Fire and Ice (4 page)

“So it wasn’t exactly “Some
Enchanted Evening.”” Mimi shrugged carelessly. “It doesn’t have to be.”

“No, he gave off more of a “Never
Let A Woman In Your Life” type of vibe,” Kate replied with a grimace. “He
looked at me as if I was some kind of extra-terrestrial.”

“It couldn’t have been as bad as
all that, or you’d already be fired.” Mimi reassured her cheerfully. “And it’s
probably just as well if he’s cold and reserved.  It never pays to fall in love
with somebody you work for.”

“Or with,” Kate added darkly.
“Don’t worry, I’ve learned my lessons the hard way.” She sighed and stared into
the flames, draining the rest of her red wine. Memories of her time with Mickey
were all clouded now by the ugly ending and she couldn’t remember even their
passionate start without doubting her judgement.

But she didn’t want to think about
that anymore. It was time to put it all behind her and move forward, rather
than to sink into self-pity.  This job, giving her time in the Alps with her
friend and time to write would also be time to heal. Already she found herself
waking with a sense of excitement about the coming day instead of the dreary
sense of flatness and failure that Mickey had left her with.

To get involved with anyone right
now would be foolish. Her judgement was obviously not sound, and she was living
and working under false pretences. Merely thinking of her sexy new boss made
her flush, particularly remembering how socially awkward she had been and how
icily he had looked at her. But she couldn’t help thinking that it would be
nice to see what was behind that cold exterior, to make those enigmatic eyes
smile.

It was as if Emily could read her
mind. “Don’t waste your energy trying to warm him up. Hundreds have tried and
hundreds have failed. Anyway, he threw himself seriously into the business side
of things and left the dazzling Stefan to continue to do the dazzling thing.
Remember, men who work too much make good business partners but poor bed
partners.”

Kate yawned and Emily rose to her
feet. “I’d better let you get your beauty sleep for your big day tomorrow,” she
said, tousling her friend’s curls as she passed. She shot her a final wicked
grin as she reached the door. “Anyway, if you are looking just for the physical
side of things, there’s always Stefan.”

Kate stuck out her tongue. “I
think I’ll stick to using the Pichard boys for their lovely chalet.”

And maybe just a bit of
daydreaming, she added to herself, as she stretched to wake herself up. She
wanted to read over her weekly column before she sent it.

She padded over to the table and
opened her laptop. The piece was the first in what she hoped would be a series about
Switzerland, just light-hearted reflections on Swiss society based on her
experiences this winter.

This time she had chosen to write
simply about the difference in attitude towards winter that people felt here in
the Swiss Alps compared to back in London. Over the week Emily had shown her around
and introduced her to a collection of her friends, most of them also just
arriving for the winter season to work in bars, boutiques and ski schools. Kate
had enjoyed the positive energy, the sense of fun that prevailed as everybody
made plans for the upcoming season.

And she was starting to love
Verbier. The ski resort had come to life in preparation for the opening
weekend. The restaurants, bars and hotels were all open and there was a festive
atmosphere as Christmas lights twinkled against the drifted snow and carloads
of people, skis and snowboards arrived.

 The original village had been a
group of alpages, where farmers brought their cows in the summer months to
graze on the open slopes of wildflowers. The lower village was still made up of
the original old chalets and wooden storage barns on stilts, perched in a sunny
bowl surrounded by rocky peaks. The construction of gondolas and chairlifts
that gave access to expansive terrain and steep faces had suddenly rocketed
Verbier to its position as one of the trendy ski spots in Switzerland.

The upper town had spread as more
and more holiday homes were built, but they remained true to the traditional
chalet style and the village centre itself remained small, just a few streets
radiating off a small square that was lined with bars and ski shops where
cutting edge design and outdoor gear rubbed shoulders with traditional cheese
shops.

Satisfied with her column, Kate
concluded with a comment about lifestyle choice, about the fact that ski
resorts were full of people who chose to live there because they loved it. She
thought back to her life In London after Mickey’s gambling disaster that had
cost them their flat and little bakery. Had it really been her choice to stay
or just the easiest default option?

