Christmas in the Snow (6 page)

‘Huh.’ Allegra tried not to roll her eyes. He should see the panic that would ensue if
she
threatened to leave. They’d have to issue a profits warning. ‘Have you
been approached?’

‘Of course.’ He gave a tiny shrug.

‘Crivelli won’t make it easy for you to leave.’

He cast a small grin her way. ‘I’ve been getting that.’

The doors pinged open at her floor and she wished she didn’t have to walk out in front of him wearing these ridiculous clothes. ‘Well, goodbye again.’

He nodded, stepping back slightly so that she could pass, eyes averted as though recognizing the indignity of the European head of luxury goods shuffling past the US head of commodities in a
dressing gown and slippers.

She walked down the hallway, ears straining for the little bell that would tell her the lift had departed and she was safely out of sight. It didn’t come until she was at her door,
fiddling with the key card with trembling hands.

The shower was running when she heard the knock at the door a few minutes later.

‘“Bad luck”?’

Allegra swallowed. Sam was leaning against the door frame, one arm above his head, his blue eyes glittering with irritation. She – in a classic case of bad to worse – was wrapped in
just a towel and she swallowed hard at her earlier diffidence to his divorce. Isobel was constantly on her case about having to at least pretend to care about other people’s personal lives.
‘With hindsight, I realize that was an unfortunate choice of words on my part.’

‘I thought about nothing else through that damn dinner.’

She swallowed again. ‘And for that I apologize,’ she murmured, watching as his eyes traced the sweep of her bare shoulder up to her neck, before coming back to her eyes again. A
shiver rippled up and over her skin.

Seven months and thirteen days. That was the answer to Isobel’s question on the cafe. The one she deliberately hadn’t given because it was too humiliating to say out loud. But she
wasn’t going to make it to fourteen. They both knew there was only one reason why he was here.

‘I’d be happy to make it up to you,’ she said, taking a step back into the bedroom, and letting the towel drop.

Allegra inspected the boardroom one final time. Mr Yong and his contingent were on their way up and it was vital everything was absolutely correct. Beside her, Bob was doing a
quick run-through of the latest figures on the Dow Jones, and Derek, from legal, was switching his phone to silent. There were eight others from the Zurich team in with them, but that was mainly to
match the Chinese group’s numbers as a matter of respect. It was only Bob, Derek and the interpreter, Jo, that she really needed, the interpreter already having been briefed to report back
later not the minutes of the meeting – Yong’s son had been educated at Harvard Business School and his English, at least, was commendable – but the private asides and comments
made between the team.

She pulled slightly on the cuffs of her silk blouse; they were all that could be seen of it beneath the high-necked jacket of her Armani suit. It was her most modest suit.

‘Everyone, line up, please,’ Allegra said, as there was a discreet buzz and a red light flashed in the corner, the sign from the PA outside that the visitors were now out of the
lifts and just seconds away from them.

The door opened. ‘Mr Yong, welcome,’ Allegra said in Mandarin (she wasn’t fluent, though she was working on it and could say enough to indicate respect), inclining her head and
bowing formally to the man in front of her, eye to eye. Kirsty’s brief had mentioned he was five feet ten, her height, so she had changed into flats especially for the meeting.

‘Miss Fisher,’ Mr Yong replied, bowing to her in return, before offering his hand. He was in his mid-sixties, her mother’s age, though as the head of a massive mining
conglomerate in the Guangdong province, he wore the gravitas and lines of a man who had lived five lives.

‘May I introduce Robert Wagstaff, our chief analyst, and Derek Hall, our chief legal adviser.’

They shook hands with Mr Yong as Allegra introduced the rest of the team, and then Mr Yong reciprocated, making his introductions – Allegra paying due reverence to his son and heir, Zhou
Yong – before both camps diverged to sit opposite each other round the conference table, Mr Yong facing the door in the traditional seat of honour.

It was more like a banqueting hall than a boardroom, with dark, clubby panelling on the walls, an enormous hand-made silk rug beneath their feet and an inset ceiling-within-the-ceiling that cast
an ambient light, while the spots overhead were angled directly onto the leather-bound files positioned at each setting.

