A Swedish Christmas Fairy Tale Read online

  Sadly, the same couldn’t be said for Amber.

  5

  Early Morning Thoughts

  Amber held the takeaway coffee mug with one hand and rested her head in the other. She stared out of the huge windows as the sun came up over the airport. All at once, she felt like she’d been up for hours and as if it were still the middle of the night. It had taken her nearly an hour to get across London to Heathrow Airport for her—completely unnecessary—ninety-minute check-in.

  Considering how early her flight departed, all of that prep work to get to her flight had meant getting up at the crack of dawn. Now, despite all of the rushing around, she found herself bored and awaiting information on her departure gate.

  It seemed to always be the way with air travel: you were either hurrying every step of the way and barely making your flight or left with so much time you didn’t know what to do to fill it.

  Businessmen and women were strolling around the almost-empty departure lounge. Most had executive, wheeled hand luggage and looked like they practically lived in airports.

  Amber felt like she stuck out.

  Yes, she wore a suit and she had a professional leather satchel, but she didn’t have access to the business lounge, nor did she have a fancy MacBook to tap away on. In truth, Amber felt more comfortable on a Tube train than on a plane.

  Some people thought travelling for business was something to aim for, but Amber thought it was something to shy away from. Who wanted to be up before the sun and sitting around airports, wasting away hours that would have been better spent in bed?

  Some of her university friends were forever away from home, jet-setting around the globe for their high-powered jobs, but they rarely got to see anything. Every moment from landing to leaving was spent in company offices.

  Although her schoolmates said they had been to Beijing, they probably meant they had been to Beijing Capital International Airport and a faceless office in the city. Never having really had time to be a tourist.

  Amber loved to travel, but in her own time and to the beat of her own drum. She wanted to choose her own hotel and get up when she wanted, to see the things that interested her when it suited her.

  Travelling for work was the exact opposite. She’d never deliberately choose to leave Heathrow before eight in the morning, and the idea of travelling to and from Copenhagen, the nearest airport to Malmö, in a day was already making her depressed.

  Her flight home left Copenhagen at nine that evening as there were no flights between four in the afternoon and that time. Well, none with the cheap airline that Bronwyn approved of, anyway. That meant she’d be home well after midnight, which meant that she’d be exhausted the following day at work.

  So, while some people might have relished the idea of travelling for work, Amber dreaded it.

  The air travel was only one component. On top of all of that, she needed to meet with the reclusive Emilia Lund. Whom she knew nothing about.

  Well, she knew she didn’t have a telephone, which was beyond Amber’s realm of understanding. Who didn’t have a mobile phone in this day and age? Okay, so there was a chance that Amber was a little addicted to her device, but no one could deny that the gadget was practical.

  She’d thought ahead and considered that there might be a medical reason for Emilia to not want to use digital screens. She’d wondered if maybe she had some weird eye disease that meant radiation from the screen burned her retina.

  Unlikely.

  But the meeting was so important that Amber wasn’t about to take any chances.

  Rather than bring her iPad with all the meeting notes, mock-ups, marketing designs, and cover art like she usually would; she’d printed everything out on paper. Her satchel was heavier than it had ever been. It creaked under the weight of half a tree’s worth of printouts and example books she had brought along.

  She’d rather suffer back pain from carrying a heavy bag than mess up the entire meeting if it could be avoided.

  She sipped her coffee and glanced at her watch. There was still an hour to go before her gate was called. There had been no one at check-in, just a row of three desks all manned by extremely happy-looking employees who were clearly more used to being at work at ridiculous o’clock than Amber was.

  They’d all been wearing hideous Christmas jumpers in order to raise money for a children’s charity, which Amber gladly donated to. She’d quickly gotten through security and into the departure terminal and now she waited anxiously.

  She watched the sun coming up in the distance, illuminating the airport employees outside who were racing about their business on various trucks. The lights from the Christmas tree behind her, outside of the duty-free shop, twinkled in the reflection of the window.

  She looked at the warped mirror image, considering the timing of this important meeting. Bronwyn would have no problem firing someone just before Christmas.

  In fact, she’d probably enjoy it. It would mean that she could give her son his coveted job at the firm, which in turn meant she wouldn’t have to buy him a real present, and then Bronwyn could toast the holidays with the knowledge that her dynasty was being built and her position in the company was secured.

  Amber knew that if she failed with Emilia Lund, she’d be out. Of course, if she succeeded it wouldn’t be long before Bronwyn found another impossible project to hand her. Failure was coming, and so was the end of her employment at Walker Clay.

  Now it was just a question of when.

  She prayed that it wasn’t now. Looking for a job was never easy, but looking for a job just before Christmas was impossible. Businesses were in wind-down mode for most of December. No one was hiring. If she got fired before Christmas, the earliest she could possibly get an interview would be the middle of January, when everyone was back into the swing of work.

  She couldn’t afford to be out of work for that long. London was expensive, and Amber wasn’t the best at saving. In fact, she’d recently taken the lonely twenty pounds out of her savings account to top up her travel card because of all the Christmas parties she’d been attending with her friends.

