Fire and Ice (18 page)

She held the paper aloft
triumphantly as Kate felt her world come crashing down around her. Icy fingers
of terror gripped at her heart and her mind screamed that this wasn’t real,
this wasn’t happening.  A horrible feeling was rising in her chest,
constricting it and making her feel like she might be ill.

All modesty forgotten, she leapt
for the table, snatching the newspaper from Carol’s hand and staring at the
column desperately as if she’d never seen it before. There it was, Kate’s
Corner, with a small photo of her smiling face at the top. The photo dated back
at least five years but there was no mistaking her.

The week in question had been
entitled “Strangers in Paradise”. In it she had gently made fun of herself as
an ignorant foreigner who could barely order a pain au chocolat without causing
pain to a francophone, with a comment or two about her failure to meet Swiss
housekeeping standards or to live up to the rigorously scheduled society where even
your laundry days were dictated to you by your landlord. It was a light piece
with nothing in it that could seriously cause offense to anybody. 

“I really enjoy your outlook on
things,” Carol was saying. “Fresh and fun. Enough of us being the whinging
poms, eh?”

Kate barely heard her. She threw
the paper back down on the table and covered her face with both hands, trying
not to hyperventilate. Had Sebastien seen this?

Nick and Carol were laughing,
obviously unaware of the significance of their discovery.

“It’s alright, Michelle,” Nick
said with a laugh. “We aren’t going to announce your real identity to the whole
of Switzerland, if that’s what you’re worried about. But a friend in North
London sent us the paper because your column mentioned Verbier. “

“It did seem a coincidence,” Carol
continued for her husband. “It’s such a local paper, it seemed funny that they
would talk about Verbier. But now it all makes sense.” She beamed happily at
the successful resolution of the mystery.

But Kate collapsed into a chair
with a moan as a feeling of nausea and denial swept over her. She sent Simon a
desperate look and he shifted his gaze uncomfortably. Her final hope shattered.
If Simon knew the implications of this newspaper, then Sebastien must have seen
it as well.

Her worst fears were confirmed
when Simon mumbled awkwardly, “Sebastien asked me not to give you a copy of
that photo from last night, Michelle.” He sent her a reproachful look.

“Simon!” Kate cried out in
anguish. “It isn’t what you think. I have to explain to Sebastien. Is he at the
office?”

Nick chuckled heartily. “You’ll
have to get used to the workaholic habits of your lover, Michelle. He had a
call from India and something came up about an orphanage he’s helping to
sponsor, part of that make-amends project after the fiasco last year.”

“He took the first flight to
Bombay,” Carol filled in helpfully. “He should be in the air by now.”

Kate felt like she was caught in a
nightmare. He couldn’t really be on a flight to Bombay, could he? She had been
lying in his arms just hours ago, knowing that she belonged there.

If this had been a film, she would
be jumping in a taxi to the airport and catching him before his flight left,
convincing him to stay. Or taking the next flight to India and finding him
there in some grotty little orphanage, where everybody would break into a Bollywood-style
dance and sing. Where in the hell did movie heroines get that sort of money?
She could certainly not afford a ticket to India. And as for catching him at
the airport, not only was she too late, she knew that she wouldn’t be able to
convince him to stay anyway.

He thought she was a liar and a
fraud. Not thought it, but knew it, Kate corrected herself bitterly. She had
always been direct and honest in her life and now her one foray into deception
was going to cost her the best man she’d ever met.

She could feel her senses and
emotions becoming dull as reality sank in. He was gone, convinced that she had
betrayed him, won his trust to sell inside stories about the family. Even if
she could talk to him or write to him, he would never believe her now.

She looked up wearily to see Nick
and Carol watching her with worry.

“He probably won’t be gone more
than a couple of weeks,” Carol offered hopefully. “And you can always call him.
He takes that work phone everywhere.”

