Christmas in London Page 13

KATE STOOD ON THE STEPS of Buckingham Palace and marveled at the wide columns and guards in red-and-black uniforms. The iron gates were inscribed with a gold insignia and even in winter, the gardens were more beautiful than she imagined.

  She couldn’t afford another trip to Harvey Nichols, so she wore the same floral satin gown she wore to The Nutcracker. Her hair was pulled into a loose chignon and she had splurged on a bottle of jasmine perfume.

  Trevor was the last person who would comment on her dress; he used to wear the same blue shirt every day at St Andrews. Then why was she nervous, like when she brought her prom dress home and it looked different than at the department store?

  Of course she was anxious: she was attending a reception at Buckingham Palace! She would see the rooms that seemed as make believe as illustrations in a children’s book: the Music Room where the royal christenings were held and the Picture Gallery filled with paintings from the Royal Collection.

  It was more than that. All day there was a fluttering in her stomach, as if the cream on her scone was slightly off. She kept checking her phone to see if Trevor called. When he texted and said he was detained and would meet her at Buckingham Palace, she was a little disappointed.

  She couldn’t have feelings for Trevor; they lived on different continents. But they had similar interests and he was so easy to talk to. And she couldn’t ignore the new frisson between them; it was like an electric current.

  It couldn’t go further than a kiss. She meant what she said to Louisa: nothing was more important than friendship. If she and Trevor could repair their friendship after all this time, it would be foolish to jeopardize it.

  A man strode toward her and she recognized Trevor’s sandy-colored hair and broad shoulders. He wore a white dinner jacket and black slacks.

  “There you are.” Trevor approached her. “I was afraid you might have trouble getting through the gate.”

  “The cabdriver gave my name to the guard and I thought he’d send me away,” Kate admitted. “But he waved me right in.”

  “Buckingham Palace is the royal family’s personal residence, and they are allowed guests,” he said. “The only difference is they have to be cleared by British intelligence.”

  “Was I really investigated by the MI-Five so I could attend a Christmas reception?” Kate laughed.

  Trevor took her arm and smiled. “If you were, we’ll never know.”

  A courtier led them down a red-carpeted hallway flanked by wide pillars. There were marble sculptures and a pair of Chinese vases that were a gift to King George V from the Emperor of China.

  They passed a ballroom that was big enough to hold a concert and the Blue Drawing Room decorated with cobalt silk wallpaper. The Grand Staircase had gold filigree railings and portraits behind gilt frames.

  “It’s like the descriptions in a Russian novel,” Kate breathed. “How can one place hold so many treasures?”

  “The State Rooms were built in 1820 for King George IV,” Trevor said. “There are nineteen rooms and they contain the most important pieces in the Royal Collection: marble busts by Canova and paintings by Holbein and Sèvres china from France.”

  “I wouldn’t want to be a maid,” Kate laughed. “What if you knock something over while you’re dusting?”

  The courtier opened double doors and Kate gasped. The White Drawing Room had Oriental carpets and gold candelabras and a low-hanging crystal chandelier. There was a rolltop desk and gilded piano. A pair of cabinets had panels depicting flowers and birds and a huge mirror stood above the marble fireplace.

  “I can’t go in,” Kate said, suddenly panicked.

  “Of course you can.” Trevor took her arm. “The room looks imposing but everyone is friendly.”

  “You don’t understand, I’m wearing the same dress I wore to The Nutcracker. I didn’t bring any evening gowns in my suitcase and I couldn’t afford to buy two,” she implored. “What if someone saw me at the ballet?”

  “You’ll always be the most beautiful woman in the room,” Trevor assured her. “And I have it on good authority that even the Queen wears the same dress twice.”

  Waiters in white dinner jackets carried trays of Welsh rarebit and Scottish salmon in a dill sauce. There were cups of leek and potato soup and a selection of champagnes.

  Trevor introduced her to a couple with three last names who were first cousins of Prince Charles. There was a dancer with the Royal Ballet and a member of Parliament.

