Fire and Ice Page 5

  “I think it’s what comes of being both professional and friendly,” Sebastien was saying. “Good with people. Let’s see if you can work your magic on a tougher crowd.”

  A flash of pleasure mixed with the guilt Kate was feeling. A compliment from Sebastien meant a lot to her, more than it should. She was glad that he couldn’t see the confusion on her face. She had to force herself to pay attention as he gave her the details for the weekend and then hung up, back in his usual efficiency mode.

  This was all just business, she told herself. As long as she did a good job, the little lie didn’t matter. As long as she ignored the knee-weakening attraction she felt for him, the burning desire to find herself alone with him, the way she had hoped that last Saturday evening went on forever.

  She breathed deeply, smelling pine pitch and wet mittens. It was a beautiful day and she was not going to spoil it by worrying about small details that she couldn’t control now anyway.

  Her face was set resolutely as she headed back toward the village and she even managed a smile as a group of tiny chickadees fluttered out of the tree at her side. Now she just wished that the burning knot of tension in her stomach would agree.

  Sebastien closed his mobile telephone with a snap. He stared at it for a long moment before putting it away with a sigh. This week he had been thinking too much about Michelle. Since the weekend he had been looking forward to the Wednesday call, just to hear her lilting voice, her bubbly enthusiasm. He should really have waited until the evening to call, as arranged, but the waiting left him distracted and less able to work efficiently.

  Michelle was different than the other women he met. She was less sophisticated and more real. There was something infectious about her positivity and warmth, a way with people that seemed to come naturally to her. Her wide smile was disarming, twinkling up to her eyes, putting the guests at ease.

  The problem was that he found it disarming as well, almost irresistible.

  By the end of the weekend he had felt the strong urge to pull those sensuous lips against his, to taste that smile. To let those little sparks that had flared in every moment of complicity burst into flame. Rather than the reserved and cautious sort of person who held back and always kept a card in reserve, she seemed like the wild, uninhibited sort to jump in with both feet and let go.

  He exhaled deeply and shook his head to clear his thoughts. He was unimpressed by his own traitorous feelings. In the family, he was the one who was supposed to be responsible now, not behaving like Stefan and chasing after pretty women every weekend.

  His headlong romance with Genevieve and the disastrous divorce which followed had caused the family enough embarrassment, he reminded himself. The tabloids would love it if the younger Pichard followed in his brother’s footsteps by creating a scandal and seducing the chalet girl.

  The computer screen in front of him on his neatly organised desk went into standby mode, bringing him back to his surroundings. Resolutely he turned back to his work. Self-discipline and focus on the task at hand had become his trademark way of dealing with anything that disturbed him.

  When he had first plunged into his work seriously after Genevieve, it had been a way of rebuilding his pride and compensating for the cost of his divorce. His family assumed that his personal commitment now to make Pichard a leader in responsible corporate governance was simply a business plan to make up for the market lost to Stefan’s mistakes.

  But his desire to do something positive for society was genuine. His time with Genevieve in the world of flighty models and rich socialites had left him resolved to make the Pichard family give something back and he felt driven to show that ethics weren’t completely incompatible with successful business.

  The thought made him furrow his dark brows and run his hand distractedly through his hair. Today he had received an email from Axelle duBois, a French model who was going to pose for his advertising campaign for the Simply Elegant watch series. He had already met her at one of Stefan’s parties and she had shown a keen interest in more than just his ideas. She wanted to come up for a weekend to discuss the campaign, but also wanted him to take her to the casino in Montreux. He sighed.

  What he really wanted to do was to dive back into the annual reports of several international NGOs. Instead he had to deal with a distributor in India as they tried to regain the market that they had lost there after the scandal with the film star.

  He reread the email from New Dehli. There were cultural norms he had to respect in his reply, forms of politeness which took some concentration not to overlook in his efforts to be efficient. The Pichard clan had inadvertently rubbed enough Indians the wrong way. The social scandal had been bad enough; the last thing they needed was to be seen as disrespectful in business as well.

  After several aborted attempts to answer the message he pushed his chair back and stood up, stretching his back. His usually focused mind was being hijacked today by images of Michelle, some of them not so innocent. This was ridiculous. He needed a coffee.

  On his way out of his office, he stopped to take in the magnificent view from the windows. His office was on the top floor of the stately eighteenth century building that housed their main watch showcase on the first floor. Large windows overlooked the promenade that ran along Lake Leman. It was a clear, sunny day and he could see across the lake to the French Alps, covered in snow.

  He could imagine the day in Verbier, the sun glinting on individual snow crystals, making the whole bowl sparkle. He wished he could be there now, skiing in the afternoon sun, coming home to curl up by the fire in the evening. Sharing a glass of wine with Michelle. Watching those green eyes dance.

  Five minutes passed as he gazed unseeingly across the lake before he came to his senses with an unimpressed snort. He was worse than Stefan.

  This was not a winter for pleasure or creating scandals. He had a business to run. He closed the blinds on the Alps and continued down the hallway.

  Chapter Seven

  Switzerland, despite its flourishing tourist industry, remains a country largely closed to outsiders. A legacy of generations brought up in closed valleys, the Swiss maintain a solid loyalty to their peers and a guarded wariness of strangers. Even people from the next valley, with their slightly different idioms, are considered as foreigners in the tightly-knit mountain communities.

  Coming from abroad, don’t come to Switzerland expecting to make friends with a lot of locals, unless you plan to stay for decades. You can, however, expect to make friends within the dynamic expatriate community, despite the ebb and flow of its members.

  The Alps were originally opened up for alpine tourism by the English, and the ski resorts remain the playground of foreigners. Once, the British hired local guides and porters. Now the situation has reversed and the British flock here to work for the Swiss in the bars and ski shops. The situation pleases both parties, even if never the twain shall meet. Just don’t come to Verbier hoping to perfect your French.

  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 che
rry 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.