Fire and Ice (7 page)

Kate was curled up on the couch
with a cup of tea, her laptop balanced on her knees. The fire was crackling
cheerfully in readiness for Sebastien and his guests, who were due to arrive
soon.

She reread her column one more
time and then saved it to email later. Her editor had jokingly started calling
her his foreign correspondent, pleased with the positive response the Swiss
series was generating. She enjoyed writing it and loved having the time to
contemplate her immersion in the life of a Swiss ski resort.

Mimi was making sure that Kate
made the most of her time here.  This week the two women had gone to the
thermal baths in Saillon to soak in the hot pools while admiring the mountain
views, and then visited the Roman arenas in Martigny on the way back. Kate
loved the contrast between the snowy slopes of Verbier and the vineyards and
sunny villages in the valley bottom nearby.

“Just wait until spring, you’ll be
jaw-dropped,” Emily promised her. “You can ski in a T-shirt with views on icy
glaciers, and then drop down into orchards full of apricot, apple and cherry
blossoms.”

Kate didn’t want to think about
the spring yet. She still had no idea what she wanted to do next. Part of her
knew that she should be planning her next step already, but another part
enjoyed being able simply to live in the moment, to enjoy her headlong plunge
into the immediacy of a ski season.

Mimi had also taken her to her
first party in Verbier with other chalet girls, ski repairmen and ski
instructors. They were a mix of people from the UK, Australia and Canada, with
a few French and Swedes as well. It was reassuring somehow to meet other people
who weren’t rushing along in their careers, but taking the time to figure out
what they really wanted.

After Mickey, she had found
herself feeling like a failure, as if it was too late to start a new life.  The
exuberance and confidence of these seasonal people she met here gave her hope,
a sense of potential. Emily had been right. Verbier was exactly what she
needed.

And maybe she had been right about
other things as well, like the idea of a fling to recover from Mickey. Not that
she was about to have a holiday romance, and certainly not with her boss. But
just having a crush on Sebastien reassured her that she could be attracted to
somebody again. At least her hormones were still working.

She thought again of his phone
call on Wednesday. She loved the fact that he seemed to be drawing her into a
sort of team with him again and she was more excited than she should be about
seeing him this evening. She looked forward to exchanging secretive glances
across the room, to impressing him with her ability to handle even difficult
people.

His comment about “working her
charm” left her uncertain as to whether it was a compliment of sorts or whether
he thought she put on an act to handle people. Either way, he felt she was
doing a good job, although she would prefer that he didn’t think she was simply
playing a role to manipulate people.

Which she was, at some level, she
realised with distaste. Maybe it was best that he saw her in that light
already. That way it would come as less of a shock when she told him the truth.
Which she would have to do soon, she reminded herself severely. Putting it off
was not making things any easier. Especially as her desire to impress him was growing,
and not for professional reasons.

She sighed and picked up a coffee
table book with photos of the Swiss Alps. She flicked through the beautiful
images distractedly, checking her watch and waiting impatiently for the
headlights in the driveway. Every few minutes she jumped up to change the music
or rush to the bathroom mirror to try to pin back her unruly curls. Waiting
passively always made her nervous.

When the lights of an approaching
car finally swung across the living room wall she nearly jumped out of her
skin. She relit a candle that had burned out, plumped up the sofa cushion where
she had been sitting and had a final glance in the mirror before heading to the
door, trying to calm her strangely frazzled nerves.

Sebastien had informed her that
the Coopers were quite particular in their tastes, demanding and hard to please.
They would be stopping to freshen up and have a drink before heading out to
dinner.

Kate had boiled the kettle,
chilled some wine and prepared a plate of hors d’oevres in advance.
Entertaining even the most ornery couple for an hour couldn’t be that hard, she
reassured herself, taking a deep breath and opening the door with a wide smile
and inexplicable butterflies in her stomach.

