WINTER WONDERLAND (28 page)

I try to distract myself with a visit to the Museum of Civilisation, aka the Museum of Human Adventure! It’s a modern, multi-storey experience, and I get little boost when I discover the First Nation exhibit, giving me the opportunity to learn more about Jacques’ heritage. (Now if they just had a floor dedicated to ice hockey, I’d be sorted.)

The resourcefulness of these people is amazing – they used every element of a tree or animal or bird to turn into clothing, snowshoes, drums, head-dresses, basket-ware, hunting and fishing equipment, baby papooses, artworks, etc, etc. Their craftsmanship is an inspiration.

I’m just leaning in for a closer look at the stitching on the birch-bark canoe when my phone bleeps a text. In my urgency to read it I send the phone flying into the display. There is no guard to hand but I know I’m being filmed so I try and mime to the camera what just happened to explain why I am now stepping into the scene. Oh no! A school group has just entered the room! Instead of grabbing my phone and hopping back over the barrier I choose instead to duck into the tepee.

My heart is pounding as I back to the furthest corner. Why did I do that? This wasn’t supposed to be a game of Hide & Seek. I’m stuck in here now! What if it was a message from Jacques? What if I’ve got a five-minute window to accept the invitation of a lifetime?

For what seems like an eternity I listen to the teacher lecturing at the children. And I can’t even learn anything because it’s all in French.

And then my phone starts to ring.

Which is when I recall waking up in the middle of the night and deciding to change my ringtone to ‘Ice Ice Baby’.

On the upside, it makes it easier to locate.

‘Sorry, sorry!’ I say as I crawl towards it on all fours, catching my foot on the barrier in my haste to leave the exhibit and then hobbling to the door. Now I’m
really
glad I can’t understand what the teachers are saying.

When I do finally get to look at the screen I discover the text is from Gilles.

I slump with disappointment.

He wants to check that I will be free to go to the studio tomorrow to review all the photographs from the trip. Six p.m.

I have no reason to say no. ‘I’ll be there.’

The call, however, was from Laurie. Always a pleasure to hear from her.

‘How’s it going there in snowglobe world?’ she trills when I call back.

I have so much to update her on, but something tells me to let her go first.

‘As I matter of fact I do have some news … ’ Her voice is charged with excitement.

‘Yes?’

She puffs out a breath then squeals. ‘
I’m moving to New York!
’

My stomach flops to the floor.

‘Krista?’

‘I’m here! I’m just in shock!’ I say as I move to the nearest bench. ‘Tell me everything!’

‘Well, you remember that personal shopper girl I met on my last trip? The one who is just as obsessed with London as I am with New York?’

‘Brianna?’

‘That’s right. Well. She lost her job but she has some savings, so she wants to come to London for as long as possible but she can’t get out of her apartment lease—’

‘So you’re going to take it over?’

‘We’re going to do a straight swap. I stay at her place, she stays at mine. Just for three months to see how it goes, but maybe by then I will have figured out how to get a visa … ’

‘Wow!’

‘And I can carry on doing my work for Va-Va-Vacation! – no real need for me to be there in person.’

Oh but there is, I think to myself.

‘And how cool will it be to say that we’ve got a New York office?’

‘Very cool,’ I reply. ‘But what are we going to do about Teatime?’

‘Well four p.m. in London is elevenses in New York … ’ She giggles. ‘I’m sure we can work something out.’

‘Right.’ And then I snap myself into yay-for-you mode. ‘This is amazing, Laurie, just what you wanted!’

‘Well, it’s a step in the right direction. Maybe I’ll actually meet someone this time and he’ll propose and all my problems will be solved!’

‘How soon are you going?’

‘Next week!’

‘Oh my god!’ I close my eyes.

‘I was thinking – I’m going to my folks for a couple of nights, but after that why don’t you come and stay with me until I go, so we can have max chat time.’

I smile in gratitude. ‘That would be wonderful.’

