Christmas at the Chalet Page 9

  “That was twenty-eight years ago.” Felicity accepted a wine glass from the waiter. “What does that have to do with getting them to attend your wedding?”

  “If I can make them relive the first days of their courtship, perhaps that will rekindle some old feelings,” Nell said eagerly. “I don’t expect them to fall in love, but at least they’ll be able to tolerate each other long enough to hear Eliot and me say ‘I do.’”

  “How do you know your mother felt the same?” Felicity asked.

  “I don’t, exactly,” Nell confessed. “That’s why I’m meeting her for dinner. I’ll ask her about their first date in St. Moritz.”

  “I’ve always believed in Christmas miracles, but what if it doesn’t work?” Felicity asked.

  “It has to work. I haven’t wanted anything so badly since I moved to New York to become a model,” Nell said. “My parents wanted me to go to college, so I used my graduation money and paid for my plane ticket. Then I camped out in a friend’s loft and knocked on the door of every modeling agency until someone took me on.”

  “I remember seeing your head shots,” Felicity said. “Raj took one look at them and picked up the phone. He told the agency he’d pay double your rate, but he had to have you for my show. He was right, of course.” She smiled. “You were so stunning in that empire-style gown with the ruffled skirt, we made Page Six of the New York Post.”

  “There is one thing. I haven’t told Raj my parents are here,” Nell admitted. “Could you cover for me, so I can spend a little time with them? I won’t miss anything important. This collection is the biggest moment of your career, and I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it.”

  “You’re my best friend. I’ll do anything to help you,” Felicity assured her. “And Raj tends to go overboard. He’s already got RSVPs from the biggest names in the industry. He thought the photos of me and Gabriel online were good publicity.” She pulled out her phone and scrolled through the photos. “Adam sent me a dozen texts, he was so furious.”

  “I’ve been too busy fretting about my parents to be on my phone.” Nell studied the photos. “So this is the doctor. God, he’s gorgeous!”

  “Gabriel and I are just friends,” Felicity clarified. “You have enough on your hands without trying to solve my problems. And Raj has been so busy following the models around, I needed someone to talk to. There’s something soothing about Gabriel’s presence.”

  “He is a doctor.” Nell handed back the phone. “Don’t they learn to have a good bedside manner in medical school?”

  “It’s not just that. He made me question my feelings for Adam,” Felicity said slowly.

  “And?” Nell asked.

  “I don’t want to wait forever for Adam to propose. But Adam and I have been building a life together; I can’t imagine life without him,” she said pensively. “Gabriel was quite helpful. Sometimes it’s good to have an outsider give you advice.”

  “I’d be careful,” Nell advised her.

  “What do you mean?” Felicity asked.

  “He’s a hunky single doctor, and you’re a successful wedding dress designer.” She picked up her wine glass. “His advice might not be objective.”

  Felicity was about to reply when Nell looked up and noticed her mother standing at the door. She wore a burgundy dress and suede boots.

  “Nell, darling—and Felicity!” She approached the table. “How wonderful that you’re joining us. I thought you’d be busy preparing for the fashion show.”

  Felicity greeted her. “Nell invited me, but if you’d rather have a mother-and-daughter dinner, I completely understand.”

  “You must stay. I want to hear about your career,” Patty urged. “Nell raved about the collection. The next time you’re in Los Angeles, I’ll arrange a trunk show and invite everyone I know.”

  “My mother’s right. You must stay for dinner,” Nell agreed. “La Stalla is famous for its fondue. It’s much more fun to eat fondue when you have three people.”

  The waiter set the table with a silver fondue pot and three bowls. He opened a bottle of wine and gave them a quick lesson in eating fondue. First, you always stirred the cheese from right to left so it didn’t stick to the pot. There were only three permissible drinks when eating fondue: white wine, kirsch, or herbal tea. If you drank anything else, the cheese congealed in your stomach. Finally, you never followed up fondue with a rich dessert; you had to cleanse your palate with a piece of acidic fruit, like a wedge of pineapple or an orange.

