The Little Swiss Ski Chalet

Chapter Three

‘But this was outside of work,’ protested Mina as Ian Walters, the HR director, folded his arms.

‘The fact remains that Simon has made an official complaint about you and…’ He sighed. ‘Mina, I have to be seen to be doing something about it.’

‘Well, that’s bloody unfair.’

‘Look, if he chooses to escalate things, it could be a lot worse. And I don’t know what the legal position is, but what if he chooses to take it further as a civil action? What were you thinking?’

Mina folded her arms mutinously. ‘I was thinking he was a cheating sod and that blue hair would suit him.’

Ian tried to hide his amusement and failed miserably. ‘You know everyone is calling it Smurfgate.’

Mina grinned. ‘Are they?’

‘Yes, and I’m being totally unprofessional here. I appreciate that this all took place out of work, but the fact remains that you’ve – I don’t know what to call it, not assault or criminal damage – but at the end of the day you’ve harmed a fellow colleague.’

‘He looked a bit patchy for a couple of days.’ She shrugged before adding, ‘You should see Belinda – good job she doesn’t work here.’ An irate Simon had shown her the pictures. Despite her bravado, Mina did now feel quite remorseful. Belinda’s hair was doing a fair impersonation of mottled mermaid; her streaky blonde highlights had absorbed varying differing strengths of blue and it looked terrible. Even she couldn’t honestly say that Belinda deserved it; it was going to take months and a lot of hairdressing bills to sort out.

‘Mina. You need to sort yourself out.’

She flinched at the words. It was all very well telling herself that, but to hear it from someone else – someone who she respected and admired – that hit home.

‘I’m saying this as a friend. You need to reign in some of your natural enthusiasm and be more commercial. Your last appraisal said it all: you’re creative, a hard worker, but you have a tendency to dive off at a tangent sometimes. Heston Blumenthal can get away with weird and wonderful flavours – you can’t. Our customers are not ready for orange-and-fennel-flavoured pastry in their mince pies. They want traditional, tried and tested. That’s what your job is. To give them that.’

She knew that, but she couldn’t stop herself arguing back, ‘But that’s boring. Did you try my mince pies?’

‘Yes, and they were bloody delicious, but the thing is, you have to toe the company line.’

‘I get that, but you have to push the boundaries a bit otherwise we’d never move forward.’ Mina couldn’t understand the company’s attitude. Last year their mince pies averaged a measly five-out-of-ten in the magazine and online taste tests. Good Housekeeping only gave them a three, and quite frankly she didn’t blame them. Her recipe would have at least garnered some interest, rather than rating bland mediocrity.

‘Mina. Listen to me. Simon is out for blood. You need to keep your head down. You’ve got a lot of holiday owing. Why don’t you take a couple of weeks off? Think about what you really want? Is a career here going to fulfil your creativity? You’re a brilliant recipe developer but… is this the right place for you?’

Mina stared at him. ‘Are you sacking me?’

‘No, not all. You’re one of our best – when you stay on track. I’d hate to lose you, but I worry that this isn’t what you need. Why don’t you go away for a little while, think things through? Hopefully when you get back he’ll have calmed down.’

‘But I’m not in the wrong here—’

Ian raised an eyebrow and she shut up. Actually, a few weeks’ holiday was quite a nice idea. Maybe she could do with some thinking time. There was a whole world out there; perhaps it was time to do something like Hannah and take some time for herself.

‘Hi Hannah.’

‘What?’ asked her sister with a tone of instant suspicion.

‘Why would you say that?’ Mina felt aggrieved as she sat on the end of her bed eying the rather small pile of clothes she’d already earmarked to go in her case.

‘Because you bothered to say hi and use my name. Normally you dive in as if we’re already mid-way through a conversation. Personally I find it endearing, but when you say, “Hi Hannah”, I know you want something.’

‘Well, now you come to mention it. Is there any chance you could give me a lift to the airport on Thursday afternoon?’

‘Wind back a sec. Airport. Thursday. What, this Thursday, as in two days’ time? What’s going on?’

