‘You are not students any more,’ Gabriel muttered. ‘Or maybe you didn’t notice you are nearly thirty? You think being the party girl is going to make you happy ten, fifteen years from now?’

  Clem bit her lip. She’d heard all this before – from Tom, her parents, Freddie and Josh; even Simon had said much the same thing. ‘I’m going back to bed. We’re both tired,’ she replied evasively.

  She turned and walked up the stairs with his eyes on her back, her own eyes falling on the heaving, moonlit sea beyond the windows. Being sequestered here on this tiny peninsula had made it easy to pretend up until now, as they played house together and made love in the folly. But reality was already blinking over the horizon, like a distant ship, and their fairytale existence here was as fragile as a dream.

  Chapter Thirty

  ‘Oh God, you’re never coming back, are you?’ Stella drawled, sitting in front of Clem and dangling her toes in the turquoise water of the hotel pool, the roofs of the pink-speckled port far below them. ‘I mean, who in their right mind would leave this?’
>
  Clem grinned. ‘Lucky for you, then, that we both know I’m not in my right mind.’

  She had woken to find Gabriel already gone – a note on the table telling her he’d taken his usual room at the Splendido for the next two nights, until Stella left. When she’d called him, he had been cool, although he hadn’t rebuffed her suggestion that she and Stella join him there and make the most of the facilities for the day before heading down to the port later for window-shopping, drinks and dinner. It was a welcome respite from the dust and noise back at the house, and Stella really needed to rest.

  Clem lay back on the lounger and looked around at the poolside scene. All around them, honeymooners lounged elegantly in Heidi Klein bikinis and Manuel Canovas sarongs, sipping pink drinks and talking in hushed tones. She and Stella broke the mould somewhat; Clem fiddled with her tiny Isabel Marant bikini, pretty sure no one had ever worn tie-dye in the Splendido before, and as for Stella in her yellow crocheted swimsuit, her wild hair pinned up with clasps decorated with silk butterflies . . . it was as if she’d bottled Portobello – eclectic, irreverent, ballsy – and drenched herself in it. Clem watched as Stella flicked quickly through the pages of her Paris Vogue, as though the biggest dilemma in her life was choosing which dress to wear to dinner. There was no sign of her condition yet, but she had slept for almost twelve hours and when she had woken, she was in a bright mood. Clem wondered whether her words had had an impact?

  She looked across at Gabriel, who was lying on the bed beside her. He looked obscenely good in his powder-blue Orlebar Brown trunks, and she knew most of the women round the pool were eyeing him up behind their shades. He was reading reports on his iPad, looking sterner than she was used to seeing him, and she squeezed his hand, liking the way his features automatically softened at the sight of her, before he remembered her arrogance and frowned again.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Clem whispered. ‘I was a cow. I should never have tried to hold a conversation in the middle of the night. Sleep’s all I’m fit for at night.’

  He was silent for a few moments and she knew he was thinking that wasn’t all she was fit for at night. But this wasn’t the time for jokes.

  ‘I wasn’t saying I want them now,’ he murmured, keeping the conversation deliberately oblique lest Stella should overhear. ‘But it was a shock that you wouldn’t even discuss it.’

  ‘I know. It’s just way too early for that conversation, that’s all . . . Forgive me?’ He could hear her pout, even if he wouldn’t look at her. He raised an eyebrow a fraction of an inch and she knew she had him. She rolled onto his stomach, deliberately and carelessly crushing his newspaper between them as every set of eyes swivelled towards them. ‘I’ll make it up to you, I promise,’ she said, her parted lips kissing his. She pulled back onto her hands and knees like a cat. ‘Our first fight,’ she said as though it was as sexy as their first kiss, a gleam in her eyes as she backed off the lounger, watching the way his eyes travelled rapaciously up and down her body.

  With a teasing wink and deliberately not readjusting her bikini bottoms to cover her more modestly, she joined Stella by the poolside, slipping her legs silkily into the water.

  ‘Do you really have to go tomorrow?’ she asked after a while, when it became apparent Stella couldn’t be distracted from the fashion spread on the new sports luxe.

  Stella sighed as she was drawn back into the present. ‘I can’t ask Mercy to cover for me on the stall for longer than this weekend. She’s got a day job, too.’

  ‘But I’ve missed you so much. I just wish you could stay longer.’

  Stella looked around them and laughed. ‘Yeah. Me, too.’

  ‘Have you thought any more about what we talked about?’

  Stella snorted. ‘Like I’ve got other things on my mind,’ she quipped sarcastically, before wincing. ‘Sorry I’m so desperate for a ciggie, it’ s making me a bitch.’

  ‘It’s OK. You slept well at least.’

  ‘Honestly? It’s like I fall into a coma every night. I thought you only got that kind of oblivion after half a bottle of vodka.’

  Clem smiled. ‘Your colour’s better, too. I bet you’re going to be one of those really annoying people who just looks amazing when they’re pregnant.’

  Stella shot her a sharp look.

  Clem shrugged. ‘What?’

  ‘Stop it! I know what you’re doing.’

  ‘What am I doing?’

  ‘Selling me this baby.’

  Clem bit her lip. ‘I just think you’d be great, that’s all,’ she said after a moment, her voice tiny so that no one, Gabriel included, could overhear. ‘And I’d get to be an aunty. I’d help you. And Mercy . . . she could be your nanny! She used to be one, you know.’

