Snowflakes and Mistletoe at the Inglenook Inn

by Helen J Rolfe

  Myles had done his research before starting this job and he knew the information already. He’d spent his flight over here reading up on the history of the company, many evenings at the Inn finding out about the firm’s range of clients, and he rarely switched off. So where was this going?

  ‘I’m keen to impress and get this new client on board,’ said Neil.

  ‘I’ll be on my best behaviour.’ Myles’s answer didn’t seem to have the desired effect and his boss, being the man Myles already knew he was, came straight to the point.

  ‘I’ve known these people for a while. They’re well respected. They’ll all be bringing their wives. You know the way it is. Wives go off in their little huddle and put the world to rights, we men kick back with a cigar and a whiskey and talk business.’

  ‘Right.’ Was he asking if Myles smoked? Or whether he drank whiskey? The latter he could manage and if he needed to have the odd cigar to chew the fat with potential clients, so be it. It wasn’t his favourite pastime but he could do it as a one-off.

  ‘It’s old-fashioned, I know,’ his boss went on. Still Myles wasn’t really sure what he was getting at. ‘These affairs are usually more balanced if the wives come along.’

  ‘Can’t magic one of those up, I’m afraid.’ Myles fidgeted in his seat. His eyes were sore from looking at the screen for too long and, as darkness had descended over Manhattan, he was ready to get out of here, but his boss was prolonging his escape.

  ‘How about you ask Rhonda,’ Neil suggested.

  ‘My secretary, Rhonda? I suppose I could, but is it really necessary? I mean, if I was asked I’d have to say I was single.’

  ‘These clients slipped through the net last time, Myles. I really want to secure their trust. I’m not saying you absolutely have to bring someone, but last time we landed a client of their stature and size it was following a friendship struck up between the wives, one that landed the women in Martha’s Vineyard, costing me more money than I care to think about,’ he guffawed, ‘but here at the firm I believe business and pleasure can be mixed to make for really good prospects.’

  Myles had experienced this before. Five years ago his sister-in-law had set him up with a friend of hers to attend a business function. His date had impressed everyone he worked with, apart from him. Not that she wasn’t pleasant company, a half-decent conversationalist and reasonably attractive. It’s just that he didn’t want to get involved. Not until he was really sure about someone. When you’d grown up in a family like his you saw what marriage could do to people, what it could do to kids. Myles had spent the whole evening becoming more and more uncomfortable as he realised she was looking for a lot more than he could offer. And when the evening was over and he had to say he wasn’t looking for a relationship, he knew he’d hurt her. He hadn’t wanted to do that, she didn’t deserve it. But taking Rhonda or anyone else to this Christmas function was going to be like history repeating itself. And besides, he liked Rhonda in a purely platonic way. Thirteen years his junior, she had a pleasant manner and was a damn fine secretary, and he didn’t want to ruin that.

  ‘I’ll find someone to bring along,’ said Myles. It wasn’t a suggestion from Neil but a requirement and he wanted to secure this client as much as his boss did, especially if they’d slipped through the net last time. This would be another chance to prove himself and he was always up for the challenge.

  ‘Great.’ His boss stood, satisfied with the outcome. ‘Talking of other halves, I’d better get home or my wife will be sending out the search party.’

  After Neil left, Myles turned his chair to face his computer but when the figures swam in front of his eyes he admitted defeat, tidied the papers on his desk and left everything ready to face again in the morning.

  *

  Outside, on the stoop of the Inglenook Inn, Myles passed the family who were staying in the apartment on the floor below his. They bustled past and out the door and he nodded a friendly hello. He’d wondered whether they were going to be too noisy during their stay, but so far they were model guests. He hadn’t heard a sound apart from the usual street noise and he was usually so exhausted that he slept soundly whatever was going on around him.

  He wiped his feet on the mat and shut the heavy door behind him. Already he could smell the scent from the fireplace and knew it would be lit, hypnotic in its presence. The thought comforted him until he got a waft of a different smell mingled with the woodsmoke: pine. And it conjured up memories he’d rather forget. He wondered, would it be too impolite to walk right past the lounge and totally ignore it? If he didn’t see it at all over the festive period it would be fine by him. Bad enough there was already a tree in the dining room in his opinion.