The oval burr-walnut table was vast, the high-backed leather chairs deeply pocketed on the outsides, and in the centre, Allegra’s personal pièce de résistance for the
meeting, a 108-year-old bonsai depicting a landscape of Chinese bird plum trees set upon rocks and which she had had to negotiate hard to buy from a private collector. She saw Mr Yong’s eyes
fall to it, faint creases at the corners of his mouth suggesting a pleased smile. She thought about the gifts of engraved Mont Blanc fountain pens, a limited-edition gold one for Mr Yong, ready to
hand over at the end of the meeting. Etiquette had been observed and the meeting was finally in progress.

Allegra cleared her throat. The hard part was over. Now all she had to do was her job.

Two hours later, she rose from her seat and handed her business card – printed in Mandarin – face first and with both hands to Mr Yong. He took several seconds to
read it, before nodding respectfully and doing the same to her. A photograph was taken of the two senior management teams, and the gifts were handed over, Allegra pleased that Mr Yong hadn’t
reciprocated in this meeting – it meant a second meeting would be guaranteed, for honour’s sake.

The door was opened and Mr Yong led his son and team out, each and every person shaking hands with her as they filed towards the lifts.

It was done. Over. The first hurdle realized without a hitch.

She felt a wave of exhaustion begin to hit as the adrenalin that had fired her for the meeting began to ebb. She wanted to shut the door and go lie down on the table. She was quite sure she
could sleep on it soundly. For a moment, memories of last night played in her head; Sam had been exactly the lover she’d hoped and she had let him stay slightly longer than she’d
initially planned – he had quickly worked out how to get her to change her mind. But even he couldn’t persuade her to let him stay all night when she had to work and she had forced
herself to boot him back up to his suite, alone, after three hours.

She sighed tiredly. There was no question of taking a break now. The rest of the team was dispersing quickly to allow her, Bob, Derek and the interpreter to debrief before they had to leave for
the airport again. No agreement had yet been reached on whether Yong would invest, but that was standard practice with the Chinese; negotiating with any company in the Pacific Rim was always a
delicate, complicated and drawn-out process.

‘Thanks, everyone. That was very productive. Fabian, can you get me those numbers on De Beers before I leave for the airport, please?’

Fabian, a junior analyst, nodded and broke into a small run.

She was about to close the door behind him when she saw Crivelli emerge from a smaller meeting room further down the hall. It was nowhere near as grand as the boardroom she had booked, but then,
as she saw Sam following after him, his meetings were all internal anyway.

Allegra swallowed at the sight of Sam. He hadn’t seen her and she allowed herself the small luxury of watching him as he and Crivelli walked towards the lifts, Crivelli talking in low,
urgent tones, Sam nodding soberly, his expression closed. He looked distractingly good in a navy suit and pale blue tie, but if he wore clothes well, he wore no clothes even better. She wondered
whether last night kept playing on his mind too or if nights like that were common for him. Because they weren’t for her. She had needs even if she didn’t have time for a relationship,
but a stranger on the plane and in her bed by nightfall? She was pragmatic but not usually that fast.

It was a shame she wasn’t staying here another night, she thought, watching his retreating back as he and Crivelli approached the lifts where Mr Yong’s party was assembled, ready to
go down. The lift doors opened and everyone filed slowly in; Allegra stepped back, ready to close her own door and get back to her debrief with the team, but to her utter astonishment and
disbelief, Sam – taking in the Chinese party – laughed out loud suddenly and, moving straight to the centre of the Chinese contingent, started shoulder-punching Zhou Yong. If Allegra
had been capable of speech, she would have screamed in horror, but the doors were already closing on them and in the next instant they were out of sight.

Allegra’s mouth formed a horrified ‘o’, as all her meticulous preparations to convey respect and observe Chinese business etiquette were undone in a moment by his rash
impetuousness. What had he
done
?

She stared at the closed lifts doors in dismay, wondering what the hell was happening in there, how many hundreds of millions of dollars were being lost to them because he didn’t have the
first clue as to how to behave. With a gasp, she ran over to the PA’s desk, leaning over the startled girl’s shoulder as she desperately scrutinized the grainy black-and-white images on
the CCTV monitors. She could see them all now – from four different angles – emerging from the lifts downstairs and walking across the lobby, Sam’s hand on Zhou Yong’s
shoulder, his other hand in his pocket. In every screen, they were talking closely and . . . and smiling! In another moment, they had disappeared outside and out of view from the cameras.

