Christmas in the Snow Read online

  For William

  Ski demon. Bear.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Acknowledgements

  Players

  Prima Donna

  Christmas at Tiffany’s

  The Perfect Present

  Christmas at Claridge’s

  The Summer Without You

  About the Author

  Also by Karen Swan

  Prologue

  21 January 1951

  The candle flickered as the wind twisted in through a knothole, but nothing else stirred – not the straw on the floor, not her black hair, worn loose about her face – and her eyes remained on the door and the thin rectangle of brightness framing it.

  She had been here too long already. Nobody was venturing out and the heavy snow alone was her friend today, infilling her tracks and keeping her journey here a secret.

  She felt like a slowly melting wax figure as thawed snow dripped around her in a circle on the floor, staining the wood black. She rocked gently on the stool to keep the blood flowing, knowing she couldn’t stay much longer.

  Cupped in her hands like a silver heart was the small tin cowbell, ready to ring in reply. It was warm from her touch, and her palms squeezed it gently, the red leather strap looped round her pale wrist.

  A sound outside came to her ear and she fell still, her body taut as she stared harder at the frame of light ringing the door. It wasn’t bright now. It was falling dim, and the distant whip-crack she’d heard was replaced by the low rumble of the mountains shifting as they cast off overloaded snow like an unwanted fur coat. She had grown up with this sound, like a grandfather’s snores in the background as she played with her toys. But this was different. The floor was trembling beneath her feet, and when she looked back up, the door’s light frame had been switched off, as though the sun had fallen from the sky.

  Only two seconds had passed, but there wasn’t time to scream, or even to gasp. In the next instant, the snow hit.

  Chapter One

  Allegra watched as Isobel ran ahead, shaking her head with embarrassment at the sight of her sister – head tossed back, long fair hair trailing as she twirled on the spot, arms outstretched as she tried to catch the crumpled bitter-brown leaves falling from the trees, laughing as some pirouetted away from her in dramatic spins, clapping wildly as others lilted softly to the mulch-blanketed ground. Allegra was sure it was only the fact that Isobel was pushing a pram that stopped people from calling the authorities.

  Isobel was a good hundred yards ahead by now and Allegra saw her chance. Quickly, she darted behind the nearest horse chestnut tree and pulled out her BlackBerry. It had been beeping almost constantly in her coat pocket as they’d been walking along – ‘enjoying the peace and fresh air’, as Isobel had fiercely insisted – and she felt her heart rate slow as she scrolled through her messages, reading all the actions that urgently required her input.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  Allegra looked up. Isobel was standing beside her, hands planted staunchly on her hips with self-righteous indignation. ‘Give me that.’ She threw out her hand, palm upturned, like it was Allegra who was her disobedient child and not the infant in the pram with a face smeared with carrot purée and a penchant for poking dogs in the eye.

  ‘I was just—’

  ‘Now.’

  Allegra handed it over. She may be the elder sister by birth, but it was Isobel who was the proper grown-up: married with a kid and living in a terraced house in the inner-city suburbs, hosting dinner parties and driving an estate car.

  ‘Thank you,’ Isobel smiled, immediately placated. ‘And in return . . .’ She pocketed the BlackBerry with one hand, while with the other handing over a large treacle-coloured conker leaf, almost as wide as her palm.

  ‘Oh no, really I couldn’t,’ Allegra responded ironically. ‘It’s such a beautiful leaf. It must be your most precious one by far.’

  ‘It’s not a leaf.’

  Allegra arched an eyebrow and twirled the leaf in her fingers by the stem.

  ‘It’s a day of luck and you jolly well know it. I caught it for you.’ She panted slightly as though to prove the point.

  A disbelieving pause. ‘You still do that?’

  ‘Of course!’ Isobel furrowed her brow, which had become more lined of late as the broken nights began to tell.