  He set down his briefcase, took off his coat – unnecessary now he was wrapped in the warmth of the brownstone – and from the hallway could see Darcy busying herself at the desk, typing on the computer. He watched for a moment, surprised at how different she looked with her hair falling about her shoulders. Soft waves shimmered in the light of the desk lamp and she took on a softer appearance now she looked less businesslike. She was standing as though she’d been in the middle of something else and he wondered how many hours she put in running the Inn. Probably more than even he did, but he supposed they both loved their jobs. His mum had never worked, not that he would’ve minded. Perhaps it would’ve stopped her becoming so lost along the way and things could’ve turned out very differently. She’d always been there for her boys physically but that was as far as it went. And when they reached their teen years and didn’t long for her company as much, he hadn’t missed the regret on her face at what had gone before.

  The doors to the lounge were permanently open in a doorway that was much wider than you’d expect of a brownstone, and they were all the more welcoming now the tree was in position. He could see how it would draw guests to the communal area, perhaps lure people in from the street to enquire about bookings. Darcy had a good head on her shoulders. He expected her hotel career would go far.

  He smiled at Darcy when she looked up, then turned his gaze to the tree, psyching himself up to show at least some enthusiasm. ‘It’s huge!’

  She smiled and came round to the front of the desk. ‘I’m glad you like it.’ She went over to the tree, which was yet to be decorated, and he noticed she’d already begun stringing lights from the top all the way down to the bottom. The wires were still protruding and she crouched down beneath the tree to push in the pieces that were on the floor so it looked neat.

  She tried to reverse out gracefully but stopped when her hair got caught on one of the lower branches. He watched her attempt to free herself but she couldn’t do it without the benefit of being able to see where the tangles were.

  ‘Here, let me.’ He bent down and gradually pulled each silky strand from the needled branch, the air a mixture of pine and a more pleasant zesty shampoo.

  ‘Thanks.’ She brushed at her hair with her hand. He loved that his touch had made her uneasy enough that she couldn’t look at him. She seemed so in control most of the time, but the gesture showed she was as human as everyone else. ‘Now all I need to do is decorate it.’ She pushed the plug into the socket and the white lights dazzled him momentarily.

  ‘Is your chef still here?’ asked Myles, feeling the need to escape.

  She’d obviously become lost in the task of decorating a Christmas tree – only for a split second, but her expression told him enough to know she was snapping back to hostess mode. ‘He isn’t, but I can make you a simple snack if you’d like.’

  ‘Thanks, just a basic ham, cheese and tomato sandwich would be really good. And I’ll eat in my apartment this evening.’

  ‘Sure.’ She shifted a big box of decorations aside so nobody would trip over it. ‘Coming right up.’ And off she went to the kitchen.

  The smile she’d given him was brighter than those lights she’d turned on and it was a little unnerving as he made his way up the stairs. He wasn’t going to do any work this even
ing but he needed to gather his thoughts about the idea that had struck him on his walk from the subway station to the Inn. Darcy wasn’t too much younger than him and she was bound to have friends who would be happy to go to a work function with him. If he explained the predicament he was in, that he needed a platonic escort, hopefully Darcy could help him out. She seemed an astute businesswoman, and the incentive for anyone coming along would be a top-notch menu, an all-you-can-drink liquor supply – none of it cheap – and an evening at The Plaza.

  Myles let himself into his apartment but the second he did, he knew something was different. There was a smell. Not shower gel from his morning routine, not polish from the cleaner who sneaked in and out so seamlessly he would never have known had it not been for the bed being so professionally made, and it was only when he took another step so his view wasn’t obscured by the small piece of wall that jutted out with coat hooks lined up in a row that he found the source.

