Christmas in the Snow (43 page)

‘Oh yes, right . . . Yes, I bet they do. He’s cute. The cheeks . . .’

The girl smiled politely and Allegra hesitated at the natural pause. She knew she should leave now. Instead, she placed her hand on the counter. ‘To be honest, the Advent calendar,
I’ve already got one and I think it may be one of yours.’

‘Ours?’

‘Yes. It’s really old, but it’s even got an angel like this one. We found it in the loft at our house.’

‘In England?’

‘Yes, but our mother’s from here and . . .’ She stopped, not wanting to bore the poor girl with her convoluted family history. ‘Well, given the clock and the calendar, it
seems more and more likely they came from here.’

The girl looked even more surprised. ‘You have one of the clocks too?’

‘Yes, but not here. The clock’s back in England being repaired, but I’ve got the calendar with me.’ She shrugged, a little embarrassed. ‘Ours is a lot smaller than
the one in your window, obviously – I couldn’t travel with one that size – but I’ve been enjoying opening the drawers each day. And
I
don’t usually do
Christmas.’ She realized she hadn’t opened today’s. Sam had been far too distracting for that.

‘Could you bring it in? I know my father would love to see it.’

‘Really? You think he’d be interested?’

The girl nodded eagerly. ‘I know he would.’

‘OK, well . . . is there any particular time?’

‘He is with suppliers today, but he will be in the workshop all day tomorrow. I will tell him to expect you.’

‘Great,’ Allegra shrugged happily. ‘Well, then it’s a date.’

‘A date,’ the girl repeated, smiling back too.

Allegra walked out onto the street, feeling like another piece of history was slotting into place. If the clock were from here, perhaps the girl’s grandparents had known Valentina. Allegra
could never bring back Valentina for her mother, but maybe, just maybe, she could bring back stories about her.

The door of the coffee shop next door opened and a waft of crêpes drifted onto the street as a gaggle of cute snowboarding girls loped out with neon-yellow trousers hanging off their hips,
baggy beige jackets falling to their thighs and thick knitted 1970s-style headbands keeping their ears warm.

Allegra cut in, deciding to buy a
tortin
for Isobel. She had been right about her sister’s high spirits beginning to plummet – not only was she fed up with missing another
day on the slopes, but drinking on painkillers had significantly worsened today’s hangover and she was now five days without Ferdy and Lloyd, meaning that even Massi was having to work hard
to make her smile. The only blessing was, she’d been so swaddled in her own misery this morning that she hadn’t noticed Allegra’s suspiciously rare radiance.

The queue was almost to the door and she took her phone out of her pocket while she waited, mayday-texting Lloyd to send photos of Ferdy over to his wife. There were no new messages for her. The
flurry of sympathy calls had tailed off sharply as she kept her head down – out of sight, almost forgotten – and she didn’t know how to keep explaining away Pierre’s
continued silence any more. He knew she was here; he had to know she was still in the running . . .

The expansion in her chest began to narrow again as she realized just how much last night had complicated things, and she made herself remember what Sam had done at the dinner – the
antagonistic whispers he’d admitted to, just seconds before he kissed her.

She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, making herself remember that
she
was the good guy in all of this. It was one thing to give in to desire, quite another to give up revenge, and
defeating Sam was her only way back to Pierre. He wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to her.

‘Miss Fisher?’

She opened her eyes to find Father Merete standing beside her, two coffees-to-go in his hands. ‘I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t interrupt your prayers.’

‘Oh, I . . . I wasn’t—’ she spluttered, before seeing the twinkle in his eyes. ‘Oh.’

He smiled. ‘Are you feeling ready for tomorrow?’

She nodded. ‘You were right. The undertakers have been excellent. As soon as we’d dealt with the paperwork, they took over and managed everything for us. I rather feel I
haven’t done enough.’

‘The fact that you’re here and doing this at all is enough.’

She shrugged, still not comfortable with taking any credit for her actions. This was duty – or at least, it had started out like that. ‘Oh, by the way, I met my grandfather. After we
spoke, my sister and I went round to see him.’

‘And?’ Father Merete looked pleased.

‘He’s just wonderful. I saw him yesterday too, and I’m hoping to get over there again this afternoon. It’s been incredible talking to him about the past. I’ve
already learned so much about my family from him and we’ve barely even begun.’

