Christmas in the Snow (45 page)

‘You OK?’ Sam asked, his hand immediately on her back and patting her lightly.

She nodded, recovering quickly, just as he twanged her bra strap.

Mr Yong, grasping the opportunity to withdraw from Isobel’s gracious company, walked to the centre of the room again.

Isobel glanced across at Allegra – knowing exactly what she’d done – and as Allegra looked back, Isobel crossed her eyes – an age-old trick that never failed to make
Allegra laugh and had always got her into trouble when their father had asked them to be on their best behaviour. But for once it didn’t work. Yong was about to announce who had won and she
was too nervous for childish pranks.

Mr Yong dropped his head down as he considered his words and Allegra felt her heart begin to accelerate.

‘I would like to begin by saying that I am so pleased that you are all here today. I have waited a long time, it feels, to make this announcement.’ His eyes flickered over Allegra
and Sam, revealing nothing, and she wondered whether Sam felt as she did at this moment – the adrenalin spiking her brain, her hands tingling as she held the crystal glass, butterflies taking
wing in her stomach.

‘I know that it probably strikes you as . . . superstitious to consult the stars for something as trivial or arbitrary as a date, but in my country, we place much store by the traditions
and wisdom of our forebears, and if I am a man of my time, I am also a man of my country. This is simply how we do it.’

He paused and Allegra felt her mouth go dry.

‘But I am glad too that Zhou has asked to have his friends present at this momentous occasion. It is the modern way and I try to embrace that too – believe it or not.’

Allegra processed that he was trying to make a joke and she laughed politely. Zhou was coming slowly into the room behind his father, and beside him, a petite Chinese girl with straight black
hair and a fringe that tapped her eyes. She had wide cheekbones and a pretty pointed chin, her mouth pressed tight like a bud, and Allegra guessed her to be eighteen or nineteen.

A sister? She had heard that some particularly wealthy Chinese were able to buy their way round the one-child policy by paying a substantial fine. Why
wouldn’t
the Yongs do that
if they’d wanted another child? Money was no object.

She looked at Zhou as he came to stand beside his father. The memory of him at the party last night, of him lobbing the bread roll at breakfast this morning seemed farcical, absurd now. He was
standing with almost military bearing, his palms flat against the sides of his thighs, his gaze fixed on a point on the wall behind his mother’s head, his expression utterly neutral, his eyes
flat.

She looked back up at Yong, forcing herself to focus. Everything she had been through in the past few weeks had been dovetailed into this moment. This was what it had all been for – the
thrill of the win, the kill.

She hung her attention on his words, waiting for her name, willing it to enter this room and fill it, pushing out once and for all any other emotion.

‘. . . is a decision that has been taken with utmost care and integrity, not only to preserve the historical high regard of the Yong dynasty name but also that going forwards. We have
taken many months to consider every aspect of this partnership, and in the final step, my advisers have, today, confirmed our highest hopes. And so I am very happy to formally announce that . .
.’ Yong’s eyes swung over their small group like a swing’s shadow on the grass.

She waited, an offhand joke Massi had made yesterday drifting back through her subconscious.
‘It’s just as well for you there’s a one-child policy in China . .
.’

‘. . . our only son and heir, Zhou Yong, is now formally engaged to Min-Wae Hijan.’

The girl didn’t stir as a stunned silence erupted. Allegra saw Sam’s head whip round sharply to Zhou’s, but no one else moved. Not Zhou himself, not Massi, not her.

Zhou was engaged?
That
was the big announcement? She looked across at Sam. Had he known? But Sam was staring across at Zhou with an expression she couldn’t read.

She didn’t understand. Zhou had expressly told her to be here for this. He had said his father would be announcing his decision then. Had she really put herself through all the turmoil of
the past thirty-six hours for an
engagement party?

She looked back at Zhou, but his eyes remained fixed and distant on the spot beyond his mother’s head, and she realized how unhappy he looked. The change was marked. How easily he had
laughed with his friends, how vital he’d seemed out of his parents’ shadows. Was this as much a surprise to Zhou himself as it was to her? Neither Zhou nor any of the others had ever
said a word about him becoming engaged.