Allegra straightened up, her heart pounding. Smiling? That meant nothing. It might seem that Zhou Yong was happy enough, but the Chinese were scrupulously polite. Even if Sam did somehow know
Yong’s son, he was surely crossing a line with such inappropriate familiarity.

She looked up as the interpreter came out from the boardroom, her notes already printed out. She handed them to Allegra in silence, Allegra scanning the pages with characteristic speed and
concision even though her mind was racing, wondering how to limit the damage Sam was causing. But for the second time in two minutes, her mouth dropped into a small ‘o’. She looked up
at the interpreter.

‘He said
what
?’

Kirsty opened the door and Cinzia wheeled in the rail. Allegra looked up from her desk and stopped typing.

‘Hi, Cinzia. Thanks for coming in at such short notice. Thanks, Kirsty. Could you get us some coffee, please?’

Kirsty nodded, closing the door silently as Allegra stood up and walked over. Cinzia was positioning the rack of dresses on the far side of her office, behind the grey herringbone sofa. They
looked whimsically incongruous in the austere setting, filmy satins and iridescent sequin trims at odds with her office’s pigeon-grey walls and prim FSA certificates.

‘You’ve been busy,’ Allegra said, taking in the array of dresses in black, pearl and anthracite grey. Even just on this rail, the options presented were mind-boggling.

‘I think this will suit you particularly well,’ Cinzia said, knowing her job was to edit and simplify, pulling out a black dress from the middle of the rack and fluffing up the
floaty black marabou feathers on the skirt.

Allegra narrowed her eyes sceptically.

‘I know. I know. You don’t do feathers, but this is balanced out. The top half of the dress is almost austere with the high neck and long sleeves. I think you should try it.
It’s a surprisingly simple, chic look, and you have an elegant back. As long as there’s no dancing, you won’t be too hot. Plus the neckline is good with your hair. It is supremely
sophisticated.’

Allegra took in the evaluation and nodded, disappearing with it into her private bathroom and slipping off her suit. She emerged moments later for Cinzia to fasten the dress at the back.

Cinzia positioned the full-length mirror that ran down one side of the rack and Allegra straightened up as she took in her reflection: elegant, very tall, appropriate. It fit like a dream and
didn’t show anything – cleavage, leg, back – but was still feminine enough thanks to the feathers.

‘Fine. I’ll take it,’ she nodded, turning for Cinzia to undo it for her.

‘Do you need shoes?’ Cinzia opened a cabinet that ran along the top shelf of the rack. Five pairs of evening shoes – all black, all in her size – were lined up.

‘Those,’ Allegra said, pointing to a black peep-toe sling-back.

‘Yes, they’d be good. The three-inch heel is so much better for drinks parties when you’re on your feet all night.’

‘Yes.’ They’d take her to just over six feet as well. She only needed to be eye to eye with the men there.

‘So where’s the party being held tonight?’ Cinzia asked as she boxed up the shoes.

‘The V&A.’

Allegra disappeared into the bathroom and stepped back into her suit again, doing up her buttons as she walked round to the desk and checked emails. Thirty-two had come in, just during that
five-minute break.

Kirsty came in with the coffee and set it down as Cinzia sat on the sofa and made a record of the dress and shoes, before slipping the dress into a protective hanging bag. ‘Try not to get
this dress wet. Velvet and feathers.’ She shook her head. ‘It looks simple, but it’s high maintenance to the nth degree.’

‘Aren’t we all?’ Allegra smiled, looking up from her keyboard.

‘I’ll add it to your account. Is there anything else you need before Christmas? Has anything new been put in your schedule?’

‘Umm, I think I covered most of it in the September delivery.’ Allegra quickly scanned her desk diary, flicking over a few pages. Kirsty was still pouring milk into Cinzia’s
coffee. ‘Kirsty, has the Christmas benefit been confirmed yet?’