Chapter 40

Still steaming from my shower, my hair turbaned into a towel, I examine the two dresses I brought with
me. I’m not sure how formal the Threesome are with dinner, so I packed choices.

I hold them up to Ryan. “Which dress do you think I should wear? Christmas red with sparkly bits, or
classic ‘little black dress’?”

“Not the red,” says Ryan. “That satin will show every mark.”

“Why should it get marked? We're only having dinner.”

He sits on the edge of the bed, tugging off his boots and smiling away from me. “I’m going for my
shower.”

?

Mmmm…

Standing in front of the mirror, I switch on the hair-drier, brushing through my long locks, easing them to
lie as I want, slightly covering my left cheek.

Ryan comes up close behind me. Taking me by the shoulders, he presses lips to the cheek, then in the
mirror, his eyes meet mine. “You shouldn’t be so self-conscious about it. It barely shows. And in any
case, you are still a beautiful woman; the most beautiful I know.”

“I… I still prefer to cover it if I can,” I stutter. I angle my face to the mirror, tracing a fingertip down the
jagged red scar down the side of my face.

After my time in hospital, my months invalided, all my other injuries healed, but this…

An extra layer of foundation…



And some blusher…

Then no-one will see it…

*****

“Dinner is served!” James’ voice reverberates from the kitchen.

We head for the dining room. Out in the hall, Charlotte and Mitch descend the stairs, Mitch carrying
Cara.

Mitch looks amazing. In a dress of jade, her hair is set in an elaborately up-style and at her neck she
wears the silver and emerald necklace. The matching combs glint green against her copper-red hair.

Charlotte looks equally good. Although she still has much of her ‘pregnant shape’, the gown she wears
emphasises her height and her much-expanded bosom but drapes smoothly over her expanded
stomach.

Michael and Larry enter together, wearing their sweaters in a kind of protective fraternity, Rudolph side
by side with the penguin, each refusing to meet each other’s eyes. Charlotte and Mitch exchange
giggles as their men sit beside them.

Richard and Beth join us, she leaning on his arm, waddling a bit as he guides her to sit next to
Charlotte. But Beth too, for all her advanced pregnancy, looks spectacular, in a dress chosen to make
the best of her inflated stomach and bosom.

Michael aims a finger at Richard. “If you think you’re getting away with the suit and shirt, you’re
mistaken. If the rest of us have to dress like idiots, so do you.”

Mitch turns to him, her voice all innocence. “Idiots, Michael?”



He turns to her, bowing elaborately. “My apologies, Mitch. If the rest of us have to meet your high
sartorial standards, so does Richard.” He turns back to Beth’s elegantly dressed husband. “Go and
change.”

James enters carrying a platter of smoked salmon, bedded on a green salad and dressed with sliced
lemons.

Richard demurs, smirking…. “The meal’s arrived. If I take the time to change, the food will be cold.”

Michael takes on a quite untypical heartless tone. “Smoked salmon doesn’t go cold. Neither does
melon. We’ll wait.”

James, Rudolph staring out from his chest, sets down the platter. “I’ll be back in in a sec with the soup.
It’s just under the grill now.”

Hope lights up Richard’s face but Michael interrupts, “Just hold the soup for five minutes will you,
James. Richard wants to change into something more appropriate. We don’t want his starter to go
cold.”

James measures the billionaire’s perfectly cut, hand-stitched suit with his eye and his face stone-walls.
“Yes, quite right. We’ll wait for you, Richard.”

Next to me Ryan, in his silk shirt and tie, lets out a slow release of air.

“Just realising what a narrow escape you had?” I murmur.

He scratches his nose and sniffs. “Mmmph…”

With the sound of Richard clattering back down the stairs, James gives a satisfied chuckle and
vanishes from the dining room. Five minutes later, at the sound of down-coming steps, he returns with
a tureen, bubbling a crust of toasted cheese.



He sets it down, centre-table then takes his place, then glances up. “It suits you very well, Richard.”

Richard Harrumphs, his face almost as red as Santa’s.

Michael offers up a bottle. “Red or white, Kirstie?”

“Red for me, please.”

He moves around the table, pouring wine all round.

James serves the food. “Larry, French onion soup, melon or smoked salmon?”

Charlotte’s father shifts his gaze from Mitch…

He’s always watching her…

“Salmon for me,” he says, accepting the platter, radiating good humour as he serves himself a
generous helping, squeezing lemon juice over the fish with obvious relish.

Mitch, sitting beside him, looks down sidelong at his plate, her mouth twisting. “I don’t know how you
can stomach that stuff.”

James opens his mouth to protest but Larry, eyes crinkling, drawls, “Mitch is sensitive to anything of
this sort. She didn’t do well with Scandinavian food either.”

Ryan slices at his melon. “You’ve visited Scandinavia, Larry? Whereabouts?”

