The Chalet

10

December 1998, La Madière, France

I head back to the lift, but the lift operator wags a finger at me. ‘Trop de vent,’ he says. Too windy. I feel like I’m going to explode. This is it. No more looking for the clients. If Andy hasn’t found them, we have to do something. We can’t put it off any longer – we probably shouldn’t have left it as long as we have. I wonder about asking the lift guy if I can borrow his radio to try to speak to Andy, but that would mean going public with this as almost anyone can listen in. And what’s the point of ruining our reputation if the clients are already safely stuffing their mouths with cake in their chalet?

Part of me knows the good, responsible thing to do would be to alert rescue, just in case, but what are they going to do anyway? You can’t get a helicopter out in this weather, and it’s going to get dark soon. This could barely be worse.

‘It’s fine,’ I mutter to myself. ‘It’s fine. Andy will have got hold of them. They’ll be in a bar somewhere, showing off to their mates about skiing the couloir in these conditions. It’s all fine. Fine.’

My breathing slows. I’m not going to mess up the good name of my company for a couple of arseholes who made out they were better skiers than they actually are and who I’m 99 per cent sure are fine. They’re fine. I’m fine. We’re all fine. It’s all going to be fine.

I head off down the lower slope, which is by now almost deserted, and join a queue for the lift which will get me back to the office and back to news of whether or not we’re in deep shit. Because of the wind, the lift is moving slowly and stopping often. The snow bites at my face. It would almost have been quicker to put on skins and hike. By the time I finally get to the top, they are no longer allowing people on any lifts, even down here – the wind is too strong. I ski down the short run back to the office and fling open the door.

‘Why the hell aren’t you answering your radio!?’ Andy yells.

‘I dropped it!’ I shout back. ‘Did you find them or not?’

‘No. I found the forms they filled in with their details – you’ve got to get this office more organized, by the way; it took me forever.’

‘Did you call the chalet?’ I ask impatiently. Now is hardly the time to be hassling me about housekeeping.

‘No! I was waiting for you! I didn’t want to broadcast the fact that we’ve – you’ve – lost them, when for all I know you might have found them.’

‘Well I didn’t,’ I say tightly. ‘Which chalet are they in?’

Andy glances at the form. ‘They didn’t mark it. Which you would already know if you could stop shouting at me for five minutes! I’m trying to help you here! They’re your clients – not mine!’

‘They’re our clients. Our ski school. We’re in this together.’

‘They were out with you,’ Andy says coldly.

I take a deep breath. This isn’t the time. And I need to keep Andy on side. ‘We both need to calm down. They’re here with Powder Puff – that annoying rep passed by as we were setting off and said they were his clients, remember? Where’s their chalet?’

‘Powder Puff have loads of chalets. We’ll have to call their office. Do you have the number?’

‘Somewhere.’ I rifle through the piles of paper on my desk and feel Andy’s impatience growing until eventually the unhelpful twat shouts, ‘Come on!’

‘You’re not helping!’ I shout back. ‘Look, it’s here. Richard, the rep’s name is,’ I say, as I pick up the phone and dial.

‘Richard? Hi. It’s Cameron from Skitastic. We were skiing with a couple of your clients this afternoon and they’ve gone AWOL. Yeah, the ones you saw me with. No, not long – they’re probably fine but could you call whichever chalet they’re in and check if they’re back? They didn’t mark which one they’re in on the … I KNOW! I’m not exactly pleased either … Look, we’re all on the same side here, aren’t we? Yeah. Yeah. OK – call me once you’ve spoken to the chalet girl. I’m in the office. Appreciate it, mate, yeah.’

Andy sits down, head in hands. ‘This is bad.’

‘They might be at the chalet,’ I say, hearing the desperation even in my own voice.

‘And if they’re not?’

‘They might be in one of the bars,’ I offer, though I’m already fearing the worst.

‘How are we going to know, though? There are masses of bars! They could be anywhere!’

‘If they’re down, they should have let us know they’re safe, shouldn’t they?’ I persist. I sound pathetic even to my own ears.

‘They should have, but you know what punters are like – they don’t think. And it’s getting dark now.’

‘I think we should give it till six,’ I say.

‘And if they’re not back by then?’

‘Well then, I guess … I guess we have to call rescue.’

‘Who won’t be able to do anything in this weather.’ There’s a pause. ‘If they’re not back, they don’t stand a chance.’

The phone rings.

11

2018, London

Hugo

After Ria spent that first night with me, she never really moved out again. I couldn’t believe my luck. I don’t remember asking her to move in – it happened by degrees. I cleared a drawer out for her stuff because she was staying so often, then a cupboard, then her letters started arriving there ‘because it’s easier as I’m here the whole time anyway’. I didn’t mind in the slightest; I’d never lived with a woman before and seeing her stuff around the place made it feel like a proper home, rather than somewhere I just came to play X-Box and sleep after work.

