‘What? No one said I would have to dress up out here!’ Johnny protested as Matty rolled her eyes again at his outfit. Clean was the best he could offer: jeans, a new pair of trainers and a long-sleeved vintage Guns N’ Roses t-shirt (the sleeves being the distinction between that and his non-formal clothes).
They were standing in a smart wood-panelled lobby with large country house rugs and library chairs in warm, smoky velvets. It was undeniably grand but the low-level lamps and squashy cushions gave the space a welcoming feel. Matty certainly looked very at home in a vividly patterned silk drawstring midi dress – bought pre-loved on Vestiaire – and slouchy black suede boots. Clover had had to borrow her pair of black Isabel Marant pirate trousers and a cornflower-blue blouse. Like Johnny, she had packed for action and adventure, not dinner with her grandparents.
‘Agh, no! I had hoped to beat you to it!’ an exuberant voice said.
They turned and were surprised to see a tall blonde man, early thirties, striding towards them. His legs must have been six foot tall alone, and he had incredibly deep-set dark eyes. He was wearing a slim-cut navy suit but with a jacket of the Austrian style – worn open – with a Nehru collar and brass buttons that closed to the nape of the throat.
Clover hadn’t given a moment’s thought to what their newfound ally might look like but she had automatically assumed grey hair, late fifties, paunch. And clearly, so had Matty; a small squeak escaped her.
‘Oh sweet Jesus. It’s Tom bloody Hollander,’ Johnny groaned.
‘You mean Tom Hiddleston, you berk,’ Matty said under her breath, making Clover choke with unexpected laughter.
‘Martha?’ Julian asked, looking just as happily surprised, stopping in front of them as Matty stepped forward. As their marketing person, she was the only one to have had direct contact with him, calling him back just the once after his preliminary approach to confirm they were going ahead. Any communications since had been on guarantees of access to Kit and logistics in Austria when Ari’s emails suggested otherwise. Julian had been very keen to discuss everything further but Matty had politely but firmly demurred; for reasons of integrity, it would be ‘inappropriate’ to confer, she had said.
Judging by the look on her face, though, it didn’t seem so inappropriate now.
‘Julian, finally – a face to the voice,’ Matty beamed as they shook hands and a moment passed that felt longer to Johnny and Clover than it seemingly did to them.
Johnny gave a not-so-subtle cough.
‘And Clover, the famous, the remarkable Clover Phillips,’ Julian said, turning to her next. ‘I’m not sure whether I should be excited or terrified that I’ve managed to get you to come for dinner.’
‘Oh, I hardly think I merit either of those responses.’
But he made a small sound of disagreement. ‘You’ve got a way of making people talk, Clover. I know that only too well. I wonder if I should stick to water tonight.’
Clover laughed. ‘We’ll keep it light, I promise.’ And hopefully quick, she thought to herself.
‘And Julian, this is Johnny Dashwood, our cameraman and editor,’ Matty said, staring again at his t-shirt of a dagger dripping with blood and entwined with roses. ‘As you can probably tell.’
‘Johnny.’ Julian shook his hand vigorously, appearing oblivious to his attire. ‘You are as discreet as Clover is direct. That footage of Cory at home, when he was having a dark episode . . . You handled it with great respect.’
‘Thanks,’ Johnny said appreciatively. ‘Not many people notice.’
Clover spotted a hotel manager hovering at a discreet distance. He was holding a navy blazer.
‘Ah,’ Julian said, turning towards him slightly and discreetly waving the jacket away with a tiny movement of his hand. ‘Thank you, Otto. It looks like our table is ready. Come, let us get out of the draught and into the warm. You must be tired after your busy first day, yes? Was the snow good?’
‘Amazing!’ Matty trilled, walking beside him as Otto led them through to a dining room that was again both grand and gracious, yet cosy: pale oak panelling, dark European School oils on the walls in gilt frames, white linen napkins with scalloped sage green embroidered edges. Almost every table was taken, people sitting in pairs and talking quietly, dinners that looked like artworks served on Meissen plates, tall arrangements of flowers bursting from Medici urns.
Julian went straight to a table in the far corner of the room and did not sit until the others were all seated. Matty and Johnny sat on the inside, along the wall, Clover and Julian on the other, with their backs to the room.
