Christmas in the Snow (16 page)

‘Well, my dear, all I can say is you must be doing it wrong!’ she laughed, her voice like the tinkle of a bell.

‘Did I hear you say you like skiing?’ Zhou asked, across the table again.

Allegra looked up, surprised to find he was directing his question at her. ‘Sorry?’

‘Skiing?’

‘Uh . . . yes.’

‘Me too.’

‘Oh.’ She nodded, vaguely wondering why he was showing so much interest in her suddenly. Her calls to his father’s office had clearly been returned to Sam and not her. He had
sat opposite her in meetings in Zurich and Paris when she had thrown her best at him and his father, and he had shown nothing but blank politeness. And in coming as Sam’s guest to this, he
had effectively stamped her death warrant. So why was he now trying to engage her on Christmas lights and skiing holidays?

‘Sam was telling me about how stunning Montreal is at this time of year,’ Tilly said. ‘Has anyone else been there at Christmas? I’d love to see it.’

Allegra bet she would! Her eyes slid hatefully towards Sam again and she was surprised to find his already on her.

He looked away quickly.

‘We always spend Christmas at our chalet in Zermatt,’ Zhou continued, his eyes on Allegra as he ignored Tilly’s question. ‘Have you ever been there?’

There was a polite silence as everyone waited for her to answer. They couldn’t possibly begin to guess at the reasons why she might now be tied to that very place.

‘No. I usually go to Verbier.’

‘It’s beautiful. You must go.’

‘Well,’ she said with a tense smile, ‘I’m sure I will at some point.’

There was a short pause as Zhou laced his fingers into a steeple, pressing his forefingers together. He looked thoughtful and it made her nervous.

‘Of course, we could always guarantee it.’

Allegra simply blinked. What?

‘Well, you’ve just been saying how you go to Verbier with clients over New Year. You should come to Zermatt with us, next week.’

Us?

‘My parents don’t arrive till the 18th, so we’d have fun till then at least.’

He laughed and everyone joined in – including Pierre, excluding Sam. And excluding her, because all she could think was, Define ‘fun’.

Zhou leaned in closer over the table. ‘Listen, I’m going out on Saturday,’ he said keenly, his dark eyes sparkling. He seemed so much younger and freer outside of his
father’s sphere. ‘And I always host a Christmas party. I would like you to come for that, next week. I am very aware of my family’s debt to you.’

Allegra inhaled sharply and slumped back in her chair. There it was – the reason for his sudden interest. She stared at him, disappointed and angry, hardly able to believe this was his way
of repaying the debt. She wanted him to sign a contract, not invite her to a party! He just thought he could buy her off cheaply because she was a woman?

‘Well, that’s very kind, but I assure you your family is in no way indebted to me,’ she said in a tight voice.

Lie. Lie. Lie. They both knew it. Her hand on the table balled into a fist.

‘I’ve already asked Sam to come, so he will be there too,’ Zhou said, misunderstanding her reluctance. ‘It’ll be the PLF team on tour!’

It was another joke, but Allegra simply shrugged, her expression opaque. She wasn’t going to let him buy her off with a sodding party invitation, even though she could see Pierre shifting
in his chair as the pendulum of fortune began to swing her way again, and Sam was staring between her and his friend with an expression fast approaching panic.

‘I love skiing,’ Pasha smiled, her mackerel tartar all but untouched before her. ‘But Pierre always teases me because I have a phobia of button lifts.’

The comment was met with bafflement. ‘Well’ – Crivelli’s wife cleared her throat diplomatically – ‘lots of people hate the Pomas.’

‘I would be grateful if you would stay with us as guest of honour at our chalet,’ Zhou continued, as though Pasha hadn’t said anything at all, as though Allegra’s silence
was some sort of bargaining tactic, driving up the offer from party invitation to house guest.

Allegra looked away at the left-field offer. It still wasn’t enough. The deal was what she wanted and she wouldn’t settle for being fobbed off with anything less. ‘Well,
that’s incredibly kind, Mr Yong, but under the circumstances, I don’t think it would be appropriate,’ she demurred.

There was a momentary hesitation before Zhou acquiesced, but it was clear from his expression that he had taken offence. She saw Pierre see it too and his expression changed dramatically as he
glowered at her across the table.

