White Christmas (4 page)

‘Tash darling,’ smiled Hal and threw his arms around his
sister. ‘This is Lizzie. Lizzie Foster. She’s a weather forecaster and she’s
kindly agreed to give me a crash course in meteorology. It’s sweet of her,
isn’t it? I don’t think she realises quite what she’s taken on.’

‘Hi Lizzie,’ said Tasha. ‘Come in. It’s lovely to meet you.
You’ve probably discovered already that my brother’s knowledge of science is… I
mean, I love him dearly, but he just doesn’t get it.’

‘Thanks for that show of loyalty, Tash. I really appreciate
it.’

Hal and Tasha looked at each other and burst out laughing.
Lizzie shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. She wished she hadn’t
agreed to Hal’s invitation. She hardly knew him, after all, and he and his sister
were clearly as thick as thieves. They didn’t need her hanging around like a
spare part.

Tasha led them down the hall and into a huge, white sitting
room. There was a small kitchen in one corner, a massive table, an assortment
of mismatched armchairs and a wood-burning stove. If she’d attempted to do
something like this, thought Lizzie, the room would have looked like a junk
shop. But in Tasha’s hands the effect was chic and stylish. The walls were
lined with a series of vast, rainbow-coloured abstracts, all signed with the
initials JS.

‘They’re my husband’s,’ said Tasha, her eyes following
Lizzie’s gaze. ‘Well actually, he’s not my husband at all. We’re not married
but “partner” sounds so ghastly. I never know what to call him. He’s an
artist…’

‘They’re wonderful,’ murmured Lizzie. ‘What’s his name?’

‘Oh, you won’t have heard of him,’ said Tasha, handing
Martha to her brother. ‘Can you hold her while I make the tea? He’s called
Jamie Simons. He’s not well-known or anything.’

Hal took his niece in his arms and cuddled her close, then
gestured to Lizzie to sit down. Lizzie sank into one of the vast armchairs,
aiming to leave as soon as possible. She’d have a quick cup of tea, she
decided, and then say she had to dash for her train.

But an hour, and two cups of Earl Grey, later, she was still
there. The room was so warm and inviting and Tasha Benson was the sort of woman
you longed to have as a best friend. Lizzie usually loathed talking about
herself but before she knew it she’d told Tasha all about her parents and her
career and her messy break-up with Rob.

‘He sounds like a complete tosser,’ said Tasha bluntly,
after hearing how Rob had cheated on Lizzie during a business trip. ‘You’re far
better off without him. Stick with Hal. He knows how to treat a girl…’

Lizzie flushed scarlet at Tasha’s words, but Hal just
laughed.

‘You’re incorrigible, Tash. Poor Lizzie comes round for a
brew and you’ve hardly met the poor girl before you’re starting on her love
life. Do you fancy yourself as an agony aunt or something? I know you’re on
maternity leave, but you’ve got a perfectly good job already.’

‘Actually, I reckon I’d make a bloody good agony aunt,’
grinned Tasha. ‘I’ve listened to your problems often enough over the years,
Hal. And don’t glare at me like that. Don’t worry, I’ll change the subject.
What do you think, Lizzie? Are we going to have a White Christmas?’

Lizzie caught Hal’s eye and they both burst into gales of
laughter.

‘That’s exactly what Hal wanted to know earlier on,’ said
Lizzie. ‘What is it with you two? How come you’re both so obsessed with snow?’

Hal stroked Martha’s silky hair absent-mindedly. ‘I haven’t
a clue,’ he said. ‘Although maybe it dates back to that blissful Christmas when
we both got bright red sledges. Do you remember, Tash? I was six, so you must
have been eight.’

‘And did you use them?’ Lizzie could just picture the two
siblings, all wide-eyed and rosy-cheeked, watching out of the window for the
first sign of snow.

A misty-eyed expression appeared on Hal’s face. ‘That was
the trouble. Mum and Dad promised they’d take us to Boar’s Hill if it snowed,
and we were so excited. Only we waited and waited and it didn’t snow at all. I
think we got a few miserable snowflakes but that was it. So after Christmas the
sledges got stuffed in the garage and I don’t think we ever used them. They’ve
probably been chucked out by now.’

‘God, Hal, you’ll have us both sobbing into our tea at this
rate.’ said Tasha. ‘It’s lucky you went into the acting business. You’re making
it sound like we had a deprived childhood. But you haven’t answered my
question, Lizzie. Is it going to snow at Christmas?’

