Twelve Days of Krista

One Do They Know it’s Christmas? Want this book for free? Sign up for my newsletter to get all twelve episodes of TWELVE DAYS OF KRISTA delivered straight to your inbox! 10:47 a.m. 25 December San Francisco Bugger me. The words push into Hugh’s head when he sees his girlfriend’s name flashing in angry block letters on the Jaguar’s incoming call display screen: REBECCA PELTON…REBECCA PELTON… It is almost 7 o’clock in the evening in London which means Christmas dinner—the one during which he had planned to propose to his girlfriend of two years—is long over. He knows nothing good will come of this conversation with Rebecca. Nonetheless, he presses the screen’s green phone icon and adopting his most calm and sympathetic tone says, “Dinner didn’t go well, I take it?” “It was horrid, actually,” Rebecca answers, her tone cool and understated yet still somehow dripping with tension. “My parents, grandparents, aunts, cousins, our friends—in fact, every person you insisted I invite to this dinner—are now wondering why I made such a fuss.” For the record, he’d suggested a small gathering with his father, her parents, and their grandparents. And he had only bothered to share his marriage proposal plans with Rebecca as a courtesy. Because she did not do surprises. If not for that, Hugh would have kept the whole thing under wraps until the big reveal. In the end, it had been Rebecca’s idea to take his original vision of a cozy, intimate family dinner and turn it into a full-blown Christmas extravaganza-s***h-cocktail party. But Hugh wisely decides to keep these thoughts to himself and instead opts for an apologetic tone with his hopefully still soon-to-be fiancée. “I’m terribly sorry, darling. Really I am.” Rebecca continues on as if he hasn’t spoken, “As Papa reminded me several times this evening, he was a business executive for nearly thirty years and not once did he miss Christmas dinner with his family.” Hugh rolls his eyes. Stanley Pelton became little more than a corporate figurehead after British Coal bought the Pelton Pit in the late nineties. Only a few years later, the mine was officially shut down. In Hugh’s opinion, it couldn’t have been that difficult for Pelton to make it home for holiday dinners considering he had no real business to attend to aside from living off the profits from the sale of his family’s private mine. But unfortunately for both him and Rebecca, Hugh’s father, Charles Edgeworth, is nothing like Stanley Pelton. Even when his fellow metal barons began selling their centuries-old companies to American and Middle Eastern outfits, Charles insisted on holding onto Edgeworth Metals. And to this very day, Charles has kept his vow to never sell his legacy to “those upstarts” even as it becomes harder to compete in an increasingly global market. In fact, due to the fierce competition at home and abroad, Edgeworth Metals is in desperate need of overseas contracts to keep the company afloat. To that end, Hugh and his father arrived in San Francisco a few days ago to pitch their aluminum manufacturing services to Boris and Alexei Rustanov, the director and founder of Rustanov Enterprises. The brothers are researching partner companies who can help them manufacture a massive bauxite deposit from their Siberian mines. Even though Edgeworth Metals is the smallest outfit on the Rustanov’s shortlist, Hugh campaigned ferociously for the contract. As Hugh explained to the two siblings in fluent Russian (thanks to a past Russian nanny and a schoolyear abroad in Moscow), Edgeworth Metals might not be the biggest European metals company, but it would certainly invest the most time and energy into the success of the project. And he doubts the Rustanovs will find another company that will be as responsive to their needs. The brothers were impressed by Hugh’s pitch. But Charles wasn’t content to let his son bask in the glow of a job well done. When Boris Rustanov mentioned his plans to fly his mother-in-law to London on Christmas for a surprise tour of the city’s great libraries, Charles promptly volunteered Hugh as her escort. This despite knowing full well about Hugh’s Christmas plans with Rebecca. Hugh isn’t all that surprised, actually. Charles Edgeworth—in another contrast to Stanley Pelton—habitually skips Christmas and most other holidays in favor of his work. Hugh is certain his father would happily sacrifice his only son if it meant securing a billion-dollar deal. In his father’s opinion, Hugh should be eager to prove himself a worthy successor to Charles as soon-to-be president of Edgeworth Metals. And anything to do with the well-being of the company takes precedence over everything…even his son’s engagement. Thankfully, Hugh is sure the taciturn Boris Rustanov would never have agreed to his father’s offer if he didn’t intend to grant Edgeworth Metals the contract. A contract that will mean job security for thousands of people, including Hugh who is due to take over as company president upon his return home. In fact, as he’d pointed out to Rebecca several times when he rang and said he wouldn’t be able to make Christmas dinner, after all, this deal could very well assure both the future of his career and that of Edgeworth Metals for years to come. However, Rebecca wasn’t nearly as thrilled about the opportunity as his father. “I have no idea what to tell Mummy and Papa,” she currently complains on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. Only years of good breeding keeps her tone from sliding into a full-blown whine. “Now instead of celebrating the news of our engagement, they’re wondering where you’ve gone off to! I don’t think they believed me when I told them an important business matter came up. In fact, I overheard one of my cousins speculate that you’d left me for an American.” “I’d never leave you for an American,” he assures her. “And we’ll show those cousins of yours when we make our big announcement on Boxing Day.” To further mollify