Christmas at the Chalet Read online

  Eleven

  Three Days before the Fashion Show

  5:00 p.m.

  Nell

  NELL SAT ON A LEATHER stool at the Quattro Bar and sipped hot buttered rum with nutmeg. It had been the most amazing afternoon of skiing. She and her father had started at the Chantarella station and skied the width of the Corviglia. The snow was like vanilla cream filling in some fabulous wedding cake, and the runs were so wide that the whole valley was spread out below them.

  Chatting with her father on the chairlift and crisscrossing the mountain together, she almost forgave him for being stubborn. She was so lucky! He would rather spend time with her than do almost anything else, and he was fit enough to keep up with her on the most challenging runs in the Alps.

  It was late afternoon, three days before the collection, and they’d decided to take a break before returning to the village. The Quattro Bar was perched halfway up the mountain, and from the outside it reminded Nell of an airline hangar. But inside there were sleek wood floors and a granite bar and panoramic views.

  “This place was built for the 2017 World Cup,” her father said, eating smoked salmon with horseradish cream. “People said no one would eat at a one-star Michelin restaurant while they were wearing parkas and ski boots. The menu is pretty pricey, but the tables are full all day.”

  “We didn’t have to choose anywhere fancy. We could have shared a cheese and fruit plate at the Alpine Hut,” Nell laughed. “You always discovered the most expensive places to eat on vacation. Remember that little village in Portugal? Mom was happy to eat anywhere; all she wanted was for Pete and me to stop whining.”

  “Well, your mother was the one that made us drive two hours out of our way to visit an antiquarian book shop,” he retorted. “I had to keep you and Pete occupied while she and the owner rattled on about Balzac. All he wanted was to get into her pants; he didn’t want to sell her a book at all.”

  This was the perfect time to find out if her mother had ever had a serious flirtation. But how could she bring up her suspicions? It wasn’t the kind of thing you’d casually mention over a plate of smoked salmon.

  “Mom must have been beautiful when she was young.” Nell traced the rim of her glass. “Men would have flirted with her all the time.”

  “She was stunning. That blond hair and blue eyes and model’s figure,” her father agreed. “The most attractive thing about her was that she paid no attention to her looks. That’s the kind of thing that drives men crazy.”

  “So men did flirt with her?” Nell leaned forward.

  “Of course, but she never gave them the time of day.” He shrugged. “We were wild about each other in the beginning. You could have lined up the biggest movie stars and neither of us would have noticed.”

  “Still, you both got married so young,” Nell persisted. “You were Mom’s first proper boyfriend.”

  “Who told you that?” her father asked, startled.

  Nell bit her lip. Had her father mentioned it, or was it her mother? She really should keep notes on her phone.

  “You said you met when she was twenty-one,” she reminded him. “She couldn’t have had any serious boyfriends before that.”

  “I did say that, didn’t I?” He stirred his drink. “Her father wouldn’t let anyone near her. I couldn’t blame him. With those legs and that smile, she was impossible to resist. Somehow her father took a liking to me.” He grimaced. “The more her father appreciated me, the more your mother found reasons to fault me. It was like being a human ping-pong ball,” he said. “Still, we got two incredible children out of the marriage. That’s worth years of feeling like my skin was on fire.”

  “You must have had good times,” Nell urged, not wanting to change the subject. “I remember watching her getting dressed for cocktail parties. Her hair was set in huge curlers and she wore French perfume.”

  “It was Dior.” He nodded. “I bought it for her when I was on location in Paris. She wore it every day until the next year when I forgot Valentine’s Day. Then she poured the rest of the bottle down the drain.”

  “It must have been hard to trust each other,” Nell said idly. “You were surrounded by actresses, and Mom was home alone with all the single dads. That would wear on any marriage.”