After a month or so she said she thought it was pointless her paying rent on her flat, so would it be OK if she brought the rest of her stuff over? It was only then I realized I’d never been to her flat. I asked her why.

Her face fell. ‘My weird flatmate’s always there. Plus I’m too embarrassed for you to see it. It’s a hole.’

I took her hand. ‘Why would you be embarrassed? London is expensive, you’re running your own business in tricky times – there’s no shame in finding things a bit of a struggle.’

‘Yeah but you’ve got all this.’ She cast her hand around the flat, indicating my glass wall overlooking Tower Bridge, my state-of-the-art Bang and Olufsen speakers, and the early Damian Hirst that I’d bought last Christmas for the exposed-brick wall above the reclaimed fireplace. ‘I’d feel like the poor relation, taking you to mine. I used to have my own little place, which was nice enough – nothing like this, obviously – but … well, I had to sell it.’

I nodded, assuming she couldn’t keep up with the mortgage payments. It’s not exactly uncommon. I took her in my arms, squeezed her tight and then let her go, feeling a stab of love for her as I saw that tears were brimming in her eyes.

‘I inherited the money to buy this flat, and the business, from my father, as you know,’ I said. ‘I work hard, but all this was pretty much handed to me on a plate. And I doubt I’d have managed to hang on to it if it wasn’t for Olivia and the other people around me who are much better at all this stuff than I am.’ I put an arm around her again and kissed her forehead. ‘You’re building your business up from scratch. In my book, that’s much more impressive than having a smart place to live.’

She smiled weakly. ‘I love you,’ she said, burrowing her head into my chest.

I grinned. It was the first time she’d said it. ‘I love you too,’ I replied. I’d been dying to tell her for ages.

After that, things between Ria and me moved quickly. Olivia disapproved – there were a lot of sly references to gold-digging and the like – but I was in love and Ria loved me, I was sure of it. And even if she didn’t, as far as I could see, Ria was as good as I was ever going to get. For me, that was enough. I loved her. I’d be a good husband to her, she would be a good wife to me and … well, that’s about everything you could want in a marriage, isn’t it? I’d never been as happy as I had since Ria came into my life and there was no way I wanted things to go back to how they were before. I wanted to marry Ria, have children with her, buy her things, and make her happy. That was what I wanted from life and it was none of Olivia’s business.

I was nearly forty by then, Ria almost the same age, so if we wanted children, there was no time to waste. Six weeks after we met, I took her to Paris and proposed at the top of the Eiffel Tower. It might not have been the most original idea, but she said yes, which was all that mattered.

Three months later we got married in Las Vegas – just us, no friends, or family. Ria didn’t want a traditional wedding and I didn’t mind what we did as long as she was happy. She agreed to stop taking the pill and we had lots of sex. For the first few months at least.

Her events planning business went from strength to strength, following a cash injection from me. Meantime, several terrorist events in a row and currency changes meant that things weren’t so good for Redbush Holidays. Which is why I so desperately need Simon to invest – I wish Ria would take that on board and stop behaving so badly.

12

January 2020, La Madière, France

Ria

With Hugo and Simon out skiing, I settle down on the sofa with my iPad to read. When everyone else is out, it’s actually pretty nice here. The leather sofa I’m lounging on, covered in cosy throws and furry cushions, is one of the most comfortable I’ve ever experienced. The rugs are deep and sumptuous and the view is exquisite, Millie has lit the fire and it’s crackling away. It’s a far cry from the caravan holidays I was used to in my childhood, but very much the kind of thing I’ve enjoyed since I met Hugo. My jumper is Brora and my cashmere socks are from The White Company. It would be difficult to feel more cosy and snug, so I’m not remotely tempted to go out skiing in this terrible weather. If only I could stay here alone and not feel like I had to chat to boring Cass, suck up to sad sack Simon, and fend off Hugo’s advances, it would all be pretty sweet.

Half an hour later, there’s a knock at the door. It’s Matt. Arse. If I’d known he was coming round I’d have put some make-up on at least. I smooth my hair and smile. ‘Hey.’

He smiles back. ‘Hi, Ria. I thought I’d pop by and check everything’s OK after all that … business with Cass this morning? Is she all right?’

‘Come in!’ I usher him inside, frowning at the blizzard blowing outside. He stamps his feet on the mat and comes in. ‘Sit down,’ I say, indicating the fabulous sofa. I might find out what brand it is and see if I can persuade Hugo to get us one for home. ‘Yes, I think Cass is fine,’ I continue. ‘She’s in her room. Probably having a nap.’