  ‘And to think I thought you were just trying to make Ferdy laugh,’ Allegra quipped, twitching as she heard her BlackBerry buzz again in her sister’s deep duffel-coat pocket.

  Allegra shivered in her own coat – a short tailored olive wool Burberry number with a high collar and beautiful pleats from the waist. It looked great over skinny jeans but couldn’t combat these temperatures. There were reports snow was forecast for the end of the week.

  ‘Come on, let’s get a latte,’ Isobel said, maturely ignoring the dig and taking in her sister’s pinched cheeks. It was clear she wasn’t going to be breaking into a run and catching leaves in those boots. ‘That’ll warm you up.’

  ‘Is there time? Anyone would think you didn’t want to go over to Mum’s.’

  ‘Of course I do,’ Isobel shrugged. ‘But we’ve got all day, and I know what you’re like with cold toes.’

  Allegra smiled. ‘Fine. But it had better be a quick one.’ Caffeine was far preferable to her than fresh air anyway, and there was always the chance Isobel would have to disappear on one of her lengthy nappy-changing trips with Ferdy, leaving her alone with her beloved BlackBerry.

  ‘So tell me about this new house, then,’ Isobel said, looping one arm through her sister’s and expertly steering the aerodynamic buggy with one hand as they strolled through the majestic avenue of trees with all the other families, loved-up couples and dog walkers for whom this ritual was Saturday morning. To their left beyond the railings, the Thames eddied past, high-tided and in a rush, a few bulky industrial barges tethered against tyre fenders as black cabs chuntered past on the Embankment opposite.

  ‘Well, you’ve seen as much of it as I have. I’ve not stepped foot inside yet.’

  Isobel tutted. ‘I can’t believe you bought a house without even visiting it.’

  ‘Not a big deal. My property consultant had it surveyed and I downloaded the PDF. It ticked all my boxes.’

  ‘And only you could have a property consultant,’ Isobel groaned.

  ‘Fine, property hunter, whatever you want to call him.’

  ‘Him? Was he good-looking?’

  Allegra rolled her eyes. ‘Oh my God. Now you’re trying to fix me up with a man you haven’t even met?’
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  ‘Needs must. God only knows how you haven’t bagged someone at work. The place is crawling with men.’

  ‘Yes, there’s just a slight problem: I work with them. Most of them report to me, and those who don’t, I report to them.’

  Isobel shrugged as though she didn’t see what the problem was. She probably didn’t. Sex and office politics weren’t life-and-death issues in her world.

  ‘Yeah, but was he?’ Isobel grinned, nothing if not persistent.

  Allegra smiled. ‘He was fine.’

  ‘Fine? Wow! He really must have been a corker,’ Isobel laughed, drawing an admiring glance from a guy roller-blading past, orange Beats headphones on. ‘You should invite him round for an intimate supper in your new mansion by way of thanks.’

  ‘The house is just an investment. I’m going to gut it, get an architect in to redesign everything except the facade, which is listed, then sell it on.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Islington.’

  ‘Legs! Why did you have to buy all the way over there? You easily could have bought in Wandsworth. You’d get a bigger garden then, at least. And we’d be closer.’

  ‘I just told you, I’m not going to live there. It’s an investment. I’ll still be in my flat.’

  ‘Yeah, and your flat’s a nightmare for parking. No one has cars where you live.’

  ‘That’s because they don’t need them. We can walk everywhere.’

  Isobel stifled a laugh.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You? Walk? Listen, you get driven everywhere – be honest. You’re too busy and important to walk.’

  Allegra flashed her sister a scornful look, but she couldn’t argue the logic – she was incredibly busy.

  ‘Well, I still think that if you’ve bought it, you should live in it. It doesn’t seem right just leaving it empty and having developers come in.’

  ‘Not every house has to be a home, Iz.’

  ‘Not any house is a home for you, more like. Unless you count the office. Which you probably do.’

  Allegra ignored the dig. ‘There is no point in me living in 8,638 square feet.’