  Her father looked at her in surprise. “I trusted your mother completely. I hope you’re not talking about you and Eliot. Just because you get paid to strut down a runway, that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t trust you. If you’d like me to talk to him…”

  “Don’t be silly; Eliot is completely supportive of my career.” She grabbed her phone and found a photo of a bouquet of white tulips. “He sends me flowers every day because he can’t be in St. Moritz. I told him he shouldn’t spend his money; the maids bring flowers every morning. He said it’s not the same, that he wants me to wake up to a bouquet he chose himself.”

  “I’m glad. All I want is for you to be happy.” Her father studied the photo closely. “What’s that hanging up?”

  Nell glanced at the tea-length wedding dress hanging next to the bed in her hotel room. Next to it were a pillbox hat and elbow-length silk gloves.

  “It’s one of the gowns I’m wearing in the fashion show,” she answered. “Don’t tell anyone you saw it; the whole collection is top secret. I wanted to make sure it still fit. The waist was a bit tight, and I’ve gained a couple of pounds since we arrived.”

  “I doubt that. You’re like your mother, neither of you ever gain an ounce,” he said, waving his hand. “She loved to flaunt it in my face. She’d eat a bowl of ice cream while I was trying to enjoy a black coffee and my whole night would be ruined.”

  “You’re drinking buttered rum now,” Nell reminded him.

  “I’ve grown a little easier on myself,” her father conceded. “But you don’t have to worry, you’re slender as a swan. I can’t wait to see you in that dress. It reminds me of your mother’s wedding dress.”

  Nell glanced up and frowned. “She didn’t have a proper wedding dress. Mom told me when I was a little girl that you were married by a justice of the peace. Mom had to take your shirt to the dry cleaner’s because you didn’t have a pressed shirt, and she wore something out of her closet.”

  Her father stirred his cocktail and his eyes were suddenly misty.

  “I only owned two dress shirts, and the maid, Inez, usually ironed them. How was I to know Inez had the week off?” he said. “That was the dress for the second wedding. God, the way it showed off her legs!”

  “You had a second wedding?” Nell’s eyes were wide.

  “We tried to have a second wedding,” he sighed. “It was my idea, and it was a complete disaster. I was only trying to do the right thing, and your mother was furious.” He swallowed his cocktail. “Under the circumstances, one could hardly blame her.”

  Beverly Hills

  Twenty-Eight Years Ago

  Todd

  Todd stood in the florist’s on the corner of Wilshire Boulevard and thought that a bunch of peonies there must cost as much as an entire flower shop in Cleveland. After four months in Beverly Hills, none of it seemed real: the foreign sports cars driven by teenagers barely old enough to have a license, the small dogs wearing jeweled collars. Even the sales girl at the florist was probably only there because her parents had threatened to stop her allowance unless she had a job.

  Tomorrow was the opening night of Grease at UCLA, and he wanted to present Patty with a fabulous bouquet. She had been so irritable lately. Even though she claimed the play wasn’t important and she was only fulfilling her course requirements, he was sure she had pre-opening jitters. Of course she wanted to become an actress; who wouldn’t want their face on the big screen?

  The May sun shone through the florist’s window, and he wondered how he’d ended up in Beverly Hills. After working at the restaurant in Hollywood for a few weeks, the assistant to Patty’s father, Alistair, had quit, and Alistair had asked Todd if he would like the job. It took Todd about an hour to say yes. The
offer included free board in the pool house and a ride to the studio every morning in Alistair’s convertible.

  The best thing about the arrangement was the proximity of the pool house to Patty’s bedroom. Two weeks later, Patty had surprised him with a bottle of wine and new lingerie, and pulled him into bed with her. Since then, they couldn’t get enough of each other.

  Sometimes when Patty draped herself naked across his chest, Todd laughed that she was only using him for his body. Then he would turn her on her back and she would look up at him with her luminous blue eyes, and he knew they were meant to be together.

  The salesgirl suggested a bouquet of sunflowers, and he handed her the money. He had to do something to get Patty out of her dark mood. The past week, he wasn’t sure whether she would throw her script at him or shut her door and refuse to come downstairs.