Rebecca, Hugh adds, “If you like, I could have Cresswell put together a press release after we’ve made things official. And anyone who doubts my commitment to you will see how very wrong they are.” “That would be helpful,” Rebecca reluctantly admits. “Especially if Mrs. Cresswell can include that shot of us at Kate Middleton’s charity gala last summer. But…” the almost-but-not-quite petulant tone returns to her voice, “I fail to see how escorting an elderly woman to London will make or break your business deal! Mummy and Papa are frightfully put out and I’m beginning to wonder if I made a mistake agreeing to wait until Christmas for your proposal. If you’d left me with the ring I’d at least have something to show my family…” “I’m sorry, darling,” Hugh repeats, thinking of the heirloom wedding ring he’d taken out of the family vault before this trip in anticipation of proposing to Rebecca upon his return. But then his father stepped in and effectively destroyed any chance of Hugh returning home in time for his planned engagement. “I promise to make it up to you when I’m back.” “I hope so. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life!” Then you’ve led a charmed life, haven’t you? Hugh thinks. But he opts to keep his thoughts to himself. Rebecca may have an inflated sense of entitlement, but she doesn’t deserve to be stood up on her engagement day. The car’s navigation dings to let him know his destination is ahead on the right. Hugh pulls up to a low stone curb outside the Pacific Heights address provided by Boris Rustanov’s assistant. Unlike the homes he’s seen in other San Francisco neighborhoods, this Georgian-style mansion is neither narrow nor pressed right up against its neighbors. Unusually wide and tall, the stately brick house dwarfs the two houses on either side with plenty of space left in-between. In short, it is a house fit for a Russian billionaire living in San Francisco. Maybe his father was right to volunteer him for this assignment. After all, what other special favors could they possibly have done for a man who can easily afford a home such as this in one of the most expensive cities in the world? “Hugh? Hugh! Are you still there?” Hugh quickly shifts his attention back to the Jaguar’s display screen...and Rebecca. “I am sorry, darling. The signal cut out. Anyway, I promise I’ll be in London by the time you wake up tomorrow. And if all goes to plan, this minor setback will be well worth it. You have my word.” “I certainly hope so,” Rebecca answers. But he notices she sounds less cross than before as she ends the call with, “I’ll see you tomorrow, darling. Kiss, kiss.” “Kiss, kiss,” he replies before ringing off. It is now 10:59 a.m., exactly one minute before he’s due to collect Boris’s mother-in-law. With a heavy sigh, he cuts off the motor. Tap! Tap! Tap! Hugh starts and jerks his head toward the side passenger window A tall, owlish woman with skin the color of coffee and a neat little salt-and-pepper afro is peering in at him. “Hello, dear Hugh!” she calls. This must be the mother-in-law, Marian Thompson. He recognizes her from the notes his assistant sent him last night. Hugh quickly exits the vehicle and walks around the car to greet her. A pair of reading glasses hang loosely around her neck, and she is wearing a flowy red outfit that is so pleated and diaphanous he isn’t sure if it’s a dress or some type of festive jumpsuit. In any case, Marian looks exactly as one would expect an eccentric, book-obsessed elderly woman to look. Aside from the large bowl of popcorn tucked under one arm. “Hugh, you’re so handsome!” Marian exclaims as he closes the distance between them. She turns to the empty space on her right and says, “Why on earth didn’t you tell me he’d be so good looking?!” Hugh stops for a moment because unless he’s mistaken, Marian appears to be discussing him with…thin air. Eventually concluding he must be missing something, Hugh inclines his head in a small bow and sticks out a hand. “Hello, Ms. Thompson. I’m Hugh Edgeworth. How do you do?” “Lord have mercy! Hear that accent! And look at all that dark wavy hair…and the suit!” Marian continues as if Hugh’s greeting has only made her more exasperated with the nonexistent entity she appears to be addressing. “It’s like 50 Shades of Grey meets a Jane Austen novel! And you know how much I adore them Jane Austen novels.” Despite the educated undertones of her speech, Marian Thompson has a deep southern accent that makes her words sound even more emphatic than they already are. Marian pauses for a moment and appears to listen before sucking her teeth. “As my daughters would say—whatever!” She turns back to face Hugh as if dismissing her invisible companion. “It is very nice to meet you, my dear. I know your story is gonna be so dang good!” Hugh is uncertain how to respond, so as any well-trained Brit confronted with an awkward situation would, he pretends everything is perfectly normal. Studiously ignoring the bowl of popcorn and Marian’s odd behavior, Hugh reaches for the suitcase at her feet. “You needn’t have bothered with your luggage. I would have been happy to bring it down for you.” “Oh, I know you would, dear, but the spirits told me you’d arrived so I took it upon myself to come down on my own. But you were so busy talking to that fancy girlfriend of yours you didn’t see me come down the steps.” Hugh is surprised but makes a careful show of keeping his expression neutral. Anyone could have easily discovered information about his relationship with Rebecca via a quick Google search and a glance at the many photos of them floating around the internet. He assumes Marian has done her homework, no doubt feeling as curious about him as he was about her. Though he’s at a complete loss as to what she means by “spirits.” Maybe it’s some sort of regional slang? In any case… “Ms. Thompson, allow me to assist you,” he says, smoothly opening the rental car’s boot and placing her small suitcase inside.