Christmas at Claridge's (53 page)

‘Last one down’s a ninny.’ She winked, throwing the blanket down to the ground like a parachute. She ran down the wide staircase that swept around the tree like a nautilus
seashell while Tom shinned noisily down the ladder, beating him only by two seconds. Clem stuck her tongue out as the Claridge’s housekeeping and estate teams slapped them both on the back
and the smartly suited executive teams shook hands with each other. Everyone was giddy with exhaustion after a full night without sleep and Clem was tempted to book a room in the hotel and be fast
asleep in ten minutes rather than have to negotiate the London traffic home. Hourly caffeine had kept them all going, but mostly they’d been galvanized by a desperate desire to see the
finished result. The buzz around the confidential project had been immense for weeks. Cartier – having heard the rumours about Alderton Hide’s heavy, near-fatal investment in
formulating the technology to sew diamonds into leather – had been quick to come in on the project (Perignard who?) and the trade was clamouring to get the first look they’d been denied
at Berlin.

‘You like?’ Tom whispered as they gazed up at it, arms folded across his chest. From down here, the tree seemed immense and hauntingly beautiful.

Clem could only nod. She was too full of emotion to speak just yet.

He looked across at her, knowing her silences were never empty. ‘Is it how you imagined?’

‘Better. It’s beyond imagination.’

‘I think it’s magnificent,’ Tom murmured, his eyes scanning the whistle-thin leather lariats, snow-white and stitched with pave diamonds, which were delicately draped across
the branches – ‘like tinsel for the rich,’ he’d joked. Other lariats had been intricately hole-punched into lacework that was as fine as spider’s webs and which wove
around and through the tree like the spun sugar of a croquembouche.

Clem herself couldn’t stop looking at the hundreds of tiny white solitaire-studded leather boxes that were hanging like baubles from the branch tips. Each one had a small square of
hand-made parchment inside, upon which – for a small donation to charity – hotel guests and visitors could write a wish. It was a Christmas Wishing Tree in the middle of Mayfair.

‘Ten minutes everyone,’ the manager said, indicating that the famous revolving doors, which had been locked for confidentiality and security all night, were going to be released, and
the dignitaries and VIPs who called this their London home would be sweeping through once more. He clapped his hands lightly and the works teams efficiently and expertly began to clear away the
blankets, sweeping away dropped pine needles, removing the ladders and restoring the gracious art deco lobby to its pristine splendour.

‘I’ll get Dad to come down,’ Tom murmured, fishing for his phone in his jeans pocket and wandering off towards the lifts.

Clem watched him go, leaning against the buttermilk-coloured wall, before realizing, with a small, sudden start, that she was standing in the exact spot where Gabriel had cornered her eight
months earlier, on the morning of their meeting last April. Her hand blindly smoothed the wall as her eyes flooded with tears at the memory – not because of Gabriel’s seductively
relentless, ruthlessly dogged determination to capture her, but because she understood now that it had been the morning when her life had been pitched another curve ball, swerving from its path to
angle her back to Italy and the man and boy she’d left behind ten years earlier. Though she hadn’t known it at the time, it had all started up again right here, in this very spot that
now stood in the shadow of the wishing tree.

She stared at the highly polished floor, counting to one hundred – ten wasn’t close to cutting it any more – as the last members of the estate teams disappeared and a slow
trickle of well-heeled guests came through the revolving doors. Clem, hiccupping, tried texting Stella, who had promised to be first through the revolving doors at 6 a.m. –
although, in truth, she was so large now that she was full term, the doorman would probably have to open a swing door for her instead.

‘I’m way ahead of you, babes.’

Clem turned in surprise. Stella was standing behind her, wearing the vintage black and red nurse’s cape she had decided upon as her pregnancy cover-up, and an intense expression Her colour
was up and her breathing rapid.

‘Oh God,’ Clem exclaimed immediately worried and clasping Stella by the arms, trying to gauge her friend’s symptoms as she’d been taught in the ante-natal classes.
‘You haven’t started having contractions, have you? You can’t have your baby in the middle of Claridge’s lobby. It’s not like BA, Stell. They won’t give you free
rooms for life you know . . .’

Stella simply smiled and hooked her arm through Clem’s, wheeling her round to face the tree again.

