Fire and Ice (13 page)

Simon sighed. “That’s right. They
have to realign the bones, it seems.”

His friend grimaced. “How long of an
operation is that?”

Simon shrugged. “If all goes well,
I’ll be out in a few hours. But they don’t want me to fly for the next few days
either, so looks like I’ll be your guest for a little longer. Just like old
times.”

“You managing to get hurt? Yes,
that’s just like old times,” Sebastien said, cuffing his old school chum on his
good shoulder in a friendly way. “And you know you’re welcome to stay as long
as you like. In fact, Nick and Carol are staying on as well so you’ll have
company, but I’ll be down in the Geneva apartment.”

“It’s not as if I could be out
snowboarding,” Simon reminded him, pointing at his swollen wrist.

The nurse reappeared, looking to
be in a no-nonsense mood. “Right then, let’s get you ready for the doctor.
Monsieur Pichard, you can wait outside.”

“Go on home, mate!” Simon called
as he was wheeled away. “I’ll be fine.”

“Mais non,” Sebastien called back
softly. “I’m not going to leave you here alone. The poor nursing staff would
have too hard a time of it.” 

Alone he wandered back to the
empty waiting room. There were no new messages from Michelle, which he told
himself was a good thing, a sign that everything was going well. He tried not
to acknowledge the slight disappointment he felt.

Outside, the church clock-tower
rang once. He glanced out the window at the streetlights and passing cars below,
the lights and noise reminding him that he was far from Verbier. An involuntary
sigh escaped his lips as he thought of the cosiness of the chalet and of
curling up in his own snug bed.

With Michelle? His tired mind
couldn’t help wondering and trying to imagine how the night might have
continued. A tantalising fantasy of the continuation of that kiss danced in his
imagination and he tried to ward off images of her pale skin, naked under her
cascading red curls.

He quickly picked up a magazine
that was lying on the coffee table and started reading an article at random,
trying to prevent his hormones from betraying him. To his surprise he had
stumbled on an interesting article about helicopter rescues in the Alps which
might just rescue him from embarrassment.

 He took a deep breath and tried
to focus on the story before stretching out on the waiting room sofa. It was
going to be a long night.

Chapter Fourteen

Sleds are the ultimate
equaliser. Children can keep up with adults, while adults play like children.
Unlike skiing or snowboarding, where differences in experience and skill levels
divide a group, the complete novice or the hardened veteran of the slopes have
the same level of control. That is to say, very little.

The wooden Davos luges still
used in Switzerland today are a traditional means of descending a mountain in
winter. Nowadays, special runs and roads are often groomed especially for this sport,
accessed by trains or ski lifts, but parties who enjoy an evening walk can also
hike up the hill the old-fashioned way for a starry descent with friends.

Kate looked up from her laptop and
stretched her shoulders. This week’s story was not coming smoothly. Her mind
kept returning to that night on the luge, distracting her from her work.

She gave up and shut her computer
down with a snap. Her emotions were playing havoc with the sense of calm she
had achieved since her arrival in Verbier. She needed to clear her mind.

She also needed to move forward on
this week’s piece, she reminded herself, stopping in the kitchen for a piece of
chocolate. Outside the window, the late afternoon sun glinted pale on the snow,
invitingly. It wasn’t hard to convince herself that a quick breath of fresh air
would help to sort her thoughts.

Too lazy to go downstairs for her
jacket, she pulled a fleece sweater out of the closet in the entry hall. It was
black with a red deer embroidered on the lapel. She recognised it as
Sebastien’s, the one he had been wearing when she first saw him. His smell
still lingered in it, wood smoke and sunscreen and the scent of his hair, which
brought her back to the luge ride with her head buried against his back.

A thrill rushed through her
whenever she remembered that evening. She had relived the kiss again and again
in her mind, the sweet surrender of giving into the magnetism that drew his
lips to hers. She felt again the excitement of holding onto him, of sensing the
strength and danger he offered as they rushed through the night. And her mind
wondered endlessly what would have happened if Simon hadn’t been hurt, and if
they would still get a chance to finish what had been started that evening.

With their mutual attraction
obviously acknowledged now, Kate had expected things to be easier. She hadn’t
seen Sebastien since he rushed Simon down to the hospital, but they had texted
back and forth regularly to keep track of the progress of the patient and of
guests.

At first his text messages had
returned the playful tone that she had started. Nothing romantic or risqué, but
certainly more familiar than their communications before.

But with Simon now recovering at
Sebastien’s place in Geneva, and the other English guests also down in the
valley or back in the UK, her phone was silent. Her natural instinct was to
call him and speak to him directly about that evening, but something held her
back.

Still, she slipped her phone into
the pocket of the jacket before stepping out onto the wide balcony that ran
along the front of the house. The view still amazed her, the jagged crests and
tumbling glaciers that now made up her horizons.

She was not normally insecure, but
Sebastien remained a mystery to her. For him was it just a kiss, brought on by
finding themselves in such close proximity? Was he regretting it? Or did it
mean nothing to him?

 And yet she couldn’t doubt the
kiss. The passion had been genuine on both sides and the chemistry,
irresistible. The sort of chemistry that made you want more.

Not that more was necessarily a
good idea, her rational side told her. She still hadn’t told him who she really
was.

Would he even care that she wasn’t
Michelle? Sometimes she convinced herself that it didn’t matter, that a rose by
any other name could also play chalet hostess. She could even imagine him
laughing about her audacity.

And then she would come back down
to earth with a thud. She had lied to him from the start. And she wasn’t just
fraudulent and inexperienced; she worked for a newspaper, which put her in the
enemy camp of the Pichard family.

All of which were good reasons to
be grateful that her phone wasn’t ringing off the hook.

