‘Thanks for inviting me. Actually, the snow wasn’t too bad on the slopes today although on Boxing Day I think I’m going to Les Diablerets if anyone wants to come?’
‘I will,’ said Ruby, putting her hand in the air. ‘I want to go skiing with Emma.’
Emma laughed. She didn’t see Ruby a great deal; only in the school holidays when she stayed with Julia, but had enjoyed getting to know the young teenager who was fun, feisty and clever.
Standing next to the fireplace in skinny jeans, a white T-shirt and a red fox fur gilet, Cassandra viewed her daughter narrowly.
‘You are not going to Les Diablerets with Emma. She’s bound to go off-piste and leave you.’
‘Emma’s always been a wonderful skier, haven’t you?’ said Roger, handing her a glass of claret. ‘Did you keep it up when you went to America? Jackson Hole has some decent skiing, I hear.’
‘The Aman resort out there is wonderful,’ piped up Rebecca.
‘I sometimes got up to Maine,’ said Emma, ‘but to be honest, Gstaad was probably closer to Boston than Jackson Hole.’
Emma was relieved that the atmosphere was not as tense as she’d anticipated. Still, such a change in Roger’s attitude towards her couldn’t simply be festive spirit, could it? She mused, eyeing him carefully.
The chalet girls were serving the food in big earthenware pots in the middle of the table, so Roger clinked his ring against his glass.
‘Before we start the meal I’d like to give a little toast to Saul, who’s made this all possible tonight and I’m sure is up there right now delighted that we’re all here together to enjoy it.’
‘Hear, hear!’ cried Tom, who seemed to be holding up his part of his pact with Emma by hitting the advocaat.
They all settled down around the table. Roger made a point of holding Emma’s chair for her and then he sat down next to her.
‘So I hear things are going well in your department,’ said Emma.
Roger nodded enthusiastically, as he glugged wine into both their glasses.
‘The wife of this very rich Eastern European came in a few days ago, didn’t she Roger?’ said Rebecca flicking a sheath of hair over her shoulder. ‘She ordered a 50-inch crocodile bag with real eagle feathers. It’s going to cost her £120,000 and apparently she didn’t even blink. Isn’t fashion crazy sometimes?’
‘That’s not fashion, that’s money laundering,’ said Cassandra cynically.
‘All I could think of was: where are we going to get a croc big enough for a 50-incher?’ said Roger, shaking his head.
As the meal progressed, Emma could not help but think that anyone listening to the laughter and banter around the table would believe they were watching a happy close-knit family sharing a warm Christmas together, rather than a collection of warring factions jostling for position inside a business balancing on a knife-edge.
When finally there was a lull in conversation, Roger put down his glass as if he was preparing to say something important.
‘Now we’re all here,’ he said, raising his voice to include everyone, ‘and in such convivial surroundings, I think it’s time I brought something up.’
‘Roger,’ said Julia. ‘It’s Christmas Eve.’
He shook his head and wiped his mouth with a napkin.
‘It’s good news, Julia. Or at least I think it is.’
Emma put down her fork and looked at Roger, suddenly feeling in her gut that she wasn’t going to like what he was going to say.
‘I was having dinner with Victor Chen a couple of weeks ago and, well, he’s expressed serious interest in Milford.’
‘Who’s Victor Chen?’ asked Tom, refilling his glass.
‘He owns VCT, the luxury goods company,’ said Cassandra with authority. ‘I use the word “luxury” loosely because half of his company’s products are now made in China.’
‘I think that’s rather uncharitable, Cassandra,’ said Roger. ‘I believe you could say the same about many high-fashion brands too. Just because something is made in the Far East doesn’t meant to say that the quality is inferior.’
‘That depends on your definition of “quality”, Roger,’ said Cassandra icily. ‘If Milford moves production to Taiwan, you’re in danger of destroying the brand altogether.’