  ‘What the hell’s this?’ He glared at the Christmas tree standing there in all its glory, its towering height and majesty filling the space. A symbol of Christmas, white lights fading in and out as though mocking him and his reaction, fading to nothing but then coming back to remind him that they were very much there. An angel gloated from the top of the tree, crafted ornaments in wood, silver and white danced between candy canes dangling from branches, and there was a card tied on with a piece of silver ribbon like a decoration.

  Myles stalked over to the tree, snatched the card from the branch so hard that pine needles scattered in fear all over the floor. He tore open the envelope and pulled out a card with a picture of Central Park on the front. The park was covered in snow, a winter wonderland, and when he opened it the handwritten message said, ‘May all your Christmas wishes come true.’ It was signed ‘Darcy, The Inglenook Inn’.

  The frown was still on his face when a knock came from the other side of the door. Exhausted and deflated, he opened it to see Darcy herself, beaming in delight and clearly waiting for him to return the reaction. Instead he reached out, took the tray with the sandwich, muttered a thank you and said a terse goodnight.

  She put a hand against the door before he had the chance to shut it properly. ‘Is everything OK?’

  He glared at her. ‘I don’t need you jumping in and trying to be some kind of Cinderella.’ His tone didn’t hide his feelings. He was mad. Mad as hell.

  ‘Cinderella?’

  ‘All this.’ He cast his eye around the apartment, targeting the tree and everything littering its branches. ‘I didn’t tick the box, remember. So I don’t need you fussing around me like Cinderella, clearing up after me, making sure everything is shiny in my world.’

  She looked taken aback and he knew he’d gone too far. But rather than try to sort it out and perhaps reason with her that he’d had a long day and didn’t intend to be so rude, he did what he did best and avoided trying to rectify the situation.

  With a swift kick he shut the door a lot more firmly than he’d intended.

  He wished it was just as easy to shut the door on the past.

  Chapter Seven

  Darcy

  Eleven days until Christmas

  Darcy found the café in Midtown Manhattan, on Avenue of the Americas, where she’d arranged to meet Isabella. She took off her chenille gloves, unlooped her scarf from round her neck and hung her coat on the back of her chair so it could dry. A winter drizzle lurked in the air outside with low grey clouds suspended and blocking out the tops of buildings.

  Last night she’d been so stunned at Myles’s behaviour that she hadn’t been able to knock on his door again and talk to him. She hadn’t expected quite that reaction from the person paying an absolute fortune to stay in the Inn’s most expensive apartment – not that he was actually paying the bill personally – but she’d at least expected a smile, a thank you, a small gesture to show his appreciation. She’d returned downstairs and tried to focus on paperwork. She’d chatted with other guests as they came and went. She took photographs of the finished tree, the Norway spruce that filled up the lounge with the joys of the season.

  Shame she couldn’t bestow some of that joy upon their guest on the top floor.

  She’d finished her evening without seeing or hearing from Myles again. She’d sat behind the desk and carried on with her knitting, determined to send this to Gabriella across the miles as soon as she could, and then, when it seemed most guests were settled, she’d switched the damper on the fire, let it die down and gone to bed.

  ‘Sorry I’m late.’ Isabella bustled into the café now. ‘My boss runs a tight ship but I’ve got forty-five minutes.’

  Darcy hugged her friend and sat back down opposite her while Isabella took off all the accessories required for a New York winter: gloves, hat, scarf, coat. ‘Have you been shopping already?’ She eyed the bags at Isabella’s feet.

  ‘That’s why I’m a bit late,’ she grinned. ‘I figured if I grab one or two things each lunchtime, my shopping will be done in no time.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  The waitress came over and they ordered their coffees.

  Isabella rummaged in one of the bags. ‘You know you were wondering what to buy for Cleo and Dylan’s little boy?’

  ‘I desperately need help with that,’ Darcy confessed. Over time she’d built a solid friendship with Cleo and Dylan and without any nieces or nephews of her own yet, Darcy enjoyed buying for their kids. It was almost an excuse to go back to her own childhood and think about what had made this time of the year so magical, except that didn’t help when she needed to buy a gift for the opposite sex. ‘I don’t know the inner workings of a boy’s mind.’ Or a man’s come to that. She couldn’t figure out Myles at all. When she’d first realised their paths had crossed once before, she’d hated him. But then she’d warmed to him. Now, she was back to disliking him intensely. Maybe that was the way it would always be.