She looked back at the so-called happy couple. From the physical distance between Zhou and Min-Wae, and their mutually isolated body language, it seemed more than likely that the marriage was
arranged. She looked across at Massi as though he held the answers, but he too was limp with surprise, his expansive bonhomie completely vanquished in the face of the Yongs’ austere
formality. And as she stared, her brain began to buzz with static interference. Anomalies and slips of etiquette began to crowd her mind . . .

Mr Yong hadn’t greeted him, she realized. He had welcomed her and Sam – even Isobel, when he’d found her – with a fastidious social diligence, but he had ignored Massi
completely as though he wasn’t even there. Zhou and Massi were old friends from Harvard, just like Sam, and Massi was no scrounger – he’d built his own empire – so why would
Zhou’s father do that?

But as his eyes rose to meet hers, she understood exactly.
You snore like a gorilla
.

A friend’s tease, a lover’s privilege.

The chalet was so quiet it was as though Death had visited. Lunch had been a disaster: the food was barely touched, and the conversation flickered as weakly as a flame on green
wood. Eyes slid like they were on ice – skittish and flighty. Entire conversations were carried on looks, and the celebratory scene at the table was no more real than a mirage: Massi
wouldn’t look at Zhou; Zhou wouldn’t look at his father; his father wouldn’t look at Min-Wae.

Neither one of the happy couple had said a word, not one, and it had been down to Sam, Allegra and the Yongs to fill the silences that kept opening up like sinkholes, threatening to swallow them
all. But they knew. She knew from the way Mrs Yong insisted on discussing the upcoming couture collections in Paris after Christmas – talking about her and Min-Wae visiting Mr
Valentino’s and Mr Lagerfeld’s ateliers in January without once looking at the girl she was locking in to a sterile marriage. She knew from the way Mr Yong collared Sam on the iron-ore
surplus in Australia that he knew. They knew, but they were resolute in their actions. Fortunes and names needed to be preserved. This marriage would happen.

Massi had broken the stalemate first as coffees were brought out, saying something about a headache, and Allegra had watched in frigid sorrow as he left, heavy-footed and silent. But it had been
the cue they had all been waiting for, and the rest of the party had dispersed minutes later, scattering to their rooms like lead shot, agreeing to meet up at 6 p.m. for drinks before venturing out
for dinner – Mr Yong had arranged for a Cat to get them all up the mountain to a private yurt, where the Michelin-starred chef Michaele Lambretto was cooking for them.

Allegra was lying on the bed, her head full of other people’s sorrows, when Sam put his head round her door. He had only been able to shoot an apologetic look over to her as he had made a
beeline from the table to Massi’s room and she had heard the low hum of their voices as she’d passed the door.

She propped herself up on her elbow, her heart leaping just to set eyes on him again.

‘Hey.’ He smiled, though his face was tense. ‘I’m just going to go out with Massi. He needs to . . . uh, vent.’

‘Sure, OK,’ she murmured earnestly, her eyes wide, wanting to help but not sure how. This was between families and old friends, and she had no place in either camp.
‘What’s happening with Zhou?’

‘He’s at a private appointment at some jeweller’s with his parents and Min-Wae.’

‘Oh God. Poor Zhou. Surely he’s not going to go through with it? He has to say something.’

Sam’s eyebrows hitched up sceptically. ‘You think?’

‘Well, of course! His parents can’t just condemn him to a life of misery like that. They must know!’

‘Of course they do, but it’s not that simple. Zhou’s the very visible son and heir to one of China’s biggest companies – with a father who’s so old school he
had to consult on the engagement date.’

‘But as their only son, they must want his happiness above all else?’

‘It’s different over there, Legs,’ Sam sighed. ‘Homosexuality was considered a mental illness in China until just a few years ago.’ He saw her expression. ‘I
know
. So the poor guy’s effectively got to choose between Massi or his family.’

Her face fell. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

His eyes flicked over her tenderly and he came into the room, unable to keep his distance at the door another moment. ‘Just be here when I get back,’ he said, kissing her until she
flopped back into the pillows again, his hand skimming her lightly and making her eyes close. ‘God, you’ll be the end of me,’ he murmured, wrenching his hand away with visible
effort.

She watched his back as he crossed the floor again, feeling almost ashamed that she should be so happy when other lives – just metres from her – were collapsing in on themselves.