‘You know how you said that putting hair removal cream in Simon’s shampoo would be a bad idea?’

‘Oh God, you didn’t.’

‘No, wait. I didn’t. I refrained.’

‘Thank goodness for that.’

‘I went for the blue hair dye instead.’

‘Oh flipping heck, Mina. Why do you do these things? Seriously. Consequences. Remember consequences.’

‘Yeah, well this time, HR are giving me a hard time.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Simon has complained about me as a colleague.’

‘That slimy weasel. It’s nothing to do…’

‘Don’t think I haven’t told them that, but Simon is making a big fuss. It’s been suggested I take a couple of weeks’ holiday. I don’t see why I should – but I do fancy a holiday.’

‘Oooh, where are you going to go?’

‘I’m going to Switzerland to see Amelie.’

‘Well, that’s unexpected. You’ve got the world at your feet, I thought you’d be going backpacking in Bali, surfing in Sydney, cruising in Croatia, or riding in—’

‘Exactly: too much choice. This was easier and I could do it instantly. She’s always said I’m welcome. And I thought, why not? I haven’t seen her new place.’ To be honest she hadn’t really thought about it that much. When she’d had an email from Amelie yesterday morning, on impulse she’d invited herself.

‘People say that, they don’t always mean it.’

‘Well, she seemed to think two weeks wasn’t long enough,’ argued Mina. ‘Besides I need to get away from work for a while, and I booked flights. I’m flying to Zurich on Thursday afternoon, staying overnight in a hotel and then getting a train to her place on Friday. Have you got any ski kit I can borrow?’

‘Mina, you are hopeless. Yes, I’ve got kit you can borrow. Although TK Maxx do very good-value stuff.’

‘Do they? Cool, I’ll pop in there tomorrow.’

‘What about work?’

‘Ian agreed that I could have unpaid leave for the rest of this week. I’m already well ahead on next year’s Christmas recipes. It wasn’t difficult, just more of the same with an extra pinch of nutmeg.’ She groaned at the thought of the same old, dull formulations. ‘I’ll go shopping tomorrow for thermals and things. I’ve never been anywhere where it’s properly cold before.’

‘Layers. It’s all about layers. There’s no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothes. In fact you should go to one of those outdoor places at Cheshire Oaks. They’ll sort you out with all the right kit.’

By Thursday lunchtime Mina’s case was packed with virtually an entire new wardrobe, and a considerable extension to her overdraft. She also had a brand new notebook and a copy of Moving Onwards and Upwards: Get the life you deserve, find purpose and achieve your goals which she’d bought on a whim in Waterstones. She’d caught sight of it out of the corner of her eye, and while she didn’t believe in fate or providence, it did seem to sum up what Ian had been hinting at. Reading it, she felt sure, was bound to help in sorting herself out – or at least it would feel as if she were trying. She’d always been someone with a plan, who knew what they were doing. Since everything that happened after her disastrous would-be proposal, for the first time in her life, she felt herself floundering, and not really knowing what to do about it. The book was her equivalent of a lifebelt. Reading it was a practical step that she could do straightaway.

She’d read it on her journey – or maybe she’d save it for later, she had a couple of podcasts on her phone to listen to. Who knew what Switzerland held – but she was going to make the most of these two weeks, and think about the future, not look backwards and dwell on the mess she was leaving behind.

Chapter Four

Zurich

Zurich in mid-February brought tears to her eyes as the cold bit at her nose. Mina huddled deeper in the long down coat that she’d bought especially for the trip. It made her feel positively European among the other women wearing very similar outfits in the sparsely populated streets.

Last night when she’d arrived in the dark by train, which sped efficiently from the airport to the city centre in just ten minutes, the snow-covered roofs and spires had piqued her interest. Now in the bright sunny morning she regretted giving herself so little time to explore the city. Her train to Reckingen, in the canton of Valais, was due to leave just after lunch, which left very little time to wander the streets, checking out the inviting nooks and crannies of the little lanes and cobbled roads.