‘And of course you can visit me in New York any time you like.’

It hits me again – she’s really going.

‘W-whereabouts does she live?’ I try to ask the appropriate questions.

‘Little Italy!’ She whoops. ‘My favourite part of town, I’ll be able to walk to Bread!’

As much as I was longing for some company, I now feel I need to get off the phone so I can process this information, come to terms with it, and then go back to Laurie with some genuine well-wishing, rather than trying to drown out this voice in me that’s whimpering, ‘
Please don’t go!
’

‘Oh!’ Laurie exclaims. ‘That’s her on the other line now, gotta go!’

I stand there motionless for a good few minutes. I can’t even fathom Laurie not being there in the office. She is my rock and source of all hysterical laughter. It’s just going to be so drab without her. As wonderful as it is to go on all these trips, it’s so nice to have someone to come home to. Someone who, when you are with them, there is no other place you would rather be.

I force myself to walk over to the door but feel so daunted by the hike back to upper town I can’t quite bring myself to open it. Suddenly I have no energy.

But then I remember the funicular, just a few minutes from here …

As the metal cubicle grinds me up the hill, with all the strain on its mechanics and none on my knees, I wonder how it can be that one day your life can be filled with such purpose and the next you feel utterly adrift … How
do
you get back on track?

‘Oop!’ I am jolted, quite literally, by our arrival at the Château Frontenac.

Crazy that I have yet to go in when it really is the iconic centrepiece of the city.

We were actually due to dine here the evening I diverted Annique to Wendake, doing us out of lobster night at the buffet. Right now I’d settle for a chai latte – apparently there’s a Starbucks within these walls; it’s just a matter of locating it.

‘Hello you!’

A large, long-haired, pink-tongued dog greets me as I push through the polished brass doors from the main courtyard. He has no lead and seems to consider himself to be in charge of the lobby area – a grand affair with dark wood panelling warmed by glowing candelabra and gold-patterned rugs. I look around for his owner and find hotel employee Genevieve smiling at me.

‘This is Santol. He’s our dog concierge.’

‘Ohh!’ I smile back at her. ‘Is it okay to … ’ I go to kneel beside him.

‘Oh yes, he loves the attention!’

It feels so good to rummage around his wavy black fur and flip his floppy ears. Even more of a tonic than a chai!

‘What is he?’

‘Bernese Mountain Dog crossed with Labrador Retriever – so Labernese.’

‘Really? I haven’t heard that one before!’

‘He’s also a former guide dog.’

‘That’s so lovely!’ I run my hands over his pure white toes. ‘What a nice welcome to the hotel!’

‘He’s certainly a disarming presence,’ she agrees. ‘We’ve had businessmen in suits lying on the floor with him before now!’

At which point Santol rolls over, offering up his vast expanse of tummy. He makes me feel so good I nearly buy the soft toy version of him in the gift shop. Instead I purchase some healing paw balm – my thinking being that, if I ever do get to see Jacques again, I could make it a present to Sibérie, since she was my first dog encounter here in Quebec. Maybe that could be excuse enough to go there tomorrow – I just wanted to come and see the dogs one last time, have one last mush!

At least I still have the dog-sledding race to look forward to. Although it would be more fun if Jacques was racing. I wonder if there’s any possibility he is considering doing it now? Not that everything is suddenly fixed after last night but maybe his attitude has changed? He could race in Rémy’s honour now. And any prize money could go into a little fund for Rene.

There I go, meddling again. Planning out someone else’s life when I should be focussing on my own. Ordinarily I’m pulled forward with thoughts of my next trip. But now I think, ‘How can anywhere compare to how I feel here?’

I pause for a moment and watch an elderly woman making handmade Carnival sashes – the craftwork is authentic and the price reflects the hours of painstaking finger labour. I see a father purchasing a set for his entire family. There’s certainly some old money in this place – gotta love these grand dame hotels, they will endure.

