Santa's Secret Page 2

  He heard a door open and shut, and knew it was probably Eva and Oscar, heading out into the village, perhaps to get something to eat. His stomach rumbled. Perhaps he should head out after them.

  His gaze drifted to the view again as he remembered the moment he’d turned to see her standing there, arms full of suitcases, eyes open wide as she stared at him. She’d worn a thick brown duffle coat and a scarlet scarf that had gone perfectly with her sleek, dark hair and complimented the rosy flush in her cheeks.

  Her pale skin had been free of makeup, but her lips had glistened with lip balm, no doubt applied against the freezing cold. Her natural beauty had been refreshing, a vivid contrast to his memory of Vanessa’s heavily made-up face, thick with foundation, black kohl around her eyes which glistened with eye shadow, and her dark red lips. All expertly applied of course, but he’d always felt reluctant to touch her, as if she made herself that way to be admired from afar. It had been difficult to grab a quick kiss when it meant he had to then check his appearance in the mirror to make sure he didn’t have lipstick over his face or shirt, and she had to spend another five minutes re-applying it.

  He wondered where she was, what she was doing. Last time she’d rung, she was in Paris, although she’d talked then about heading for Rome. Living it up on the money she’d wrung out of him during the divorce.

  His hand tightened on the stylus, and he gritted his teeth. Taking a deep breath, he released it slowly and forced himself to relax. He’d come here to get away from it all, convinced by his mother that a holiday would do him good. He thought of Eva. Maybe she was right.

  As if his mother had a psychic connection with him, his mobile rang, and he opened it up to see “Frieda” at the top. He smiled and pressed the button, leaning back in the chair.

  “Hey.”

  Her bright voice, speaking in Finnish, came through. “Hello, darling. Sorry to bother you—were you doing something exciting and naughty?”

  He laughed and tapped a few letters on the keyboard. “Only if you consider financial statements risqué.”

  “Darling…”

  “I know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But I need to get this finished by tonight so I can email it to the office.”

  “Sweetheart, I understand. But you’ve just got there. You should really be out having a look around.”

  He tapped on the keyboard. “I will.”

  “What’s Isabel doing?”

  That made him stop. He glanced across the room.

  His daughter sat on the floor, leaning on the coffee table in front of the TV, colouring a picture of Santa and watching cartoons. Her long blonde braids curled around her on the wooden surface, and she seemed engrossed in her picture.

  “She’s colouring,” he said.

  Frieda sighed.

  He leaned back and pinched the skin at the bridge of his nose. “I know, I know…”

  “Honey, you have to make an effort. It won’t happen of its own accord. That’s why I suggested you go away, to find some time to reconnect. She misses her father, Rudi. The poor girl’s been abandoned by both of her parents and it’s not fair.”

  “I haven’t abandoned her,” he said, irritated by the accusation, “I’ve been working.”

  “That’s an excuse, and you know it.”

  He picked at a fleck of an old label stuck to his laptop. How did mothers always make you feel as if you were a kid again no matter how old you were? “All right, stop nagging. I’ll try.”

  Frieda cleared her throat. “Anyway. Tell me about the place. What do you think of it?”

  He snorted. “It’s exactly what I’d thought it would be. Twee and sentimental.”

  “It’s supposed to be twee and sentimental—that’s the point. It’s supposed to remind you of your childhood.”

  “Is that why Dad built it? I thought it was to cream money out of the tourists who come here looking for some corny representation of the festive season.”

  “Rudi,” she said harshly.

  He said nothing. She didn’t like him being disrespectful to his father’s memory, even though he knew she felt the same way.

  He glanced out at the snow again, remembering how he’d been thinking about sledding and skiing. Real skiing, not the kind Vanessa liked that involved wearing designer gear and trying to get noticed on the slopes. “I suppose it does bring back some memories.”

  “You need to get into the spirit of things. You need to start thinking like a child again, Rudi.”

  He frowned. “That doesn’t come easily to me.”

