Page 153 of Guilty Pleasures

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Sitting outside one of Gstaad’s most popular cafés, Tom unzipped his ski jacket, took a sip of black coffee, and watched the Gstaad wonderland go by. Tom was usually unmoved by anything Cassandra loved, but he had to admit that the gingerbread houses with their powdered sugar snow twinkling in the fading afternoon light was enough to convince anyone that Gstaad was the prettiest village in the world. And to think he almost hadn’t come. Not that it had been plain sailing. The bruising around his eye had already prompted difficult questions from Virginia and Roger and he’d almost rather face those goons again than have another showdown with Cassandra, who was due to arrive at the Milford chalet any second. His sister had consistently refused to take his phone calls since that stupid party in Paris. It was ludicrous! Nearly a year had passed and yet she was still behaving as if he’d killed her puppy or something. But then, even with that little pleasure hanging over his head, somehow the sights and the smells of Gstaad made it all seem worthwhile.

‘Emma! Hey, Emma, over here!’

Emma was looking good. Fresh off the slopes, she had a healthy pink-cheeked glow and her smile was wide as she hoiked her skis off her shoulder and sat down next to him.

‘Tom! I didn’t know you were coming!’ she cried, reaching over to give him a kiss with genuine affection. ‘I could have done with some company on the Wasserngrat.’

‘I’m out of action,’ shrugged Tom. He was reckless by nature, but even he wasn’t convinced his knees would be strong enough to snowboard after being hit with a ba

seball bat two weeks earlier. ‘I think the booze and cigarettes are finally catching up with me.’

‘Oh yes? Stella told me you were trying to quit.’

‘You’ve been talking about me behind my back then, have you?’ he replied, secretly pleased.

‘I’ve been curious since the second I heard you’d both been down to St Ives to see her dad,’ she nudged him in the ribs.

‘We’re just friends,’ he said quickly.

‘I’m glad. She needs cheering up. Johnny Brinton is a viper. I saw him all over some woman at the Dugdale Festival. I tried to tell Stella but she didn’t want to hear it at the time. I don’t blame her. When you’re in love who wants to hear it?’

‘Viper? He’s a worm. No, he’s lower than a worm. He’s a slug!’

‘Just friends, hey?’ smiled Emma sensing the fierce, protective tone in Tom’s voice.’

‘Stella’s great.’

Emma started laughing quietly.

Tom sat bolt upright in his chair.

‘Emma Bailey! You work in fashion for two minutes and already you’ve become this terrible gossip. What’s happened to you?’

‘I heard about Chessie,’ said Emma, more seriously.

‘Did Stella tell you what else happened at Trencarrow? It turns out that Christopher has been sculpting all this time. I’m going to have a word with my mum to see if she can introduce him to a big gallery in London.’

It was only then that Tom realized with a sinking feeling that he still hadn’t asked Julia about Christopher. After all she had done for him, it somehow felt rude asking her to suggest a big London gallery for Christopher. But then Tom had to admit he wasn’t really doing it for Christopher; he was doing it for Stella.

He glanced at his watch.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’d better go and face the music’

Emma pulled a face.

‘Don’t worry, I don’t think they’ll be back yet,’ he said, patting her hand. ‘They’re still at the Eagle Club having lunch. Apparently Cassandra’s gone straight up there to meet all her terrible Eurotrash friends. She finds it terribly embarrassing that Roger goes up there. My heart bleeds.’

Emma giggled. She was so relieved to have an ally over Christmas.

‘A pact,’ she said, squeezing his fingers. ‘Let’s stick together.’

Tom stood up. ‘All for one and one for all,’ he said, making an elaborate bow. ‘Lead on, D’Artagnan.’

Le Chalet Anglais was an 80-year-old traditional Savoyese chalet set back on a hill behind the town with beautiful views of the Palace Hotel’s Rapunzel turrets. The main living room was a long high-beamed loft in aged pine lit by two chandeliers with a roaring stone fireplace at one end. The sumptuous dining area had a long rustic wooden table set with silver and bone china next to a huge open-plan kitchen area. By the time Emma had taken a hot shower and come back downstairs, everyone had arrived back at the chalet while a pretty chalet girl – who Emma predicted would end up in bed with Tom by the end of the festive season – was pulling a huge Beef Wellington from the oven. It smelled delicious.

‘Bloody awful snow,’ said Roger, sipping a G&T in a velvet club chair in front of the fire. ‘Global warming is going to put this town out of business if we’re not careful. Ah, Emma,’ he said rising to his feet. ‘Glad you could make it.’