The cold air refreshed her and she
breathed deeply, holding her breath and then letting it out slowly to relax the
tension in her body. She was happy here, free of the complications of
relationships and certainly strong enough to be able to ignore the distractions
of a handsome face and to focus on her writing.

With her head held high, she
marched back into the kitchen before her resolution faltered. She popped
another chocolate in her mouth in passing, and hung the fleece jacket back in
the closet. As she removed her phone from the pocket, she sent it one final
glare before heading back to her computer.

“He might just be one of those
people who are bad on the phone,” Mimi had suggested when they were skiing up
to the St. Bernard Hospices earlier in the week with a few of her friends. “Think
of your brother Neil, how he always sounds like a drill officer on the phone. I
was always surprised that he didn’t end up in the army or as a prosecuting
attorney.”

Kate had laughed at that, but
still a vague feeling of disappointment and dread had hung with her for the
entire outing, spoiling an otherwise wonderful afternoon with her friends.

She had never tried randonée
skiing before and found that she enjoyed it. With skins stuck to the bottom of
her skis and her heels free to move, they had slid up the gentle valley road to
the old monastery for a bowl of soup.  The St. Bernard monks were famous for
their hospitality and for rescuing lost travellers, and for the large mountain dogs
that bore their name.

Her weeks were settling into an
easy routine with Emily taking her out to explore the area and lots of time to
write and to try to think of her next step. But this week she was restless,
impatient to see Sebastien again.

She only became aware of how long
she had drifted off when her computer went into screen- saver mode. Photos from
her past appeared in random order on the screen, a party in London, Mickey’s
cat, dinner with Mickey’s friends in their apartment.

Looking at the images, Kate felt
oddly detached from it all. It was as if that life belonged to somebody else
and she felt nothing drawing her back there. Her column could be written from
anywhere, but it wouldn’t be enough once she started paying rent again. For
now, playing chalet hostess was the perfect solution for this winter but spring
would come soon enough and she had no idea where she would go next.

The sudden ringing of her phone
made her nearly jump out of her skin. She scrabbled to grab it before it
vibrated off of the smooth wooden table she was working on. An unreasonable
wave of disappointment washed over her when she didn’t recognise the incoming
number.

“Bonjour, chez Pichard, voici
Michelle Clark,” she answered, using a phrase she had trained herself to say to
prevent accidentally giving herself away. “How may I help you?”

There was a moment of silence on
the other end of the line, followed by a rapid-fire torrent of French, of which
Kate didn’t understand a word except for “police.”

An illogical surge of panic rose
in her and she had to resist the urge to hang up the phone. What if it was
about a work permit? Or what if somebody had reported her as a fraud?

Before she could think of anything
to say, the voice burst out laughing, the delighted laugh that Sebastien used
when he was relaxed.

“I’ve been wondering what you
would do if a francophone called,” he told her, still chuckling. “I see that
you use the classic “deer in headlights” response. Better than chucking a
cushion, I suppose.”

“Sebastien!” Kate couldn’t hide
her pleasure at hearing his voice, or the relief of hearing him sound the way
he had been on the sledding night. Maybe he didn’t regret the kiss after all.
“I didn’t recognise the phone number.”

“I’m using my brother’s phone,” he
explained. “Listen, I’m stealing out of an important meeting to make this call,
so I have to keep it short. I won’t be coming up this weekend – ” another
moment of disappointment for Kate – “but I’d like to borrow a bit of your time
anyway.”

“Will it involve hospitals again?”
she asked flippantly to keep herself from sounding too desperate.

“Only if you refuse,” he growled.
“Actually, it’s Simon who is insisting. He’ll be heading back to the UK soon,
and he wants to say goodbye. He has tickets for the opera next Tuesday night and
would like to invite us both. In fact, I’m under strict orders to bring you.”

This time Kate couldn’t hide her
joy. “I would love that!” she squealed, ignoring her immediate scepticism at
the idea that anybody gave orders to Sebastien Pichard.

He chuckled again. “Good, because
I’ve already accepted for both of us. Come down in the early afternoon and my
mother will help to find you some appropriate clothing, as I doubt that a
chalet girl includes formal attire in her ski bag.  Send a text to say which
train you’ll be on and somebody will meet you to take you to the house. I’d
better go, goodbye.”

Kate hung up the phone and beamed
at it. She caught sight of her reflection in the window and it beamed back, a
smile that nearly split her face in two. She had never actually been to the
opera, but it was on her mental list of experiences she wanted to have before
she turned thirty. As a lover of musicals, it seemed like a logical evolution
in taste.

She spun in delight, her woollen
socks sliding nicely on the smooth wood floor. It wasn’t the idea of the opera
that was making her dizzy. It was the reassurance that the most handsome man
she had ever met wanted to spend another evening next to her.

This time there could be no doubt.
He didn’t need her to entertain his clients or to help with English-speaking
guests. He must have his pick of the women in Geneva, but he had chosen her. 
And that could only mean one thing. It was time to call Mimi.

Chapter Fifteen

The bustle of the Geneva train
station took Kate by surprise after spending so long up in the quiet of the mountains.
The train ride had been breathtaking, through the green Rhone Valley and then
along the sparkling edge of Lake Geneva, with mountain views, vineyards and
picturesque old towns flashing by.

It was a mild afternoon when she
arrived in the city, with a pale winter sun softening the straight edges of the
tall buildings that flanked the roads. The contrast with Verbier was
disorienting, foreign to her senses. It made her realise how far she had come
from her London days and how immersed she now was in her new mountain life. 

She stepped off the train, letting
the crowds hurry past to allow the platform to clear. Sebastien had warned her
that he couldn’t meet her himself, but said that he would send somebody.
Expecting to see a driver or employee, she was pleasantly surprised to hear an
Italian-sounding accent calling her name.