  “I didn’t realize fondue etiquette was so serious,” Nell laughed after he left. They took turns dunking bread crusts into the mixture of cheese, champagne, and truffles.

  “I think that performance was to impress you beautiful young women.” Her mother smiled. “I remember being a chalet girl in St. Moritz. We were barely twenty-one, and men wouldn’t leave us alone.”

  “Dad said you met at the Carlton Bar,” Nell said. “He was trying to impress you, but you saw right through him.”

  “When did he tell you that?” her mother asked in surprise.

  Nell swallowed her wine and gulped. She shouldn’t have mentioned her father. What if her mother asked when she had last seen him? Telling an outright lie was different than withholding information.

  “He came to New York last month, and we drank White Russians at the Nat King Cole bar,” she said vaguely.

  “Your father was drinking White Russians?” Her mother raised her eyebrow. “I thought he was watching his weight. He became vain as we got older; I’d catch him sucking his stomach in in front of the mirror.”

  “He told me about your first date,” Nell continued. “He was the hotel waiter, and you were sitting at a table with your friends. You ended up paying for the drinks, and he was quite embarrassed.”

  “I can’t believe he remembered,” she said, but she looked quite pleased. “That was the night we met, but our first date was a few days later. Your father loved to play the knight in shining armor. He thought he was saving my honor.”

  “How did he do that?” Nell looked at her mother.

  “It’s quite a funny story.” She sipped her wine and leaned back in her chair. “He was so proud of himself, you would have imagined he’d discovered a cure for cancer.”

  St. Moritz

  Twenty-Eight Years Ago

  Patty

  Patty stood in the chalet’s kitchen and flicked her blond hair behind her ears. She shouldn’t have taken the job; she hated serving cocktails at parties. But it was nice to have some extra money, and to not have to rely on her parents’ credit card.

  She did everything she could to reassure her parents that she wasn’t going to St. Moritz to drink champagne or stay out all night. She genuinely loved skiing. And it was good for her to be on her own. Sometimes she felt like one of her parents’ cats, who spent their whole lives lying in the sun. Her parents expected her to get engaged to the son of one of their friends, and her life would go on exactly the same: driving out to Malibu and attending movie premieres and eventually having children.

  Her father wouldn’t even listen when she said she wanted to join him at the studio. The best thing was to show him she was independent, and perhaps then he would change his mind. Even if she was only a chalet girl in St. Moritz, at least she was paying for lodging and ski tickets.

  Music blared from the stereo in the living room, and she longed to plug her ears with cotton balls. But then she couldn’t hear guests shouting for another plate of sausage kabobs. If only her roommate hadn’t suddenly come down with food poisoning, she’d be curled up in bed with a book. Instead she was trying to avoid being pawed at by men in tight ski pants.

  A young man with dark hair entered the kitchen. He was wearing a leather jacket, and she recognized the waiter from the Carlton Bar.

  “What are you doing here?” Todd asked in surprise. He was carrying a martini glass in one hand and a plate of bratwurst in the other. “I thought you hated chalet parties.”

  “I’m part
of the waitstaff,” Patty answered. “Why are you here? I didn’t think this was your scene.”

  “The guy we’re staying with is friends with the host.” Todd shrugged. “To be honest, I came in the kitchen to escape. They’re discussing Kierkegaard and debating the best French wines. I’m more of a beer man, and I’ve never read a German author.”

  “You’re missing out on great literature.” Patty busied herself arranging stuffed chard. “I want to apologize for the other night. I had too many White Russians, and it was the night before my birthday. I didn’t mean to kiss you.”

  “I’m happy you did.” Todd grinned. “Maybe I can be of service again.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Patty said hurriedly. “I’m in St. Moritz to ski, not to meet men. If you’ll excuse me, I have to deliver these canapés.”

  She opened the swinging doors and froze. Her cheeks paled and she retreated into the kitchen.