Dropping down to the lower level, I nose around a shop with furs dyed in regal hues from scarlet to pansy purple to midnight blue, and then I locate Starbucks.

I’m perusing the hotel leaflet I picked up in Reception while waiting to place my order when it occurs to me, ‘Why have the very same chai latte that I can have in fifty-eight countries in the world, when I could be having a unique Winston Churchill martini in the Saint-Laurent Bar while sitting beside the fire?’

As the man himself once said: ‘I am easily satisfied with the very best.’

I sit there for nearly an hour, staring into the yellow flames, watching the logs crack and ashes crumble. It’s a comforting place to be and I focus on being pleased for Laurie. We can still Skype. She can carry me on her iPhone when she goes to her local café and we can chat away. I mustn’t be sad about this. I don’t want to spoil it for her.

‘Oh Laurie! This is so fabulous!’ I text her. ‘I’m so happy for you!’

With my second martini the distinction between fantasy and reality blurs further. I am no longer just a girl with an uncertain future, visiting this city for a few days – this is my world. It’s luxurious and cosy and steeped in history. When I’m done the barman directs me to the terrace restaurant to take a look at the collection of Fifties ski posters and a photograph of Grace Kelly when she was guest of honour at the Carnival in 1969. Her ballgown is a frillier, flouncier version of the gold extravaganza she wore in
To Catch A Thief
and, as I ascend the (highly curvaceous) marble staircase, I imagine myself to be skimming the steps with shimmering fabric.

Pausing halfway I wonder if I might do a little twirl while no one is looking, and that’s when a man in a long camel coat and dandy moustache comes clattering down the stairs like something from an old movie himself.

That aftershave … I inhale as he passes.

He’s already on the last step when I hear him say, ‘Not going to set the dogs on me this time?’

I spin around. The sly tone of voice is unmistakable, but everything else is unrecognisable – the cut and tint of his hair, the addition of a moustache, his now dark brown eyes.

‘H-how do you do that?’ I step towards him.

‘You think your Wolfman is the only person who can have different-coloured irises?’

‘But your chin, the dimple is gone … ’

‘It was never there in the first place.’ He grins. ‘I shaded it in – people focus on a detail, so that day they remember me as the light-haired man with the cleft chin. Today I am the dark-haired man with the moustache! I can go wherever I please.’

‘But why reveal yourself to me?’ I falter. Especially after the last scenario, I think to myself, with more than a twinge of guilt.

‘By the time you report me I’ll change again. I am not a man of limited resource.’

I find myself reaching for the handrail to steady myself. This is all a bit much.

And then I look back at him. ‘That day at the ferry, where did you go?’

‘Into the water.’

Before I can say, ‘I knew it! I knew I saw a flipper!’

He says, ‘No. I’m joking. I have a place down there at the port. I just went home.’

I can’t help but snort. ‘You really are audacious!’

He shrugs. ‘So where to now?’

My stomach growls in response.

‘Dinner.’ He nods with a smile. ‘Where?’

‘Well,’ I begin, already forgetting that I should be calling the police. ‘I wanted to check out the Voodoo Grill—’

‘Oh to be young and fashionable.’

‘I think my readers would like it.’

‘Ah yes, your Va-Va-Vacationers.’

Of course he knows already. Probably Googled me when he worked out my name from the hotel registration.

‘It’s a good choice, the food is surprisingly high quality for a place that plays music so loud. And there’s an Anglophile waitress with a regal demeanour that will take special care of you once she hears your accent.’

He really does know this city inside out.

‘Where I really want to go is Aux Anciens Canadiens,’ I venture. ‘But I suppose you’ll say it’s really touristy … ’

‘Do tourists go there?: yes. But I hear the Quebec meat pie is unmatched.’ And then he gives me a sideways look. ‘Of course, I’d recommend Restaurant L’Initiale, but now you can’t get a table for all the policeman eating the stuffed quail.’

I don’t mean to laugh out loud but I do. He does have a certain charm.