Up for Love in London (8 page)

“So, how does
the Sterling family celebrate Christmas?”

Charles pauses
mid-mouthful, as though my question has caught him off-guard.
“Well, darling,” he begins, in an ultra-posh British accent, “You
can imagine how difficult it is to wrap a private jet or polo pony.
And even if one could wrap them, finding a tree large enough to
place them under is quite impossible. So we ignore Christmas
altogether.”

We share a
laugh before he continues. “We meet at my parents’ house in the
morning to open gifts. Mother still fills stockings for us, that
is, for me, my younger sister and now for my brother-in-law and my
twin nieces. We’ll lunch together and mother and father will go to
church in the afternoon. Dinner is roast goose, with parsnips and
mashed potatoes, followed by plum pudding and mince pie. Plenty of
eating, plenty of drinking and far too many presents for the
children. We’re quite a traditional family and I like it that
way.

I nod my head
in agreement. Even though I consider myself a modern woman, I love
celebrations that include family.

“What are your
plans for tomorrow, Lauren? How will you spend the rest of
Christmas day?”

“My flight
leaves here at two, so I should be home by 4 o’clock local time. My
parents always host the family dinner – turkey with all the
trimmings, and my sister and brother will be there too. Of course,
this year I’ll miss the real fun part, my nieces and nephews
tearing into their gifts on Christmas morning. Watching them makes
me feel like a kid again. Speaking of gifts…”

I open the
mahogany desk, retrieve the wrapped box and place it in front of
him. “For you.”

Charles picks
up the slender package. “Lauren, just being here with you is enough
of a gift for me.”

I wrap my arms
around his neck. “Open it.”

He kisses my
forearm, then peels back the paper and lifts the lid. The silver
pen glimmers in the cobalt-blue lining. He picks it up, feeling the
weight in his hand. “You shouldn’t have, but I’m very glad you
did.”

“Try it out.
The ink is the most amazing shade of blue. Here’s some paper.” I
grab a piece of hotel stationery and push it toward him.

He twists the
pen, looks at the nib thoughtfully and then draws a small heart
with an arrow through it. My own heart melts when he smiles and
kisses my hand. “It’s perfect, just like you.”

“I’m so glad
you like it. I’ll put it in your jacket now, so you won’t forget
it.”

We finish the
meal quickly, engaging mostly in small talk. I wonder if my gift
has embarrassed him. He seems preoccupied, glancing at the mantle
clock frequently. He takes one bite of dessert, puts down his fork,
wipes his mouth on the napkin and excuses himself before walking to
the bathroom.

“Are we late
for something?” I call out.

“What do you
mean?”

“You keep
looking at the time. And your phone. Are we going to a party
after?”

“After
what?”

“After this,
after our dinner.”

“No.”

“Oh.” I hope he
senses my disappointment. “Well, it won’t be so hard to spend
Christmas Eve here with you.” He’s now in the bedroom and I’m
hoping he might come out with a surprise for me.

He returns and I’m stunned that he’s almost fully
dressed.
Well, that’s certainly a
surprise
. He picks his tie off the couch
and stops in front of the hall mirror. “Going somewhere?” I ask,
coyly.

“Unfortunately,
yes,” he answers, expertly twisting the tie into a slim knot.

“Unfortunately?” That must mean I’m not invited. I rise, gulp and
stammer, “Oh, well, I see.”

“Darling I’m
sorry, I must go. I’m already late – very late. You see, I have a
family obligation tonight, I hope you understand.”

“You’re kidding
me, right?” I can’t contain my disbelief. “What kind of family
obligation?”

He turns to me
slowly and clips his cufflinks. Then he rubs the back of his neck,
looks at his feet and then meets my eyes.

Oh boy, I
sense this isn’t going to be good.

“I’m sorry to
drop this bombshell on you now, Lauren. I wanted to tell you
earlier…not that it really matters, but, I have a
soon-to-be-ex-wife and a stepson, Robbie. I made a promise to see
them tonight.”

I stand before
him, arms down, hands clenched at my sides. I bite my bottom lip to
keep it from wobbling. I don’t want him to see how much this is
hurting me.