She’d done a little reading on the internet and had been fascinated to find that Switzerland was made up of twenty-six cantons, each of which were individual states with their own distinct regional foods and dialects. It was like each county in England having its own rules and regulations, and she wondered how on earth it worked in Switzerland. Now she was here, she thought maybe she should have done more research but – she gave herself a wry smile – that was typical of her, jumping in with both feet. Besides it was more of an adventure to find things out as you went, wasn’t it?

Luckily the friendly receptionist in her hotel had given her an extremely handy leaflet with a recommended short walking tour which encompassed all the highlights in one quick circuit, taking in the old Roman fort Lindenhof for an ‘inspiring view of the city’, St Peter’s church ‘to see the largest clockface in Europe’, the Fraumünster with its ‘must-see’ Chagall stained glass windows, and, across the river Limmat over the Münster Bridge, the Grossmünster, ‘a Romanesque Protestant church’. It seemed like a lot of churches to someone who really wasn’t that spiritual, but the prescribed walk offered a quick snapshot in her limited time slot.

After a breathless, steep climb, the old fort did indeed afford the promised ‘inspiring view of the city’, providing a wonderful snapshot of the different architectural styles spread along the banks of the Limmat, from the white buildings crowding onto the river front with their pale blue, green, or grey wooden shutters and the terracotta roofs glowing in the mid-morning sunshine, through to splendid steep-pointed, gothic spires protruding from every part of the city. Taking a moment to enjoy the view, she took a few photos to share with Hannah, Miriam, and Derek on the family WhatsApp group, and then, conscious of the time and her train in a couple of hours, she walked to St Peter’s Church and took another tourist snap of the enormous clock face, before hurrying on down another street following the arrows on the leaflet. She was about to take a left turn when something stopped her and she lifted her head to take an appreciative sniff. Chocolate. The rich scent filled the air and she could almost taste it. Abandoning her route, she followed her nose down a narrow cobbled lane, where the tall houses created an alley-like feeling with flags on either side of the street almost touching each other.

Halfway down, housed in an old timber-framed building, was a tiny shop which, judging from its large, incongruously contemporary plate-glass window display, sold nothing but chocolate.

How could she resist? Chocolate or churches? Was there even a choice? Without hesitation, she pushed through the door and stopped on the threshold, entranced by the even deeper and richer scent, which brought with it images of molten, sinuous chocolate. Chocolate heaven indeed. Whoever had arranged the displays had to be in cahoots with the devil, the whole place reeked of sinful decadence and Mina loved it. Ahead of her, on pale grey shelves showcased by strategically placed spotlights were matt black dishes filled with all manner of temptation, from tiny Florentines to cocoa-dusted truffles to glossy pralines. In the centre of the shop were a few well-placed pedestals upon which blocks of chocolates lined up like dominoes around tiny vases of fresh flowers. Stepping closer, she read the labels: white chocolate flavoured with rose, yoghurt, and raspberries; dark chocolate flavoured with lemon and hibiscus; milk chocolate with hazelnuts.

Like a prowling cat, she examined all the different displays, taking her time, considering the flavours and wondering, if she had to narrow it down, what on earth she would buy. And then she knew without looking at the prices, which she guessed were going to be in the extremely expensive bracket, she just had to buy some.

Sometimes chocolate was all you needed, she decided with a happy smile.

Although she’d already bought Amelie a beautiful hand-printed silk scarf as a thank-you-for-having-me present, she decided an additional box of chocolates wouldn’t go amiss, and then perhaps a small taster of chocolate for herself to help the long journey…

She took her time, perusing the selection before she made her final selections. Chocolate, after all, was serious business. Churches could wait. At last she thought she’d got the perfect balance. Three small bars of chocolate, because she was intrigued by the different enticing flavours, and for Amelie, whose taste she wasn’t completely sure of, a box of different-flavoured chocolate squares.

‘You like chocolate,’ teased the petite woman when she took them to the cash desk.

‘I love chocolate, but I don’t know as much about it as I’d like to. These all sound so interesting.’

‘You’ve come to the right country. We invented chocolate as you know it today. If you’re really interested you should take a chocolate tour, there are several in the city.’