  “Trevor!” A young man approached them. “I haven’t seen you since Balmoral.”

  “Kate, this is Lord Peter Balthazar.” Trevor shook his hand. “Kate is an old university friend from St Andrews.”

  “Don’t remind me that I’m a lord.” Peter shuddered. “It makes me feel like one of the stocky men in the portraits above the fireplace. I’m always reluctant to come to these things. The men look like penguins and the women wear jewelry that’s so heavy I’m afraid they’ll faint and we’ll have to call the paramedics.”

  “Don’t frighten Kate,” Trevor admonished him. “She’s never attended a royal reception.”

  “You should come to Balmoral, it’s more relaxed.” Peter turned to Kate. “I once saw the Duchess of Cambridge in a dressing gown and slippers. She needed a cup of tea and there was no one to make it.” He paused. “Last time I was there, I had a broken foot. Trevor and I played backgammon for two days and he even let me win.”

  “I didn’t let you win,” Trevor laughed. “You became quite good.”

  “And you listened to stories about my love life,” Peter continued. “I’m very indebted.”

  “I hope it worked out with the scuba instructor from St. Croix.” Trevor grinned.

  “She went back to the Caribbean.” He shrugged. “I don’t blame her. You have to be madly in love to trade a white sand beach for London in July.” He looked at Trevor and Kate. “Let me get you a drink.”

  “But we have champagne.” Kate held up her glass.

  “They give these bottles to the staff as Christmas presents.” Peter grabbed three glasses from the bar. “I know where they keep the good stuff, follow me.”

  He led them to a corner of the room and pressed on a gold panel. The wall fell away and they entered a dark hallway.

  “The secret passageway was built so the royal family could sneak away during receptions. It’s also where they hide the vintage wine.” He reached behind a shelf and drew out a bottle of red wine. “This is a 1945 Château Mouton Rothschild and goes well with Yorkshire pudding.”

  “We’re not going to drink wine from the Queen’s personal collection?” Kate asked, horrified.

  “Don’t worry, the important wines are kept in a cellar that even the Germans couldn’t touch,” Peter laughed. “This bottle won’t be missed.”

  They reentered the drawing room and Kate glanced at Trevor. His eyes shone and he and Peter were deep in conversation about trout fishing in Scotland.

  “It was nice to meet you.” Peter held out his hand to Kate. “I’m going to slip away before one of my great-aunts asks how to update her iPhone.” He turned to Trevor. “We must have lunch at the club. You can let me win again at backgammon.”

  The waiters brought out trays of custards and bread and butter pudding. There were wedges of hard cheese and sliced pears. Kate sipped a dry sherry and talked about ice-skating at Hampton Court and the Christmas tree at Trafalgar Square.

  Finally they said goodbye and walked back to the Ambassadors’ Entrance.

  “You looked completely at home in there,” she mused. “Drinking wine and reminiscing with Lord Balthazar.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “At St Andrews you wouldn’t have anything to do with students who drove imported sports cars and wore Italian loafers,” she said. “But you stood in a room with more treasures than the Taj Mahal and belonged.”

  “I worried that if I let down my guard, other students would get ahead of me. And with Susannah I often felt like a sore thumb attached to her
hand.” He paused. “But being here with you tonight, I realized if I’m with the right woman it’s pleasant to drink a vintage wine with people with similar interests.”

  “Trevor—” she said warningly.

  “There’s no chance of a reconciliation with Susannah,” he cut in. “I found a flat in Belgravia.”

  “Why are you telling me that?”

  “I’ve enjoyed the last few days.” He paused. “We live in different countries, but the world is a small place. I would like to keep seeing you.”

  “We’re friends enjoying Christmas in London,” Kate reminded him. “We can’t be more than that.”

  “Kate.” He touched her cheek. “We’re adults, we can be whatever we like.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her. She kissed him back and his mouth was warm and sweet.

  “I’m not sure,” she said when they parted. She patted her hair and smoothed the creases in her gown.

  Trevor stuffed his hands in his pocket and grinned. “That’s a start.”