He continues,
slowly. “I don’t care about the ex, as a matter of fact, I’m glad
to be out of that situation. But this could be the last I see of
Robbie for a very long time.”

“Darling
Lauren,” and he lifts my chin with one finger so our eyes meet.
“Please don’t be upset. There’s nothing I can do about it now,
believe me.” He walks to the closet and pulls on his jacket and
overcoat.

“Oh, I believe
you. I believe that you didn’t want to mention it earlier. You
wanted to wait until after we made love.” I cross my arms and try
to squeeze back my tears of anger and rejection. “It’s Christmas
Eve!”

He turns and for a moment I think he’s about to come back and
comfort me, but instead, he stays where he’s standing, far away.
“This isn’t the first time we’ve made love and I hope it won’t be
the last. But that’s up to you, Lauren. It
is
Christmas Eve and I have a
commitment I don’t want to break.”

“I should have
known better. You’re just like…”

“Lauren, please
stop before we say things we’ll both regret.” Without another word,
he turns and leaves the room, letting the door close slowly behind
him. In my rage, I pick up the nearest object – his wine glass –
and hurl it at the door. It smashes into a thousand tiny shards,
glittering on the carpet like hard, sharp tears.

I wait a few
moments, then compose myself and pad to the window. The snow is
falling heavily now, large thick white flakes, so very
unBritish-like. I can see Charles’ Bentley as he pulls out of the
hotel driveway, the tire treads the only impression on the freshly
fallen snow. He skids onto the street and speeds away.

It’s just past
eight. I’m full, fucked and restless. It’s too early for bed and
too late to make plans to meet the crew. And how would I explain
this awful embarrassing situation? Ah yes, we had intercourse
between the courses. I’m hurt and angry but why did I expect more?
Charles promised me nothing except dinner together and I can only
blame myself for reading more into it.

My beautiful
red dress is still lying on the floor beside the window. I pull it
back on, return to the bathroom and dry my hair. I apply a swipe of
lipstick, step into my new pumps. I clear the table of plates and
glasses, stacking them on the trolley and call room service. I’m
too embarrassed to be here when the butler arrives, so I wheel it
into the hall. I also place a call to housekeeping, mentioning that
a glass has broken and the carpet should be vacuumed. I pull on my
uniform coat and the dress hangs beneath it like a slip that’s far
too long. I tuck the key and my phone into the pocket, step
gingerly over the splinters and close the door behind me. There are
still a few mouthfuls of champagne left in the bottle, so I hoist
it to my lips and greedily suck the remnants.

The lobby is
empty so I don’t have to face any queries. The receptionist barely
notices me and I’m grateful for that too. The streets are quiet and
the few vehicles – a mostly unoccupied red double-decker bus and a
black cab or two – wind their way with purpose. The snow has
stopped falling and is now melting on the sidewalks, leaving
puddles that I don’t avoid. The dirty water seeps into my shoes and
splashes onto the hem of my dress. There’s a light breeze, barely
cold enough so I have to exhale hard to see my breath.

The cemetery
gates are locked, so I walk the long route to the High Street.
Ahead, the colourful lights of the Greek restaurant twinkle
cheerfully. As I get closer, I can see tables of merrymakers
through the foggy windows. Two crew members stand outside,
smoking.

I stay on the
other side of the street, pull the hood over my head and shove my
hands deep into the pockets. Someone might recognize the uniform
coat, I just hope they don’t guess that it’s me inside. They take
no notice, squashing their cigarette butts underfoot and returning
to the warmth and hospitality of the restaurant. I wish I could
join them.

I don’t want to
return to the hotel, but I fear running into my crew if I wander
the streets for much longer. Plus, my feet are now numb and wet. I
walk quickly back, enter through the side door and climb the stairs
to the mezzanine before riding the elevator to the penthouse
floor.

The room
service trolley is gone, the House Keeping Requested sign stripped
from the doorknob. Inside, the rug has been vacuumed, bed linens
changed, towels replaced, shower cleaned. The curtains are closed
and one light is on in the living area. In the bedroom, a single
silver-wrapped chocolate truffle rests on the uncreased pillow
case. It’s like a crime scene that has been swept clear. The only
remaining evidence is the garment bag from my new dress, hanging
lonely and limp in the closet.

