Page 13 of The Unlikely Pair
I was in my mid-twenties on a ski trip to Verbier, Switzerland, organized by my work colleague Barney. We were all young professionals from London with a propensity for working hard and playing harder.
Barney had a wide set of friends, and we all arrived at the ski lodge in dribs and drabs from the airport, but the first night, everyone gathered in the main living area.
It was the week before Christmas, so everything was Yuletide-themed, including mistletoe spread at consistent intervals around the room like planned debauchery.
As I helped myself to some eggnog, I heard a boisterous laugh that sounded like joy personified.
I glanced over and found the laugh belonged to a man standing by the Christmas tree. He had a mass of curly hair and large, wideset eyes on an open face. He clutched a glass of mulled wine with one hand while his other gestured to enhance a hilarious story…if the raucous laughter of everyone around him was anything to go by.
I realized I was staring and wrenched my gaze away.
But as the night progressed, I found myself unable to shake my awareness of the man. No matter where he was, he seemed surrounded by a circle of laughing people.
Later in the evening, I was embedded in a mundane conversation with Noel, who’d obviously decided to embrace the festive connotations associated with his name and had on one of the most ludicrously printed Christmas sweaters known to humankind. But even Noel’s garish sweater couldn’t hold my attention, and my eyes continually swept back to the good-looking man with the wide grin standing by the Christmas tree.
I finally couldn’t resist breaking through Noel’s monologue about the intricate differences between various types of Christmas puddings with a question.
“Say, do you happen to know who that fellow over there is?” I tried to make my voice casual.
Noel followed my gaze.
“That’s Toby Webley. I think he was at Oxford with Barney. He’s a consultant at McKinnan’s. Bright bloke.”
“Oh. Right.”
“I can introduce you if you like.” Noel had a slight smirk on his face.
“Oh no, it’s all right…”
But Noel had already set across the room with the determination of Scott heading the Antarctic expedition. I wasleft with the choice of standing by myself, looking like a twat, or trailing along after him.
I chose to follow.
Noel strode straight up to Toby and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Toby, I’ve got someone for you to meet.”
Toby turned around, and it felt like someone had pressed a pause button on the world.
This close, I could see his eyes were hazel, with flecks of gold. They were creased at the corners in an automatic smile.
For a few seconds, we just stared at each other.
“This is Harry Matheson. He’s in the investment division at Barclay’s,” Noel said.
Toby’s expression cooled instantly, the smile lines around his eyes vanishing. “Hello.”
I’d waited to be the recipient of some of his charm, to be graced with the smile accompanied by the full dimples, but instead, Toby’s expression remained stubbornly unimpressed.
“I hear you attended Oxford. What…um…college were you in?” I uncharacteristically stumbled my way through a sentence. Normally, I prided myself on my unflappability, a family trait inherited from my father, along with my blond hair and blue eyes.
But right now, I was flapping like a flag in a hurricane.
“New College.” Toby’s voice was clipped.
“Oh, and how did you find that experience?” Bloody hell, I sounded like someone’s great-aunt at Christmas lunch.
“Well, I don’t have any other experience to compare it to, but it was tolerable.”
