Fire and Ice (8 page)

 At the same time, he was fairly
sure that he hadn’t invented their mutual attraction. He could have sworn that
she felt it too on that first evening with guests, judging by the looks they
had exchanged whenever their eyes had met.

 Of course, she seemed to be
friendly with everyone as part of her nature, which was one of the things he
found attractive about her. She was more than just a pretty face; she
approached the world in a refreshingly open way, as if confident that everybody
would return her easy smile.

They would, he realised with a
pang of what felt almost like jealousy, waving away the shop assistant who had
stepped outside to see if he was interested in anything.

 A face like Michelle’s would draw
the attention of any hot-blooded man. In fact, she could even be married for
all he knew. His logical side told him that the job of chalet girl wasn’t
really compatible with a steady relationship, when one partner was away for
half the year, but still the idea shocked him with the recognition of how
little he actually knew about her.

Well, discretion was what he had
asked for. Although she wasn’t discrete in the way he had imagined. Instead she
was trustworthy in a girl-next-door sort of way, so straightforward and direct
that a person never really considered the option of her breaking a confidence.

Which was why he felt unreasonably
guilty now, as if he were the one to break her confidence somehow. 

This was a good example of why he really
shouldn’t get involved with Michelle. There would probably be more models and
actresses to host over the season, and he didn’t want to feel awkward every
time he brought one up to the chalet. Although whether Michelle had felt put
out or whether it was a projection of his own discomfort was hard to say.

Thinking of her he felt a wave of
regret for all that he couldn’t put into words. Michelle may have been too
proud to show if she was hurt at all, but she was too emotive to hide that she
had at least been caught unprepared by his sudden appearance with Axelle.

He should have called, he realised
belatedly. But he had waited until too late.

Until the last moment he had been
hoping to take the pressure off himself by inviting Axelle on the same weekend
as the Coopers, to avoid finding himself in compromising situations. Then the
older couple cancelled just before they were meant to meet him, due to illness,
and it was too late to find an excuse to delay the model or to explain the
change of plans to Michelle.

Sebastien frowned as he recalled
his delicate manoeuvres to stay out of Axelle’s determined embrace. Despite her
flawless beauty, she was not his type.

Not anymore, he corrected himself
grimly. She was too much like Genevieve had been, stunning, manipulating,
calculating.

For the sake of the family
business he had found himself walking the fine line of being polite and not
offending her without leading her on. He had done his best not to make her feel
slighted or rejected, acting as if he resisted her undeniably attractive
temptations with regret.

She was certainly confident enough
of her own powers of attraction to accept this unquestioningly. However, she seemed
unused to failure in her attempts at conquest and there was a risk that she had
seen this as a challenge, the pleasure of the chase.

The bitter cold bit through his
jacket as he stood still in front of the shop. Automatically he glanced at his
watch and set off again through the narrow pedestrian streets. The cobbles
reflected the cold, and the sun was too low in the sky to reach the street.

It was unlike him to dawdle like
this. He liked to walk back to his office after these lengthy lunches, to ward
off the sleepiness that always followed. But normally he walked purposefully,
thinking about work problems, making phone calls or mentally answering emails.
Today his mind kept returning to Verbier.

It was repeatedly being brought
home just why this was really his brother’s domain. Stefan loved the game, the
juggling, the hunt, like Axelle. They were both like cats, stalking a mouse
simply to play with it, testing their powers.  He would classify himself in the
dog family, a retriever looking for dependable, straight-forward affection with
no games. But without ending up in the doghouse either.

He wasn’t sure that he had
succeeded in that respect with either woman. Again he thought of how much
better Stefan was at this whole balancing act.

 His brother was a natural,
actually enjoying the intrigue and diplomacy. Stefan was smooth, flattering women
and giving them the impression of undivided attention while still managing to
extricate himself gracefully from situations he didn’t want to be in.

Although it struck him that Axelle
was not someone Stefan would have fought so hard to avoid. Perhaps his
brother’s skill was in getting out of his romantic escapades as smoothly as he
entered into them.

Sebastien was different. Although
he had played the scene with his older brother when they were younger, at heart
he was more of a romantic. His entanglement with Genevieve was typical for him,
wanting a full relationship and not just a fling. Axelle, even Genevieve in the
end, was Stefan’s type of woman. 

Michelle was his.

Chapter Nine

Kate threw open the shutters in
the master bedroom.  Dust danced in the beam of sunlight that streamed in as
she gave the duvets a shake.

It was the first time she had
opened this room since her arrival. Sebastien used what must have been his
childhood room, judging by the ski racing trophies on his shelf. This room was
bigger still, with a private balcony looking up behind the village toward the
slopes.

This was the parents’ room. The
entire family was coming up this weekend for their clan Christmas fondue.
Sebastien had called while she was out and left a message on her answering
machine. His voice had been normal, brisk and businesslike.

Kate was back in business mode as
well. She cringed with embarrassment when she thought of her reaction last
weekend, but the shame was enough to squash the flame she had felt for her
boss. There was no secret bond joining them as a team against outsiders. She
was the outsider and she had no idea what went on in his life in Geneva,
although Axelle’s visit was probably representative.

A quick glance assured her that
Chantal’s room preparations were perfect, as always. Fresh flowers had been
left in a vase on the table and everything was spotless. It was curiosity that
prompted her to do this final inspection, but there were no personal photos or
clues to help her to imagine the Pichard clan.

Despite her misgivings regarding
last weekend, she was looking forward to meeting the rest of the family. At
least there would be no guests to entertain, no need for her to interact too
much.

Somehow Sebastien’s date last
weekend also helped ease the guilt she felt at lying to him. As long as there was
nothing personal between them, it was no worse than exaggerating a bit on a
resumé to get a job she knew she was capable of doing well.  