  “Are you all right?” he asked curiously. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

  “One of the guests was hitting on me.” She leaned against the fridge. “I was hoping he’d left, but he just finished his fourth vodka. I don’t want to run into him again.”

  “I’ll talk to him.” Todd set his glass on the counter. “What is he wearing?”

  “You can’t do that!” Patty exclaimed. “You’ll make a scene.”

  “I once worked as a bouncer at parties,” Todd assured her. “The trick is to be polite while you escort the guy to the door.”

  “I suppose you could try,” she agreed. “He’s got brown hair and is wearing a red ski sweater.”

  Todd disappeared into the living room and Patty refilled trays of dumplings. There was a crash and she ran through the swinging doors. Todd was sprawled on the floor, and a small group was forming around him.

  “What happened?” She crouched beside him.

  “I told that guy to stop hitting on you, and he said you were lying.” Todd waved at a man with wide shoulders. “Then he punched me.”

  “You accused the wrong man! Hans is the captain of the Swiss ski team, and he’s married.” Patty pointed to the other side of the room. “The man who made a pass at me is over there.”

  “That explains it.” Todd rubbed his jaw. “If he’s as good a skier as he is a boxer, the Swiss team will win.”

  A man approached Patty and talked sternly to her in German. She took off her apron and motioned to Todd.

  “The host wants us to leave. He’s terribly humiliated.”

  “I’m very sorry,” Todd said as they walked down the hill to the village. The sky was black velvet and there was a half moon. Snow covered the sidewalk, and the shop windows were lit with twinkling lights.

  “I don’t mind, I was only filling in for a friend,” Patty said, wrapping her scarf around her neck. “Were you really willing to take a blow for a girl you just met?”

  “I didn’t know he was going to punch me until his fist landed on my face,” Todd admitted. “But you did kiss me, and I quite enjoyed it. I had to return the favor.”

  “Then we’re even,” Patty said, nodding. “Do you mind if we keep walking? My roommate has food poisoning, and I don’t want to go back to her retching in the bathroom. I left my purse at the chalet, so I can’t go to a café.”

  “I’d offer to pay, but I’m broke until tomorrow’s paycheck,” Todd said.

  “It’s a beautiful night. Let’s climb up to the leaning tower,” Patty suggested.

  They turned onto the Via Maistra, and Patty pointed to a stone tower rising above the village square. The tower was illuminated by yellow lights, and the whole sky seemed like it was lit on fire.

  “The tower was built in 1570 and was attached to the church.” She rubbed her hands to keep warm. “But it started leaning, so they had to remove its bells. It has a 5.5-degree tilt—that’s more than the Leaning Tower of Pisa.”

  Patty paused and noticed Todd was staring at her.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked. “Do you think I’m only capable of making porridge and serving martinis? I took an art history class in college.”

  “I was thinking that I don’t know anything about you,” Todd countered.

  “There’s not much to tell. I live with my parents and I’m a theater major at UCLA,” she said lightly. “My parents expect me to marry a boy from a good family and have a couple of blond children. We’ll buy a house with a swimming pool, and in the summers we’ll all drink too much and flirt with each other’s spouses.” She looked at Todd and her eyes danced. “It will be harmless, of course, because I’ll be very happy. I’m only going to marry for love, even if it takes me years to find him.”

  “How will you know?” he asked.

  “How will I know what?” she responded. Todd stood so close, she could smell his aftershave.

  “How will you know you’re in love?” he wondered. “If you’ve known the same men all your life, how will you choose the right one?”

  “I’ll know it here.” She took his hand and placed it on her sweater. His fingers were warm and they curled around her breast.

  He leaned forward and kissed her. She kissed him back, and felt warm and alive.

  “And what about Todd with the borrowed tuxedo?” she asked when they parted. “I don’t know your last name or where you live.”

  “It’s Todd Mason, and I’m from Cleveland,” he answered. “My father is the branch manager of a bank, and my mother works in human resources. I have one more semester until I graduate from college.”