While the adults chatted, Joe had been busy building a tower
out of large Lego blocks at Tasha’s feet. It was an impressive multi-coloured
structure but at the sound of the word ‘snow’ he looked up eagerly. His arm
caught the side of his creation and the whole thing cascaded to the floor,
sending pieces of Lego everywhere. Joe burst into floods of tears and hurled
himself on to Tasha’s lap.

As Tasha comforted the little boy, Hal turned to Lizzie with
a mischievous grin on his face.

‘I’ve had a brilliant idea,’ he said. ‘Look, do you think
it’s going to snow on Christmas Day?’

‘No, I don’t. The odds are stacked against it. How about
you? You’re a weather forecaster now. What do you think?’

‘It’s going to snow,’ he said. ‘I’m sure of it. I reckon we
should have a bet on it.’

Noticing Lizzie’s disapproving expression, he added
hurriedly: ‘Don’t worry, not for money. I’m not a gambling man. But how about
we say that whoever wins has to treat the other to dinner?’

Deep down Lizzie thought Hal’s idea was daft but he was so
delighted by the wheeze that she couldn’t bring herself to say ‘no.’

Hal was busy Googling ‘White Christmas’ on his phone, keen
to lay down the ground rules for their challenge.

‘Look,’ he said, reading the tiny screen. ‘This is what it
says. “In the UK, the official definition by the Met Office and the bookies is
for snow to be observed falling in the 24 hours of December 25.”’

Lizzie hesitated. She was a serious meteorologist. She’d be
mad to get involved in a crazy bet.

‘Go on,’ urged Hal. ‘Say you’ll do it. Just for fun.’

‘OK,’ said Lizzie, suddenly remembering that her mother
wanted her to live a bit more. ‘I’ll do it. But why don’t we narrow it down?
Let’s say that it has to snow in London and we both have to see it. Is that a
good plan?’

‘It’s a deal,’ beamed Hal.

SIX

‘So to sum up, Scotland and the north-east of England have
experienced their first snow of the season. It’s just a light coating though,
and by tomorrow the weather will turn milder again, with rain on the way for
most of us.’

As soon as Lizzie had finished the six-thirty weather report
she grabbed the motley assortment of bags stashed under her desk and hurried
upstairs to the presenters’ dressing room. It was the night of Ace TV’s
Christmas party and while everyone else had been knocking back the champagne
all afternoon, Lizzie had been stuck in the studio, reading weather bulletins
every half-hour. North Yorkshire had ground to a halt after a few inches of
snow overnight and the news editor was desperate to broadcast as many weather
updates as possible.

The moment Lizzie pushed open the dressing room door she was
hit by an overpowering waft of Chanel No 5. The tiny room was so packed she
could barely squeeze her way in. A striking blonde was blow-drying her hair at
the dressing table, while a couple of researchers were busy applying endless
layers of foundation to their pale December faces. In the far corner a stark
naked woman whom Lizzie had never clapped eyes on before was slithering into a
glittery bodysuit and talking loudly on her mobile.

‘Er, sorry,’ said Lizzie, catching the woman’s eye. ‘I
thought everyone else would be at the party by now.’

The woman ignored her and carried on with her conversation.
Whoever she was talking to was getting a right earful. ‘Make sure Theo does his
homework,’ she instructed. ‘Check his spellings before he goes to bed. Don’t
let him eat any chocolate. And no sweets. Check he hasn’t hidden any down the
side of his bed. And he needs to do an hour’s piano practice…’ Her diatribe
went on for so long that Lizzie began to feel sorry for poor Theo, whoever he
was. He definitely wasn’t in for a fun evening.

After a while, the other women drifted upstairs to the
party, leaving Lizzie to get ready in peace. At work she dressed for
practicality, in no-nonsense suits and comfy shoes, but she was determined to
look her glamorous best tonight. Lizzie had learned the hard way what worked on
the screen. She’d never recovered from the ignominy of being sent to do an
outside broadcast from a rainy, windswept beach on the south coast. It had been
the middle of winter and standing on the sand, in her highest heels and clingy
Roland Mouret dress, she’d barely been able to get her words out, let alone
make any sense. Her hair had looked like rats’ tails and her spiky heels kept
sinking into the sand. From that moment on she’d made a point of sticking to
flat shoes and clothes she could run in. And she kept a pair of wellies, Anya
Hindmarch waxed jacket and fingerless gloves in the office at all times - just
to be on the safe side.