Matt nods and sits down at one end of the enormous sofa. I sit down at the opposite end, tucking my feet under me. His eyes travel down my body and then back up to my face. I smirk subtly at him.

‘So … um,’ he says, reddening. ‘I saw the boys heading off skiing as I arrived. Simon said they’d booked a guide I think and were hoping to get off-piste?’

‘Yup,’ I say. ‘Wouldn’t catch me out there in this weather.’

‘I went out this morning but didn’t stay long,’ he says. ‘Not fun when it’s like this.’

‘Nooo’, I agree.

There’s a pause. I guess he’s wondering if I remember coming on to him last night or if I was too drunk and have forgotten. I’ll let him wonder for now.

‘So what are your plans for today if you’re not skiing?’ he asks.

‘I thought I’d hang out here for a while. It’s such a lovely chalet, it’s nice to spend some time in it. I’m really enjoying myself.’

‘It is a lovely chalet,’ he agrees. He looks across to the huge window. ‘One of my favourites. Did you choose it for the view?’

‘Kind of. I work in events management and I’ve had my eye on it as a venue for a while.’ This is not the entire truth, but it’s near enough – it’s also the version I’ve told Hugo. ‘Then Hugo was looking for somewhere to bring Simon to impress him – he’s hoping he’ll invest in his company – so I suggested here and … well, here we are.’

Matt nods. There is an awkward silence, filled with sexual tension. We both know what is happening here. But we are at opposite ends of the sofa and I am Matt’s married client, so neither of us really know how to move things forward, not now that we are sober. ‘Good choice,’ Matt ventures.

‘But then it turns out that Simon came here with an old girlfriend,’ I continue, ‘and Cass is feeling insecure about it. I think that was part of the reason for her solo walk which worried everyone so much.’

‘Ah! Poor Cass. I guess having a new baby can make things …’ he tails off, realizing this isn’t a good conversational route to go down for many reasons. ‘I hope she’s OK. She seems …’

He clears his throat. ‘Well, anyway, none of my business. Changing the subject entirely, if the weather improves tomorrow, perhaps I could take you out skiing – show you the resort? With Cass, and the boys too, if they’re interested,’ he adds, quite clearly as an afterthought. ‘It’s all part of our service. I have to take my company jacket off so as not to tread on the local instructors’ toes but, being a small company, we like to—’

‘Sounds great,’ I interrupt, cutting him off because I don’t want him to go back into corporate mode and I’m already wondering how I can make sure none of the others want to come with us. ‘Why don’t I meet you at the Schuss Café at ten?’

Matt grins. ‘Sounds perfect. I believe I’m due here for dinner tonight, so we can firm things up then. And if there’s anything you need in the meantime, give me a shout. Send my regards to Cass, I won’t disturb her if she’s tired.’

‘I will.’

‘And I hope the boys have a successful day skiing.’

‘I’ll pass that on.’

We both get up and move towards the door. ‘Well then,’ he says. I lean in, inviting him to kiss me on the cheek. He reddens slightly, unsure what to do. I put my hand on his arm and do the bise, two kisses French style, as if I do that all the time, which I don’t, but I want to touch him.

I squeeze his hand briefly. ‘See you tomorrow.’

13

December 1998, La Madière, France

‘Hello? Richard. Right. OK. Thanks … Yeah, I will. I don’t think we’ve got any option now that … Look, now is hardly the time, is it? Yeah. I’ll keep you posted. Bye.’

‘So?’ Andy asks, stupidly. Isn’t it obvious?

‘They’re not there.’

‘So what do we do? How long have they been missing now?’

I look at my watch, and then out of the window. It’s getting dark, the wind sounds like a jet engine and it’s still snowing.

‘We don’t know that they’re missing!’ I snap. ‘We just don’t know where they are.’ I am pacing about the office, but it’s too small and I feel claustrophobic.

Andy picks up the phone. ‘Isn’t that the same thing? We have to call rescue now. We can’t sit back and do nothing. Something’s obviously wrong.’

‘But …’ I say, uselessly. ‘We said we’d give it till six. They might have gone to the bar like we said and be boring some poor sod with how they lost their guides and found their way down like heroes and—’

‘Apart from anything else, rep-boy Richard knows now. So if they don’t turn up …’

‘And if they do, everyone will think we’re incapable idiots anyway,’ I counter.

Andy holds up the phone towards me. ‘So what do you want me to do?’

‘Make the call.’

14

Daily Mail

29 December, 1998

Two British men have gone missing in the French Alpine ski resort of La Madière.

The two men, brothers aged 22 and 24, who have not yet been named, were skiing off-piste with local guides when they went missing in bad weather.

A search team was launched immediately, but so far no trace of either man has been found.