Sebastien stood on the doorstep
with a stunning blonde. Her willowy figure was draped in a form-fitting red
jacket and knee-high boots. Her hair was smooth and lustrous and absolutely
perfect. Kate’s hand instinctively flew to her wayward curls to tuck them
behind her ears while crossing her arms across her chest to hide the sensible
cream sweater.

Stupidly she gazed into the
darkness behind Sebastien as if expecting the older couple to materialise.
Sebastien cleared his throat discretely and nodded stiffly at Kate.

“Michelle, this is Axelle,” he said
awkwardly, gesturing with his arm to usher his companion toward the door where
Kate stood gaping dumbly.

Kate came to her senses as if
somebody had thrown cold water in her face. “Please come in,” she found herself
saying woodenly, waiting politely to take Axelle’s coat to the closet after
Sebastien gallantly helped her remove it.

“There was a last-minute change of
plans,” Sebastien explained bluntly to Kate. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t warn
you in advance. We’ll be going on to the casino in Montreux later tonight, so
we’ll be staying in a hotel. It will mean an easier weekend for you.”

He tried to catch her eye, but
Kate had finally found her professional side. What had she been thinking? That
one weekend of entertaining guests together made them some sort of a team? It
was suddenly crystal clear why she couldn’t entertain a fantasy about her boss
or hope to recreate that feeling of conspiracy.

She smiled politely at Sebastien.
“As you wish. Just let me know what I can do for you.”

The blonde was looking at her
curiously. “I imagined that your maid would be Portuguese,” she said to
Sebastien, speaking as if Kate was some sort of exotic pet.

Maid? Kate raised her eyebrows and
waited for Sebastien to correct Axelle. She didn’t feel that her own intervention
was necessary this time.

Instead he shot an apologetic look
at Kate as he guided Axelle into the living room, a courteous arm on her elbow.
She sank into the sofa next to her host, sliding one long leg up and over the
other in languorous way.  She glanced up to find Kate hovering in the doorway.

“Does she have to be here?” she
asked in a plaintive voice, nodding in Kate’s direction. “We don’t really need
her or want her here, do we?”

Kate’s face set in stone. She
stood impassively, waiting for her orders from Sebastien.

“Michelle lives here,” he said
with a grim smile. “But you may certainly have the evening off, if you wish,
Michelle. I think we’ll just change into our evening clothes and be out of your
hair.”

Kate forced a smile and retreated
to the kitchen, closing the door behind her. She leaned against the solid frame,
feeling her knees go weak.

What a fool she was, she thought
bitterly. A fool for good-looking men with an ounce of charm. She built up
imaginary connections based on nothing but a few shared glances, and it left
her completely unprepared for dealing with reality.

What was worse was the knowledge
that her dismay had been apparent. If only he had told her in advance, she
would have been mentally prepared. As it was, the surprise of finding herself
in an unexpected situation had left her gaping stupidly.

She kept her back pressed against
the kitchen door as if she could keep reality shut out. Muffled voices chatted
for a moment and then grew fainter as they disappeared upstairs.

The plate of hors d’oevres that
she had laid out so painstakingly seemed to mock her. She stared at them from
the safety of her door before crossing the room and very deliberately picking
out the nicest ones and eating them methodically.

She was still standing in front of
the table munching her way through the aperitif snacks ten minutes later when
Sebastien poked his head through the door. He had changed into an
expensive-looking dark jacket and trousers, his white shirt unbuttoned at the
top collar. His dark eyes and hair were set off by the jacket and he looked
devastatingly handsome.

He also looked hard to read again,
studying her face carefully as if he was waiting for her to speak. Kate simply
popped another little mushroom canapé into her mouth automatically and chewed
on it.

“Er, I hope you have a good
weekend, then,” he said haltingly.

“You too,” Kate answered, her
mouth full.

“Seba, let’s go,” came Axelle’s
high voice from behind him.

She slid up beside him, peering
into the kitchen as if expecting to find a zoo exhibit inside. She was now
wearing a very short black dress with dark stockings which showed her extremely
long legs to advantage. Catching a glimpse of the half-empty tray of hor
d’oevres she shuddered theatrically.