“His work will always take a lot
of his time, Michelle,” Nick said warningly. “If he’s not flying off to tend to
business, or stuck in endless meetings, he brings it with him. Phone calls in
the mountains, business guests at the chalet on weekends. It’s all so much part
of his life, he doesn’t seem to notice anymore.”

Kate was too distraught to feel
embarrassed by their assumption that she was merely over-reacting to a supposed
two-week separation. He wouldn’t be coming back to her. Or if he did return to
the chalet, it would be to fire her. In fact, she was probably already fired.
He couldn’t really keep a spy in his employment, just waiting for a revealing
photo to sell to the tabloids.

The sensible part of her mind was
already thinking ahead. She would have to find a new job, a new place to live.
She probably wouldn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to the Pichard family,
although that might be better than having to face them once they thought she
had betrayed their trust.

She rose to her feet mechanically,
ignoring Nick and Carol’s puzzled glances and Simon’s sternly  appraising gaze.
It was horribly rude of her, but she couldn’t even bring herself to say goodbye
properly with her tongue feeling leaden and lifeless. All she managed was a
brief nod in the direction of the table as she gathered up her clothes, pulled
them against her chest and continued slowly and stiffly back to the guest room.

Once she had closed the door
behind her, she dropped her dress and shoes despondently on the floor and threw
herself onto the bed. Hot tears poured down her face and she muffled her sobs
in a pillow. Not only had she lost the man she loved, he thought she had
betrayed him and this thought made her misery complete.

She let herself cry until she was
exhausted, giving in to the blackness that seemed to paint every thought she
now had. Suddenly her unplanned future seemed empty and lost instead of full of
potential as it had when she first came to Verbier. If she had told him
herself, if she had overcome that selfish hesitation, she was sure that he
would have reacted differently. In the end it was her cowardice and dishonesty
that had ruined everything. She really didn’t deserve Sebastien Pichard.

With a final shuddering sob, she
pushed herself back up off the bed. She looked bleakly at her reflection in the
mirror, the red and blotchy face, the running nose, the crow’s nest of hair.
Somehow she would have to force herself to function, to pick her way through
the ruins of her dream and to face the mess she had made.

Shame and loss battled for
supremacy as she made her way to the shower, letting the hot water soothe her
raw nerves and wash away twenty-four hours’ worth of intense living and wildly
oscillating emotions. The heat also made her aware of how little sleep she’d
had and she was tempted to crawl between the satiny sheets and simply hide in
unconsciousness.

Instead, she pulled her jeans and
a sweater from her bag and dressed herself again in her own clothes, quickly
repacking her overnight bag with her own things. At least she could regain her
true identity again as Kate Finnigan, although right now it was not an identity
to claim with any pride.

She left the bags of untouched new
clothing against the wall. They could still be returned to the shops as a
slight indication that she wasn’t all bad, that she wasn’t trying to take
advantage of the family’s generosity towards her.

 When she picked up the black
dress that she’d worn to the opera, she paused. It really couldn’t be brought
back to the store any more, and it was of no use to Terèse or any of their
associates. For her, it was the reminder of a perfect evening, her very short
foray into the glittering world of Sebastien Pichard. Into his heart and into
his bed. And out again in disgrace.

Still, she bundled the dress and
shoes together and added them to her bag for Verbier. She could leave them
there if she decided against keeping them. Then she looked down at the dressing
table.

The exquisitely wrought silver
watch lay where she had placed it before her shower. She picked it up
delicately, turning it over in her hands to see the fine workmanship one more
time. As she looked at the smooth curve of the silver, a bit of engraving
caught her eye. Bringing it up to her eye, she read the inscription on the
inside arc of the wristband. For Michelle, from Sebastien.

Her insides felt like lead as she
placed the watch back on the dressing table, making sure that it would be easy
to spot. She contemplated writing a note to go with it, but couldn’t even begin
to think what to write at this point. He wouldn’t want to read anything from
her anyway.