  He walked the six blocks to the hacienda on Beverly Drive and entered the pool house. Todd had expected a lecture from Patty’s father to keep his hands off Patty or be fired. But Alistair approved of the relationship. It was better that Patty date Todd than some unemployed actor Alistair didn’t know.

  “There you are.” Todd entered the den. The wood-paneled walls were covered with family photos, and there was a miniature putting green.

  “It’s the only room with decent air-conditioning,” Patty said from the couch. A magazine was draped over her stomach, and she was wearing shorts and a halter top. “Inez keeps the rest of the house too hot. I’m going to wilt like last week’s flowers.”

  “This isn’t hot.” Todd perched on the armchair. “You should visit Cleveland in the summer. The humidity is so high, you can’t eat a Popsicle without it melting.”

  “I’m never moving from this couch,” she groaned. “I told Inez she doesn’t have to make dinner. I’m going to have a salad and an iced tea.”

  “You have to eat; your performance is tomorrow night.” He wished he could tell her about the flowers, but he wanted them to be a surprise. “How will you accept the thunderous applause and bouquets of flowers if you collapse onstage?”

  “I’m not going to perform.” She looked up. “My understudy, Suzy, is taking my part.”

  “What do you mean?” Todd demanded. “You’ve been rehearsing for weeks.”

  “I don’t want to do it,” Patty said stubbornly. “I told my professor and it won’t affect my grade.”

  “Your father booked a table at Wolfgang Puck’s to celebrate,” Todd persisted. “You can’t back out.”

  “This has nothing to do with my father.” Patty sat up. “It’s my education, and I can do whatever I like.”

  “If it’s stage fright, you have nothing to worry about.” His voice softened. “The audience will adore you.”

  “I’ve been trying to tell you something, but I can’t find the right time.” She looked at Todd and her eyes were huge. “I have some very big news. I’m pregnant.”

  The room spun, and Todd desperately needed a drink. “What did you say?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with your hearing, and apparently you have healthy sperm.” Her voice rose anxiously. “They managed to avoid my diaphragm, and I’m going to have a baby in seven months.”

  “Are you sure?” Todd gulped. “Those home tests can be wrong.”

  “I went to my ob-gyn for my annual exam,” she continued. “I should have guessed. My breasts ache and I hate the smell of coffee. I can’t have an abortion. I’m Catholic, and I’m not going to burn in hell for eternity because you have exceptional swimmers.”

  Todd stood up and walked to the bar. Alistair wouldn’t complain about Todd drinking his whiskey when he found out that Patty was pregnant. He’d be too busy tossing Todd’s suitcase into the driveway and demanding he never set foot in the house again.

  “I don’t expect you to have an abortion.” Todd gulped the whiskey.

  “Then what will we do?” Patty asked. For a moment she looked like a little girl, instead of a headstrong woman who always had the last word.

  The whiskey burned his throat and he poured another shot. He was twenty-two years old; he wasn’t ready to be a father. But he looked at Patty with her blond hair and blue eyes and couldn’t desert her.

  “We’ll get married,” he said before he could change his mind.

  “We can’t get married,” she almost laughed.

  “What do you mean, we can’t get married?” he retorted. “We’re both of age, and I have a good job. I even opened a savings account.”

  “You’re living in my parents’ pool house, and you work for my father,” she sniffed.

  “We’ll get an apartment,” he answered. “And I’m good at what I do.”

  “What if you and my father have a falling-out?” she persisted. “You don’t even have your degree.”

  “I’ll get my degree at night. If we have a falling-out, I’ll work for someone else.” He sat beside her. “It’s not what I planned, but we don’t have a choice. If you’re having a baby, we need to get married.”

  “Is that why you want to get married?” She inched away. “Because I’m an obligation?”

  “I want to get married because from the moment I saw you at that bar in St. Moritz, there was no other girl for me. You are beautiful and opinionated and our life together is never dull.” He took her hand. “Besides, I’m madly in love with you.”

