Fire and Ice Read online

  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.

  “Michelle! Bellissima! So wonderful to see you again!”

  Teresa Pichard waved energetically from the end of the quay, and Kate hurried over to her to be met with three kisses on the cheek.

  “Ah, I was waiting at the first class carriages. You should have come first class, my dear, Sebastien can afford it.” She laughed musically. “Did you have a good journey? How is Verbier? So many things I want to hear about! But first, let me buy you a coffee.”

  Kate smiled as she let herself be whisked down the ramp into a passageway under the station and through an underground mall to come out in a wide pedestrian street. Gracious buildings on either side ran down toward the lake, which shone cold and silver in the distance. Across the lake rose the snowy domes of the French Alps.

  Teresa led the way briskly along the cobbles, pointing out the occasional building and keeping up a non-stop stream of chatter that Kate only just managed to follow as she dodged her way through pedestrians and street artists, all the while trying to take in the stately city.

  “I would like to take you to the old part of the city, to show you the heart of the original Geneva,” Teresa said, guiding Kate by her elbow toward a bakery and tea-room. “But after the train, it is always good to take a moment to appreciate the fact that you’ve arrived somewhere else. Otherwise what is the point of travel?”

  On that note, she pulled open the door of the cute little coffee shop and both women stepped inside.

  Kate looked around her at the sparkling glass case which housed a delicious-looking assortment of petit-fours and tarts, and at the fresh loaves piled on the shelves behind. Large windows let in the light of the street, while quieter tables near the back of the shop were lit with soft yellow lamps. The overall effect was bright and simple, small enough to be cosy.

  It was the sort of ambiance that Kate had tried to achieve in the London tea-shop. Her tastes and Mickey’s had diverged, and the result had been a quirky but charming mix of old-style tea room and slightly new age living space, with sofas, rugs and a shelf with books and games. She had always had plans to make changes to the decor but there had never been the money or the time.

  Teresa’s voice brought her back to her surroundings. “I’m sorry, I was just remembering a tea shop in London,” Kate apologised.

  “It is always a little culture shock to come down from a long stay in the mountain,” Teresa said. “Even though Verbier has grown quite big and chic. Do you know, there was just a donkey track joining it to the valley when Hans-Peter was little? Now indulge yourself, my dear. We have a hard afternoon of shopping ahead.”

  Kate chose a creamy-looking raspberry verrine and a herbal tea. “My nerves are already on edge, I would be unbearable on coffee,” she explained. “I could barely sit still on the train.”

  Teresa’s eyes twinkled understandingly, reminding Kate of the way Sebastien’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Her stomach turned an unexpected somersault at the thought of the coming evening.

  Teresa ordered an expresso and a little lemon tart. “Now I don’t know how much Sebastien told you,” she began, looking to Kate to answer as they seated themselves at a table by the window.

  “Not much,” Kate replied honestly. “About tonight, you mean?”

  Teresa shook her head in mock exasperation. “Men!” she exclaimed. “I specifically asked him to warn you in advance. I never had daughters, you see, and I always regretted not having any to dress up. So you will have to indulge me today, my dear. It is always such a pleasure to shop for a pretty young thing.”

  Kate felt uncomfortable. It was the one thing that had been bothering her since Sebastien’s call. “Actually, I have a friend in Verbier who has loaned me an outfit for tonight. It really isn’t necessary to buy something for one evening.”

  The older woman stuck out her bottom lip crossly. “I don’t want to hear any objections. I’ve been looking forward to this for days. Please do this just to humour an old lady. I know it is superficial, but it is fun, and in the societal circles of the opera, superficial also has its role. Don’t forget that I was in the fashion world myself a long time ago.”

  Uneasiness turned to a slight panic in Kate. She didn’t want to disappoint or offend Teresa, but neither could she afford to buy formal wear. “I thought maybe we could just play tourist in Geneva for the afternoon,” she began.

  As if reading her thoughts, Teresa continued hastily, “It is my gift to you, dear. To thank you for helping with the Pichard hosting and for making Sebastien smile again. He was not always as serious as you met him this winter.”

  Teresa was silent for a moment and then continued more softly. “It is my gift to me as well, Michelle. I used to enjoy shopping when I was young and pretty myself.”

  “You still are beautiful!” Kate protested.

  “You are kind, my dear, but I am not blind. At a certain age, we become invisible.”

  “Certainly not inaudible,” Kate riposted flippantly before her hand flew to her mouth.

  “I’m so sorry, I always say whatever goes through my mind – “ Kate began to apologise profusely but Teresa laughed out loud before waving her hand dismissively. “Ah, it is so refreshing to be with somebody who doesn’t treat me as an antique to be handled with gloves on. And don’t worry, I am not feeling sorry for myself. In another ten years I’ll look back at this time now and think I was still so young. The secret is to enjoy every age while you can. I’m just grateful to still have my own teeth.”

  Kate allowed herself to smile and took a bite of her treat. It was like a mousse, light and flavourful and delicious. She smiled appreciatively at Teresa, who was taking a sip of her coffee.
/>
  “I just don’t want you to make the mistake so many young women do,” her hostess continued. “They compare themselves to others and feel dissatisfied with their looks when they are young and beautiful, and only realise twenty years later how lovely they were. So, will you let me buy you an outfit or two, as a favour to me?”

  “One, then,” Kate conceded reluctantly, uncomfortable with accepting the offer but unsure of how to back out of it graciously. Besides which, it was true, her clothing for tonight might not be suitable.

  “Fantastic, that’s settled then!” Teresa said enthusiastically, settling back to enjoy her patisserie. “We will see what we find today for you. You will make the Pichard family proud when you step out with Sebastien tonight.”

  Kate took a sip of her herbal tea, feeling jittery at the thought of the coming evening. A small knot formed in her stomach every time she remembered the lie between them and again tried to quiet her conscience with the resolution to tell Sebastien soon.

  “It was kind of Simon to invite us,” she said, to remind herself that this was not just a date with Sebastien.

  Teresa smiled. “Simon is a lovely young man. He and my boys used to get into so much trouble back in secondary school, the little rascals.” She bit into her patisserie and wiped her mouth carefully with her napkin. “Now, I don’t want you to judge these boys for being superficial. Of course you will have heard the rumours, and they are not blind to pretty faces, but Sebastien really was serious about Genevieve.”

  An odd ache constricted Kate’s chest at the mention of Sebastien’s ex-wife. At the same time, she wanted to know more without appearing nosy. “Were they just too young?” she ventured.

  Teresa made a vague hand gesture which seemed to imply inevitability. “It’s a strange world, the world of models. I was one myself when I was younger, you know. A watch model, in fact. We didn’t have to be so impossibly thin back then. We were allowed to keep our feminine curves. That’s how I met Hans-Peter.”