  December was such a busy month for her. Most months were busy, but December was packed solid. She spent a lot of time socialising throughout the year, the curse of having big classes at school and then again at university, but December was the icing on the cake. She couldn’t remember the last evening she’d spent at home. She’d started to forget what her apartment looked like.

  But December wasn’t just busy, it was also expensive. It would, without the shadow of a doubt, be the absolute worst time to be fired.

  She lived month to month, and Walker Clay had cancelled Christmas bonuses months ago. There was a lot riding on the meeting with the mysterious Emilia Lund. Whether the woman knew it or not, Amber’s life was in her hands.

  6

  Business in the Bakery

  Emilia entered the bakery and swiftly closed the door behind her. The winter wind was strong and bitterly cold, but, luckily, the snow had held off. She pulled the woollen hat from her head and fluffed up her hair.

  She approached the counter, peering at the assortment of cakes lined up in the case. The assistant greeted her, but Emilia kept her attention focused on the cakes.

  Of course, she knew it was rude not to return the greeting. She just preferred to pretend she hadn’t heard it or that she was distracted by making a choice of what to purchase. Which wasn’t the case at all. She knew what she would be ordering. The same thing she always ordered. Coffee and a slice of almond cake.

  Why mess with perfection?

  She took a deep breath to gather her courage before looking up at the assistant, smiling, and placing her order. She handed over her money, and the assistant said she’d serve her at the table.

  It was one of the reasons Emilia liked the bakery. There were two in town, but this one brought your food and drink to the table, which meant no standing around making small talk while the assistant assembled your order.

>   Emilia looked around the small space and debated where to sit. She’d never arranged to meet someone in a bakery before. She usually chose to sit tucked away in a corner in case someone saw her and—heaven forbid—wanted to chat.

  But now she was meeting someone, she needed to be visible. A familiar spike of panic ran through her.

  Ever since a courier had arrived late the previous evening with a note in which Amber Tate said she looked forward to their meeting, Emilia had cursed her decision to offer up a time and location for their discussion. She’d been certain that Amber would decline.

  How wrong she’d been.

  She picked a table within sight of the front door but not close enough that the draft would bother her. She removed her scarf and gloves and shoved them, along with her hat, into her bag.

  She couldn’t believe her bad luck.

  She’d felt so smug when she had written to Amber, thinking for sure that her plan was utterly fool proof. After all, who would agree to travel to another country for a meeting in a couple of days? Amber Tate would, it seemed.

  Emilia wouldn’t even go across the bridge to Copenhagen to meet up with her best friend, so why would a complete stranger fly to another country to meet someone in a bakery?

  It was all Hugo’s fault, she decided.

  Well, maybe her own a little as well. But if Hugo hadn’t pushed her to socialise, then none of this would have happened. She’d not be shivering with a little cold and a lot of fear in a bakery, waiting for the arrival of someone she’d never met.

  She didn’t even know what Amber looked like. She glanced around the shop, just in case Amber had arrived early and she hadn’t seen her.

  I didn’t think this through. What if she’s here? How would I know? And if she’s not here, how will I know it’s her when she arrives?

  A mug of steaming coffee and a slice of cake arrived at her table, thankfully stopping her descent into further panic. She gratefully wrapped her cold hands around the mug. It wasn’t like her to feel the cold this much. She’d spent many winters walking outside without feeling so much as a chill. The sudden drop in her temperature could only be attributed to one thing: fear.

  She hated meeting new people. She wasn’t even that fond of meeting people she knew. Only Hugo had managed to get through her defences and become someone she was always happy to see. But then Hugo had been a part of her life since she was five years old. He was like the sibling she’d never had.

  And, like a sibling, he nagged her.

  Mostly to get out of the house more, which was ridiculous. She loved her house. She was happy when she was at home, alone. And what was so wrong with being happy? Being outside made her uncomfortable. Why should she be forced to do things that made her feel uncomfortable?

  The only reason she was in the bakery now was because of her conscience. She knew that Amber Tate was on her way to meet her, and she had no way to cancel the meeting at such late notice.

  Her plan to trick Amber had backfired spectacularly. She’d happily written to Amber, giving her as little notice as possible in the hope that she wouldn’t be able to make it. In return, Amber had returned her letter giving her as little notice as possible that she would indeed be attending.

  As much as she hated the idea, Emilia had to be at the meeting she had half-heartedly set up. The idea of asking someone to travel all that way and then just not turning up was unthinkable.

  And Hugo would have been unbearable if she had cancelled. In fact, there was a strong possibility that Hugo would still be unbearable. Ever since he had started working in Copenhagen, he had become increasingly adamant that Emilia needed more friends, needed to get out more, and needed to leave her comfort zone.

  Part of her, the stubborn part, wanted to do just that to prove to him that she could. That she didn’t need his help in doing so. Unfortunately, she was as fearful of the whole idea as she was stubborn, and the two parts of her personality warred over the idea.