‘I am happy to hear that. I hope it has restored his spirits to have you in his life too. Did he say whether he will attend the service tomorrow?’

‘Yes, he’s coming.’

‘That’s good. I was very concerned about him. I went to the house several times to visit, but Bettina would not let me in.’ His brow furrowed. ‘She kept saying he was
resting and could not be disturbed.’

‘Yes, she was very off with us too. She’s a bit of a dragon, isn’t she?’ The queue moved forward and she shuffled along to keep up.

He chuckled. ‘Well, I have to remind myself it can’t be easy for her being confronted with the reappearance of Lars’s spectacular first wife. I would imagine no woman wants to
feel second best.’

Allegra remembered what Lars had said about her grandmother’s flight for that very reason. ‘I guess not, but then who’s she to get so personally involved? She’s just his
nurse. What does it matter how she—’ She saw his expression. ‘What?’

‘Bettina is Lars’s wife, not his nurse – well, not officially.’

Allegra felt the hairs on her skin prickle. ‘Oh.’

‘Does that matter?’

‘No, no. I just . . . didn’t realize.’ She remembered how she’d dissed Bettina, thinking she was upstart staff, and Lars had laughed.

She was almost at the front of the queue now. She could see the sugar-sifted
tortin
sitting under the glass.

Father Merete held up the cups in his hands. ‘Well, I should get these back to my assistant priest before they’re cold or he’ll switch over to the Anglicans. Apparently they do
better coffee than me.’

Allegra smiled, appreciating the attempt at levity, but she felt unsettled somehow, not only to realize that Lars had never introduced Bettina as his wife, but that she was so much younger than
him – at least thirty years, surely? But then again, why shouldn’t he have remarried? Was he supposed to live his life alone, especially after Granny had deserted him in such terrible
circumstances?

Anya . . .

Father Merete turned to leave.

‘Father,’ she said, turning back, ‘can I ask you something?’

‘Of course.’

‘For all the years Valentina was missing, they couldn’t have issued a death certificate for her, could they? Not without a body.’

‘That’s right. Although there’s what’s known as a presumption of death after seven years. A death certificate can be issued then, even without a body.’

‘So then how could my grandfather have remarried my aunt only a year later? Technically he would still have been married to Valentina.’

The priest looked at the floor for a moment and she could see he was considering his words carefully. When he looked back up, his eyes moved left and right to check no one was listening in.
‘You have to understand things were different back then. Life here, in the 1950s, it was not like you see now, with thousands of visitors. These villages were tiny: everyone knew everyone.
When your grandmother disappeared that fateful weekend, there was no way she could have survived – everyone would have known it, including the priest.’ He paused. ‘We run our
lives to bureaucracy now, but back then a death certificate was just a piece of paper, and part of the role of the parish priest is also to help the living to live . . . Do you understand what
I’m saying?’

She nodded, understanding absolutely. Lars and Anya’s wedding had been illegal.

‘
Ja?
’ the woman behind the counter asked, leaning forward to get Allegra’s attention.

She turned in surprise, startled by the intrusion.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he smiled, heading off with the coffees, which had stopped steaming.

Allegra watched him go with an uneasy heart. What he had said made sense, but she still didn’t understand.

‘Oh, hey! Look at you!’ Allegra said in surprise as she stepped out of the lift. She had been hoping to disappear into her room unseen – she wanted some time
to regroup after the morning’s events – but Isobel was walking in wobbly squares on crutches around the lower-ground-floor hall.

‘Good, right? I’ve been going round in squares for the past hour.’

‘Did the doctor say you should be doing this yet?’

‘Who do you think gave me the crutches, silly? He said he’s very pleased with my progress.’ Isobel pulled a proud face.

‘He wouldn’t have been so pleased if he’d seen you propping up the bar last night.’

‘Actually, the bar was propping me up.’

Allegra had to laugh: her sister had an answer for everything.

She walked across to her room and Isobel hobbled in after.

‘By the way, I’ll get the dress dry-cleaned for you,’ Isobel said, falling with relief on the bed and making herself comfortable. Allegra was grateful it was late enough for
the beds to have been made and for Isobel not to realize hers hadn’t been slept in.

Allegra, who was hanging her jacket up in the wardrobe, turned back to her. ‘Iz, don’t be daft. It’s for you. I want you to have it.’