  “What will you do?” she asked, curious.

  “I’m not sure. I was never one of those kids who wanted to be a baseball player when he picked up a bat, or an astronaut when he got a telescope. My friend’s dad has a sporting goods store—I’ll work there, or I’ll work at the bank.” He paused. “This is my first trip. I’ve never even been out of Ohio, except to visit relatives in Chicago.”

  “Does that mean you’ve never been to California?” she asked.

  “Don’t make it sound like a calamity,” he said, chuckling. “It’s not like I’m a virgin.”

  “It’s worse than that.” She crossed her arms. “You have to see the Pacific Ocean.”

  Todd looked at her as if he were about to say something. Then he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her.

  “We’ll have to fix that,” he said when he released her. His dark hair glowed under the lamplight, and his eyes had thick lashes. “You can invite me.”

  * * *

  “What was I thinking, inviting someone I’d just met to California?” She shook her head. “The funny thing is, Todd and my father hit it off immediately. They played tennis and backgammon. Your father could charm anyone; he should have been an actor. Once, we attended a premiere and the reporter asked who he was. He was sure Todd was someone famous.”

  “It sounds like a storybook romance,” Felicity offered, eating the last bite of fondue.

  “It was, in the beginning.” She shrugged. “Then Todd started working at the studio and I got pregnant at the same time. I sat in our apartment without anything to keep me cool but a ceiling fan while he and my father jetted off to Cannes. Even when he was home, all he talked about was movies.”

  “You loved movies too,” Nell reminded her mother. “You were a theater major at UCLA.”

  “I didn’t want to be in movies, I wanted to produce them,” she said. “That’s one of the reasons I went to St. Moritz. I thought if I could show my father that I was independent, he would give me a chance in the company. Instead I brought him a son-in-law with a decent tennis serve.”

  “You never said anything about this before,” Nell piped up. “I always assumed you were happy at home.”

  “My father was old-fashioned. It wouldn’t have changed anything.” She turned to Nell. “And I was happy—having you and your brother was the best thing I ever did.” She paused. “Your father and I just couldn’t get back what we had, and it got worse. He was gone for wee
ks at a time, and one year he completely missed Christmas. You and Pete were so upset, you didn’t even want to open your presents.

  “We’ve talked about your father enough for one night.” She finished her wine. “I want to hear about you and Felicity. Twenty-something girls on the verge of getting married are more interesting than an ancient love story with an unhappy ending.”

  * * *

  Nell followed her mother and Felicity into the lobby of Badrutt’s Palace and dusted snow from her jacket. The fondue had been excellent. Next, they strolled along the Via Serlas. The windows of Escada Sports were filled with ski goggles in fluorescent colors, Faoro had classic ski sweaters, and in Valentino there were little black dresses perfect for New Year’s Eve. For a moment Nell forgot about her parents not attending her wedding, and enjoyed the festive atmosphere.

  “It’s still early. Why don’t we stop in the bar for White Russians?” Her mother turned to Nell. “I haven’t had one in years—it will be my treat.”

  “We would love to.” Nell nodded and walked toward the bar. Suddenly she saw a dark-haired man talking with the bartender. It couldn’t be her father; they’d planned to meet at the Dracula Club after his sauna. She had put her phone on vibrate; what if he’d texted and asked her to meet him earlier?

  “On second thought, White Russians have so many calories. I won’t fit into Felicity’s wedding dresses.” Nell took her mother’s arm and steered her across the lobby.

  “You promised you wouldn’t become one of those models who pinches her thighs to see if there’s any extra fat,” her mother said reproachfully. “Besides, we just ate fondue.”

  “It’s all about moderation,” Nell answered hastily. “That’s how French women stay slim. They have croissants and café au lait for breakfast, but then they skip lunch and eat salade Niçoise for dinner. I learned that when I did the runway shows in Paris.” She walked toward the elevator. “Why don’t we go to your suite? There were some dried apricots and nuts in the minibar that looked delicious.”