froze. He had never bought her jewellery before. Alex was usually a generous and perceptive gift buyer but jewellery buying was too intimate, a line he had never crossed before. Still, they were crossing all sorts of lines this week. Why not this one?
‘For me?’ She was aware how stupid the words were as she uttered them and he nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips as he did so.
‘For you. Don’t you want to open it?’
She reached out cautiously. ‘I’m not sure,’ she confessed. ‘There’s not a trick snake in there, is there?’
‘One time, Flora, one time. And I was ten!’
‘Okay, then.’ The box was solid, heavier than she expected and she turned it around in her hands, the velvet soft against her skin. It wasn’t new, she knew that at once; the hinges were tarnished and the velvet rubbed in places. She smiled over at Alex, her heart lifting with the discovery; she wasn’t much of one for new, she preferred her possessions to have a history, a story.
She found the clasp and sprung it before carefully opening the lid and let out a little anticipatory breath she hadn’t even been aware that she was holding. A necklace sparkled on the yellowing white satin cushion. Flora stole a quick look up at Alex. His face was impassive, as if he were waiting for her to comment on the weather or ask the time, but the strained set of his shoulders showed that he was waiting for her reaction. Slowly she hooked the necklace onto one newly manicured finger and drew it out of the box.
It was a two-tiered circlet of large, crystal beads designed to fall just below the neck, nestling on the collarbone. ‘It’s...’ She shook her head, searching for the right words. ‘It’s perfect. How?’ She couldn’t complete the question.
‘I knew where you bought the dress from so I popped in and said I wanted something to go with it. They remembered you quite clearly.’ He took the necklace from her unresisting hand and moved behind her. She felt the cool heaviness of the beads settle around her neck, his fingers brush against the nape of her neck as he swept her hair aside, his breath on her skin as he leaned forward and clasped the necklace.
‘It’s nineteen fifties, like your dress, and made of the local Austrian crystal.’ He let her hair fall back and stepped away. She instantly felt colder.
‘It’s absolutely gorgeous.’ Flora put her hand up to her neck and fingered the chunky beads. ‘Thank you, Alex. It’s very thoughtful of you.’ She turned around and rose on her tiptoes, pressing a kiss onto his cheek, inhaling his freshly washed scent as she did so. It was thoughtful—and it finished her dress off perfectly—but part of her wished that he hadn’t bought it. That he’d stuck to books, or tickets or any of the usual gifts. Because each time she saw it she would be reminded of this night, of this trip. Each time she saw it she would be reminded of him. Not of Alex Fitzgerald, best mate and partner in crime, but of this Alex. The one who made her stomach turn over, her legs tremble and who made all good sense go flying out of the window.
The one she would say goodbye to in the morning. She put a hand up to her necklace and touched the central bead, the truth hitting her with brutal force. It wasn’t going to be easy because she didn’t want it to end. She wanted him to look at her with that mingling of desire and need and appreciation and humour for ever. But she’d made him a promise and she was going to keep it. No fuss, no repercussions, nothing was going to change. But, oh, how she wished it would.
‘Come on.’ She stepped back and turned to the door, her voice as artificially bright as her lipstick. ‘We don’t want to be late. Camilla has invited some local dignitaries and that means that you, my friend architect, have some schmoozing to do.’
* * *
‘Oh, my goodness.’ Flora stopped dead at the entrance to the dining room and stared, open-mouthed, at the décor within. ‘This is...’
‘Like the ghost of Christmas kitsch just threw up in here?’ Alex murmured in her ear.
‘No!’ She gave him a little shove. ‘Well, only a little. It’s very pretty though.’
Lights hung in the windows encircling the rooftop room; lit, dazzling, heavily bedecked Christmas trees stood to attention between each window like an army of greenery guarding the room. More lights were draped from a centre point in the ceiling, creating a marquee-like effect.
The lighting was all blues and whites, giving the illusion that they were standing in a particularly gaudy ice cave. The same colours were repeated on the tree decorations, on the tables that were dotted around the room, on the huge snowflakes and baubles that hung from the ceiling. A small band in the corner played a waltz, the music soaring over the glamorous guests as they stood chatting in small groups throughout the room.
‘I hope the colour scheme isn’t reflected in the drinks,’ Flora whispered. ‘I haven’t drunk blue curaçao since university but I don’t think it agrees with me.’
‘It could be white drinks. What about advocaat?’
She shuddered. ‘Now you’re being mean. I thought we’d promised never to mention that New Year ever again.’
Luckily, before too many more embarrassing memories could be dredged up, a waitress stopped before them with a tray of kir royales, topped with raspberries. Flora took the glass Alex handed to her, thankful it was nothing more dangerous. ‘Happy Christmas,’ she said and raised her glass to him.
‘Happy Christmas, Flora.’ He toasted her back but the expression in his eyes was completely unreadable; his face wore the shuttered look she hated. It made him seem so far away. They only had tonight; she couldn’t say goodbye early. She wasn’t ready...
‘Dance with me?’
He looked up at that, surprised. ‘What? No one’s dancing. It’s still early.’
‘So? If I can ski a red run on my second day you can be the first person onto the dance floor.’
‘First couple,’ he corrected her. ‘There is no way on earth I would face that alone.’ But he didn’t demur any longer, holding his hand out to her and leading her to the centre of the room. There was a sudden hush as the other guests saw them step out but it was brief; the chatter starting up again as quickly as it had stopped.
* * *
Alex pulled her closer, one arm settling around her waist, the other clasping her hand. ‘If we must do an exhibition dance then I am, for the first time, thankful that Minerva insisted that the whole wedding party needed to learn to dance properly.’ It was a few years since the mandatory dance lessons but as he adjusted to the beat of the music it all began to come back. He could hear the teacher marking out the time as he had attempted to steer a mutinous Flora around the floor.
It was all so different now. She was pliant in his arms, letting him lead, her feet following his, her body at one with his—even if she did keep looking down at their feet.
‘I don’t remember you saying thank goodness at the time,’ she pointed out, pausing to count under her breath. ‘One two three, one two three. It’s a good job Minerva didn’t want us all to salsa though.’ She raised her eyes to his. They were luminous in the low light. ‘Can you imagine how we’d look trying to salsa to this? We’d have to just do that slightly awkward shuffle instead.’
He tightened his arm, enjoying the feel of her so close to
