The music was on max by the time she reappeared fifteen minutes later – loud, thumping dance tunes that were more redolent of Ibiza in August than Verbier in December.
‘Where’ve you been?’ Kitty asked her as she jived to David Guetta, heaving her very ample bosom up and down.
‘Sorry. I was talking to Jack.’ She smiled, taking in the parcels that had been put on to the coffee table, all in the same-sized boxes and wrapped in identical paper. Sam had been adamant that anonymity must be preserved, and Laura, for one, had been more than happy to stick by that rule. She didn’t want Sam to know that she was her Secret Santa.
‘Right,’ Kitty said, motioning at everyone to come over so she could read the names on them – written in capitals to disguise handwriting – and dole them out.
‘Okay, we’ll open in a clockwise direction,’ Sam ordered.
‘Not that you’re OCD or anything,’ David joked, earning himself a slap on the arm.
‘Isabella, you go first,’ she went on.
Laura looked to her left, watching Isabella gasp and pull out a tiny red mesh thong that she twirled on her fingers, one eye arched suggestively at Alex. Laura looked away, knowing Isabella was beginning the first tentative moves towards rapprochement and suspecting she’d probably hear them through the walls later.
‘Good God!’ Kitty exclaimed, shocked. ‘That would fit my daughter’s Barbie!’
David was next, pulling out a glow-in-the-dark cock-ring. ‘Uh . . . uh . . .’ he stammered, blushing beetroot as Sam grabbed it in hysterics, crying, ‘Oh no, it’s far too big!’
Orlando opened his with trepidation, but he needn’t have worried. Inside was a vintage collection of VHS fitness videos by Jane Fonda, Elle Macpherson and Cindy Crawford. He clutched them delightedly to his chest. ‘You guys . . .’ he beamed.
‘Kitty, your go,’ Alex said, sitting on the arm of the sofa.
Kitty took a deep breath.
‘You don’t have to inflate the box, Kits,’ Sam said, making Kitty instantly splutter and blow the air back out again.
She pulled out a big red cape with a distinctive ‘S’ logo on it. ‘Superman?’ she said, puzzled, putting it on over her dress.
‘Or Supermum,’ David suggested, giving away his identity and earning himself, this time, a big lipsticky kiss on the cheek.
‘Who’s next? Right, Rob, your go,’ Orlando said, picking up the MC duties.
Rob raised an eyebrow as he opened his, obviously worried that he too was going to find something that glowed in the dark. ‘A magnum of Moët? This did not cost less than five euros!’
‘But you’re such a generous host,’ Kitty blurted out before slapping her hand over her mouth and shooting a frightened look at Sam.
Rob laughed, leaning over and giving her a big hug. Kitty wrapped her arms around his neck tightly and patted his back fondly.
‘Ugh! You lot are bloody useless!’ Sam shouted. ‘That’s two of you who’ve messed up now! What’s the point of me putting all these rules in place if—’
‘Shut up and open your present, dear,’ David said calmly, eliciting a titter of giggles.
Sam rolled her eyes dramatically and started opening her box. ‘So long as it goes, “Glug.”’
Laura held herself dead still, scared to do anything at all that might give her away, such as breathing, blinking . . . Sam pulled out a battered copy of the book How to Win Friends and Influence People. Sam did not smile. ‘Who in this room thinks I can’t be charming?’ she demanded in an ominously quiet voice. ‘I am perfectly charming. Totally. Never a problem making friends. Never.’
‘I think it’s supposed to be ironic,’ David said in a placating tone.
‘I think it could well be meant to be instructive, actually,’ Alex chipped in.
‘Was it you?’ Sam gasped, glaring at him, but Alex just held his hands up. Laura had a feeling he’d bought the red thong.
‘You’re the one insisting on this being a classified exercise, darling,’ David riposted with infuriating calm.
‘Alex, your turn,’ Isabella said, smiling sweetly. She was definitely on the path to forgiveness – whatever it was she had to forgive.
Alex’s face fell as he pulled out a silver-plated golf tee. ‘Oh! It’s, er . . . it’s very . . . Wanna swap, David?’
‘Absolutely!’ David cried, almost throwing the luminous aberration at him. ‘What a result!’
‘Indeed,’ Alex grinned.
