Fire and Ice Page 6

  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.

  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 Chr
istmas 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.

  “Excellent!” exclaimed the Tessinoisse. “I do like a bit of a challenge. Although I must warn you, if it comes to a competition, I have more years of experience. Now let us see if together we can keep the men from speaking about work all through dinner.”

  “Pardon me?” Kate was surprised, uncertain if this was an invitation.

  “Mais oui, you will be joining us for a fondue tonight, Michelle. The whole family must get to know you if we are to be living together on weekends over the winter. And now we must
leave the kitchen to the men. Fondue is the one meal that is the men’s department.”

  With this, the dynamic woman swept out of the kitchen, leaving Kate in a cloud of subtle perfume and confusion. Kate never liked finding herself in situations that no musical hit had been written to accommodate. She was out of her depth.

  Chapter Ten

  “Have you ever made a real Swiss fondue before, Michelle?” Stefan asked her, leaning over the comfortable armchair where Kate was curled up painstakingly trying to read the French-language newspaper that she’d picked up from the coffee table. A dictionary lay open on the carpet below her chair.

  “I’ve made fondue from a package,” she answered guardedly. “I don’t know if that counts as the real thing.”

  Stefan clucked disapprovingly and held out his hands to help pull Kate to her feet. “That just won’t do. All chalet girls MUST know how to make a proper fondue. It’s in the contract. Or it would be, if we weren’t too lazy to draw up a contract. But then we’d have to deal with work permits and striking chalet girls demanding unions and all hell would break loose. Now come with me.”

  For the second time in an hour Kate found herself being led by the hand into the kitchen. She was relieved to hear that there was no legal document she was meant to have signed to incriminate her still further.

  “Now, the secret is in the cheese,” Stefan said, cracking his knuckles and donning an apron. He handed another one to Kate. “You have to use local mountain cheeses, from cows fed only on summer wildflowers and prepared over a wood fire above fifteen hundred metres. Which could be tricky in the UK, I will grant you that.”

  Kate listened with amusement as Stefan chattered away, obviously enjoying himself. As they grated Gruyere cheese and chopped Vacherin into small cubes she had ample opportunity to study his famous looks. The elder son took after his Germanic father as much as Sebastien showed his mother’s Ticino heritage.