“Oh, most of it…” replies Larry… “… at one time or another. In fact…” His eye crosses the table to
Richard’s sweater, then he twists side-on to face Mitch. “Did I ever tell you about the Swedish Father
Christmases?”

Mitch sucks at her teeth, then props her chin on a fist. “No, I don’t think you did.”



Larry scoops up a sliver of salmon, chews and swallows, then sits back in his chair, punctuating his
words with his fork. “Well, you see, in Sweden, they have much the same idea as here about Santa
Claus. Over there, they call him Jultomten. Or just Tomten… Anyway, Tomten gives presents to all
the…” He makes air commas with paired fingers… “… good little boys and girls, but whereas Father
Christmas here comes in the night down the chimney and leaves the presents under the tree, in
Sweden, they do it differently…”

Charlotte is staring at her father as though she has never seen him before…

Wonder how often Santa ever visited her as a kid?

…

Or him?

Larry is still speaking… “There, you see, Tomten visits the house on Christmas Eve to meet the
children. So…” He stabs at another slice of salmon… “This is excellent, James...” He swallows the
salmon, washing it down with a gulp of wine.

“Where was I? Oh, yes. Tomten, with a sackful of gifts, knocks on the door and asks, ‘Are there any
good children here? Of course, all the kids say, ‘Yes’. So, then he’ll sit them on his knee…” Larry shifts
to a fake and slightly comic Swedish accent… “So, Inga… You have been a good little girl? Or…
Gunnar, so you have been a good little boy? Here is your present…”

He takes another mouthful of wine. “And of course, it would be rude not to offer Tomten hospitality, so
the parents will give him a slice of cake or stollen, and a glass of schnapps. And then he’ll go on his
way…”

“Sounds good so far…” says Mitch, her face deadpan.



“Yes, it does…” He grins and takes another swig of wine…

Is he setting out to get drunk? Or just trying to relax?

Or… actually, genuinely, relaxing?

“… The thing is, because Tomten actually visits the home and the children see him, traditionally a
family member will dress up to play the part. But… there are also what you might call professional
Father Christmases. The parents book them beforehand, tell them a bit about the kids and what they’ve
done that year, give them the presents to hand out and pay them a small fee…”

James sits back, chuckling as he cradles his glass in paired hands. “I’m beginning to see where this is
going…”

Larry nods a grin at him. “So, if Tomten has, say, twenty bookings on Christmas Eve, by the end of the
afternoon, he’s visited twenty houses, handed out twenty sets of gifts, eaten twenty slices of stollen
and…”

Mitch burst out laughing, throwing out a finger at him…” … and drunk twenty shots of schnapps!”

Larry raises a palm to the ceiling. “Correct! So, on Christmas Eve night, it’s not that uncommon to visit
the town centre in Sweden to find two dozen Father Christmases, complete with red outfit, beards and
boots, completely pissed, and having the biggest punch-up you’ve ever seen.”

We all burst out laughing. Mitch gets a fit of the giggles.

“So, have you ever been to Sweden, Mitch?” I ask.

She wipes tears from her eyes. “Sweden no. But Larry took me to Finland a lot of years ago.”

“Really? That sounds marvellous.”



She looks long at Larry. “It was marvellous, yes.” She speaks slowly. “One of the best weeks I’ve ever
had. That was at Christmas too.”

James reaches over the table, topping up her glass. “But you didn’t take to the local food?”

She rolls eyes. “Oh, some of it I liked. I remember there was a tiny little cafe. It only had a couple of
chairs and those were outside on the street. There must have been two feet of snow, but they did a hot
salmon soup. The temperature was way below zero, but the soup smelled amazing. Larry and I had
some together sitting out in the snow.”

Her eyes slide sidelong to the tall, fair-haired man next to her, and her fingers curl around his. “It was
wonderful.”

Charlotte is very still, watching her parents, all but mesmerised…

Mitch is still speaking. “…So, yes, the salmon soup was great. But the rest of it…” A shiver runs
through her.

Next to her, Larry is suppressing a smile. “In fact…” he says… “… If I am not much mistaken...” He
hesitates, glances at Charlotte, and then very obviously, closes his mouth, swallowing his words.

Mitch flushes scarlet, casting eyes to him, then down to her plate. Blinking, she sips at her wine. “Yes,”
she mumbles. It sounds like a confession. “How…?”

Larry’s eyes are soft and his mouth twitches as he looks between Charlotte and Mitch. “I worked it out.
Not at the time obviously…” His voice turns dry… “… I was missing certain crucial information then. It
was only much later that I figured what had happened.”

Charlotte, James and Michael exchange baffled expressions.

“Am I missing something?” says Michael.



“Mom, what are you both talking about?”

Charlotte looks to her father, but he shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not for me to
speak unless your mother is comfortable with it.”

Charlotte’s lips flatten and she gets that look she has when she’s not happy about something.
“Whatever it is, it sounds important.” Her words shift to a hiss. “You can’t just leave it like that.” In her
arms, Cara whimpers and fusses. Larry winces and looks away.