‘I’d love to, but I’m catching a train today and going to stay with my godmother.’

‘There are chocolate factories all over Switzerland. I’m sure she’ll know somewhere.’

‘I’ll ask her,’ said Mina, as she handed over her card, not even flinching at the astronomical number of Swiss Francs she was parting with. A tour would be brilliant, she’d always wanted to know more about how chocolate was made and what differentiated one from another. Chocolate recipes were one of her passions. Before she worked in a food kitchen, she’d experimented a lot at home and had amassed a collection of her own ideas over the years. Once upon a time she’d thought about writing her own recipe book, but then life and work had got in the way.

Clutching the ribbons of her fancy carrier bag, she walked down the street towards the river, beaming at passers-by as she thought of her purchases. Most smiled back, albeit after an initial second of reserve. See: that was the power of chocolate. It made you happy, and it made other people happy in the same way as a smile. Feeling a definite skip in her step, she crammed her hat down on her head, catching the eye of a young man walking past. He shot her a flirtatious smile, dark eyes scanning her with quick interest, and she grinned back but didn’t slow her stride.

Across the Limmat she spotted the dome-topped twin towers of the Grossmünster, which according to her trusty leaflet had been described by Wagner as pepper dispensers. She thought that was a little harsh, as she studied the creamy stone glowing in the winter sunlight. It was an imposing sight – but now with very limited time, she decided the lure of stained glass windows designed by Marc Chagall, as described in her leaflet, was far stronger. These were to be found in the rather beautiful Fraumünster church which, she decided, looked much more interesting with its dramatic, dragon-scale-like green tiles covering the steeple that draped like curtains around another imposing clock face.

The stained glass windows were every bit as stunning as her faithful leaflet had promised, and the vibrant jewel-bright glass glowed, backlit by the sun. What must it be like to create something that people revered and adored, wondered Mina and, probably like many in the church, pondered her own insignificance. If she thought about it – something she’d avoided before now – she hadn’t really achieved much in her life. Splitting up with Simon had brought with it an unpleasant and rather shaming awareness that, despite all her zest for life, her life was actually quite small. She hadn’t really been anywhere or done anything. According to the leaflet, Wagner, Einstein, and James Joyce had all lived in Zurich at some point in their rich and varied lives, and all had left lasting contributions to society.

Good cook, great theme nights, fun to be with – would probably be the sum total of her epitaph. It wasn’t as if she wanted to change the world but it would be nice to know that she’d made a difference to someone and achieved something during her lifetime. She thought she’d had a positive impact on Simon, livened him up a little. It turned out she’d just irritated and frustrated him half the time. And at work her most notable success was a recipe for the company’s best-selling chicken and chorizo risotto, which if she was honest was mostly a paella rip-off. Hardly that innovative.

Feeling her mood deflating, she took one last look at the windows and gave them a quick salute. Good old Marc Chagall. He’d been eighty when he’d designed the windows – surely that meant there was time for her to find something more meaningful in her life?

‘Can I collect my case, please? And thank you so much for the leaflet, it was really useful.’

Mina nodded at the receptionist, who’d been so helpful earlier.

‘Ah, good. I’m pleased. Does your case have a name on it?’

‘It has a Harry Potter luggage tag on it.’ She grinned, remembering carefully inscribing the very succinct address. Amelie’s. Reckingen, Valais, Switzerland.

The woman smiled back and disappeared into the small office just off the reception area before returning with the case. Mina grasped the handle and headed out along the street and across the road to the railway station, feeling a quick kick of anticipation. On to the next leg of her holiday. Proper snow and mountains.

As soon as she entered the station her eyes scanned the kiosks looking for one particular name and there it was. Brezelkönig. Unfortunately her impulsive diversion into the chocolate shop had messed up her judicious allocation of time, and she only had ten minutes to find the platform and board her train. She faltered for a second – but Amelie’s last email had included an instruction: Mina ‘must try a kurbiskernen from Brezelkönig in the station. They are the best.’