  Stella looked down at the port, shaking her head. ‘Fuck’s sake. And to think I thought you were going to be my ally.’

  ‘I am always your ally,’ Clem said, gripping her arm and squeezing it. ‘I’ll support you no matter what you decide. I just don’t want to see you make a mistake. A termination is a huge thing. You’ve got to be able to live with it.’

  Stella looked across at her, her eyes narrowed. ‘Have you had one then?’

  Clem’s hand dropped. ‘N-no.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No.’

  Stella held her stare for a moment before looking back at the port.

  ‘Just speak to Oscar.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  They fell silent, their legs swishing in small kicks, watching as a woman in a white Chanel bikini glided past, the water creasing in smooth ripples around her as if it was liquid gold.

  ‘Shit, you will come back, won’t you?’ Stella asked, genuine doubt bending her voice. ‘You won’t become one of them?’

  Clem looked down at her tie-dye bikini and the small gold hoop piercing her belly button. ‘What do you think? I’m just gatecrashing the party.’

  Stella laughed, the sound dying in her throat as she saw Gabriel walk to the far end of the pool and raise his arms above his head for a dive. ‘Holy mother . . .’ she mumbled.

  They watched him, Clem reminded of his dive off the boat that first night in the cove, fully clothed, swimming towards her in the dark.

  ‘Promise me you’ll never chuck him,’ Stella said, watching as he sliced sharply through the water and cut up a length in a few, precise strokes. ‘It’s actually good for my health just looking at him.’

  Clem giggled as Gabriel effortlessly touched the far end and turned, his eyes on Clem as he took another breath and slipped underwater, heading towards her like a torpedo.

  ‘OMFG,’ Stella whispered. ‘How can you stay so calm with him coming after you? Do you have no pulse, woman?’

  But before Clem could reply, Gabriel’s hand had closed around her ankle and, in one swift move, he’d pulled her into the water. She surfaced with a laugh, accidentally splashing Chanel woman on her serene way back, as she tried and failed to escape Gabriel’s arms.

  ‘I’ve got you.’ He grinned.

  ‘For now, maybe,’ Clem quipped, squealing loudly as he dug his fingers into her waist, tickling her tortuously.

  Stella looked on at the playfight, bemused, her keen eyes missing nothing, before picking up her magazine again with a weary sigh.

  The lights danced on the water like playful fireflies, the piazzetta’s resident three-legged dog snoozing by one of the small lobster boats that had been pulled up onto the cobbles.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much taupe cashmere or designer trainers gathered together in one place before,’ Stella hissed, looking around at the diners seated at the neighbouring tables. She, herself, was obeying no such dogma, wearing a leopard-print chiffon kaftan and turquoise bangles that she’d bartered for one of her tops with a trader friend at the market.

  ‘It is a thing,’ Clem nodded, trying to look over the specials while her eyes scanned the small square. Chiara was joining them for dinner and Clem felt inexplicably bound up with nerves at the thought of introduc
ing the two women who knew her best in the world.

  Stella leaned closer, her eyes darting over to Gabriel quickly, but he was scanning the wine list. ‘Gatecrasher are you?’ she murmured, her eyes pointedly moving over Clem’s beige lace shorts and ivory silk blouse. ‘Hmm, not so much methinks.’

  Clem gasped, as though insulted that her Portobello-ness should be questioned, and swung out a leg, showing off her perilously high, pale pink suede heels with studded ankle straps. Then she rattled the punky pyramid-coned leather cuff that Gabriel had given her ‘as a small gift’ for good measure.

  ‘That’s Hermès,’ Stella replied with an arched eyebrow and a wicked smile on her lips, and Clem knew her friend was accusing her of being assimilated into the good taste crowd.

  ‘Oh crap, that’s her. I just know it is. Why didn’t you say she’s like a freaking mermaid?’ Stella murmured, pushing her hair back and taking a deep breath. Clem followed her gaze over to Chiara, who looked stunning in a strapless beige maxi dress embellished with blue mosaic swirls.

  ‘Hey, ciao.’ Clem smiled, standing up to greet her and kissing her warmly on each cheek.

  ‘Ciao.’ Chiara smiled, pushing her hair back off her shoulder.

  ‘Chiara, this is Gabriel,’ Clem said, touching Gabriel’s arm lightly. They shook hands and she was relieved to see Gabriel was polite but seemingly unmoved by Chiara’s tender beauty.

  ‘It is a pleasure.’ Chiara smiled, equally as polite back.

  ‘And this is Stella, my partner in all crimes.’

  ‘Totally love your dress,’ Stella said by way of introduction. ‘Who’s it by?’

  Chiara laughed, somewhat taken aback by the unorthodox greeting, and shrugged. ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘D’you mind if I . . .?’ Stella asked, indicating to look at the label in the back.

  Clem rolled her eyes as Chiara turned – astonishment on her face – for Stella.

  Stella nodded wisely as she saw the label. ‘Yup, I know them. Brazilian. Coming through quickly. Harvey Nics and Selfridges are stocking them now.’

  Clem shook her head and indicated for them all to sit. ‘You’ll get used to it. Every event is catalogued in Stella’s memory according to what people wear. Trust me, this is a great compliment.’