Moments later, a waiter came over with a chilled bottle of Bollinger. Julian accepted with an almost imperceptible nod of the head. ‘You have been blessed with good weather since your arrival,’ he said conversationally, as the waiter popped the cork and began to pour. ‘Last week it was all rain, rain, rain. Snow up top of course, but down here . . .’
‘Don’t worry, we’re English,’ Matty said with a smile. ‘We can do rain.’
‘Well, that is good. Because the forecast for the next week is not so desirable.’
‘Dammit. I knew I should have taken the camera up today,’ Johnny muttered.
‘Why did you not?’ Julian asked.
Johnny realized he’d spoken without thinking. ‘. . . Well, we thought we should tread lightly to begin with. We didn’t want to scare the horses, so to speak.’
A frown came onto Julian’s brow as he inferred Johnny’s meaning. ‘Yes. I heard Kit has been behaving very badly. I am sorry you were treated that way.’ He looked at them all sincerely. ‘But I have had a long conversation with his manager this afternoon and I can assure you, he will co-operate with you now.’
Clover’s mind whipped back to the way Foley had exploded at her, manhandling her even as Julian had been on the phone to Ari. She forced a smile. ‘Ari’s been surprisingly helpful.’
Julian sat back in his chair so he could face her beside him more easily. ‘Well, he understands the situation in a way that perhaps Kit does not. Do you feel comfortable there, in the chalet?’
‘How could we not?’ Matty asked, misunderstanding Julian’s point. ‘It’s stunning!’
‘Thank you,’ Julian nodded.
Matty’s eyes widened. ‘. . . It’s yours?’
‘My family’s. We have a lot of different investments in the town.’ He looked at Clover again. ‘But if Kit should continue to behave like a child, please know there are always rooms here you can use.’ He gestured vaguely to their grand surroundings. ‘It is early still in the season so we are not at capacity. I’m afraid I cannot guarantee the best rooms but I am adamant Kit will not bully you away. That tactic has served him well in the past and he thinks it will work here too. I fear he’s not yet learned from his mistakes.’
Clover regarded him as he spoke. Julian was cultured, sophisticated, mannered. His English was flawless, his manners those of a gentleman. He was an old-school European, used to moving among women in furs and men with cigars. So why had he chosen to associate his family’s – clearly illustrious – name with a disgraced sports star who was synonymous with scandal?
She smiled as she asked him exactly that.
Julian laughed. ‘Wow. And there it is – the steel fist in a velvet glove. Straight to it.’ He tapped a finger around his champagne glass, bemused. ‘Okay, well, it is a good question. And not one I can easily answer.’
Clover’s smile widened. The best questions never were.
‘I suppose I would have to say it’s because I believe in second chances. We’ve all become so censorious, quick to judge, to condemn, to troll. We are not so good at forgiving or showing compassion, I think, but everyone makes mistakes.’ The smile climbed into Julian’s eyes. ‘But listen, I am a businessman too. I will not pretend this just comes from the heart. I know market forces and Kit Foley is a champion. He has got whatever “it” is. He’s insanely talented, driven. Very handsome too, of course – he’s got the classic “men want to be him; women want to be with him” thing going on. And that translates into commercial gold.’
‘Except Burton passed on him. Oakley. Salomon. They clearly didn’t agree.’
‘Because they are too big to be associated with him,’ he shrugged. ‘They need to keep their noses clean. The risks are not the same for us; sometimes, it can be a good thing to be a minnow in a sea of sharks. But that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t have liked to pick him up. They know his sporting pedigree! He might be new in this field but he’s got the transferable technical skills, the experience, he knows the pressure of elite competitions; he’s going to be right up there when he debuts this season.’
‘But is medal glory enough to undo what he’s done?’ she pressed. ‘To Joe Public, he’s a dirty player. Perhaps they don’t want to see him win! A lot of people hold him responsible – albeit indirectly – for Cory Allbright’s death.’
Julian looked at her. ‘As you do.’
Clover shrugged, not denying it. ‘Cory became my friend, yes. I got up close to the consequences of Kit’s actions that day. It was hard to see.’
Julian’s smooth brow furrowed. ‘Should I be worried? Will you give him a fair hearing?’
‘Kit’s not exactly helped himself so far,’ she said frankly. ‘Yes, I’ll listen to him, but I’ll go where the story takes me, and you should know that I can’t make any assurances that you’ll like what I find.’ Clover shrugged. ‘This’ – she gestured to the beautiful dining room – ‘is glorious, and I thank you for your hospitality, but . . .’