The radio played softly in the
background as she wandered through the chalet with a warm mug of tea in her
hand. Despite her reaction to Sebastien last weekend, she was starting to feel
more balanced in general. Her article for the week was already sent and she was
beginning to feel at home in Verbier.

As she became more caught up in
her life in Switzerland, Kate found herself thinking less and less of her life
in London. Emily had introduced her to other chalet girls and they had all gone
skiing together during the week and had made plans to try ski-hiking up to the
Grand St. Bernard monastery soon.

To her own surprise, Kate barely
thought about Mickey any more. And simply by remembering Axelle, she was also
learning to block her mind from thinking too much about Sebastien.

She completed her tour of the
chalet. Satisfied that everything was ready, she returned to the living room,
picked up a book and curled up on the couch. As long as she remembered not to
let things become personal, she could happily be Michelle Clark for a winter.

 “So you are the famous Michelle!”
Madame Pichard beamed at Kate, taking her face in both hands. “Such a lovely
face, such beautiful hair! I knew there must be a reason that Seba stopped
complaining about having to come up to Verbier. He might even enjoy playing
host if you play hostess next to him.”

Kate blushed crimson, feeling her
cheeks burning against Teresa’s cool hands. Sebastien’s mother was a petite,
vibrant woman who still commanded a presence when she entered a room. Her black
hair was streaked with grey, piled elegantly on her head. She shared the same
dark eyes as her son, but hers were warm and full of life.

They were twinkling merrily as she
released Kate’s face. “No need to blush, my dear. Of course my son would notice
you. He told me that you have a magic touch for making people at ease.”

“I think that was the wine, actually,”
Kate deflected smoothly, uncomfortable to find herself the centre of attention.

Teresa merely laughed, taking her
hands to pull her toward the kitchen. “Come, let us get to know each other,”
she urged, with an Italian-sounding accent.

Kate let herself be led away from
the others. She had already greeted the rest of the Pichard clan who were still
milling in the entrance hallway. The grandfather, Jurg, was an energetic man in
his nineties and deaf as a post but still very vocal. His son, Hans-Peter, was
as vibrant as his wife with a merry twinkle in his eye. And the infamous Stefan
was every bit as good-looking as she had been told, although his smooth, easy
charm put her on guard.

As for Sebastien, he was as darkly
mysterious and icy as on their first encounter. He had sent her a searching
look with his dark eyes when they arrived, which she had pretended not to see,
and now he seemed as anxious as she did to avoid any direct conversation.

For some reason Kate had felt
intimidated to meet Sebastien’s parents, but Teresa put her at ease immediately.
It was impossible not to like this charming woman who radiated positivity the
way that Sebastien did not.

“You aren’t Italian, are you?” she
found herself asking curiously as they settled into the kitchen.

Teresa gave a tinkling laugh. “No,
I am Swiss, but from Ticino, the Italian-speaking part. You know, together this
family represents most of Switzerland. Jurg and Hans-Peter are originally from
the German part and the boys have grown up in the French part, although we sent
them to English-speaking school and we made a habit of speaking English
together at meal-times. We wanted them to be ready for the future, you see. Now
we just need to get a cat from the Rumantsch part, just to show that all these
differences can live together.”

Something about this woman made
Kate want to pour out her story, to tell the truth. Teresa seemed so warm and
open, it felt wrong to lie to her, to betray that confidence. She was trying to
think of how to tell Teresa the truth when the lively woman started speaking
again.

“I must say, it is a pleasant
surprise meeting you. We were all expecting the agency to send someone much
sterner after last year’s mess. Once we had one when boys were young, a German
woman who was like a strict school teacher. I always felt like I needed her
permission just to move in my own chalet. I prefer things to feel informal and
friendly, don’t you? So now tell me about yourself.”

This was the moment for being
honest, but Kate’s tongue froze. Mistaking her blocked silence for shyness,
Teresa laughed gently and took her hand again.

 “You mustn’t be shy around us,
dear,” she said. “We Swiss don’t have the same notions of class consciousness that
you do in England. We are not better, we just look at money instead. Here your
background doesn’t matter, as long as you work hard to make a fortune and then
keep working hard to make some more.” She sighed, running her hand regretfully
along the simple wooden table top. “So people work too hard. They buy fine
houses and cars, but have no time to enjoy any of it.”

“Well, you certainly can’t accuse
me of that,” Kate blurted out. “I have so much free time with this job, I feel
guilty getting paid.”

“Ah, but I know what you are
getting paid and you certainly aren’t going to make your fortune this way,” the
older woman said, almost apologetically. “So enjoy your time here. Just look at
this.”

Teresa indicated the open doorway
to the living room and both women peered through. Hans-Peter and his two sons
were seated together, discussing intently and gesticulating. All three were
leaning forward in their chairs, speaking loudly. Jurg stood behind the sofa,
glowering under bushy white eyebrows as he surveyed the others.

“They aren’t as ferocious as they
sound,” Teresa said with a wry smile. “It’s just that Jurg hears very little
and now Hans-Peter is losing his hearing as well. But they will be talking
about work all evening if we don’t intervene. You do understand that part of
your job is to keep Sebastien from working too hard.”

Kate was taken aback, unsure of
how to respond.

Again Teresa saved her from having
to say anything. “Oh, don’t mind me, I talk far too much, my family always
tells me. Very un-Swiss, I know, but this is the Latin blood in Ticino. And the
rights of the matriarch as I get older. I am permitted certain eccentricities
and everybody must indulge me.”

Kate found herself smiling at
this. “Normally I’m the chatty Cathy, but I may have met my match in you,” she
dared to say.