  Her head whipped up as the shop door opened. A woman in her thirties, wearing a trouser suit, unsuitable shoes, and carrying a leather satchel, entered the bakery. She was clearly underdressed for the weather, and looked around the bakery in confusion.

  Emilia smiled to herself.

  So much for not being able to spot her.

  She took a deep breath and stood up. “Miss Tate?”

  Amber looked over and smiled. She walked towards the table, extending her hand. “Miss Lund, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Emilia politely shook her hand, distantly wondering when the last time was she’d shaken someone’s hand. Probably when she was a child playing with her grandfather, pretending she ran the local post office. It was an odd sensation, not unpleasant, though she had no idea how long to shake hands for. Was there a required number of ups and downs? Seconds?

  The question was answered for her when she felt Amber’s grip loosen. She did the same, assuming that she had performed the ridiculous gesture correctly.

  “Emilia, please,” she corrected.

  “In which case, please call me Amber.” Amber turned towards the bakery counter. “Can I get you something?”

  “No, I’m sorry, I started without you.” Emilia gestured to her coffee and cake. Heat grazed her cheeks. She should have waited, she realised.

  “Not a problem, it looks delicious. I’m sure I wouldn’t have waited either.” Amber placed her thin coat on the back of her seat and her satchel on the floor. “I’ll get something and be right back.”

  Amber watched her walk away and start speaking with the assistant at the counter. She seemed so confident. So corporate.

  Emilia rolled her eyes and focused her attention on her cake.

  She knew business made the world go around, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. Or be a part of it.

  A few minutes later, Amber returned and took a seat at the table.

  “So, Miss Lund—sorry, Emilia,” Amber began. “Firstly, thank you so much for agreeing to meet me. I imagine you’re very busy, and I’m grateful for you giving up your time, especially so close to Christmas. As I said in my original letter, I am one of the acquisition managers for Walker Clay Publishing. Walker Clay is a small but rapidly growing publishing house, we’re home to some of the best—”

  Emilia raised her hand, and Amber stopped her speech, raising an eyebrow in confusion as she did. Emilia actually felt a headache starting in her temples, such was her revulsion at any kind of corporate speak. It was one of the many reasons she had thrown her television away years ago. Too many people talking without anything actually being said.

  “No, no,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry, I don’t like all this formal talk. I prefer to get to know people, individuals. I don’t talk about business with anyone I don’t know on a more personal level.”

  It was almost the case. It was true in the sense that Emilia never discussed business at all.

  “Oh, I see.” Amber clearly didn’t see but was trying to be polite. Emilia could tell she’d completely baffled her.

  “Let’s just… talk,” Emilia suggested. She hoped Amber knew how, because she certainly didn’t. The very idea of just talking was the reason she had her hands clasped in her lap, so no one could see the shaking.

  “Talk… right.” Amber smiled. It was a terrified, hollow smile. Emilia was sure it reflected her own perfectly.

  A mug of coffee was delivered to the table, saving them from the awkward moment for a couple of seconds.

  “Thank you,” Amber said to the waitress.

  She sipped the coffee. “I… I was surprised. I read an article on the plane over here, it said that Sweden was one of the biggest coffee-drinking nations in the world. I thought it would have been America.”

  Emilia smiled. “Yes, we’re obsessed with coffee. Must be the long winters.”

  “Must be. I think Finland was the biggest consumer, then Norway and I think Iceland. But Sweden was definitely in the top ten.”

  Emilia was surprised at h
ow easily casual conversation came to Amber. She was equally surprised that the topic was one that actually interested her.

  “Where did Britain come?” Emilia asked.

  “We didn’t make the top twenty,” Amber said. “We have more branches of Starbucks than you, though. Per capita, that is.”

  It was small talk, but it was unexpectedly comfortable small talk. Amber had done the impossible and put Emilia at ease.

  Maybe this won’t be so terrible after all, she thought.

  7

  Getting to Know You

  Internally, Amber was frantically switching gears. She had been planning her introduction to the company, herself, and her plans for the Lund collection for the last twenty-four hours, but Emilia didn’t want to hear it. Apparently, she would only talk about business with someone she knew on a personal level. Whatever that meant.

  She’d been in so many acquisition meetings that she could probably chair one in her sleep, but she’d never been asked to stop during her opening statement and speak about herself personally.

  Of course, people wanted to work with people they liked, but that couldn’t always be the case. It was a fact of life that some people just didn’t get along. It was always a risk, but you got to know the people you worked with as you worked with them.

  But Emilia seemed to want a guarantee that they were compatible before they even spoke about anything to do with business, and Amber wasn’t in a position to be able to decline her.

  “So, you live in London?” Emilia was asking.

  “I do, in Islington,” Amber replied.

  Emilia looked at her blankly.

  “North London,” Amber clarified. “And my office is near to St Paul’s Cathedral.”

  Emilia’s eyes lit up. “Oh, how wonderful. You must enjoy walking there during your lunch break?”