  * * *

  Kate sat on the teal silk sofa in the Map Room and traced the rim of a brandy snifter. She’d told Trevor she had to catch up on e-mails and worked better in the quiet space with the sideboard set with teas and roast beef sandwiches.

  Could they really start a relationship? In four days she’d be at Heathrow, answering Bianca’s frantic e-mails and worrying about next week’s show. The dinners with Trevor would become a fond memory whenever she opened her passport.

  But they got along so well. They had always been like two trains traveling on parallel routes. And now there was a passion she couldn’t ignore.

  What if memories of Ian cropped up between them? It would be like planting a rose in a garden where the soil was barren. She sipped the brandy and remembered when Ian got between them the first time. It was the beginning of her second semester and she and Ian had just returned from Christmas at Churchill Lodge.

  * * *

  Kate sat on the single bed and zipped up her jacket. The space heater in her dorm room wasn’t working and she had to put on her whole wardrobe to stay warm. She turned the page of her chemistry book and thought she really should study at the Student Union.

  She didn’t feel like running into Ian. It was better to wear two pairs of socks and hope the maintenance man arrived soon.

  Everything about her dorm room seemed bleak after Christmas week at Churchill Lodge. It had been like something out of a PBS special with elaborate banquet halls and drawing rooms with roaring fireplaces.

  Ian’s uncle was averse to the cold, so the bedroom wing had the most delicious central heating. Even the bathroom floors were heated and every night there was a tray of steaming hot chocolate next to her bed.

  They played charades and performed plays and ate grilled sole and raspberry trifle. She and Ian cut down their own Christmas tree and decorated it with tinsel.

  She hadn’t meant to become involved with Ian, but he was impossible to resist. They practiced a scene from Romeo and Juliet and the peck on the cheek turned into a real kiss. His mouth was soft and his hands were in her hair and she felt young and alive.

  They took long walks in the snow and ate cauliflower cheese in the local pub. Ian asked her to teach him how to make s’mores and they snuck down to the kitchen at midnight. They roasted marshmallows and chocolate in the kitchen’s vast fireplace and it was so romantic.

  On New Year’s Eve, there was a grand ball with platters of Scottish haddock and grilled asparagus. She wore a sequined dress and they danced and drank champagne. Then the music and bubbles gave her a headache, and she went upstairs to find some aspirin. When she returned, Ian’s arms were wrapped around a brunette.

  She highlighted her chemistry book and resolved not to think about Ian. She had already signed up for the A Capella Society and Foreign Affairs Society. And spring in St Andrews would be lovely! She would visit the Botanic Gardens and attend poetry festivals and outdoor readings.

  There was a knock on the door and she answered it. Trevor stood in the hallway, clutching a paper sack.

  “I was hoping you were the maintenance man.” She shivered. “My heater stopped working over Christmas break and the room feels like an igloo. You could make ice cream by mixing cream and vanilla and sugar.”

  “It is freezing.” Trevor entered the room. “My mother sent me back with an extra space heater. I can lend it to you.”

  “The maintenance man promised he’d be here this afternoon.” She perched on the bed. “I’ve been studying for hours, but I keep daydreaming about mink coats and sheepskin boots.”

  “You didn’t miss much at Christmas in York,” Trevor mused. “On Christmas morning, my niece saw a mouse and refused to come down to the living room.” He smiled. “It turned out to be a ball of wool but it delayed our present opening by two hours.”

  “It sounds lively,” she laughed.

  Trevor looked at Kate. “You haven’t said a word about your holiday.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.” Kate’s cheeks flushed.

  “Before you left, you were raving about sleigh rides and indoor tennis.” He frowned. “Did something happen?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “There’s something different about you, and it’s not the three sweaters you’re wearing.”

  Kate fiddled with her pencil. Trevor was her best friend, she could tell him anything.

  “Ian and I had a holiday romance,” she admitted.

  “You’re making a terrible mistake,” Trevor protested. “Ian will shower you with gifts, but he has no loyalty. He’ll trade you in like an old pair of skis.”

