Under The Mistletoe

Opportunity, her father had said. More like banishment, Hadley thought, as she swung into a curve on the narrow road that threaded through the White Mountains of New Hampshire. From vice president of one of the most high profile divisions at Stone to triage specialist for an antiquated hotel out in the sticks with the squirrels and chipmunks. Forget the flights to Zurich, Cape Town and BuenosAires. Now it was Montpelier, Vermont, which was still nearly an hour and a half from the hotel. No direct flights there, of course, which had meant cooling her heels in Boston while she’d waited for a connection on some crop duster.

After all, demoted V.P.s didn’t rate the corporate jet.

Her cell phone rang and she answered it absently. “Hello?”

“Good morning, sweetheart,” said a voice filled with perfume and gardenias and air kisses.

“Hello, Mother.”

“Can you stop by the house before you leave so we can talk about the holidays?”

Hadley resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Too late. I’m already here.”

“The wilds of Maine?”

“New Hampshire.”

“Ah. And how is New Hampshire?”

“Cold,” she answered. “Lots of trees and snow.”

“Sounds wonderfully rustic. Your father seems to think you’ll be gone for a while. At least through the holidays.”

Nice that he had such faith in her. “We’ll see how it goes. I should be able to take a day or two over Christmas, anyway.”

“Actually, that was why I called.” Irene hesitated. “You see, we’re going to Gstaad over the holidays. The twins are mad for the idea.”

Eight hours of flying each way, not counting time spent on the ground. “Sounds great,” Hadley said slowly, “but I don’t think I can take that much time off right now. Any chance of going after Christmas?”

“Well, the twins really want to be there for the holiday. A bunch of their friends are planning a big party and they don’t want to miss it.” Hadley could imagine the spark in her mother’s eyes on the other end of the phone. “And next year the girls will be in their debutante season, so we can’t possibly go then. This is really our only chance.”

Debutante season? “Sure, the debutante season,” Hadley said, biting back a sigh. “No problem.”

“Oh, and if you’re trying to think of something to get them, they’ve been absolutely crazed for those new Louis Vuitton bags, the ones with the cherries.”

Hadley looked at the pine covered mountains around her. “I’ll see what I can come up with.”

“Wonderful. Anyway, I should let you go—I know you’re busy. I’ll call you before we leave.”

“All right. Love you, Mom.”

“Love you, too, dear.”

And the line went silent, leaving Hadley with another unsettling reminder that when it came to the Stone girls, there were her mother’s twins and her father’s daughter. They shared the same wheat-colored hair and gray eyes, the same delicate features that Hadley often thought put her at a disadvantage in business. They’d grown up in the same household.

And yet not. Robert had taken command of Hadley’s life early. Perhaps it was only human nature that when Irene Stone finally gave birth to the twins, she’d made them hers. It became more apparent each time Hadley saw them that her mother and the twins inhabited an entirely different world than the one she lived in. Theirs revolved around shopping and hairstyles and parties, all the things Hadley had never had time for. All the things her mother loved.

And every time she talked with her mother, that world seemed farther and farther away.

Enough! It wasn’t a crisis. They had plans for Christmas and she was a grown woman with a job to get done.

Checking her directions, she turned onto the highway that led to the hotel—if you could call the pockmarked asphalt that threaded through even denser forest a highway.

She could tell the first problem with the Hotel Mount Jefferson sight unseen—location. Skiers and hikers, the people most likely to go to the mountains for recreation, were not the kinds of people to pay a bundle for a glorified bed-and-breakfast. They were far more likely to camp out or, if they had the kind of money that the hotel hoped to attract, choose the stylish condos she’d passed a couple of miles back. How, then, was she supposed to meet her father’s astronomical expectations?

Hadley’s hands tightened on the wheel. Instead of running a division with seven locations, three business units and a head count of more than two thousand, she was now responsible for turning around a superannuated hotel with a few hundred employees, most of whom were probably missing teeth.

Evaluate, set a strategy and implement it, her father had directed her. Double the profit margin within six months, quadruple it within twelve.

If she had any sense, she’d tell him to go jump in a lake. After all, she had choices. She could update her résumé and shop it around. But who out there would hire her without worrying she was a mole for Stone Enterprises? And Robert Stone was a jealous god. When you left his world, he made sure the departure was permanent—home would be home to her no longer. Did she want that? Could she give that up?

Hadley sighed. She didn’t want to be in this car, on this road, heading for oblivion. But she didn’t really have a choice, not when she thought about it. No, her only real option was to do the job, give Robert what he wanted. So she kept driving to the Hotel Mount Jefferson, a place in all likelihood few people other than the misbegotten souls who worked there cared about, she was sure.

Misbegotten souls who were about to get a big surprise.

“You’re kidding.” Gabriel Trask stared at Mona Landry, his head of housekeeping. “No water in the entire laundry room?”

The stout woman glowered. “Burst pipe. Apparently laundry wasn’t a priority when they redid the plumbing last spring.”

“Burke?” Gabe turned to his head of facilities.

He spread his hands. “We only have so many months to work with. Guests come first. I was planning to run new pipe out to the facilities building this spring.”

“And what are the guests going to say when they don’t have any clean sheets or towels?” Mona asked tartly.

“Mona.” Gabe raised his hand. “We’ve got a problem to address. Let’s fix it. Burke, have you isolated the break?”

“I’ve dug a couple of sample holes. As near as I can tell, the pipe out to the laundry plant is split. Frost heaves.”

“As near as you can tell?”

“We’re still trying to dig down to it.”

Gabe frowned. “It shouldn’t be that hard.”

“Frozen ground. Winter staffing levels. Plus it’s ten degrees out there and dropping. We can only keep the guys outside for short stretches.”

Gabe nodded. If he cursed a blue streak in his head, it was nobody’s business but his own. “How long?”

“We’re working on it. No later than tomorrow afternoon. I’d like to repair the whole line while we’re at it. Otherwise, it’s just a matter of time until this happens again.”

Not what Gabe wanted to hear at the start of a heavily booked weekend. “Mona, how’s our linen supply look?”

“Enough for today and maybe half of the rooms tomorrow. After that…” She shrugged. “I keep telling you we need more.”

New linens, new plumbing, new pillars to replace the rotting ones on the west porch, new carpeting in the ballroom.

Old budget. When his coal-dark hair eventually turned gray, he’d know where to place the blame. Gabe suppressed a sigh. “All right, we go to the laundry in Montpelier. Mona, get the number from Susan. One of the grounds guys can truck it over.”