‘But I can’t keep a dress like that! It must have cost a fortune!’

Allegra gave a wry smile. ‘Massi bought it, and besides, it is much more you than it is me.’

‘But are you absolutely sure?’ Isobel asked, leaning forward for added earnestness.

Allegra sighed. ‘I am.’

‘Cool,’ Isobel grinned, falling back into the cushions again. ‘Well, you know if you ever want to borrow it . . .’

‘Yes. Thanks.’ Allegra sat down in front of her dressing table and put on some moisturizer; Sam’s constant hijacks this morning had thrown her completely off schedule.

‘Ooh, what was in today’s drawer?’ Isobel asked, picking up the Advent calendar beside the bed.

‘Oh, I . . .’ Allegra twisted quickly on the stool. ‘I haven’t opened it yet.’

Isobel looked up at her, hearing the strained note in her sister’s voice.

‘Well, you’d better open it, then,’ Isobel said, holding it out towards her.

‘No, really,’ Allegra protested. ‘It’s fine. You do it.’

‘Legs.’

‘Honestly, you do it. It’s only a drawer. Just a fun little habit.’

‘Legs, get over here or I really will open it myself.’

‘OK, well’ – Allegra hurried over – ‘if you’re that insistent . . .’

She sat down on the bed beside her and slid open the twentieth drawer. Both women peered in at the object inside: a miniature cowbell with red leather strap, identical but for scale to the one
that Valentina had been wearing when she died.

‘How can it be so diddy?’ Isobel gasped, picking it up and holding it to the light. A tiny tinkle rang out. ‘Ha! It works!’ she trilled delightedly.

‘Can I see?’ Allegra asked.

Isobel handed it over and peered at it more closely. ‘Is that a “G”?’

‘Where?’

Allegra held the loop directly in front of the window so that the light could pour through. A silhouette of a ‘G’ fell onto the bed beside Isobel’s legs.

‘It is,’ Isobel said, puzzled. ‘Weird. I wonder what that stands for?’

Allegra laid it flat in her palm. It was so small the entire thing barely stretched across. Unlike Valentina’s, this was too small and had to be for decorative purposes only.

‘I love it,’ said Isobel. ‘I’m slightly regretting letting you have this now. All I got was a ticky old clock that won’t tock.’

‘Yeah, but think of the choking hazards, Iz. Ferds would have been living in the shadow of threat the whole time this was in the house.’

‘Yeah,’ Isobel frowned, before catching sight of Allegra’s face. ‘Oh, ha bloody ha!’

Allegra chuckled. ‘Anyway, they’ll be able to repair the clock for you and you’ll have the last laugh.’

‘Actually, they already have. They’re delivering it tomorrow, Lloyd said.’

‘Cool. By the way, did I tell you I thought I found the place they came from?’

‘They?’

‘The calendar and the clock.’

‘No!’

‘Yes, I think it’s from the same place you bought the world’s most expensive nativity set. They put a calendar like this one, only bigger, in the window the next day and
they’ve got loads of clocks on one of the walls too. Did you notice them?’

Isobel wrinkled her nose. ‘Not really. I was probably a bit overexcited at the time about getting the nativity stuff.’

‘How unlike you! Well, anyway, I’m taking this in to them tomorrow. Lars has got a similar clock to yours and he told me he’d had it made here to replicate one he lost –
which must be the one you’ve got, don’t you think? . . . What?’

‘You called him Lars. I thought you said we had to call him “Opa” from now on.’

‘I didn’t say we
had
to.’

Isobel looked at her sister with eyes that knew her too well. ‘Come on. Spill.’

‘There’s nothing to—’

‘Legs!’

‘Fine,’ Allegra sighed. ‘Apparently the Rottweiler nurse is actually his wife.’

‘
What?
’ Isobel bellowed. ‘Who told you that?’

‘The priest.’

‘Oh.’ She paused. ‘Well, I guess
he’d
know.’

‘Yes.’

They were both quiet for a moment.

‘That’s really quite grim,’ Isobel muttered. ‘We’re supposed to be finding our’ – she waved her hands in the air, clutching for words –
‘cuddly, sweet granddad, not some dirty old perv.’

‘It doesn’t make him a dirty old perv to have married a younger woman, Iz.’