‘See? I wasn’t lying,’ Sam drawled. ‘He knew it wouldn’t fit eith—’ But before she could finish, David had walked over to her and pulled her back by the hair, silencing her with a kiss that made everyone fall silent. Even Alex, who was getting ready to strut around like Cock o’ the North. Maybe he and Isabella didn’t have the monopoly on passion after all.
‘Who’s . . . who’s left?’ Kitty asked, fanning herself with the edge of her cape, no doubt shocked to have glimpsed that side of David. Everyone looked around, counting heads.
‘Oh, Laura,’ Orlando said.
Hesitantly, Laura opened hers, hoping to God her Santa hadn’t found the same shop as David’s and bought tassels or something. A hush descended as she peered in.
An envelope was lying inside. She opened it. What could it be? A book token? An iTunes voucher?
‘FWQ one-event licence,’ she read out, her eyes instantly meeting Rob’s. He was the only one here who knew. And Mark had told him at lunchtime. There’d been plenty of opportunity for him to buy it for tonight. Plus it cost bang on five euros.
‘What’s that?’ Kitty asked, baffled.
‘Freeride World Qualifier,’ Laura sighed. Now they would all know. ‘It’s a joke.’
‘Is it?’ Rob challenged. ‘Or maybe it’s a dare.’
Laura’s eyes flashed at his words.
‘I still don’t get it,’ Kitty whispered to Orlando.
‘Freeriding is extreme off-piste skiing,’ Laura explained. ‘You basically walk up a mountain and push yourself off. There’s a start gate at the top and a finish gate at the bottom. You make up the bit in between yourself.’
‘Oh well, I’ll join you tomorrow morning, then,’ Sam muttered sarcastically.
‘The closing tournament’s in Verbier on the twenty-eighth of March,’ Rob said provocatively. ‘It’ll go to France and Russia before coming here for the finals.’
‘I don’t know why we bothered making this secret!’ Sam spluttered crossly. ‘I mean, the lot of you are useless.’
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like it?’ Laura said, holding the licence out to Rob and ignoring Sam completely.
‘I’m not good enough. Besides, it’s got your name on it,’ he shrugged. Laura looked at it. Sure enough, it had.
She pocketed it silently, wanting the subject dropped. Any second now the others were all going to start asking about the full extent of her skiing experience. Extreme off-piste, Laura? She could feel Rob was watching her and was itching to tell her story for her.
‘Is it my turn?’ Cat asked, and all eyes swivelled back to her, their default resting place.
She opened her box delicately. ‘Oh! I haven’t seen one of these for years.’ She pulled out an old second-hand Polaroid camera. ‘Who bought me this?’
‘No! Don’t say a fucking word!’ Sam hollered, pointing at them all accusingly. ‘Any of you.’
Everyone shook their heads. They wouldn’t dare.
‘Come on, let’s dance,’ Orlando said, putting down his DVDs and shuffling through the Spotify playlist to Pixie Lott. ‘I want all you girls in a line. I am going to show you some moves to follow.’
‘This is a party, not a Zumba class, Orly,’ Cat scolded lightly, but Orlando just picked her up and spun her round, causing her to flash a glimpse of champagne La Perla.
‘You girls shall be my backing dancers,’ he said.
‘Just a sec, Orlando,’ Rob interrupted, taking Laura by the elbow and leading her away from the line. ‘I wanted to run something by you. While you were upstairs I booked the helicopter for two hours tomorrow morning. Seven o’clock. I want to do the north face of Petit Combin. I’ve never done it before. It’s rocky in parts and pretty dangerous.’ He looked at her intently. ‘I want you to come with me. No one else has the experience.’
‘You’re mad!’ she exclaimed punchily.
‘Probably.’
‘I’m here to work, Rob. You have flown me out here to interview your friends, not—’
‘Yes, but that was before I knew you can ski like a ninja.’
‘Do they ski?’ she asked, puzzled.
Rob burst out laughing, a sudden unexpected sound that made her shiver and she felt an urge to brush her palm over his stubbly cheeks. She knew she shouldn’t have done that party trick and necked that beer. ‘No idea!’ he grinned.
‘What makes you think I want to spend my Sunday morning bombing down a treacherous cliff where I could be killed by an avalanche or fall off a rock face at any—?’ But before she’d even finished the sentence, the gleam in her eyes matched his.
He grinned at her devilishly. ‘I know. It sounds good, doesn’t it?’