I kick off my
wet pumps, stuff them with newspaper and sit them on the heater
vents. Then I fill the bathroom sink and rinse out the bottom of my
dress before hanging it from the shower head. I grab a cognac
miniature from the mini-bar, pour it into a water glass and chug it
down. The amber liquid burns my throat but the warmth spreads down
to my toes, giving me a who-gives-a-damn attitude guaranteed to put
me to sleep. Just in case that isn’t enough, I pop a
motion-sickness pill and then crawl into bed. I could cry myself to
sleep but I’ve done that too often in the past. From now on, if a
man treats me badly, I’m never going to think about him again. That
will be my New Year’s resolution.

CHAPTER 8 ~
The Morning After

The alarm clock’s incessant buzzing
wakes me from a deep sleep. I stumble out of bed, heading for the
bathroom. The luxury of the suite only reminds me of the painful
night before. I take this last opportunity to savour the room’s
amenities before checking out. I’m afraid it will be a long time
before I stay in a place as extravagant as this again.

My red dress is
still hanging in the stall, looking none the worse for wear. I
place it in the closet and wonder if I should even take it home
with me. After a leisurely shower, I wrap myself in the soft white
robe and toddle into the living room.

I draw back the
curtains to reveal a cold, sunny day, with a light sprinkling of
snow on the ground. It’s so Christmassy, it makes my heart smile
just a bit.

The flowers on
the dining table are still fresh and fragrant. Facing the cruel
irony of choosing between a French vanilla coffee pod, or English
breakfast tea, I opt for cappuccino and consider my choices for
breakfast. I could dig into my totebag and probably unearth some
cheese and crackers left over from my crew snack box. But the new
me is feeling bold and adventurous.

What the hell, Merry Christmas Lauren.
I peruse the room service menu and order the most decadent and
expensive meal. Scrambled eggs with smoked salmon, blinis with
cream cheese and caviar and freshly-juiced papaya and mango. Since
I have to work in a few hours, I pass on the Champagne.

I dry my hair
while waiting for the meal to arrive. I’m still in my robe when
there’s a knock on the door. I’m half-expecting Charles, or at
least a note from him, but the waiter is merely professionally
courteous. Thank God it’s a different server from last night.

He bows and
sets the table quickly, lifts the lid to show me the food, then
replaces the lid and pours the juice into a small crystal glass.
“Enjoy your meal, miss,” he says, as he backs out of the room with
the trolley.

With moves like
that, he’d make a great flight attendant.

I’m amazed I
feel like eating at all, as heartache usually causes me to lose my
appetite. I’m either still hoping that Charles will call, or I’m
already following my new resolution. It doesn’t matter as I savour
the solo meal enthusiastically.

I pack my bags
and get ready for the flight at a leisurely pace. I leave the dress
in the closet, admiring it one last time before I leave, tugging my
suitcase behind me. When I hand in my key card, the receptionist
says only Thank you, Happy Christmas, and as I presumed, any room
charges were billed to Charles.

Outside, the
air is crisp and invigorating, shaking the last remnants of the
night from my head. No one asks for details of my evening, they’re
busy chattering about their plans for today, and excited to be
going home.

The roads are
nearly empty so the ride to the airport goes quickly. The flight
too passes without incident – a group of passengers happy they’ll
be spending the holidays with loved ones.

CHAPTER 9 ~
Now or Never

It’s now December 30th. Richard is
back on the flight and the load this time is somewhat less than
before. We’ll arrive in London on the morning of the
31
^st
, in
time for partying if anyone chooses. The crew is neither all junior
nor senior, but like Goldilocks’s bowl of oatmeal, just right. Some
are singles looking for a good party in London, others have brought
spouses and significant others, knowing that the flight home on
January 1
^st
will have lots of open seats, perhaps even in first class.
Richard brought his partner Gordon and they have plans for a posh
dinner with the consulate crowd.