  ‘Approximately.’

  ‘Yes.’ Allegra smiled, her eyes falling to the shadowy silhouette of Canary Wharf in the distance, her own tower block the highest on the horizon. She squinted, quite sure the lights she could see on over there were on her floor. Reproof from afar.

  It was a beautiful day, Allegra was vaguely aware of that, the air carrying the icy strains of a far-travelled Arctic wind that would bring a fierce red sunset later. She made a mental note to try to remember to catch it from the window.

  They stopped at a cafe where buggies were tightly bunched in a cluster by the door, dark, skinny pigeons walking, heads bobbing, over the forest-green metal tables that had been sitting empty for weeks now as everyone clamoured for hot chocolates inside, beside the electric heaters.

  ‘I’ll get the drinks,’ Allegra said quickly, as she watched Isobel scoop Ferdy out of his harness and move to hand him over. ‘Latte, right?’ No way was she holding a baby with reflux in this coat.

  ‘OK, but get me a cookie or a brownie or something – anything with chocolate in it. I need the sugar,’ Isobel added, hoisting Ferdy onto her hip as she rooted around in the tray of the buggy. ‘And can you ask for a jug of boiling water too? I need to heat this,’ she sighed, holding up a bottle of milk. ‘Don’t let them give you any shit about health and safety either. I’ll sign a disclaimer saying I know that boiling water is hot, whatever. Just tell them they do not want to hear this boy with cold milk. And nor do their other customers.’

  ‘Right,’ Allegra nodded, retreating to the safety of the queue.

  Four minutes later, she made her way over to the table with a steaming jug of boiled water, a deep wedge of ‘death by chocolate’ cake, a latte and a double espresso. Isobel wasn’t the only one who’d had four hours’ sleep last night.

  Her features brightened at the sight of the BlackBerry sitting, flashing like a beacon, on the table. Pointedly, Isobel turned it over. ‘Don’t touch it. We are going to talk, for once. I only put it there because I felt like bloody Inspector Gadget with it in my pocket,’ Isobel tutted. ‘It’s permanently buzzing and bleeping. There are sex toys that don’t work as hard as that thing.’

  Allegra burst out laughing in surprise. ‘Well, I wouldn’t know.’

  Isobel eyed her reprovingly, dunking the milk bottle in the jug of water. ‘No, you wouldn’t. When was the last time you got laid?’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Allegra spluttered again, mortified as she caught a couple on a nearby table looking over.

  ‘You haven’t had a relationship for ages. You’re thirty-one, Allegra,’ Isobel said soberly, as though this was news to Allegra.

  ‘Oh, don’t start on that again,’ Allegra replied, losing the smile. ‘I’ve got so much on at work I barely have time to wash.’

  ‘Work doesn’t keep you warm at night.’

  ‘Actually, it does,’ Allegra shrugged, thinking of the plush room at the Four Seasons that she ended up sleeping in at least two nights a week as she worked till almost dawn and obligated the firm into providing according to EU regulations.

  ‘What happened to that Philip chap? He seemed lovely.’

  Allegra tutted, drumming her short-manicured fingers lightly on the table. ‘Oversensitive. I don’t have time to babysit.’ Her eyes fell to Ferdy, propped up in a wooden high chair with three plastic balls attached, which were, for now, holding his attention.

  ‘“Over—”’ Isobel leaned back in her chair and sighed. ‘Oh God, what did you do? Just tell me.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything.’

  Isobel didn’t reply, just narrowed her eyes.

  ‘I was closing a deal. He kept pushing to see me, going on and on: “Just drinks. Just want to see you and hear your news.”’ Allegra sniffed lightly. ‘So I sent Kirsty to go on my behalf. That was all.’

  A pulse.

  ‘Kirsty? Kirsty your PA Kirsty?’

  Allegra nodded. ‘He wanted to know my news. Kirsty told him my news.’ She shrugged.