As she hesitated she caught the rich yeasty smell wafting across the concourse. With sudden decisiveness she altered her course and dashed up to the window of the kiosk. There was a fine selection of dark golden brown pretzels with their glossy, shiny skin, and also a bit of a queue – but she was here now, and she’d need more than chocolate to eat on the train. As she stood in line, her mouth began to water and her eyes homed in on the kurbiskernen: a pumpkin seed-covered prezel. Finally when she reached the front of the queue, not trusting her schoolgirl German, she pointed to the pretzel and held up two fingers; it was a long journey after all. The girl serving immediately answered in English which made Mina smile with chagrin. She should have at least tried. Handing over her cash, she said, ‘Danke schön,’ and immediately felt a bit better for making some effort.

Grasping her paper bag, she searched the departure boards and spotted the train going to Brig, which was where she had to change to get the train that travelled up through to Goms.

Platform 32. To her horror she realised that was in the lower level of the station, and she had precisely six minutes to find it. Picking up speed, she began to weave her way through the crowd and immediately found herself caught up in a cluster of schoolchildren. It was like dodging a meteor shower as they veered in front of her from all directions. After a near-miss with a small boy, she extricated herself and dived towards the escalator going down to the lower floor.

Half dragging and half lifting her suitcase, she tried to hurry down, receiving irritated glares as she pushed past the other serene passengers who seemed in no rush at all.

Running along, she counted down the platforms, twenty, twenty-three, thirty and phew, thirty-two. To her horror the platform was empty and the doors were closing. Hauling in a dry breath, she belted down the platform heading for the nearest open door which was just being closed.

‘Hey,’ she called. ‘Can you hold the door?’

There was a whistle and she put in an extra burst of speed, drawing level with the door. A man leaned out and grabbed her case, threw it in, and then hauled her in through the door with so much momentum that they both went tumbling to the floor, the door slamming behind them.

Before Mina had a chance to disentangle herself from the sprawl of his and her limbs, the train began moving.

‘Phew, that was a close one.’ She beamed in delighted triumph at her saviour who was wincing. ‘Thank you so much.’

‘Mmph, I don’t suppose you could get your elbow out of my solar plexus.’

‘Oh, yes, sorry. Of course, although I’m not sure where the solar plexus is.’

‘I think you’ll find it’s currently at the end of your very pointy elbow.’

She shifted immediately and he sat up, pushing back an unruly mop of sunshine-highlighted curls from his face, revealing dancing blue eyes and a lopsided wide mouth, already curving into a ready smile. The slightly too-long wayward hair looked as if it had seen an extended season in the sun somewhere, and the overall impression of sunshine and happiness made it impossible not to smile back.

‘Oh, I’m sorry. Are you OK?’ She reached out with her hands to touch him and then stopped halfway, realising it was probably totally inappropriate on less than thirty seconds’ acquaintance, but there was just something about him that made her feel at ease, as if he were in the habit of conducting conversations on the floor of a train all the time and it was completely normal.

He shot her another dazzling grin that made her feel a little fizzy inside. Probably just the adrenaline buzz after nearly missing the train.

‘I’m fine. Although you do have exceptionally pointy elbows.’

She examined her elbow. ‘Do you think they’re pointier than most people’s?’

With a tilt of his head, he studied her arm as he rubbed his chest. ‘Yes, and I’m prepared to give you a testimonial if you ever need one. But it was a pretty damn brilliant rescue, you have to admit.’ This time the grin on his face was decidedly cocky, but still full of good humour.

‘I do. A perfect knight with metaphorical shining armour. Although if you had been wearing armour the elbow wouldn’t have been a problem. Thank you again.’

‘So do I get one of these?’ He held up one of her chocolate bars, which must have spilled from her bag. The sunshine streaming in through the window glistened on the golden hairs on his arms. Mina knew that finding arms attractive might be considered strange, but it was her thing, and those forearms were lovely enough that it was tempting to reach out and stroke them. That would be weird, wouldn’t it?

‘Hmm,’ she sucked in a considering breath and looked at him, deliberately studying his face, realising that her pulse had just tripped ever so slightly. ‘I’m not sure it’s worth a whole bar.’