Page 91 of All I Want for Christmas

‘No worries. I’ll see you in a bit.’

‘Oh!’ Darcy said as the footman held the hotel door open for her and she had a first glimpse of the spectacle hidden within. Outside, the city lay grey and starkly urban, but here the lobbyhad been transformed into a winter wonderland, with a white carpet laid across the floor and fake snow piled into drifts. There were groupings of bent-willow reindeer figures – some standing, some kneeling – arranged in small herds through the space, and potted fir trees had been grouped into stands and sprayed with instant snow. She half expected squirrels to leap from the branches and birds to fly overhead. In fact, it felt just like stepping into her carousel – the one she had left wrapped in its tissue paper since getting home. She refused to take it out, as if to enjoy it would be to somehow forgive Max for what he’d done, and she didn’t forgive him. She wouldn’t.

She saw her advisor standing by the staircase, texting, and she walked over, aware of the whirr and click of a photographer somewhere recording her progress. ‘Hi, Otto.’

He looked up, his eyebrows shooting up a moment afterwards as he took in the sight of her – so very different to her workaday student look. Her hair was pulled into a sleek bun, her make-up minimal with a red lip. ‘You pulledthistogether in half an hour?’

‘Let’s just say we were all lucky with the turn of events today.’

‘Red is clearly your colour.’

‘Thanks.’ She kicked nervously at the hem by her feet, feeling sick at what she was doing. The red dress was a narrow column, with the slightly draped neckline Freja had described and one twisted strap falling off her right shoulder. It was simple and yet by far the most incredible item of clothing Darcy had ever pulled on, and she couldn’t imagine what it had cost. Five thousand? Ten? She had only tried it on out of sheer desperation when she had realized Freja had taken the shared black velvet dress to Amsterdam. There hadn’t been anything else,at all, in either of their wardrobes that would stand up to a black-tie royal gala dress code.

Darcy had tried calling Freja but it kept going to voicemail; her friend was apparently ‘otherwise engaged’, and with just minutes to go before the car arrived, she had been obliged to make a decision. She didn’t like doing it without her friend’s permission, but either she wore this dress or she’d have to call Otto back and cancel on him. Not quiteSophie’s Choicebut a sticky wicket, as her father would say, nonetheless. She had carefully slid the sales tag down inside the dress and on the taxi ride over, she had lain out as straight as she could to avoid creases. She intended to move with all the care of a porcelain doll tonight and with a little luck, Freja would never even know she’d worn it.

‘Well, you look very beautiful,’ Otto said gallantly as he offered her his arm and together they headed towards the Palm Court doors. Black-suited security officers wearing headsets were standing at their posts, looking into the crowd with watchful, openly suspicious expressions. Between them stood a couple of women in long, plain black dresses, holding tablets.

‘Mr and Mrs Otto Borup,’ Otto said, squeezing Darcy’s hand against his arm briefly, as if in apology for the little white lie.

Their names were found and they were waved through almost immediately, Darcy vaguely aware of heads turning as they walked in. Otto relaxed his grip on her and she felt like he was a father escorting his daughter to her prom. He was chatting lightly to her about some of the people she could expect to see here tonight. No mention was made of their woes with the Madsen Foundation earlier in the week.

A waiter stopped before them with a tray of champagneglasses, and he let go of her arm completely as they took one each and moved deeper into the crowd.

Darcy looked around, trying to absorb the visual feast that had been carried through into this space: a jumbled confection of brightly coloured satin, velvet and silk gowns were reflected tenfold in a mirrored room. Extravagant sprays of silver birch branches stood splayed in giant urns before each mirror, twisted with delicate white fairy lights. It was like walking into Narnia, an enchanted winter garden.

People milled about as if they were on wheels, feet hidden below long skirts, jewels twinkling. Round tables were dressed in white linen with profuse floral displays perched on tall, fluted pedestals. Candles threw out a warm, flickering light, mellifluous music from a string quartet undercutting the languid buzz of conversation and snappy laughter.

Security personnel stood to attention along the perimeter, watching the guests closely as they drank and made merry. Darcy sipped her champagne nervously as she recognized plenty of faces of people she didn’t know. People from other worlds: politics, show business, high finance, as well as the elite art world. Many of those who’d been at the museum drinks reception were here. She saw the Sallings deep in conversation with the Minister for the Interior and Health.

‘Otto, so lovely to see you.’

Darcy looked back – and down – to see Helle Foss standing before them with a man she took to be her husband.

She immediately stiffened. It hadn’t yet crossed her mind thatshemight be here.

‘Helle, Mikkel, how are you?’ Otto replied. ‘Mikkel, I don’t think you’ve had the pleasure yet – Darcy Cotterell? She’s over with us from the Courtauld for a year.’

‘A pleasure,’ Mikkel nodded, shaking her hand lightly. Helle and Darcy nodded at one another in cool greeting.

‘But where’s dear Martine?’ Helle asked in bafflement, as if she hadn’t been issuing threats of court cases and drawing up enemy lines during their last meeting.

‘Incapacitated, I’m sorry to say,’ Otto said. ‘Tripped over the dog earlier and sustained a nasty sprain.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘Yes. She’ll be fine in a few days, but we felt sitting with her foot elevated in the presence of the royals would be suboptimal.’

Helle cracked an amused smile. ‘Indeed. And that’s why we have the pleasure of Ms Cotterell’s presence, is it?’ She was like an aged black cat, wizened but still well able to deliver a sharp sabre-swipe of her claws. She smiled as she slowly looked Darcy up and down. ‘What a beautiful gown. Is academia paying better than I recall, Otto?’

It struck Darcy as a crass thing to say. Otto must have thought so too, for he merely smiled in reply.

Helle frowned, catching sight of something over Darcy’s shoulder. ‘Oh dear, he doesn’t look happy,’ she sighed. ‘What’s happened now?’

‘Who?’ Otto turned.

Darcy followed suit to find Max moving through the crowd, almost upon them. His gaze was wholly trained upon her and she automatically straightened, caught off guard by seeing him here. He was dressed in the dinner suit he’d been wearing the night they’d met and he looked so handsome, she caught her breath. If she’d had any idea he was going to be here tonight, would she have come?

Of course not.

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