As Lizzie smudged dark grey eye shadow beneath her eyes,
trying to copy the smoky eyed look that all the magazines were raving about
right now, a text flashed up on her mobile. ‘Hi Lizzie,’ it said. ‘It’s snowing
in Oxford Street. Have you seen? I think I’m going to win our bet! H.’

Lizzie smiled. She and Hal had met up for drinks a couple of
times since the Oxford lecture and they’d been texting a lot.

‘Ha ha,’ she typed. ‘Not a single snowflake this side of
London.’

Immediately another text hurtled back. ‘Fancy a coffee
tomorrow to catch up?’

‘Great,’ texted Lizzie. ‘On the early morning shift. Could
you do two-thirty in the afternoon? At Coco’s Café in Covent Garden?’

‘Fab. See you there.’

Once she was happy with her make-up, Lizzie changed out of
her suit and put on the navy blue lace dress she’d bought at Topshop the night
before. She glanced in the full-length mirror and nodded approvingly. Now she
felt ready to face the party.

Ace TV was based in a modern office block right in the heart
of London, between the Strand and the Thames. No expense had been spared when
the company had moved in five years earlier. The building boasted a huge,
light-filled atrium, a chic coffee bar and two glass lifts that swished
noiselessly up to the top floor and back down again. But over the last few
weeks rumours had been rife that the company was experiencing financial
problems and was likely to shift its whole operation up to Manchester in the
New Year. As a result, the Ace TV directors had made twenty people redundant,
slashed everyone’s expenses and cancelled the usual Christmas party booking at
the Savoy. In a bid to cut costs, they told the workforce, they would be
hosting the party in-house instead.

But when Lizzie walked into the party, there were no outward
signs that the company was tightening its belt. She gasped in wonder at the way
the entire top floor had been transformed. The internal walls dividing all the
directors’ offices had been removed and the vast room had been decorated in
glossy white paint. A row of white Christmas trees festooned with silver
baubles and glowing candles dominated one wall and massive silver chandeliers
had been hung right the way along the ceiling. At one end of the room a string
quartet played Handel’s Messiah, while a bevy of waiters, all wearing stylish
black and white striped T-shirts, black trousers and long white aprons, glided
between the guests bearing silver trays laden with Veuve Clicquot.

Lizzie took a glass of champagne and walked over to the
enormous window. It was dark now but the view across the river and the
shimmering lights beyond made her catch her breath.

‘London looks beautiful from up here, doesn’t it?’

Startled from her reverie, Lizzie whirled round to see who
was talking to her. She almost dropped her glass in shock. It was the man from
Covent Garden. The man who’d been irritated by her chatting to his daughter.

‘I thought I recognised you the other day,’ he murmured. ‘Do
you remember? I couldn’t place you.’

Charming, thought Lizzie. He made her sound utterly
insignificant.

‘And then I walked into Ace TV the other day. And there you
were.’

‘Was I? I don’t remember seeing you. I’m so sorry, I didn’t
mean to be rude – I just didn’t notice you. ’

The man smiled and Lizzie warmed to him a bit. Tall and
imposing, he seemed far more attractive when he loosened up. She wondered what
he was doing here. He looked more like a slick city banker than a media type.

‘God, Lizzie, you’re apologising for something that didn’t
happen. You weren’t even there. Can I call you Lizzie by the way?’

Lizzie felt flustered. He was talking in riddles.

‘Of course you can. It’s my name. But how do you know it?’

The man held out his hand. ‘I’d better introduce myself
properly,’ he said, taking her hand in his own. ‘I’m Dan Moody. I’ve just
bought Ace TV. So I’m, well, I suppose I’m your new boss.’

Lizzie gaped at him. She was so astonished by his matter-of-fact
announcement that she couldn’t think of anything to say. When a waiter appeared
at her elbow she held out her glass wordlessly and watched him fill it right to
the top.

‘I’ll start at the beginning,’ said Dan. ‘I don’t hang about
when I buy companies. I go by my gut instincts. I don’t bother with huge armies
of lawyers and accountants either. I do my own due diligence and make a
judgement. But to answer your question, when I arrived for a meeting the other
day I saw that huge photograph of you in reception. You can’t really miss it,
can you?’

Everything fell into place. A year ago the publicity office
at Ace TV had hit on the idea of displaying massive photographs of all the
presenters in the foyer. For a while Lizzie had found it odd to confront her beaming
face when she arrived for work, but now she never noticed it.