The young men are believed to have been staying in a Powder Puff holiday chalet with their girlfriends, who remain in the resort anxiously awaiting news.

A spokesman for Powder Puff holidays said: ‘Obviously we are all deeply worried about the missing men and hoping they will turn up safe and sound. In the meantime, we are supporting the rest of their party as well as we are able.’

15

January 2020, La Madière, France

Ria

Millie appears with a freshly-made cake and a tray of steaming mugs of hot chocolate with mini marshmallows in a dish at almost exactly the same time as Hugo and Simon stomp up the stairs from the boot room.

‘Good afternoon!’ Millie says as she places the tray carefully down on the granite table. ‘How was your day?’

‘Cold, windy, fucking amazing,’ says Simon, tearing off his too-tight Porsche ski jacket and flinging it down on a chair.

‘Hugo?’ I ask, slightly naughtily. I know he isn’t a particularly confident skier and is unlikely to have enjoyed the day at all, not that he’d ever be likely to admit that even to me. But there’s no way he’d have even considered going out in conditions like today’s if he wasn’t so desperate to suck up to Simon.

‘Yeah, it was good,’ he says tightly, also taking off his jacket (Black Crows – chosen by me) and handing it to Millie. I notice it is soaking wet – he’s probably had a few falls. ‘Looking forward to tomorrow,’ Hugo adds. ‘We’ve booked the same guide to take us out. He was great.’

I let my face fall. ‘Oh, what a shame. I thought I’d ski with you tomorrow, Hugo, but I’ve arranged to meet Matt at ten in the Schuss – he said he’d show me around the resort. Is that OK?’

Hugo’s face hardens – he won’t want me skiing with Matt alone after accusing me of flirting with him the other night, which, to be fair, I was – but I also know he won’t say anything in front of Simon. ‘Yes, of course,’ Hugo says lightly. ‘Perhaps we can all meet up for lunch?’

‘What a good idea!’ I trill. ‘That would be lovely.’

I turn back to my iPad, quite certain that a lift will close, I’ll get lost or something else will make me miss my lunch date. ‘Cass could come with us too if she’d like,’ I add, making a mental note to make sure that, one way or another, she won’t want to. Judging by the ski lesson I joined her for briefly, she doesn’t enjoy skiing much, so I don’t think it will be difficult. I might book her a nice spa day as a ‘treat’ to make sure.

Millie cuts the cake, places a slice on each plate and hands them round. ‘Hugo, Simon, I understand from head office that you were both keen to meet Cameron, the owner of this chalet and some of the others in the resort. He’s planning to come for dinner this evening – assuming it suits you, that is. Would that work for you all?’

Simon nods, stuffing his face full of cake. ‘Fine,’ he mumbles, crumbs unpleasantly falling out of his mouth as he does so. He swallows the huge mouthful with a large gulp and belches. ‘’S’cuse me. Looking forward to meeting him.’

‘Great!’ Millie says. ‘I’ll let him know. Now, if you have everything you need, I’ll go and get on with preparing dinner.’

‘Better be a good one if the boss is coming, eh?’ Simon quips.

‘Absolutely. Although I hope all the meals I prepare are equally as good?’

‘You’ve got no worries there. We’re only going to say nice things about you,’ Simon adds, staring at Millie’s ample boobs. He may as well have smacked her on the bum. I don’t know how she puts up with it.

‘Thank you. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything else, otherwise I’ll see you for canapés at about eight?’

‘That sounds lovely, Millie, thank you,’ I say, to avoid giving Simon the chance to say anything suggestive.

Hugo turns to look out of the enormous window. ‘It’s really coming down now,’ he says.

Simon claps him on the back. ‘Great!’ he roars. ‘Imagine the powder tomorrow!’

16

December 1998, La Madière, France

‘The most important thing is that we get our stories straight,’ I tell Andy as soon as I put the phone down.

‘What do you mean? I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m not getting involved.’

‘You’re already involved. You were with me when we lost them. You helped me search.’

‘And that’s bad because …’

‘It’s not!’ I hiss. ‘But not only have we lost two men, in retrospect, we probably should have alerted the authorities earlier. Given the conditions.’ I wipe my hand over my face. ‘This is serious stuff, Andy.’

‘But you’re the boss, as you never tire of telling me.’

I pull Andy closer to me so that our faces are almost touching. ‘You were with me – I didn’t hear you saying we should call rescue out,’ I growl. ‘Both of us skied too fast at times, we didn’t always put the clients’ needs first. Either of us. We are in this together. OK? I go down, so do you. Neither of us have covered ourselves in glory here. The way we dealt with things wasn’t exactly textbook, was it? Richard saw both of us with the clients. You and I are both on all the business documents, even though I put in pretty much all the money. So you are as liable as me. Understood?’