Wishing he’d not spoken?

Michael lays a hand on her shoulder. “Calm down, Babe. Sometimes people have private stuff between
them. You know that. And Cara’s picking up your vibes.”

“No, it’s alright.” Mitch is still blushing. “I don’t mind. It’s just a bit… er… Larry… You tell them.”

Larry looks to Michael. “Since it’s a day for embarrassing confessions…” Then he turns, aiming his
words at Charlotte. “Twenty-six years ago, I took your mother to Helsinki…”

Her eyes grow round. “Why did you choose Helsinki?”

He raises hands to heaven. “It was Christmas. She wanted snow…” Everyone chuckles.

He continues, “… I’ve travelled a lot in my life. It’s something I enjoy. Your mother always wanted to
travel too but hadn’t had the opportunity. So, I took her to Helsinki for Christmas. Everything was new
to her and at first, meals-wise, she stayed with what was familiar; porridge and fruit for breakfast. That
kind of thing. But after a few days of playing safe, she decided to get adventurous and, unwisely as it
turned out, to try the local food…”

James breaks in. “Gravlax and a hundred variations on the theme of pickled herring?”



Larry flashes brows. “Exactly. Anyhow, Mitch here ate quite a lot of it. Then, afterwards, was violently ill
and brought back the lot.”

Michael breaks in. “The technicolour yawn down the porcelain?”

“You’ve got it.” Larry pauses, as though waiting…

James raises eyes to the ceiling… “Ahhh…” Then he bursts out laughing. “Mitch, I’m sorry. I never liked
to ask.”

Richard too is rubbing at the bridge of his nose, his shoulders shaking with contained laughter.

Charlotte looks baffled, “Ask what?” She scowls, eyes flashing. “So, Mom had a bad stomach once,
twenty-odd years ago. So what?”

“Calm down, Charlotte,” snaps James. “Remember your manners.” Then as she ducks her head, he
chuckles. “Think it through. Your birthday is the end of October. When would you have been
conceived? Take your socks off if it helps you with the numbers.”

Charlotte blinks. “Mom? You threw up? And your pill went with it? So, for the next few weeks…” Her
mouth opens and closes, but no words emerge.

Mitch nods, looking sheepish. “I’d always been careful, but…”

“You mean… I was born because… you don’t like fish?”

“Raw fish. I’m fine with cooked fish.”

Richard collapses into gales of laughter, wagging his finger helplessly at her. “Oh, God, talk about the
best-laid-plans…”



James slaps palms down onto the worktop. “Right. Melon it is for Mitch. I suspect none of us is looking
for a repeat of that episode.”

Klempner rolls eyes. “I only made the connection myself when Jenny told me her birthday and I
realised she was mine…”

Ryan laughs into his wine. “As if there was any doubt.”

Larry swivels to him, the smile vanishing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Everyone falls quiet. Ryan looks around the table. “Surely I'm not the only one who sees it?”

Charlotte furrows brows. Everyone else exchanges baffled glances. Klempner, eyes showing white, lifts
his chin. Mitch is turning pale, and abruptly, I feel I would be safer swimming in a shark tank than
sharing a table with this man; the jovial dinner guest of only a few moments ago; Lawrence Klempner.

Ryan ploughs on. “That expression you’re wearing, Larry. Right now…” He jabs a finger at Larry’s
face… “When Charlotte’s annoyed, like she was a minute ago… That’s the expression she wears too.”

Ryan’s finger swings to her. “You might look like your mother, but you carry yourself like your father.
That wild expression you have when you're angry…” Charlotte’s eyes are slitting, her face turning wild
and feral…

“Yes…” says Ryan, apparently oblivious to the effect he’s having. “… That's the one. And that mad
expression you have when you look at James. Larry’s just the same when he looks at Mitch.” He gulps
at his wine. “Talk about, like father, like daughter.”

There is an awkward silence. Ryan looks around the table, blinks, then sets his glass down. “My
apologies. Perhaps I've had too much to drink. I shouldn't have spoken like that.”



Then Larry bursts into a beaming smile. “No. Thank you, Ryan, for ‘speaking like that’. You’re right. I’d
never seen it…”

And just like that, the tension dissolves.

Michael laughs. “… but as soon as you said it, it was blindingly obvious. You’re right, Ryan. Charlotte
does look like her father.”

Charlotte is very still, staring down at her plate, chewing her lower lip.

What’s wrong?

Upset that she takes after her father?

Or something else?

Michael takes her hand, raises to his lips. “Babe…”

… that mad look you wear when you look at James…

And he suffered jealousy over that…

He kisses her fingers. “You married me, Charlotte. And marriage is a statement of intent.” She raises
glassy eyes to his…

Cara starts squalling and all heads turn her way.

… and Charlotte breaks into a beaming smile. “So, when are we going to arrange a brother or sister for
her?”

“As soon as you’re ready, Babe. Just say the word.”



*****


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