  ‘Ta-da!’ Isabella pulled out a box that rattled with pieces. ‘I got this from the Lego store on Fifth.’

  Darcy took the box. ‘Now why didn’t I think of that?’ She shook her head. ‘I’ll email Cleo later to see what Jacob has in his collection already and then I’m there. Thank you. I might see what I can get Ruby too. Girls love Lego as well, don’t they?’

  ‘Hey, we are all equals here.’

  Darcy rolled her eyes. ‘Didn’t say we weren’t.’

  ‘There’s a definite age when all girls are interested in is make-up.’

  ‘Good point. That may suit Ruby more.’ She handed the box containing a Scorpion character and a Spider-Man character back to her friend as Isabella told her these could do serious battle in a boy’s imagination. She’d obviously absorbed some of the sales speak today.

  ‘Have you done the rest of your shopping?’

  ‘All done. When Sofia gave me this enormous responsibility, I knew I wouldn’t have much time to shop. The kids’ presents are the only ones I haven’t sorted, because I was stuck for ideas.’

  ‘Well, if you like, I’m going to the Inglenook Falls Christmas markets in a few days. I promised my gran we’d go, it’s kind of our thing. I can deliver the presents to the Little Knitting Box if that’s easier for you.’

  Darcy’s shoulders sagged in relief. ‘Oh, would you? That would be great. Right, I’ll shop later today or tomorrow, I’ll wrap and I’ll get the gifts to you. You’re a life-saver. I’ll make it to the markets next year, I hope.’

  ‘How’s the knitting project going?’ Isabella thanked the waitress for the coffees and habitually scraped off the top of her cappuccino froth with a spoon.

  ‘I’m doing a little bit each night, when I’m not too exhausted.’ Darcy stirred her caramel macchiato, her thoughts disappearing into the whirls of coffee.

  ‘Running the Inn is that bad?’

  Darcy looked up and her frown turned into a smile. ‘Not at all. I’m still loving it, but it’s 24/7. And I’m really nervous about the magazine editor checking in.’

  I
sabella dismissed her worries. ‘Don’t be. You’ve got this.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘And is Mr fire-all-your-staff-because-they’re-terrible upstairs behaving himself?’

  Yesterday she would’ve smiled and said yes. ‘He’s an ungrateful pig.’

  ‘Darcy!’

  ‘Well he is.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I tried to bring a little bit of Christmas cheer, that’s all.’ She explained the story, how she’d ordered a real tree for him, something to make that huge apartment festive and make his stay even better. But Isabella was shaking her head. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Oh, Darcy, not everyone loves Christmas as much as you do.’

  ‘It’s not just me. It’s the rest of New York City.’

  ‘Not necessarily; he could be Jewish.’

  ‘He’s not Jewish.’ She picked up her cup and took a long drag of the sweetened liquid. ‘And even if he doesn’t like it, he doesn’t have to be so rude. He admired the one downstairs.’

  ‘Maybe he was just being polite. He didn’t have to be rude, I agree, but you don’t know what’s going on for him personally.’

  Darcy put her face in her hands. ‘I’ve messed up haven’t I?’

  ‘You were trying to be nice. You were going the extra mile.’

  ‘But in doing so I’ve made it worse. We were being civil at least.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind betting there’s more to this than rudeness, Darcy. He obviously has a history that you don’t know and, being a man, he’s not likely to be forthcoming with any explanation. Not that he needs to – you’re a stranger.’

  ‘You really missed your vocation you know.’

  Once upon a time, Isabella had been the go-to girl at school if anyone had a problem: bad breakups, parent troubles, struggling with homework. Isabella had an uncanny knack of advising and helping people grasp the positive side. She’d toyed with the idea of becoming a psychologist, particularly around the time she got glasses for reading and said they made her look really intelligent, but she’d given up on the idea when she realised how much extra study it would be.