  “I know—but what better place to try than Santa’s Secret Village?”

  “I haven’t come here to find Christmas magic. I’ve come here to see if the place is worth selling.”

  She sighed. “Are you going to meet Santa?”

  “I’m not going to sit on his knee, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  She laughed. “What will you say if he asks what you want for Christmas?”

  He hesitated, and an image of Eva flitted through his mind, of her kissing her son’s cheek, tender and sexy at the same time. He brushed it away. “That I get this financial report finished.”

  She sighed again. “Honestly. You’re so like your father.” She went quiet for a moment. “Rudi, I don’t want you to end up like him. Where work was the only thing that mattered.”

  “I know.” And he did know. He could remember his father closeting himself away for hours at a time, taking calls while they were sitting in a restaurant, failing to come to school events because more important things had come up. That was what his mother was trying to avoid for Isabel.

  He glanced at his daughter again. He knew they’d drifted apart. When Vanessa left, Isabel hadn’t said a word, and he’d wondered if she’d been relieved that the fighting had stopped, the constant arguing, Vanessa’s tears, his frustration. It was better to have a quiet, peaceful life, surely, even though it must hurt that her mother had just abandoned her?

  He hadn’t seen his own fixation with work as doing the same—in his mind, he needed to earn money to keep them all—Frieda, Vanessa, Isabel and himself, but he could see why his mother might say that.

  “I’ll try,” he said, his voice a little husky. He didn’t want to turn out like his father either.

  “Okay, darling.”

  He looked around the cabin. “It’s odd to think Dad built this place. Out of all his projects, a Christmas village seems such a weird thing for him to come up with.”

  “Yes. He never liked the festive season.”

  She didn’t have to tell Rudi. His memories of Christmas past were not great ones. His father had always been full of cynical comments about the commercialisation of the holiday and how foolish the public was to fall for it every year.

  They both fell quiet.

  “Don’t end up like him,” Frieda said again.

  Rudi pushed away his laptop. “I won’t. I’d better go now.”

  “Okay. Give Izzy my love.”

  “Will do.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you too.” He hung up.

  He sat there for a moment, feeling a bit flat. Frieda had sent him to Santa’s Secret Village in the hope that he would rediscover the childhood magic of Christmas he’d lost over the years. But somehow, he couldn’t imagine that happening. The complex of buildings, while clean and well run, were syrupy sweet, with the helpers dressed like elves in red and green, piped Christmas carols in the shops, Christmassy-themed food in the restaurants, and a fake sense of cheer fluttering around like the snowflakes. After all how could the staff possibly have the Christmas spirit for 365 days of the year?

  True, the cabins were nice, cosy and clean, built from natural pine and with beautiful views across the forest. The families he’d seen had appeared excited and enthusiastic, generally thrilled to be there. The staff he’d met so far had been pleasant and cheerful. He hadn’t told them he was actually their boss, come to check them out.

  He cli
pped the laptop lid shut. It didn’t really matter what Santa’s Secret Village was like; he had no desire to keep it, even though it had passed to him in his father’s will and made a tidy profit. He had no wish to be reminded of his youth, of the time when he had imagined his future glowing and happy, when he had thought love could last forever.

  He pushed himself up and walked across to where Isabel was colouring, and sat opposite her on the sofa. “How are you doing?” He spoke in English, as her tutors had suggested they converse in it whenever possible to encourage her to learn.

  “Fine, thank you.” The epitome of politeness. She didn’t look up but continued to colour Santa’s hat in with a scarlet pencil.

  “Did you know that Santa’s outfit was originally green? It only turned red when Santa appeared in an advert on TV.” He’d thought it was an interesting fact—another reason that Christmas had become commercialised and had lost its original magic.

  But Isabel said nothing, just continued to colour, listening to the cartoons.

  His stomach rumbled and he patted it. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  She looked up then. “A bit.”

  “Want to go out and get something to eat?”