‘What do you think?’ Clem whispered nervously, tilting her head to rest against Stella’s.

‘Stunning,’ Stella breathed, clutching her arm tightly. ‘I love the look of it as much as the idea.’

‘Yeah, me too,’ Clem said quietly, pushing one of the leather boxes with her finger so that it swung.

‘What’s your wish?’

Clem shot her a pained look. ‘Don’t. You know perfectly well—’

‘Yeah, I do,’ Stella said quietly, turning her friend another 20 degrees.

Clem felt the breath leave her.

Stella leaned in so that her cheek was almost against Clem’s. ‘I found him on your doorstep last night; told him you were out on an all-nighter, so he stayed at mine,’ she
whispered.

Clem opened her mouth, but no words would come.

‘Worth the wait, I should say,’ Stella whispered, squeezing her arm lovingly before stepping back.

Rafa, who’d been standing beside the bottom step, walked towards her. His tanned skin seemed darker than ever amidst all the pasty British winter complexions, and he was wearing a coat and
black jeans, a grey cashmere scarf knotted at his neck in the way that only Italian men – even relatively scruffy ones like him – knew how to carry off. He seemed taller and his hair was
longer than she remembered, falling into his eyes, which were hooded and wary upon her, as though
she
had startled
him.

They stared at each other in the long hanging silence that always came when their eyes met – words would never be enough – but they weren’t needed anyway. In the next moment,
his hand closed around her wrist, pulling her to him, and his soft, full lips, which had denied her so much over the summer – a smile, a kind word – met hers, pushing her, tasting her,
reclaiming her. She could feel traces of his anger still, but also his longing, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, riding the kiss as it told her all she’d ever wanted to know: that he
loved her, always had, always would.

He cupped her head, tipping her back, and she looked up at him as he pulled away as though checking she was real and not still the figure that walked through his dreams. ‘I could not lose
you again.’ His voice was jagged and she saw the same haunted look in his eyes that she recognized in Luca’s.

‘You never did. I’ve never loved anyone but you.’

Her words were like electric shocks to him, almost painful to hear, and clasping her face between his hands, he kissed her again, hard then sweetly, his beautiful mouth curling against hers into
a delighted smile, a smile that was almost as welcome as his kisses.

Something knocked against her feet and she looked down.

A ball . . .

A jolt of adrenaline arrowed through her as she looked up to find Chiara standing ten feet away, holding Luca’s hand. Her hands flew to her mouth to see her beautiful child suddenly so
near, and she fell to her knees, wholly unable to stand, as he came slowly towards her. She found the ball though her eyes never left his, and she held it up as he stopped in front of her.

‘Is this yours?’ she whispered.

Luca nodded but didn’t move to take it.

‘Am . . .’ She swallowed hard as tears filled her eyes. ‘Am I?’

He blinked rapidly and she saw the faintest wobble of his bottom lip, her hand shooting out to cup his cheek, desperate to reassure him that he didn’t have to decide.

‘Yes.’ And before she could respond – before she could sigh, gasp or cry – his arms were around her neck, his face burrowed into her shoulder as he tried to hide the
tears she could feel hiccupping through him.

‘Luca, my Luca,’ she whispered into his hair, rubbing his back as he tried to control his sobs, trying to be the big boy. ‘My darling child, my precious boy . . . I
l–love you . . . so much. Every day I loved you.’

Rafa crouched down next to them, his hand heavy and reassuring on Luca’s shoulder as the sobs kept on coming, his other hand in hers, their little family linked at last.

She looked up at Chiara. ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed to the friend who had schemed so cleverly all summer, constantly throwing her in the path of her son and forcing them to bond, to
know each other, to laugh together, making it impossible for her to ever leave again. Chiara had succeeded in giving Clem what Rosa had known she needed all those years ago – a way back.

‘Did you see what I made?’ Clem whispered when Luca’s tears finally began to slow down, turning him gently towards the grand tree. ‘It’s a wishing tree, just for
you.’

He blinked in disbelief and looked at her. ‘For me?’

She reached a hand out to the nearest branch and took one of the leather boxes. ‘Each box is to be filled with a wish. And
you
must write the first one.’ She reached in her
jeans pocket for a pen and handed it to him. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to tell me what you’re wishing for this time.’ She smiled.