“Ooh, those are so fattening,” she
said, looking pointedly at Kate. “I never eat at apéros.” She turned back to
Sebastien, clutching at his arm possessively. “Now let’s go enjoy a proper
Saturday night on the town. It’s been so long since you’ve been out, you’ve
probably forgotten everybody.”

She sent a final dismissive glance
in Kate’s direction and tugged at Sebastien’s arm as she swept out of the room.
Kate heard part of her final comment about never letting “the help” eat their
food and then the welcoming sound of the front door closing behind them.

After the red taillights had
disappeared down the drive, Kate pushed herself away from the table and walked
woodenly into the living room. She blew out the candles one by one, and stared
at the cheerful fire in the empty room.  She retrieved her laptop from the
study and returned to her favourite place in front of the fire.

She flipped it open and went back
to the column that she had been working on earlier that evening.

“
You never really get to know
the Swiss
,” she wrote, deleting her earlier introductory paragraph. “
As
a foreigner, you remain the outsider, treated politely but never really trusted
.”

She unclipped her hair and shook
her curls loose, catching one strand to chew on as she typed a few more lines.
Then she slammed her computer shut and headed down to her room to call Emily,
singing “Just You Wait, ‘Enri ‘Iggins” as loudly as she could.

Chapter Eight

The pale winter light filtering
between the buildings was cold as Sebastien strode through the old heart of
Geneva. He pulled his jacket tighter around his neck and bent his head into the
biting north wind.

The bise had been blowing for two
days, scouring the streets of the little snow that had fallen at this low
altitude. Only the window dressings in the shops he passed tried to maintain a
festive, Christmassy atmosphere. For the rest, the streets were grey and grim,
reminding him yet again of his resolution to find a way to spend more time up
in Verbier and less time down here in the city.

It had nothing to do with
Michelle, he tried to convince himself, blocking the image of her laughing eyes
from his mind which went on to think about her inviting curves instead.

He had always been a mountain man,
after spending his adolescence rock-climbing, mountaineering, skiing and
paragliding. It struck him as ironic that the more powerful he became in the
company, the less time or choice he had in his own lifestyle.

Not that he was complaining. He
enjoyed the work he was doing, particularly with his own project to develop.
Perhaps it was the double workload this year of taking over Stefan’s social
role which was weighing him down.

At a crosswalk he stopped to watch
a group of Japanese tourists being led toward a waiting bus by a frozen-looking
guide. They were probably heading over to see the United Nations building next,
and the Red Cross museum. He was glad that people came away remembering also
the humanitarian heritage of his country and not just the controversial banks.

The group also was a pleasant
reminder of the progress he was making in winning back the Asian market. Just
now he was on his way back from an end-of-year shareholder’s lunch, where this
year’s business had been analysed. Tucked under his arm was the glossy annual
report, charting what he already knew. Under his direction, the family business
was booming and his campaign for social responsibility was gaining momentum.

He hoped that the positive publicity
gathered by the Simply Elegant movement would sweep away Stefan’s infamy and
allow him to take back his natural place as the social front for Pichard Watches.
This past weekend was a solid reminder of why Stefan should be the one courting
the attention of celebrities and not his unpolished younger brother.

A frown creased his swarthy brow
as he picked up his pace to stay warm. He had a lingering feeling of unease
about the way the weekend had unrolled. He had done nothing wrong and yet he
felt as if he had disappointed two young women, or somehow played with their
emotions. The truth was that he had been conducting strictly business with both
of them, but there were more complicated undercurrents that even he was able to
pick up on.

A red-headed mannequin caught his
eye in the window of a fashion boutique. Sebastien stopped in front of it,
staring into the pane unseeingly. He felt an inexplicable sense of having hurt
Michelle, which was illogical, given that she was his chalet hostess and he was
entertaining a business guest, exactly as the job was intended. And it wasn’t
as if anything had even happened between the two of them.