She was still thinking about it as
she saved the article and sent it to her editor. Emily was right. London had
never really been her place. She had stayed there after university because of a
job offer, but with the intention to move on in a year or so. Instead she had
met Mickey, charming, unreliable Mickey, and had gone along with his café
dream. But even then she had missed the warmth of small-town Ireland.

Now she was finally somewhere she
felt happy simply to be. The views across the valley to the snow-covered ridges
and the Trient glacier took her breath away every morning. For the first time
in a while she had time to appreciate her surroundings. She was living in a
spacious chalet in a ski town just doors away from her old friend. And to add a
little spice, she had a harmless crush on a stunning Swiss man.

The fact that he was her boss,
that he was distant and cold and that she was hired under false pretences while
she impersonated somebody she’d never met were minor details. She knew better
than to let reality intrude on daydreams.  For the first time in months she was
happy again.

Chapter Four

“Would anybody like another
digestif or a cup of coffee?”

Kate stepped into the living room.
The fire crackled cheerfully and sent a cosy glow toward the sofas and low
table where the guests were seated. She had taken the liberty to set out a few
candles and poinsettias to add a bit more of a homey feeling to the large room.
As she surveyed her handiwork, she was pleased with her effort. The effect was
soft, a flickering glow that reflected against the light golden wood of the larch
walls.

Not that there had been much to
do, but this was her first Friday, her trial by fire, and she wanted to do a
good job. In the afternoon she had opened shutters and aired guest rooms,
stocked up on breakfast items and prepared the fire. Then she had made herself
comfortable at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and a book.

Sebastien and his guests had gone
straight to dinner in a restaurant in the village before coming to the chalet.
Now they were relaxing by the fire, making small talk.

Kate had been curious to watch
Sebastien in action. He had been polite but short with her upon arrival,
leaving her anxious to impress him, if only by remaining discrete and
professional. But with his guests he was courteous and attentive, definitely a
polished host, used to entertaining.

The guests this weekend were two
couples. Kate guessed them to be in their mid- to late-thirties, about the same
age as Sebastien. They were in the watch business, which was all that Sebastien
had deemed necessary to tell her during his Wednesday phone call. She had felt
like a teenager awaiting his call, trying to judge his attitude through his
voice down the line, but he had been brisk and unemotional.

Even now, under his smooth manner,
she found him businesslike with his guests. Not cold, but not warm either.
Impersonal and detached, she realised, watching from the kitchen doorway. He
gave nothing of himself away.

The guests seemed to be enjoying
themselves in a quiet way. The conversation was comfortable but slow,
discussions about the skiing, the amount of snow recently, this year’s “salon
d’auto” in Geneva where the latest cars were exhibited.

Kate waited until a longish pause
in the chatting to ask about drinks. Colleen, a friendly-looking brunette who
hadn’t contributed much to the conversation, turned gratefully towards her.

“What do you suggest as a
traditional thing to drink after our fondue dinner?” she asked, apparently
hoping to change the topic.

Kate beamed at her, sending a
heartfelt, silent thank-you to Emily for a week’s immersion in Verbier ski
culture and Swiss culinary norms. It made her feel less guilty for lying about
her experience.

“Well, after cheese, the Swiss
swear by eau-de-vie, fruit-flavoured distilled spirits like Williamine’s, which
is made with pears, or pomme, made with apple. It’s also good for giving you
the courage to face the cold. But they also make a liqueur out of wildflowers,
Gentiane, which you really have to taste while you’re here. Of course, there
are always herbal teas if you prefer, but you are on holiday, after all.”

She bit her tongue. Despite her
best intentions, she didn’t seem capable of remaining coolly professional if
she said more than two words. But her enthusiasm seemed to thaw the
conversational chill. 

“I was about to ask for a coffee,
but after that sales pitch, I’ll have to try one of those spirits, maybe the
pear one,” Colleen’s husband, Liam, said jovially.