‘You can’t be bought. Yes, I can see that,’ Julian nodded. ‘And I respect you for it. But for what it’s worth, I have full faith that no such compromises would even be required. I would not dream of trying to bribe you; Kit will redeem himself. At the moment he’s face-down in the mud, but he’s too much of a fighter to stay down there. It’s in his DNA to fight. He will come back and his stock will rise again.’ Julian’s eyes sparkled. ‘As my accountant likes to tell me, he is an appreciating asset.’
Clover smiled. ‘Do you think he’ll reward you with loyalty if his moment of glory comes again?’
Julian laughed again. ‘Oh, I sincerely doubt it! If he starts winning and your film shows him in a sympathetic light, then of course, he’ll sign to one of the big boys.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘He’ll be gone. No regrets . . . But he’ll have done what I needed by then.’
‘Boosted your profile?’ Matty said, trying to get in on the conversation.
Julian looked at her with an even warmer smile. ‘And fur-lined my pockets. Early termination of contract comes at a price.’
‘How long is he signed to you for?’
‘Three years.’
Clover quickly calculated. ‘So he’d be thirty-three before he’s free to sign a new contract. That’s getting on in the snowboarding world isn’t it?’
‘Well, the average age of his competitors is twenty-two, so . . .’
Clover’s eyebrows shrugged up. ‘You really do believe in him.’
‘Or perhaps I am as mad as everyone has been telling me I am,’ he grinned. ‘The feedback on my new ventures wasn’t exactly favourable.’ He gave a lackadaisical shrug.
Clover wondered how many millions he had invested in signing Kit and delivering on the production capabilities for the clothing and snowboard ranges. The prospect of losing it didn’t appear to be unduly worrisome. From what Ari had told her – that Julian had rung him seventeen times in an afternoon – she had expected him to be driven, but the man before her had an almost studied languor. Unless that was just part of his mannered mode of behaviour?
‘How have you found Kit? On a personal basis, I mean?’ she asked, watching him closely. ‘It’s obvious why he’s hostile to us but your sponsorship bestows your family’s good name upon his besmirched reputation—’
‘Great word, besmirched,’ Matty nodded appreciatively.
Julian chuckled, his eyes lingering on her for a moment.
‘You’ve given him and his team a beautiful chalet to live in, a base where he can hone his new craft pretty much all year round. And I’m guessing the big shiny car is part of the package too. You must be best buddies, surely?’
Julian was not fooled. He knew the question was rhetorical. They were patently opposites: an aesthete and an athlete; old world and new money. Julian took a cagey breath. ‘Well, Kit has his demons still. It is true he is not a man at peace with himself, and that can make him . . . difficult. But he is trying to rebuild his life and start over. We must all be patient.’
‘So that’s a no, then,’ Clover grinned, calling him on his diplomacy.
‘It’s a . . .’ Julian hesitated. ‘A “not yet”. But first and foremost, of course, this is a business relationship. It helps to get on, of course, but we do not have to like each other.’
‘Funny, that’s what I said too.’
‘Then we are similar beasts.’ He was smiling at her but she could see the assessment behind his eyes. They were neither of them quite what the other had expected.
‘There’s something I’ve been wondering about,’ she mused. ‘It’s clearly incredibly challenging for Kit to have to deal with us, work with us. He absolutely does not want to do this film – but you’ve made it part of his contract.’
‘I had to. His reputation is in tatters. Winning medals will not be enough. He must commit to every effort to win back the public’s trust and forgiveness.’
‘And make your brand look good.’
‘Of course.’ Julian didn’t deny it.
‘And yet, I think he’s up there in the chalet right now, debating whether twenty years in jail for shooting me when I get back tonight would actually be completely worth it.’ Julian gave a shocked laugh but Clover was perfectly serious. ‘That’s how much he’s hating this. Why is he putting himself through it? He’s already a rich man. He self-funded his last year on the world surf tour. He could have done the same here and not shackled himself with marketing obligations that are clearly anathema to him.’
Julian was quiet for a moment. ‘Well, perhaps it’s because he self-funded his last year surfing that he wanted a sponsor for this. I suppose it bestows a certain . . . authenticity and respectability upon his efforts?’ He hooked up a single eyebrow. ‘More likely, though, his manager did not read the small print in the contract.’
