Page 23 of The Holiday Cottage

It was one of their most ambitious projects of recent months, not least because of the time pressures.

The theme of the event was Winter Wonderland, and the hotel and the gardens had been decked out like Lapland. There had been no ceiling to the budget, and Imogen had arranged for snowmaking machines to transform the grounds into a snowy paradise. There were sleigh rides and reindeer and stands offering everything from mulled wine to creamy hot chocolate. Inside, the ballroom, which only two days before had hosted a gala dinner for five hundred, was now Santa’s workshop, complete with areas where the delegates could make their own toys.

Mindful of the pressures at this time of year, Imogen had arranged for a major toy store to run a stand so that people could do some Christmas shopping, and next to it a giant Santa sack so that they could donate an extra toy to a local children’s charity.

The middle of the ballroom had been turned into a skating rink, and in the far corner of the room was a grotto, where elves were serving champagne and nonalcoholic cocktails to people queuing to see “Santa.” Each staff member visited Santa to get their bonus for the year. Imogen had wondered if that was a little creepy, but the CEO, Angus Fitzgerald, had refused to let go of that idea, mostly because it was his idea.

“Imogen!” Angus Fitzgerald made his way across to her, looking totally out of place in a formal suit. “This is fantastic! You’re a superstar.”

She shook his hand, accepted his praise with a warm smile and glanced around her. “Everyone seems to be having fun, Mr. Fitzgerald.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Angus? They’re having the best time. You’ve created a perfect fantasy Christmas. How do you do that?”

A perfect fantasy Christmas.

“It’s my job, Angus.” It helped that she was intimately acquainted with fantasy Christmases. They were the only ones she’d ever experienced. A real family Christmas had only ever happened in her imagination. She felt a tug of emotion, a sense of loss, and killed it dead. Everyone knew that Christmas was usually a time of pressure and stress. The snow-dusted beaming family type of Christmas that played a starring role in movies was fictitious. She believed that. She had to believe that, or she might start feeling sad about what she was missing.

Angus was still gazing around him. “Genius idea to have the toy store here. My wife is always complaining that she has to do all the Christmas shopping, so I bought a stuffed lion for my granddaughter. That’s my contribution.” He saw her looking at him and narrowed his eyes. “You have that look on your face.”

“I have a look?”

“Yes, it’s the look you always get when you’re about to suggest something and you’re not sure how I’ll react.”

Imogen pushed aside the image of Angus presenting his little granddaughter with a stuffed lion on Christmas Day. “You know me so well.”

“Go on. Whatever is in that head of yours, say it.”

She paused. “That’s a smart suit, Angus.”

He fiddled with the knot of his tie. “But?”

“This is a relaxed event. It’s corporate, but not corporate.”

“Meaning?”

“I’m wondering if you might connect with the staff more easily if you were dressed a little less formally. It might make you seem more approachable.”

At that moment the VP of sales skated past them in a red sweater emblazoned in a giant snowman.

Angus watched him. “He’s in sales. It’s his job to connect with the sales force.”

“You’re the boss. This is a reward for a brilliant year. You need to connect too. This is about them.”

“I’m not arguing with that,” he said, “but not even for you am I wearing a snowman sweater. I need to be able to have difficult conversations. Sometimes I have to fire people. That’s harder to do when they’ve seen you wearing a snowman sweater.”

“I agree there is a line between connecting and losing respect. We’re not going to cross that line. The snowman is definitely too much. But still—” She tapped her finger to her mouth, thinking, then pulled out her phone and called one of her junior team members. “Nick? Can you bring me one of the spare navy sweaters. Yes, the cashmere one. Thanks.”

“You have spare sweaters?”

“Always. Things happen. Red wine on white shirts. Lost buttons. Torn sleeves. The possibilities are endless. Ah, Nick, thanks—” She took the sweater from her colleague and held it out to Angus. “Try this.”

He took it from her and studied it. “The logo is a Christmas tree.”

“Small, barely perceptible, but just enough that it counts as a Christmas sweater. It says, ‘I’m approachable, but I’m still the boss.’”

He laughed. “I never thought clothing could say so much.”

“You’d be surprised. Nonverbal communication can be as powerful as the words that leave your mouth.” She took his jacket from him and held it as he pulled on the sweater. “That looks good on you.”

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