Taking a last look around the room
to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, she shouldered her bag and walked
quickly to the bedroom door. She opened it silently, peering carefully toward
the living area to make sure that the others had gone. Then she hurried down
the hall and left the flat, taking the stairs rather than waiting for the
elevator. She would prefer not to meet any of the Geneva crowd again, she
realised as she headed for the train station. This whole chapter in her life
was one that she would rather forget.

Chapter Nineteen

The loud, discordant and persistent
sound of a bus horn blasting just behind his taxi made Sebastien abandon his
phone call and snap his mobile closed with resignation. The heat, the noise,
the smells and the swelling mass of humanity all made India impossible to
ignore.

Not that Sebastien wished to
ignore the country he had fled to, but his rash and sudden departure left him
with a lot of long-distance business to conduct by telephone. His cab was
barely moving in the chaotic congestion heading from of one of Bombay’s poorest
districts toward the city centre and he had hoped to use the time to make a few
calls back to Europe.

Instead he turned his gaze to the
window, trying not to feel overwhelmed by the poverty and impossible-to-ignore
reality of the world outside. Beggars and street vendors wove their way
undaunted through the maze of cars, busses and bicycles that jostled each other
for space around a massive grid-locked traffic circle. Elaborately painted
trucks added their diesel fumes to the already gritty air while the occasional
barefoot sadhu wandered through it all, unfazed. Compared to Switzerland, it
was madness.

“Are you here on tourism?” the
taxi driver asked conversationally now that Sebastien had hung up. Apparently
he had been waiting impatiently for his client to finish his calls so that he
could play tour guide to one of the less scenic parts of India.

“Ah, no, business matters,”
Sebastien replied, wondering if any tourists ever ventured out to these slums.

He had just visited the orphanage
that Pichard watches had co-founded with Rashmi Tewari, the disgraced Bollywood
screen star. It had been part of a plan to help win back favour for the company
and for the actress in the outraged country. When the arrangement had been
made, Pichard had chosen to provide most of the funding if Rashmi took charge
of setting up the management and the publicity. Stefan had been present at the
opening and there really was no need for Sebastien’s impromptu visit now.

No business need, that was. The
need to flee had been genuine enough, to put as much distance as possible
between himself and Michelle. Not Michelle, Kate, he had to correct himself
constantly. The Michelle he thought he knew didn’t exist. The expressive
emotions, the awkward directness, the natural and easy manner were all just an
act. An act used by a journalist to gain access to the inside scoop, to lure
him into trusting her. And he had fallen for it.

Sitting in the taxi now he tried
to listen politely to the driver as he pointed out the tall buildings on the
horizon and to explain a current political intrigue in the local government.
The driver wanted to get involved in local politics and seemed glad of a
captive audience to practise his speech.

“But these government officials,
they are all so corrupt,” he said, wagging his head to add emphasis to the
rolling cadence of his voice. “You must always do the needful and necessary
just to have somebody consider your case.”

Sebastien smiled in spite of
himself. “The needful and necessary” bribes had already been explained to him
by Rashmi, who had dealt with building permits and all other authorisation
necessary. Actually, it had been a manager that she had hired, but she had done
a remarkable job of keeping on top of progress and budgets, not letting any of
the many hands involved let their fingers start to stray.

In fact, she had done an excellent
job, Sebastien had already reported back to his family. None of them had
doubted her integrity when they had discussed the orphanage, but her business
competence came as a surprise in a woman used to the heady lifestyle of
Bombay’s rich socialites.

 The orphanage was running
smoothly and the little rascals were a charming bunch of ragamuffins. They had
greeted him with a song, which had immediately made him think of Michelle, how
she would probably have taught the children an entire song and dance routine.
She had mentioned growing up surrounded by younger siblings and he could easily
imagine her with these children.

He frowned to himself, trying to
focus on what the driver was saying and to forget about Michelle. Kate. Maybe
the whole story about her family had been made up as well. Maybe everything had
been a big lie.