WINTER WONDERLAND Read Online Free PDF Page A

mild winter back home it’s actually quite fun to get into chunky knits.
    When my hair goes right, all sleep deprivation is zapped in favour of anticipation. I know I told Laurie that I’d rather not see him again, but that was primarily because he seemed to have got such an intense bout of kisser’s remorse. Of course I still don’t know which way this is going to go, but his text had a certain playfulness to it that makes me optimistic. With every ding of the lift my excitement heightens …
    Twenty-three! This is me.
    I emerge and look around. Which way now?
    ‘Krista?’
    I look up and see a woman in winter-white ski pants. White! Her sand-gold coat is trimmed with real fur, her hair shimmering honey blonde, framing her delicately bronzed, pout-perfect face. She introduces herself as my tour guide, Annique. I can feel my sweater pilling and sagging just looking at her. She is exactly the kind of woman Gilles would like to photograph.
    ‘You got my message!’
    ‘I-I did.’ I gulp back the disappointment. It was from her . ‘Is it just us?’
    ‘For now. Gilles wanted to get some photographs of the Carnival attractions before it open but he will join us shortly.’
    ‘Okay … ’
    ‘I thought you might like a little breakfast first, non? ’
    ‘Oh yes, thank you.’
    ‘We can visit the executive lounge … ’ She slides her card at the door and invites me to enter ahead of her.
    Though I expected to only have eyes for the croissants, I am immediately dazzled by the panorama that greets me: a broad icy river expanding out to sea, distant snowy cliffs, an ancient city wall laying a protective arm around a dainty Old Town dominated by a copper-topped castle, all turrets and towers and make-a-wish spires …
    Looking down all I can see are the footprint traces of the residents, but something tells me they wear bells on their curly-toed shoes, velvet monogrammed tunics and billowing satin capes as they scurry along cobbled streets, sprinkling icing sugar on every available surface.
    ‘Wow,’ I breathe.
    Yesterday I was the Ice Princess, today I am the Snow Queen, surveying my fairytale kingdom from atop a glass tower.
    Annique smiles proudly. ‘Welcome to Quebec!’

    ‘Now I know why you chose this hotel’ I laugh. ‘What a vantage point!’
    It certainly sets me straight on why I am here. Never mind any personal shenanigans, this is a dream destination for Va-Va-Vacation! Who wouldn’t be enchanted? Already I want everyone to come here, for everyone to feel the wonder I am feeling right now.
    ‘Why don’t we take a table by the window and I can point out to you the highlights?’
    I am grateful for her direction.
    ‘Over to our left we have the port.’ She points to where even the sturdiest of cargo ships appear to be held in an ice-vice – locked into the frozen waters of ‘the famous Saint Lawrence River.’
    I find myself squinting, trying to discern where the snowy banks end and the icy water begins, though a distant bridge is a clue.
    Over yonder a factory puffs smoke as if pumping out fluffy white clouds to decorate the silky blue sky. Winter can be as monochrome as newsprint but here there is a warmth to the vista – the Christmas-card-perfect rows of terraced houses bring rusty red, butterscotch, sage green and duck-egg blue to the scene.
    In front of them, what would be a football pitch back in England is home to a game of ice hockey. Little padded figures gliding hither and thither – such graceful motions for such a manly sport. I can almost hear the swish-swishing as they score the ice with their blades, the clash of their wooden sticks. Any minute now a triple salchow …
    ‘Is that a real castle?’ I point towards the focal point of the city.
    ‘That is Château Frontenac. One of the most photographed buildings in the world. Now a Fairmont hotel. We shall dine there later in the week.’
    ‘What’s going on with the roof?’ It seems to be curiously bi-coloured.
    ‘They are