‘Of course. I understand,’ Zhou nodded tersely.

She had turned down flat the company’s new cash cow and she watched in frozen silence as Sam leaned over and whispered something in Pierre’s ear, Pierre’s scowl deepening and
his eyes settling on her with chilling coldness, moving over her bare shoulders and cleavage with consideration.

She stared back in rising nausea. She had not only turned down but also offended their key new client, but she would not accept his invitation. Inviting her to a party didn’t let his
family off the hook for all the work she had done on their pitch – she either won or lost on merit. She didn’t inhabit the grey areas of flirting with clients, and being bought off with
perks was no consolation.

Low chatter gradually started up around them again, the wives discussing their Christmas arrangements, and Allegra tried to eat. Her phone buzzed softly in her bag and she pulled it out
discreetly to read it.

Stay in his house. Stay in his bed. Do what the fuck it takes to nail this deal down.

Allegra’s mouth dropped open as she read the text once, then again, her eyes slowly rising to meet Pierre’s. He was pretending to listen to something Henley was saying – at
least his posture suggested it – but very slowly, he swivelled his eyes to meet hers. Disbelief trammelled through her that her boss, her mentor, would sell her out like this. He had been the
one to see Crivelli’s prejudice for what it was; he had been the one to promote her through the ranks as she endured evenings sitting at dimly lit tables as girls in thongs gyrated on her
colleagues’ laps beside her; he had been the one who saw that she worked harder, for longer just to be on level pegging with the boys. That he could be ordering her to do this . . . That
he’d even written it down. She had a sexual discrimination claim against him all wrapped up on her lap. And yet he didn’t care. That was how badly he wanted this? He was prepared to
sell her down the river and destroy a relationship that had been built over six years? Tears pricked at her eyes and she bit her lip to hold them in check.

‘Allegra looks incredible tonight, doesn’t she?’ Sam asked suddenly, making the rest of the table – women – fall silent. ‘I mean
really
stunning.
Don’t you think, Zhou?’

Zhou looked startled by Sam’s sudden pronouncement. ‘Absolutely,’ he replied politely.

‘I guess it must be strange for you seeing her looking so . . . I don’t know, womanly, seductive. I mean, whenever you’ve met before, she’s been dressed pretty much the
same as me.’

A titter rippled round the table.

Zhou’s eyes settled on her. ‘I guess so, yes.’

‘But, you see, Allegra is a very controlled person. I guess she has to be, working with animals like me and . . . this lot.’ Cue a self-deprecating laugh as he gestured vaguely to
the rest of the room, where drinking games were starting in earnest and there was already a queue at the luge. ‘And I think that makes it hard for her sometimes to relinquish that control. I
don’t think she meant to come across as so . . . dismissive of your generous offer. Obviously she is used to entertaining clients all the time, and I think she’s probably just not used
to being the one entertained. Isn’t that right, Allegra? But I know better than most how much work she’s put into this pitch and a skiing break in Zermatt is the very least she
deserves.’

Allegra’s eyes met his across the table. Bastard. Bastard! He knew exactly what he was doing.

‘And after all, even the aloof Allegra Fisher has been known to make the exception to her rule and mix business with pleasure
occasionally
.’

The fork dropped from her hand and clattered noisily on the plate. She couldn’t believe he’d said it. She saw the corners of the men’s mouths lift in smirks at the clear
insinuation and a knot of anger tightened in her stomach. To reduce her to . . . She looked around at her dining companions. Half the faces round the table were the ones she saw more than any other
in her life and yet none were her friends – none were even her allies – and it had never been more apparent than now.

Her eyes settled on Pierre, his directive still flashing on her phone, his betrayal still warm, and she realized he had never cared about her or her career. She had been useful to him only for
as long as she had made him money.

She looked away, aware of all eyes on her, as she strained for dignity.

Pierre coughed lightly. ‘You know, Sam’s right, Allegra. You’ve been working very hard recently, too hard. Take a few days off and join him and Mr Yong,’ Pierre said with
a casual wave of his hand as he sat back in his chair. ‘My treat.’