  She put down the pencil. “Yes, please.”

  “Okay. Go and get your things, and we will head out.”

  Coated, booted and gloved, they left the warmth of the cabin and headed into the iciness of the winter afternoon. Isabel walked quietly beside him, seemingly shy of the children running around in front of Santa’s House, screaming and throwing snowballs.

  “Want to join in?” he asked as a couple tore in front of her, faces lit with laughter.

  She shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  He studied her, seeing her glance across at them, but her face remained carefully blank and he couldn’t tell whether she was envious of their excitement or not. If anything, she looked slightly confused, as if she couldn’t for the life of her understand what they had to be so happy about.

  Rudi did not for a moment think that Vanessa didn’t love her daughter. She rang her twice a week and spoke for half an hour, and whenever she visited, she hugged Isabel and took her off for a “girly” chat, as she called it. But she’d always seemed keen to encourage Isabel to grow up. Vanessa discouraged chaos, and toy boxes had to be brought out and tidied away one at a time, while the thought of pinning up sheets to make tents or doing anything like painting or modelling soft dough would have made her hyperventilate. On the other hand, she would talk for hours about clothes and makeup, taking Isabel shopping and buying her new things, and encouraging her to try eye shadows and lipsticks on the back of her hand. That was one area where he and Vanessa had vehemently disagreed.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He’d yelled the words the year before when he’d walked in to find Isabel sitting there like a painted doll, caked in makeup and wearing an inappropriate strappy dress and high heels.

  Vanessa had glared at him. “She has to learn some time.”

  “She’s six,” he’d said softly, an ache deep inside him at the thought that his daughter was going to turn out like her mother. And that was when he knew the marriage was finally over—because that thought did not fill him with the joy it should have.

  They crossed the road, and he paused as he decided which restaurant to go to. The fancier one with the haute cuisine menu? He could really do with a whiskey with his meal. Or the more family-orientated one where the waitresses dressed in red and green and wore antler ears?

  “What would you like to eat?” he asked his daughter.

  She looked up at the falling snow as she thought. She wasn’t one of those children who only ate fish fingers. Vanessa was very careful to liaise with Frieda to make sure her daughter’s diet was filled with fresh fruit and vegetables so she didn’t get fat.

  “Sausages,” Isabel concluded, surprising him.

  Oh well, he’d have to have the whiskey when he got back to the cabin. “Sausages it is then.” He held out his hand and she slipped her mitten into it, and he headed for the family restaurant.

  In the lobby, they handed their coats to the waitress and paused in the doorway. At nearly five o’clock, the place was packed, full of families, with lots of kids running off steam in the play area at the end.

  “I’m not sure we have a free table,” the waitress apologised. “We have a waiting area where you can sit and have a drink, and I’ll come and get you as soon as one becomes available.”

  He nodded, a little irritated and tempted to tell her he owned the place and see whether that made a difference as to whether a table became available. But at that moment, he glanced over to the window and saw Eva there, sitting with Oscar on a table with two spare chairs.

  He hesitated. It would be extremely forward to walk over there and ask to join her. She’d obviously come on holiday for some peace, to spend time with her son. There didn’t appear to be a man on the scene, but he had no idea why. Perhaps she was desperate to get away from men. What if she said no? That would be embarrassing.

  But then she said something to Oscar, who threw his arms around her neck and planted a big kiss on her cheek, and she laughed and hugged him. And something gave inside Rudi, like a rubber band stretched too far. He wanted a little of that family fun. He felt as if she were throwing handfuls of glitter into the air, and perhaps if he stood close enough to them, some of it might land on him and Isabel.

  He made up his mind.

  “It is okay,” he said to the waitress, taking Isabel’s hand in his again. “I have just seen a friend.” And he walked across the busy room to their table.

  Chapter Three

  Still laughing, Eva pulled Oscar’s arms from around her neck and tried to get him to sit down again. She tapped his plate. “More nuggets, Oscar.”