Had Ari messed up? she wondered, not for the first time. Got his client into a situation with no easy way out? Ari was Kit’s old friend and he undoubtedly had Kit’s best interests at heart, but he was a former pro surfer himself, with no experience (that she knew of) in legalese. It would explain Ari’s desperation for her to give him time to bring Kit round—
Julian laughed suddenly. ‘What is it about Kit Foley? That man has a knack of dominating a room, even when he is not in it!’ Julian lifted his glass and raised it towards them all. ‘Come, let us dispense with business for the evening. Tonight is for us to get to know one another. I propose a toast – to new friends.’
Matty straightened up, sensing her ‘in’ at last. ‘To new friends,’ she said, clinking his glass first and not looking at all inclined to impartiality.
*
Owner, Slatterdorf Sports Yeah, I’ve seen him around town a bit.
Clover Phillips Is he settling in? Do you think the residents of Zell am See are happy to have him here?
Owner I don’t see why not. He’s come in here a few times and is always polite. Not overly chatty, but I think he’s just wary.
C. P. Why do you think he’s wary?
Owner Well, everyone knows what he did surfing. That film that came out did him no favours . . . Hey, is that why you’re filming this?
*
Dog walker . . . Who?
*
Supermarket worker I think he has something to prove. Good luck to him. I like him.
*
‘Yes, that’s good. Along there,’ Clover said, peering through the lens. She stepped back to let Johnny continue working his magic. He had set up a wide-angled shot above the snowpark. The latest position he had found – involving an arduous trek up an unpisted slope – allowed for a panorama shot that swung from the magnificent glacier’s peak to their right, bearing left until it looked straight down the superpipe, with the rollers behind. From this distance, with the industrial-looking rails and boxes too faint to discern, the park looked rather beautiful, like a highly stylized landscaped garden.
Snow was falling gently, fat flakes fluttering past the lens, a low-lying sky blocking the town of Kaprun from sight. Perched in their isolated position, Clover felt almost like she and Johnny were sitting on their own cloud. It had taken an hour to get up here and get into position; a further twenty-five minutes to set up the cameras and fine-tune the exposure settings. They were waiting for the sun to peep from behind Kitzsteinhorn – every so often, the clouds thinned just enough for hazy bright spots to emerge, casting the north faces into deep shadows and silhouetting the dramatic jagged skyline.
Clover hugged her knees to her chest. It was quiet in the park today, with just a few huddled groups of boarders and skiers left out there. Kit, Ari and Beau were down there somewhere too, of course.
She and Johnny had spent the past few days immersed in this ‘soft start’, scouting locations, using the drone and filming holding shots in different weather conditions and at different times – dawn, sunset and today, late afternoon. They had done as Ari asked and kept their heads down, circling Kit and the athletes without ever drawing too close (although word had apparently still got out that Foley had his own film crew; ‘The ego has landed,’ someone had shouted at them from a distance yesterday).
But their tiptoeing appeared to have little effect. Far from Foley’s mood improving, familiarity seemed only to breed yet more contempt. When they’d come back from dinner with Julian on their second night, Kit, Beau and Ari had already been in their bedrooms and all left for a training run ‘off site’, according to Carlotta, before the others were up for breakfast the next day.
The next couple of days had followed much the same routine. It was childish behaviour but Clover refused to be riled. She reminded herself she was playing a long game; she could afford to let a little time slip between her fingers. Besides, they always had to come back to the chalet sooner or later, and when they did, she made sure she was on the sofa, greeting them with a relaxed smile and asking how their day had been, as if they were in fact friends, as if her plans had not revolved around them at all.
Beau was always friendly, if somewhat sheepish, like an overgrown puppy put on guard duty when he just wanted a cuddle. Ari was brisk and noncommittal in Kit’s presence, but Clover sensed he was doing what he could behind the scenes. Kit still wouldn’t even look at her. He would come up the stairs, look into the kitchen to speak to Fin about whatever he wanted to eat and – if she was around – retreat to his room. She always watched from a distance. If she wasn’t yet getting in his face, she was making sure she was in his space.
‘Yes!’
