Page 50 of A Billionaire for Christmas
Molly assumed he was just being polite. ‘That’s kind of you, but I’ll be fine. I’m not hungry anyway. I’ll serve up the food and come back to my room. Speaking of food, do you have the updated list of Valerie’s new allergies?’
Toby tutted. ‘She’s left a list on the fridge for you. It’s quite long, almost the length of the fridge. Would you be able to cook anything at all with pumpkin seeds? For her inflamed bladder. And she wants to know if you have anything that will stop Armand’s acid reflux. She seems to think you’ve got a PhD in medicine the way she’s throwing all these questions at me.’
‘Well, my mother is a nurse but that’s as close as I get to being a doctor. I’ll see what the internet says.’
‘Don’t bother. The Wi-Fi has gone again and the mobile signal is so patchy. That’s why I’m being hounded for solutions like a human Alexa.’
‘Okay. No problem. I’ll try to text my mother. But they’re on a cruise so I might not get an immediate response.’
* * *
Once Molly had put the finishing touches to the family dinner, she stood back to admire the table setting. She’d had to use her imagination as to how the super-rich liked to dine at their ski lodges and so she set up the table as though a Hollywood celebrity was in charge of styling. There were winter garlands, courtesy of the many Christmas decorations that adorned the lodge, many candle holders that she’d found in a storage room while reorganising the kitchen, and lots of battery-operated fairy lights that she wove throughout the decorations, up the candlesticks and along the whole length of the table. A red table runner and matching napkins completed the tablescape. The whole display was a festive feast of reds, greens and golds.
‘Wow, that looks veryHello!magazine.’
Molly spotted Freda approaching. ‘Mother will love that. She’s all about the glitz. The whole of Christmas is about the photos she shares on her socials. She’s worse than me for pretending life is a continuous stream of one fabulously pampered day after another.’
‘I’m hoping the food will live up to her high standards.’ Molly carried through small silver platters with crowd-pleasing pyramids of tiny bite-size hors d’oeuvres, canapés, blinis and appetisers.
‘She’ll still complain about something. Are theygougères?’ exclaimed Freda. ‘Papa’s favourites. Stuffed with goat’s cheese? Someone has done their homework.’
Molly had pumped Tobyhardfor information on the family favourites and had gone all out to impress by putting a slight twist on each one.
‘Is that cake salée, too? Oh, my word. You really are the best. Levi said you were an exceptional cook. Just wait until he sees all this. And are those devilled shakshuka eggs? They’re his favourite.’
At the mention of his name, Molly’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Yes, sort of. I just did a Christmas version of everything.’
‘It’s so clever. I wish I was good at something.’
Molly regarded Freda. ‘I’m sure you’re good at a lot of things.’
‘No. Nothing. I graduated business school and basically haven’t done anything yet. I met Reuben at college, and I’ve been setting up home and getting engaged and shopping ever since. My brother is exceedingly generous. I just wish he’d let me work for him, instead of gifting me a ton of money I don’t even need.’
Freda had the good grace to look shamefaced.
‘I know, first-world problems, right?’ she mused aloud. ‘What’s your story, Molly? How long have you been a chef? Don’t you have family to spend the holidays with?’
At the thought of sharing her life story, the quickest and dullest of all memoirs, Molly shrugged. The idea of spending Christmas Day without Ava had been one of the reasons for wanting to work during the holidays. She could keep herself busy and try to block out the bleak memories of last Christmas. Her parents had been fully understanding. It had been a miserable time for them too, so it was no surprise they’d booked to go on a long-awaited cruise around the Caribbean. ‘Nothing to tell, really. Catering college, setting up a business and then here.’
‘You ran your own business? What happened? Did it go bust?’
‘Not exactly.’ How to explain your best friend and business partner recently dying on you? ‘It’s kind of on hold while I figure some things out. I’m a contractor here for the season.’
Freda grabbed a morsel from one of the platters. ‘Well, you’re too good to be a chalet chef, that’s for sure.’ She made a moaning sound. ‘This is so delicious.’
Freda followed her back into the kitchen. ‘I’m going to pour a couple of Christmas cocktails. Do you want one? I make a mean Santa’s Spritz, or an espresso martini, if you prefer?’
Molly shook her head.
‘Please. Go on. Just one. Don’t make me drink on my own.’
‘Sorry, I need to keep a clear head until after you’ve all been served dinner and dessert.’
‘You’re not eating with us?’
‘Erm, no… I have some…’ Molly pulled gently at her hair, twisting it round her finger. That familiar heat crept up her neck. ‘I have a lot of things to do. Planning. Correspondence.’
Freda gave her a disappointed look. ‘Shame. I really wanted to talk to you about how to make these. Rooby is always teasing me about not knowing how to cook. I’d love to just, oh, I don’t know, surprise him.’ She blew out her cheeks. ‘He’s so clever and talented, and I’m so useless.’ Molly watched as Freda rallied, going over to the kitchen to fetch a glass. ‘Sure you won’t join me?’