‘Sadly, my diary won’t allow that . . . Christmas rush.’ She shrugged.

A beat passed.

‘Allegra, I’ll
personally
make sure your schedule is cleared for you.’ His icy eyes made the unspoken point – do this or go.

Another beat.

‘No.’ Somewhere, it had become a battle of wills, and her words could have been sung by angels, such were the stunned expressions that greeted them. Even Zhou’s poker face
slipped. ‘I have other commitments.’

‘Such as?’

She looked down at the napkin in her lap and realized her hands were wringing it. The sound of blood rushing in her ears had drowned out the background music and all she could see was one exit
strategy from this.

‘Allegra?’ he pushed, his tone more forceful this time. ‘What else could you possibly have to do?’

Her eyes met his. ‘I’ll be looking for a new job, Pierre.’

One by one, like a domino course set into motion, jaws dropped open as her words hit like punches.

‘What?’

She smiled as she rose from the table. Pride was still hers. He hadn’t got the satisfaction of firing her; she hadn’t let him demean her. This was always going to have happened:
she’d been on the way out anyway. She’d known it the second he’d put Sam on the team, on this table; she’d known it the very second he’d greeted her tonight. She
couldn’t have stopped it, only delayed it – she realized that now with utmost clarity.

She looked across at Sam – the antagonist in all of this – but he was staring into his wine glass with sudden interest. He didn’t even look up as she pushed back her chair,
although Tilly shot her an apologetic, timorous smile, seemingly feeling entitled to communicate on his behalf.

Without a word, she walked across the dance floor, her shoulders back and chin high as every set of eyes in the room settled upon her in immediate curiosity. Her imperious, undulating shadow was
cast four ways on the dance floor by the revolving glitterballs and she almost wanted to laugh, Cinzia’s words coming back to her as more of a prophesy than apology: this dress really did
come with its own spotlight.

The intention had been to sleep till noon, but it was impossible to sleep through the almost constant buzzing of voicemails on her phone as people – Bob? Kirsty? HR?
Financial journalist? – tried to get hold of her. And besides, who was she kidding? She’d never managed to sleep late, even as a student. In fact, it was on the bucket list Isobel had
once drawn up for her – she would learn to sleep into double figures, along with learning the lyrics to ‘I Will Survive’, playing Candy Crush at least once and watching daytime
TV.

But not today. The relaxing buzz from five and a half martinis had segued overnight into an antsy agitation and she’d woken up as usual on the dot of five, rolling from side to side in
bed, her legs thrashing and her heart pounding. Even after sitting up and staring at the wall for twenty minutes, she hadn’t quite been able to believe she had actually done what she feared
she’d done, until she’d found her laptop and logged on.

Password denied.

Only then did she realize it was official. She’d quit, pulled the plug on an orbiting career that was on the brink of going stratospheric, turned her back on everything she had ever wanted
just as it was in her grasp, that final reach just fractionally, fatally, too far.

The phone kept flashing even though it lay silently beside her bed now, the voicemail filled with messages she couldn’t bear to listen to – she didn’t want sympathy or pity.
The shortcoming hadn’t been
hers
. She had simply jumped before she was pushed: Zhou’s play, Sam’s ambition, Pierre’s greed and that dress had collided spectacularly
and this was merely the fallout.

She kicked the duvet onto the floor in a fit of rage. Well, she may have no job, but she was going to do very well, financially, out of this. Pierre’s text on her phone would be all she
needed to force him into a very hefty settlement payout. She wasn’t the only one who’d be waking up with a bad taste in their mouth this morning. Oh no! Even the glory of landing an
investor like Zhou was going to be scant compensation for the PR havoc she was going to wreak on PLF’s reputation.

She paced the small flat, repeatedly boiling the kettle but never quite remembering to fill her teacup, her mind overloaded, her concentration destroyed as she replayed over and over being
cornered like a rat at that table, steely calm alternating with white-hot anger and shooting through her veins like flames. She couldn’t settle, couldn’t rest. She didn’t know
what to do. Without the office to go to, her day had no shape, her life no purpose. Everything she knew and believed in had gone, pulled away from her like a dusty rug, the courage from last
night’s martinis fully ebbed away so that only a bleak desolation remained.