There was a pause as the little boy thought. ‘You do not have to.’ Luca looked at her. ‘You already know.’

‘I do?’

He nodded. ‘It is the same as yours.’

At his words, the lead lining that had formed inside her ten years earlier melted away like ice cream in the sun. ‘Oh Luca . . .’

Over his shoulder, Clem saw the lift doors open and Tom and her father step out, Tom pushing their mother’s wheelchair with adroitness and pride, her hands over her eyes.

‘Are you ready, Mu—
?
’ Tom asked, stopping abruptly at the sight in front of the Christmas tree, his eyes immediately scanning the vast space for Chiara. His
body softened as he found her gaze already upon him, promises in her smile.

Without another word, Tom stopped their mother’s wheelchair in front of them, Edmund looking at Clem for confirmation of what he thought he was seeing. She gave a tiny nod, though her
smile said it all, and she stood up, her hands in Rafa’s and Luca’s. Ready.

‘Can I open my eyes yet?’ her mother asked, oblivious to the silent conversations whizzing past her.

Clem took a deep breath as Rafa squeezed her hand tightly in his. ‘Yes, Mum, you can look now.’

17 December 2015

Dear Chiara,

Greetings from Portofino!

So, there’s eight sleeps to Christmas and you’re not going to believe this, but it snowed here last night! I know, I’m so jammy: my first Christmas here and it will be
white. Rafa says it’s the first snow here since he was four! It’s made everything feel extra-Christmassy, and I was bad enough before. We’ve all put on weight from the amount of
mince pies I’ve been making (Luca’s obsessed) and Rafa got really cross with me because I insisted we drive all the way to Rapallo yesterday for a tree. They did have some smaller ones
in Santa Margherita but the shape wasn’t good enough and he just doesn’t appreciate that you have to get these details right.

Anyway, I really hope the snow stays till you arrive next week. We made a snowman the second we woke up – it was Mediterranean-style with black olives for the eyes and mouth and that
Missoni scarf of yours that you left behind. It was so fab. I’ve enclosed a photo of it for you.

How’s work? Massive congrats on your promotion, by the way! Tom told me all about it. Junior exec. in just eighteen months – you must be doing something right! I just hope
you’re not working too hard? We’ve finished all the work on the hotel now. It was definitely the right thing to do, not opening this summer. We stripped everything right back and pretty much
started from scratch. I can’t wait till you see it. The photos don’t do it justice.

I have to admit I was a bit worried about what to do when the refurb was finished, because with the new management team sorted, it’s not like I’m needed for the day-to-day
running of the hotel, but Chad came for dinner last week and guess what? He’s starting on a palazzo over in Monterosso in the new year, and he wants me to come in on it with him!

It’s going to be so good to see you all, we just can’t wait. Luca’s counting the days. He’s really missed Dad since he went back in the autumn, they spent loads of
time fishing together, and every time I saw them, they were talking and joking around. They’re so alike it’s ridiculous.

As for me, I’m massive! Rafa can hardly get his arms around me. The doctor in the port gave Luca a stethoscope and he listens to his sister’s heartbeat every night before bed.
It’s so sweet.

Anyway, must stop nattering or we’ll have nothing to tell you when you get here. See you next week, masses of love,

Your sister,

Clem xxxx

P.S. Can you have a word with Stella? She’s really convinced that neon is the way to go for midnight mass.

In part, the idea for this book was prompted by a trip I took to Italy last May to read at a prestigious literary festival in the spotlit ruins of Ancient Rome. It was one of
the most daunting and spectacular nights of my life, and I will never forget it. I would like to offer thanks to Maria Ida, the festival organizer, and my Italian publishers, Newton Compton, for
making everything feel so effortless – though I’m sure it can’t have been – and for making me feel so welcome, particularly Rafaello Avinzini, Anna Voltaggio and Fiammetta
Biancatelli.

It was on this trip that I visited Portofino, researching ideas for a possible book – I know, it was tough – and really fell in love with a country that I had been flirting with for
years. But possibly the moment of capitulation happened in San Benedetto del Tronto, where I did a short book tour and was treated to Italian hospitality at its very best. Mimmo Minuto, Cinzia
Carboni and Sandra Libbi, I will never forget your kindness and generosity, thank you so much!