Page 100 of All I Want for Christmas

‘Ha. I do that too,’ he said, getting up from the sofa, glass in hand, and disappearing out of sight into the stubby little reception hall. ‘Hi...’

Darcy waited, eyes closed, for the sound of her flatmate’s surprise on being greeted at her own door by a handsome, but shirtless, stranger.

But it wasn’t Freja she heard. ‘...Hi,’ she heard Aksel say in a questioning tone.

‘Aksel? Who is it?’ she asked, putting the pan down on the trivet and hurrying over. She rounded the corner, her oven gloves still on—

‘...Max?’ The word was little more than a breath, like it had been knocked out of her.

Aksel was holding up a long clothing bag. It was white with a familiar black font.Valentino. He turned back to her with a bemused expression. ‘Apparently this is for you?’

But Darcy didn’t look at what he was holding out for her. She couldn’t take her eyes off Max. She couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing, even though it was also, somehow, perfectly obvious.

Max stared back at her with that distant, shellacked look she was beginning to know well and it was obvious from the scene before him – her hair dishevelled, shirt unbuttoned; Aksel topless at the door – that he perfectly understood what he was seeing too.

In that one moment, she felt the intimacy that had bloomed between them for a few brief moments last night, close up again; tenderness balled up within a fist. The memory of what he had done for her, rescuing her from public humiliation, had sat inside her like a hot coal, refusing to cool. Try as she might to hate him, he kept shape-shifting, inciting her lust, sympathy, gratitude...

‘But...how did you...?’ she faltered. She couldn’t understand how it was possible that he was here at her door, much less why he should have done this for her. Too many questions clamoured to her throat but she knew anything she said would be inadequate, ungracious. Aksel’s presence complicated things; they had an audience and she couldn’t speak freely.

‘Don’t make a thing about it. I just made a call.’ Max’s voice was clipped and toneless.

‘I...I must pay you back,’ she said, trying to say something, anything, that could convey her relief. He had saved her!

‘No need. It was a gift.’

Her mouth parted. She couldn’t accept a five-thousand-euro dress as a gift!

‘Uh...what’s going on?’ Aksel asked, looking confused, looking between them, his gaze coming to rest upon her.

It felt like minutes before Darcy could bring her attention onto him. She was trying to work out how Max even had her address, but of course Christoff had dropped her back here last night. Slowly, she dragged her eyes onto her guest; theman whose hand had been on her bare breast just a few moments ago but couldn’t touch her soul. ‘...I, uh, spilled wine on a dress I was wearing to a work event last night. Except the dress wasn’t mine...Max is saving my skin.’

‘That’s very nice of him,’ Aksel said with a wary note.

The two men’s eyes locked for a moment in silent communication before Max’s slid back to her again. ‘It was nothing to do with me. My girlfriend has a contact there. She gets given dresses all the time. I’m just the messenger...’

‘Right. Wow,’ Aksel nodded, leaning against the doorframe with a familiarity that suggested he was here all the time.

Max stiffened ever so slightly. Almost imperceptibly, but Darcy clocked it. ‘Anyway, I should go,’ he muttered.

He turned to leave and Darcy felt alarm leap through her at how all of this was unfolding – her stilted response in front of Aksel. But she couldn’t say anything that would make Max stay. She couldn’t thank him for what she knew had to have been a giant effort on his part, no matter what he said to the contrary, to get this dress here to her. She didn’t believe that the dress had been given for free. She didn’t believe it hadn’t been a problem. Even if Veronique – or Angelina, or Natalia – were house models there, even if they closed the couture shows, it was still a Sunday.Howhad he got it?

She bitterly wished now that she hadn’t hung back all day from texting him to thank him for getting her home last night without further indignity. Every time she had picked up her phone to call, she had put it back down again, telling herself he had been kind in a crisis but that crisis had passed now and her problems weren’t his. They weren’t friends, even though he’d helped her.

Was still helping – even though he was looking at her now like he barely recalled her name. He hadn’t smiled once. Everythank-you was rebuffed. They could never connect; only their punches landed.

And yet, she remembered the steadying beat of his heart against her ear and how his eyes had closed as he kissed her hair.

No hello. No goodbye.

And yet...

Chapter Twenty-One

23rd June 1920

I felt a change in myself when we drove through the gates at Solvtraeer this morning. I had forgotten how it feels to be away from the city. I suppose I have become too used to the constant busyness of the place – people coming to visit every day, parties and luncheons. Even a stroll in the park is a social occasion. And then, of course, there is the noise. The traffic grows daily, it seems.

But here, you can actually hear the wind in the trees and the songs of the birds. The clock hands always seem to tick more slowly in Hornbaek. It is Henrik’s first visit but he loves it here already, I can tell. Lilja was very gracious about the news of our engagement and I could see she was trying to be happy for us. She looked better than I was expecting. When she left Copenhagen, she was like a rag doll that had had the stuffing pulled from her – so tiny and limp – but there is a very little roundness now to her cheeks and she has some colour back. She says that is down to her walks on the beach every day. When we arrived, she was standing barefoot on the lawn, talking to Old Sally as he dug up the weeds, and I must admit it was a curious sight to come upon; but we must remember things are different here to the city, and it is precisely this being at ease which Doctor Beck said would help salve her spirit.

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