  Isobel’s jaw dropped open. ‘You actually sent your PA on your date with your boyfriend.’

  ‘Ex, now.’

  ‘And we wonder why. Unbelievable.’ Sarcasm oozed from Isobel’s voice as she took the bottle of milk out of the hot water and sprinkled a few drops on her inner wrist, testing the temperature. ‘Was it worth it?’ Her tone suggested nothing could be worth a broken relationship.

  ‘Absolutely. That deal tipped us from the two to the twenty. Twenty-seven million pounds in fees.’ Allegra sipped nonchalantly on her coffee, unaware that her sister had no idea of the 2:20 fee structure on which her business was based. ‘Thanks to that alone, I’m up for promotion in the next round. It’ll put me on the board. You know I’m the only female president in the company, right?’

  Isobel just shook her head, nonplussed, or at least uninformed. ‘No wonder Mum worries so much about you.’

  Allegra shot her a look and Isobel immediately looked down, ashamed. They both knew their mother’s worries about her were now, only ever, part-time. ‘Sorry, that was a shitty thing to say,’ Isobel mumbled, reaching for Ferdy and pulling him out of the chair and onto her lap.

  Allegra sat back in her seat, trying to give them both a bit more space as Ferdy began to feed. She sipped her coffee, feeling out of place in this cafe where people snacked and chatted easily, as though they had nowhere more important to be or nothing more important to do. She stared at the BlackBerry flashing like a satellite receiver on the table and visualized the messages and urgencies it contained beginning to pile up like planes in a stacking system in the sky. Her blood pressure was rising.

  As if on cue, the BlackBerry rang. The sisters’ eyes met – panic in one set, satisfaction in the other – as Allegra got to it first. Isobel had her hands full and couldn’t reach it without dropping Ferdy. Isobel tutted and looked away.

&n
bsp; ‘Fisher,’ Allegra murmured, watching her sister as she began cooing down to Ferdy and wondering how they could be so different. To a stranger’s eye, they were clearly related: both were willowy and tall, at five feet ten, with lean, athletic bodies, but while Allegra entered triathlons as her reluctant concession to ‘downtime’, Isobel had merely been content to be the envy of all the mothers in her NCT group for getting back into her jeans so quickly. There were one and a half years between them and only seven IQ points – neither of them slow nor a Mensa star – but while Allegra couldn’t rest till she knew she was the best at whatever she had set her mind to, Isobel had always gone for the easy option, happy simply to be considered pretty or lucky or privileged.

  Allegra put it down to their upbringing. Isobel had been their father’s favourite – something Allegra had accepted as fact and without resentment – and hers was the prettier face, taking after him with her highly coloured cheeks, blue eyes and fair hair. Allegra, by contrast, had a sharper look, which had seemed too precocious, too knowing on a child’s face, with strikingly almond-shaped eyes in a deep chocolate brown that helpfully hid her feelings, and high-carved cheekbones that had never been appled or dimpled. Only the gap between her two front teeth – her mother hadn’t been able to afford the private orthodontic bills and it wasn’t covered on the NHS – punctured the illusion of full-blown sophistication with an element of gawkiness. Everyone called it ‘cute’ or ‘kooky’, both words anathema to a woman who privately gloried in her nickname ‘the Lipstick Assassin’, but it was only really apparent when she smiled, and in the hedge-fund world, smiling meant you weren’t taking things seriously; smiling meant you weren’t taken seriously. So she didn’t smile much.

  It was the hair, though, that really broadcast the breach between the two of them. Isobel’s was long and swishy, like Kim Sears’s at Wimbledon, or Kate Middleton’s: a glossy mane in perpetual motion that came with a smart postcode and designer handbag. Allegra’s was short and to the point, like her. Barely long enough to be called a bob, it curled in just below her earlobes, showing off a slim neck she’d never stopped to notice and the kind of tight jawline that only came from years of stressful meetings and grinding her teeth in her sleep.