  “More nuggets!” He sang the words, banging his fork on the plate.

  She sighed. He was over-excited, but that wasn’t really surprising. The restaurant rang with the high-pitched squeal of hyperactive children. At least she wasn’t the only parent with a loud child. Nobody would be looking over and tutting because he wasn’t sitting still and eating with a knife and fork.

  Someone appeared at the table, and she looked up, expecting to see one of the waiters with her pasta. To her surprise the long legs belonged to the Viking from next door.

  “Hi.” He looked a little wary at interrupting her. “I am sorry to bother you. It is just that the restaurant is a bit busy, and I was wondering whether we would be able to share your table?” He glanced over his shoulder, and she followed his gaze to see all the other tables filled.

  She hesitated, and immediately he said, “It is okay; it is no problem at all. I was hoping for a glass of wine so I will go to the other restaurant.”

  His beautiful accent warmed her, and she smiled. “No, really, please join us. As long as you don’t mind the fact that Oscar’s a little hyper. It may mean that the occasional piece of food finds its way across the table to you.”

  Rudi laughed. He gestured to the chair next to the window and said to the girl at his side, “After you.” He glanced at Eva. “This is Isabel, my daughter. Izzy, this is Eva and this is Oscar.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Isabel said, pulling out the chair and sitting down.

  “Likewise,” Eva said, “and what lovely manners. I hope you can teach some to Oscar. Say hi, Oscar.”

  “Hi, Oscar.” He continued to bang his fork on his plate.

  Eva took it away, ignored his wail and grinned as Rudi sat opposite her. “Are you already regretting your decision?”

  He picked up the menu. “I am so hungry, I think I could sit on the floor and eat in the middle of Helsinki high street without getting distracted.”

  She laughed and leaned back to study him as he ran his gaze down the menu options. He still wore his fisherman’s rib sweater, although now she could see he had a white T-shirt under it for warmth. Her initial conclusion of him as a Viking came back to
her, and she could totally picture him in a leather tunic with sandals and one of those horned helmets on his head.

  He looked up then and caught her gaze.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I was just thinking how you look like a character from Asterix and the Vikings.”

  He grinned.

  She glanced at Isabel, trying to distract his gaze from her hot cheeks. “And you look like a Viking princess with those braids. I could never plait my hair as a girl. I always ended looking like a witch with my dark hair.”

  “My mother showed me how,” Isabel said in perfect English, twirling one of the braids with a finger as she looked at her own menu.

  Rudi glanced at her, gave a small, rueful smile and dropped his gaze back to the menu.

  So Isabel’s mother was still around, but not with them by the looks of it. Separated, then? Wishing she could ask, Eva made Oscar sit down again, picked up a chicken nugget and put it in his fingers.

  The waiter came up with her pasta. “Can I take your order?” he asked Rudi.

  “The pasta looks good,” he said, indicating Eva’s plate. “I will have that.” He glanced at Isabel. “Sausages, rakas?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He nodded at the waiter. “The sausages and fries, please.”

  “With salad or baked beans, sir?”

  “Salad,” Rudi said without consulting her. The waiter nodded, took their drinks order and left.

  “Wow,” Eva said to the girl. “Oscar won’t even look at a piece of lettuce. I’m impressed.”

  “Only rabbits eat green food,” Oscar stated.

  “Salad and vegetables are good for your skin,” Isabel pointed out. “They keep you healthy.”

  Oscar blew a raspberry, and Isabel looked faintly shocked.

  Eva smothered a smile. Rudi grinned. “He is quite a handful.”

  She looked fondly at her son. “He is. But I like him like that. I’d rather he have a bit of spirit.”

  Rudi nodded, but he didn’t say anything, and Eva had the impression he didn’t agree. Certainly, his daughter looked the epitome of a well-behaved child, sitting quietly, hands in her lap, watching Oscar with the kind of expression Eva imagined would be on Oscar’s face when he saw her eating salad.