Page 90 of All I Want for Christmas

‘Has he said anything else to get your radar going?’

‘No...I don’t think so?...But it’s not like I’ve been making notes.’

‘Okay so, then...he probably won’t,’ Darcy shrugged. ‘We’re worrying about nothing. Getting ahead of ourselves. It’s just a lovely dirty weekend away. A city break.’

‘...Yeah,’ Freja murmured, staring into her chilli bowl, but seemingly forgetting how to eat.

Chapter Nineteen

Darcy stood by the window, watching tourists and lovers walk past in the street below as she watered Miss Petals. The snow was coming in fits and starts, not so heavily that it settled on the roads, but roofs and park benches, statues and bobble hats were frosted white. Her day had passed quietly and dusk was now deepening, lights beginning to flick on in the neighbouring buildings.

Music played quietly around her, and her fresh pedicure winked as if fishing for compliments as she padded around the empty apartment in clean sweats. With Freja away in Amsterdam with Tristan, she had the place to herself, guaranteed. It was a rare luxury – her first time, in fact, being here alone all weekend – and she had decided to make the most of it after working through last weekend and all the early starts and late nights which had preceded and followed it. She had slept late this morning, skipped the weekend torture run for a Pilates Reformer class instead and, after treating herself to the pedicure on the way home, she had done a meditation and finished up with an ‘everything’ shower which had taken almost two hours from start to finish: hair mask, face mask, body scrub, a fresh shave with new razors...No inch of her body had been neglected and afterwards, she had applied fake tan and blow-dried her hair with Freja’s new Airwrap. Shewas primped and pampered, buffed, polished and glowing, and an evening on the sofa beckoned, with nothing more taxing to consider than which series to binge.

She was pulling a sea bass fillet from the fridge when her phone rang.

Darcy stared at it in surprise. It never rang. Even her parents never called – they WhatsApped. She wasn’t even sure that was her ringtone. But it continued to ring, insistent and demanding.

‘...Hello?’ she asked, bewildered.

‘Darcy? Thank heavens you picked up. Where are you?’

She frowned. ‘Otto?’

‘Yes. Where are you?’

‘...I’m at my apartment—’

‘So then you’re in the city?’

She frowned deeper, hearing the stress in his voice. ‘Otto, is everything all right?’

‘Not really, no. Tell me, have you got plans for tonight? And if it’s a yes, can they be changed?’

‘I...’ She didn’t know how to answer that until she knew what she was signing up to. It was unlike him to sound so harassed. ‘Otto, what’s wrong? What’s happened?’

She heard him take a breath. ‘I apologize for calling with such little notice, but we’re a man down for the royal gala fundraiser tonight at the Hotel D’Angleterre. Can you step in?’

‘Royal gala?’

‘Yes – the King and Queen are going to be there. It’s an important charity fundraiser for the new children’s hospital at Rigshospitalet and Margit always takes a table. It’s black tie, obviously: auction, dinner, drinks, dancing...Surprisingly fun once the formalities are out of the way. My wife was supposed to come, but she’s just had a fall—’

‘Oh God, is she all right?’

‘She’s fine. Just a twisted ankle, but she can’t put any weight on it and I can’t get crutches now till tomorrow. We really can’t have an empty seat at the table. Each table costs fifteen thousand euros. So Margit suggested you.’

‘She did?’

‘Of course. She’s been pleased with your progress this week. She thought you might appreciate the exposure. But if you’ve already got plans...’

‘Uh...’ Darcy hesitated. This was not how she’d seen her evening unfolding. Having dinner with Danish royalty hadn’t figured in her line-up. Then again—

She caught sight of herself in the mirror. She was, by some stroke of luck, show ready. And it would be a perfect opportunity to wear again the black velvet dress from the other week.Do it for the plot!she could hear Freja cheering her in her head.

Otto seemed to take encouragement from the lack of an outright no. ‘I could send a car to pick you up. It would be with you in half an hour.’ She could hear the desperation in his voice.

‘Okay, Otto,’ she said, shaking her head at herself even as she agreed to go. ‘I’ll be ready in time.’

‘Great! That’s great news!...I’ll wait for you in the lobby. Security is tight, as you’d imagine and there’s no time now to change names on the guestlist. You’ll have to moonlight as Mrs Borup until we get past them.’

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