  “I know that now.” She paused. “On New Year’s Eve, I found him kissing another girl.”

  “What a jerk!” Trevor jumped up.

  “This isn’t the eighteenth century and you don’t have to challenge him to a duel,” she laughed. “I told him I never want to talk to him again.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to do something?” he asked.

  “It was a silly interlude.” She shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind if you bring that space heater. I can hear my teeth chattering.”

  “I almost forgot, this is for you.” He handed her the paper bag. “I brought it from York.”

  She opened it and took out a linzer torte. “You said your mother was a terrible cook.”

  “I wanted to give you something for Christmas,” he said and a smile crossed his face. “My aunt made it, and it’s delicious.”

  * * *

  Kate stood at the counter of the Student Union and rubbed her hands. Trevor had to attend a tutorial and suddenly she longed for a warm raisin scone with strawberry butter.

  She turned and saw Ian sitting in a booth. He wore a ski sweater and his blond hair brushed his forehead.

  “Make that two raisin scones and a tall latte.” Ian approached the counter. “Put it on my tab.”

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

  “I’m ordering you a hot drink,” he explained. “You look like you need thawing out.”

  “I’m fine.” She took her scone and sat at a table. “The space heater in my room isn’t working and I got chilly.”

  “I wasn’t talking about that, though I don’t want those lovely lips turning blue.” He followed her. “I meant you’re ignoring me. You didn’t talk to me on the drive back to school and you haven’t taken my calls.”

  “You were kissing another girl,” she reminded him.

  “It was New Year’s Eve and you disappeared.”

  “If I’m that easily replaced, you’ll have no trouble finding someone else to take sledding.” She opened her chemistry workbook. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to do a chemistry lab.”

  “You’re not serious?” he demanded. “I thought you just wanted me to try harder: take you to dinner at the Adamson or bring you a bouquet of lilacs.”

  “There are plenty of girls who don’t mind being another number on your speed dial
,” she said. “Thank you for taking me to Churchill Lodge, I’ll send your uncle a thank-you note.”

  “You’re smart and lovely and we have a great time.” He touched her arm. “How can I change your mind?”

  “Underneath that ski sweater there’s a decent guy,” she said slowly. “But I can’t date someone I don’t trust.”

  Ian ate the last bite of scone and stood up. “I’ll see you tonight at the debate.”

  “You’re a member of the Debate Society?” she wondered.

  “I’m not just a member.” He grinned. “I’m in tonight’s debate.”

  * * *

  Kate slipped into the Barron Theatre and took a seat in the back. She’d spent too long on her chemistry homework and was almost late to the debate.

  “Good evening.” A young man wearing a blazer and tie approached the podium. “Following the rules of the Debate Society, the scheduled debate topic can be changed to address current events. Tonight’s topic will no longer be the lasting effects of holiday tours on the salmon population.” He consulted his notes. “It will be whether Kate Crawford should give Ian Cunningham another chance. Mr. Cunningham will take the podium.”

  Kate gasped and was tempted to run back to the residence hall. But Ian crossed the stage and took the podium. His eyes met hers and his smile could have lit up a concert hall.

  “Fellow students and guests of the Debate Society,” he began. “In my experience we all put labels on each other. Johnny is a champion rower, and Emily is the star of our student productions and James wishes he was Harry Potter.” He waved at students in the front row. “Putting labels on fellow students makes sense, because we are often too busy to get to know each other.

  “The problem is we come to believe the labels ourselves. Most of you see me as the guy with film-star good looks who always has a piece of eye candy on his arm. That’s not a bad gig,” he laughed. “After all, we didn’t come to university just to study physics.

  “But along comes a girl who sees past the shiny surface and thinks there’s a guy she could hang out with: a guy who is decent and can truly care for someone.” He cleared his throat. “How do you convince her that the boy under the ski sweater would do anything for her? Fellow debaters, support me in promoting my cause.” He paused and his eyes were bright. “Kate Crawford must give Ian Cunningham another chance.”