The door closed with a click and she listened to the timbre of their serious voices in the hallway, Massi’s signature exuberance replaced by a flat, tight anger, then the retreating sound
of their feet on the steps and an empty hush filling the void they left behind.

A minute later, she had poked her head round Isobel’s door. ‘Hey, you.’

Isobel, who was lying on her tummy on the bed, looked up at her with wet cheeks. ‘Oh, Legs, it’s just so awful,’ she cried, burying her face in the pillows again.

‘Oh, Iz, no! You look lovely. It was just a surprise, that’s all. I thought you carried it off very wel—’

‘Not the
dress
! Massi!’ she wailed. ‘How can they do this to him?’

‘Oh.’ Allegra sank onto the bed beside her. ‘Yes, I know.’

‘Why can’t they see he’s the best thing that could ever happen to their son? I mean, they’ve been together eight years. It’s not like they don’t know
what’s really going on.’

Eight years? Allegra looked at her sister in astonishment. ‘You knew?’

‘Well, not about the engagement obviously.’

‘No, but . . . you knew they were gay? You knew they were together?’

Isobel blinked at her in disbelief. ‘Of course! How could you not?’

Allegra looked away, shaking her head. Kirsty was not only married but divorced? Zhou and Massi were together? Other people’s personal lives were forever a mystery to her She had no ear
for gossip, no appetite for heart-to-hearts.

‘Oh my God! I can’t believe you didn’t know!’ Isobel gasped, half laughing, half weeping. ‘How could you not know?’

‘I’m not a people person like you,’ Allegra muttered, pulling at some lint on her trousers.

‘Jeez, you don’t say.’

Allegra threw herself back on the bed beside her annoying little sister, her arms over her head.

Isobel looked sideways at her, giving a big sniff as she wiped her eyes dry. ‘So loverboy’s gone out, then.’

‘Yeah – what? No! I mean, who?’

Isobel cackled with laughter. ‘You are priceless! I swear to God watching you trying to lie is the best part.’

Allegra groaned, throwing her arm over her face. ‘Just leave me alone. It’s been a long day.’

‘I bet it has,’ Isobel said in a dirty voice.

‘Ugh!’

‘Come on, give me the goss. You know I won’t stop till I know every nasty little detail.’

‘No.’

‘Legs!’

Allegra lay there for a moment before looking slyly at Isobel from the crook of her arm. She knew exactly what would shut her sister up. ‘Hey, fancy a new bikini?’

‘Oooh!’

The air was warm on their faces as Allegra opened one of the double doors and they stepped into the spa suite a few minutes later. Lights from the gold-tiled pool rippled on
the ceiling, refracted thousands of times over by the twirling crystals of the chandelier, and Allegra had to prompt Isobel to move out of the way – and breathe.

‘Holy cow!’ Isobel gasped, eyes wider than they had
ever
been, as she hobbled towards one of the cantilevered loungers, upholstered with Tiffany-blue cushions.

‘Now you’re sure you’re going to be OK in the water?’ Allegra asked, slipping off her towelling robe and stepping in.

‘Yep. Dr Baden said hydrotherapy was the best thing for it. Just get me that lilo, will you?’

Allegra brought the floating chaise longue over to her – not sure this counted as hydrotherapy – and supported Isobel as she held on to a rail and struggled down the submerged steps.
It was easier when they were waist deep; the water was as warm as baby’s milk and Isobel hoisted herself relatively easily onto the lilo, giving a whoop of joy as she found a waterproof TV
remote in the cup holder. ‘Jeez, just when you think things can’t get any better . . .’

Allegra tipped her head back and began to float, her eyes tracking the chandelier overhead as she drifted ever closer to it, then beneath, then past to the far end, where Isobel had managed to
get the giant plasma flashing colours but no sound. Her toes touched the wall at the end and she pushed herself off gently, going back the way she’d come, hands sculling lightly by her hips,
as her mind ran over the strange events of the day – heady exhilarations interwoven with revelations that had left her feeling unsettled and anxious.

She did ten lengths like that, almost motionless, floating weightlessly beneath the skin of the water, before Isobel finally got the sound system working, sitting up with a splash as Daft Punk
came on so loud the water rippled from the vibrations.