Page 93 of All I Want for Christmas

Darcy gave a small laugh of astonishment. ‘Are you honestly asking me that, after what he and that poisonous woman did in the meeting the other day?’

Otto sighed. ‘It’s a highly disagreeable way to do business, I agree, but it isn’t personal, Darcy. They have an objective and they’ll try to achieve it by whatever means they can. It doesn’t mean they’ll win. Personally, I try not to be drawn into their games.’

It was a clear rebuke. She had bared her teeth just now, but was this really the time or the place?

They had reached their table and, without missing a beat, Otto introduced her to Margit’s husband, a mild-mannered-looking man who looked like he’d rather be playing golf. Right now, so would she. Realizing her champagne had sat untouched in her glass all this time, she downed it quickly before taking her seat.

Everyone fell into making small talk as they awaited the royal entrance, and Darcy tried to put Max Lorensen out of her mind. The wine glasses were filled and she sat, sipping quickly, as she listened to the conversation bouncing around the table, not caring for a word of it.

A trumpeter’s call brought silence to the room several minutes later and everyone was asked to ‘please rise’ as the national anthem was played. The royal couple walked in, accompanied by a man and a woman Darcy guessed to be senior executives of the Children’s Hospital. In spite of her agitation, Darcy felt a small thrill at all the pomp; she had never been in the presence of royalty before. She watched as their Majesties took their places at the table in the centre front of the room, her excitement immediately abating as she realized Max and Helle were sitting at the top table too.

Of course they were.

She reached for her wine and took another gulp.

Otto, sitting to her left, leaned towards her. ‘Are you okay?’ he murmured.

Was she drinking too much – too fast – she wondered?

‘Why aretheysitting up there?’ she whispered back.

Otto followed her eyeline. ‘...The Madsen Foundation is the main sponsor for tonight.’

‘Why? What does a fertilizer company have to do with building a kid’s hospital?’ she hissed.

‘Madsen Holdings isn’t just a biochemical corporation, Darcy; they branched into the biomedical space years ago,’ he whispered. ‘This is one of the Foundation’s marquee events—’

‘They’re white-washing their reputation you mean,’ she hissed back, prompting a stern look, just as the hospital chairman rose and began giving a speech. He talked at length about how the $350 million project was only possible through the generosity of their sponsors and everyone gathered here tonight.

Darcy looked away, refusing to believe Max and Helle could ever be painted as ‘good guys’. She tuned in and out as she glanced around the room, taking in the famous faces, the beautiful dresses, anything to divert her attention from the one person lodged in her mind...But it was impossible when his date was sitting a few tables away, swinging a shapely crossed leg impatiently. Darcy tried not to think about Max taking her back to his house later on and slipping that scrap of gold dress off her –

‘...round of applause for our Chair this evening, Mr Max Lorensen of the Madsen Foundation.’

She watched him stand to a loud round of applause. Ottoglanced back at her, an eyebrow lifting as he saw that she wasn’t joining in, but Darcy didn’t care if it was rude. Max had had no qualms in being rude to her earlier when he was threatening to throw her out of here.

His voice came through the microphone, filling the room, and she closed her eyes, hating the sound. He didn’t have any cue cards, but he talked eloquently and calmly to the dignitaries in the room nonetheless, thanking them for their continued support, particularly in the fight against Kaposi sarcoma, the rare and aggressive cancer that had...

Oh God.

...That had claimed the life of his brother, Peder.

Darcy watched in dismay as a film began playing on a screen, images showing the transformation of a freckled young boy – playing in the surf with his brother, competing in an athletics meet, cuddling with his dog – to a gaunt and hollow young man lying on a hospital bed with tubes coming out of his arms and throat.

Darcy looked over at Max in horror, seeing how he had his face turned towards the screen, as if he were watching too, but from this angle she could see his eyes were averted to a spot beyond it. He couldn’t look. Was this why he hadn’t wanted her here? He didn’t want her to be privy to anything less than perfect in his life? The photographs were replaced with mathematical graphics – bar charts, pie charts, graphs, all showing statistics and percentages, a worrying rise in the rates of the disease. They couldn’t stop here. They needed more funding for further research. No one else should suffer the way his brother had suffered.

She saw the way he moved as he talked, skating over the pain as if it was buried beneath ice, the emotion taken out of his voice as if he had never known that little boy or youngman himself. She saw the upward tilt of his chin, the distant remove of his gaze; she saw what she had taken for arrogance the first time she had laid eyes on his profile. He was beautiful, but now he was also bulletproof.

The images were switched off and he looked back to the room, throwing the guests a dazzling smile that was at odds with his frozen demeanour of a few minutes earlier, telling them to bid ‘with furious abandon’ in the silent auction. The lots would close in an hour; tablets for bidding were to be found on each table.

Nils, the man sitting to her right – a Friend of the National Gallery – was already flicking through, and she glanced over to see the prizes: a fully staffed villa for eight people on Harbour Island for ten days...a week’s unlimited use of a helicopter...a private tour of Bill Koch’s wine cellar...a holiday on Necker...a recording session with Coldplay’s producer...dinner with former Victoria’s Secret model Veronique Huillier...

Veronique Huillier? Darcy looked over at Max’s date. She had thought the woman looked familiar.

Another wave of applause jolted her attention back onto him and she looked up in time to see him take his seat again. He immediately turned his attention to the woman on his left – a companion in her sixties, bedecked in emeralds – and his expression settled into that charming but impenetrable demeanour Darcy had become accustomed to seeing in recent weeks.

She watched him, feeling conflicted by what she’d learned here tonight. She didn’t want to understand why he was the way he was; she didn’t want to feel sad for him that he’d lost his brother. (She also didn’t want to remember what she’d said to him at the Christmas market:You’re lucky youdon’t have one. She could remember the silence that had followed.)

Neither would he want her pity, she knew that much. But she also couldn’t pretend it didn’t account for certain things.

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