Kate finished taking the requests
for drinks and soon everybody was sipping their digestifs. As she served Liam
his Williamine’s, she couldn’t help exclaiming, “I could swear I hear a hint of
old Dublin. Are you living here now or just in Switzerland for business?” The
pleasure of hearing an accent from home made her forget her resolution to
remain quiet and in the background.

“Our first time in Switzerland,
actually,” said his wife, sounding almost apologetic. “You’ll have to tell me
what I should shop for here tomorrow. I’ve got a knee injury and won’t be
skiing with the others.”

“Oh, you’ll love poking around
Verbier,” Kate said confidently. “I’ll show you my friend’s boutique, if you
want to check out winter fashion. And there’s a cute little antique shops with
truly Swiss things like old cow bells – did you know that they actually have
cow fighting here in the spring? They call it the “Combat des Reines”, the
fight of the queens. And of course you’ll have to take chocolates and cheeses
back home, so you’ll have to taste a few to find the best. We’ve got some here
if you want to taste test.”

She caught herself chattering at
warp speed and stopped, turning scarlet. Was she completely out of line? Was
she even supposed to speak with the guests apart from to take drink orders?

By now the brunette was engaged in
a full-fledged conversation with her, talking happily about her chocoholic
habits. “And once I get started, you might as well kiss the whole box goodbye,”
she was saying, smiling guiltily.

Kate risked a quick glance toward
Sebastien, who was watching her with an unreadable expression. At least he
didn’t seem upset with her, and it was too late to stop the conversation.

The second couple, Janet and
Darren, joined in as well.

“You know those giant Toblerone
bars they sell in the duty free?” Darren boomed. “I’ve had to stop buying them
for fear of giving myself a diabetic coma. More dangerous than good whiskey.”

It was Janet’s turn to turn
pleading eyes to Kate. “Did you say something about a chocolate tasting then?”

 Soon Kate was presenting a wooden
board with various types of chocolate broken into small chunks for comparison.
Everybody joined in playfully when she suggested a blind tasting afterwards.

The volume of conversation rose as
the sugar and eau-de-vie kicked in. Kate tried to slide away unobtrusively but
Colleen tugged at her sleeve. “You have to stay, you’re my local guide,” she
protested.

Kate shot a helpless look toward
Sebastien. She was starting to feel that she had completely overstepped her
position and now things were a bit out of her control.

To her surprise, he held her eye
and flashed her a sudden boyish grin. It transformed his face, crinkling into
his eyes and softening his features. It also transformed something in Kate,
whose heart flip-flopped unexpectedly. He gave a barely perceptible nod, as if
giving her permission to continue, before he turned back to his guests, a hint
of amusement still in his eyes.

“Well, if you are all going to get
wired up on chocolate, we will have to counter the effects with a shot of whiskey
or you’ll never get to sleep,” he announced, striding over to the liqueur
cabinet and returning with a bottle.

A cheer went up from the table.
The party seemed to be progressing nicely, Kate thought happily, as Sebastien
produced a row of little shot glasses and splashed a generous portion into
each. It took her a moment to realise that he had poured six.

He looked at her expectantly,
almost challenging her to continue what she’d started. She hesitated a second
before giving up completely on her ineffective attempts to stay in the
background. He didn’t seem to mind, and if he did choose to fire her after
this, she might as well have a fun last evening.

 She picked up her shot glass and
joined the others in clinking glasses, making eye contact with each person in
the Swiss style. When she raised her glass against Sebastien, there was a
friendly, conspiratorial twinkle in his eye that made her heart turn somersaults.

She threw back her drink quickly
and let the liqueur blend with the warmth already spreading through her body.
Between the sunny morning ski, the fire and the liqueur, there was enough
colour in her face to hide the blush that she could feel spreading through her
cheeks.

When she looked back at Sebastien
he was busy with his guests, this time telling a funny story about an incident
with his brother when they were teens, “borrowing” the neighbour’s dog who was
left outside at night and using him to attract women.