  “Then we’ll elope,” she decided. “I’m not going to be held hostage for months by some Beverly Hills wedding planner. And how would I look in a Vera Wang gown with a round stomach? We’ll have a civil ceremony at the courthouse.”

  “We can’t elope!” he exclaimed. “Your parents would be furious.”

  Patty stood up and the magazine fell to the floor. Her breasts pushed against her halter top, and there was a new fullness to her figure.

  “We either elope or we don’t get married.” She walked to the bar and poured a glass of iced tea.

  “You can be impossible,” he said, following her. “But I love you, and I hope our child is just like you.”

  He bent down and kissed her shoulder. She smelled of lotion, and suddenly he wanted her more than anything.

  “I’ll call the courthouse and see when they have an opening,” she said, and kissed him.

  “Why don’t we go upstairs, and I’ll rub your back?” he murmured. “Pregnant women need a lot of pampering.”

  * * *

  Two weeks later, Todd surveyed the items spread out around the hotel cottage and thought everything looked perfect: the tea-length crepe wedding dress, satin pumps, and bridal bouquet of lilies of the valley. There was a pillbox hat, lace gloves, and a prayer book like the one Grace Kelly carried at her wedding to Prince Rainier in Monaco.

  The wedding planner at the San Ysidro Ranch had insisted that the prayer book was the perfect touch. Grace Kelly was one of Patty’s favorite actresses, and every bride wanted to believe she was marrying a prince and her life would be a fairy tale.

  In a few minutes, Patty would return from the hotel spa and receive a huge surprise; their closest friends and family were gathered on the lawn for the wedding ceremony. Afterward, they would move to the barrel room for lobster and pomegranate wedding cake.

  Todd was pleased with himself for orchestrating the whole thing: telling Patty they were going to the San Ysidro Ranch for a romantic weekend; choosing her dress; even finding her favorite song for the first dance. After dinner, there would be a bottle of sparkling cider waiting in the cottage, and rose petals leading to the canopied bed.

  After Todd had proposed, he realized he couldn’t marry Patty without secretly asking for her father’s blessing. Alistair approved, but was furious that Patty wanted to elope. Todd knew how stubborn Patty could be, and was afraid she would cancel the whole thing.

  Finally, Alistair suggested having a second surprise wedding, and included their closest family and friends. Todd couldn’t refuse: all he had to do was convince Patty to spend the weekend at one of the most romantic hotels on the Califor
nia coastline.

  The cottage door opened and Todd hastily entered the living room. The decor really was charming: a beamed ceiling, pot-bellied stove, and wood floors covered by Persian rugs. There was a private patio with views of the Santa Inez Mountains and an outdoor shower.

  “How was the massage?” Todd asked, pouring a glass of water.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Patty groaned. A pink robe was knotted around her waist, and she wore felt slippers.

  “What do you mean?” he asked. “The spa is world class—all the Hollywood celebrities come here.”

  “The masseuse used eucalyptus oil, and I must be allergic,” she said. “My skin is on fire, and I’m covered in blotches.”

  “There must be something you can do.” He pictured the wedding dress, with its sweetheart neckline and knee-length skirt. “Benadryl will stop the itching.”

  “I can’t take Benadryl, I’m pregnant,” she said irritably. “I’m going to take a bath and go to bed. I’m sorry, we can’t go out for dinner.”

  “You can’t go to bed!” Todd panicked. At this moment, twenty guests were twirling parasols and taking their seats in the garden. A string quartet would play Brahms and everyone would turn and wait expectantly for the bride.

  “I can’t put on clothes, and I don’t think the other guests want to see me naked.” She shrugged. “The room-service menu must have a club sandwich. We’ll watch a movie and I’ll feel better in the morning.”

  Patty opened the bedroom door. Her eyes widened and she gasped. “What’s this?” She waved at the wedding dress fanned out on the bed and the satin pumps perched on a shoebox.

  “We’re getting married,” he gulped.

  “We got married last week,” she said, turning around.