She looked up to see Johnny jump to his feet and get his face to the camera. The clouds were breaking momentarily to the west and the early winter sun was suddenly dazzling, bright shafts of light blasting towards the glacier like flashing swords. She jumped up and grabbed the giant light reflector, holding it at the angle Johnny had wanted, watching as he carefully, expertly moved the camera round. Not too fast, not too slow. He knew exactly how this shot had to read when they were editing the documentary and splicing it together, early next year.
He looked back at her. ‘Got it,’ he grinned.
‘Worth waiting for?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Worth that trek though?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Good. My thighs are killing me,’ she groaned. ‘I think I’ll have a swim tonight.’
‘You should. It’s pretty cool. It’s got a resistance motor so you can swim against it.’
‘Of course it does,’ she tutted. ‘What doesn’t that place have?’
‘A lady of the manor?’ Johnny grinned, lifting the camera off the tripod and into the padded bag. ‘Although maybe it’ll get one of those sooner rather than later.’
‘Quite.’
Johnny crouched and collapsed the tripod. ‘She was practically dribbling into her soup the other night.’ He zipped up the bags and stood. ‘What d’you think they’re doing right now?’
‘Uh, working, I hope!’
Julian had arranged for Matty to travel to Salzburg with him today to meet the PR and marketing chief at the headquarters of their parent company, O-R Holdings. Their portfolio was mainly luxury hotels with a few high-end domestic developments, and there wasn’t any good reason that Clover could see why they should need to explore ‘synergies’, as Julian had put it. On the other hand, Julian was a valuable contact for them. As the only person in a position to wield any power over Kit Foley, it didn’t hurt to keep him close for the moment, and Matty had been more than happy to step up. Delighted, in fact.
They lifted the bags onto their shoulders and began trudging down the steep, unbashed slope. It was difficult with the bulky equipment to carry. ‘Shall we do a drive-by?’ he said as they got to the piste and he strapped on his board.
‘Yeah, why not?’ she shrugged, clipping into her skis; they had to pass by the snowpark anyway on their way back down. They traversed in easy turns, taking care not to drag the equipment, stopping at the point where a path ran off the piste down to the park.
A short line of boarders were waiting their turns. She saw Foley immediately. He was taller than most of the others and wearing a pale beige camo set. But that wasn’t what marked him out – it was his isolation in the pack that made him easy to recognize. While everyone else was giving each other high-fives and sitting in the snow in groups, there was a distinct clearance zone around him.
If he had noticed, he wasn’t showing it. He was waiting for the guy in front of him to drop in, but he looked distracted, his head turning towards the far edge every so often. Clover looked too and saw Tipper McKenzie, his coach, standing by the side, giving him encouraging nods in return. Ari and Beau were standing beside Tipper, their boards off.
‘Go Mikey!’ someone shouted. ‘Whip it!’
‘Schultzy!!’
Johnny, beside her, looked suddenly alert. ‘Oh shit. Is that Mikey Schultz? He’s Team USA. Just knocked Shaun White off the team for the next Olympics.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. What’s he doing here? He’s based in Utah, I thought.’
Clover thought for a second. This was an American Olympic squad member, riding right in front of Kit?
‘Get the drone out, quick,’ she said, shuffling the carry-bag off her shoulder so Johnny could unzip it.
‘The light’s not great,’ Johnny said, moving quickly.
‘Doesn’t matter. Just do the best you can . . .’
The small crowd on the lip of the pipe cheered loudly as Schultz shuffled into position.
‘Quick, he’s about to go.’
Johnny got the drone up, its eye looking down upon the action as he fiddled with the remote. Clover kept her gaze pinned on the rider but in the next instant he was gone from her sights, the nose of his board tipping down and sending him flying into a vertical drop before scooping him up and sending him up and above the other side. He disappeared back down again, popping up another second later.
The onlookers were whooping and yelling as he got bigger and bigger air. From Clover and Johnny’s vantage point, he was only in sight when he breached the pipe’s walls, but even from a distance they could see the athletic dynamism of his aerials, his bravado astounding. Every jump required micro-precision and utmost control; to land two degrees front or back could be catastrophic.
He finished with a complicated trick that made Johnny stand bolt upright in response, his mouth hanging open, forgetting he was operating the drone. The onlookers too were on their feet, whomping the ground and sending their cheers out over the valley.
Seemingly something momentous had just happened.
‘Did you see that?’ Johnny cried. ‘He just pulled out a Switch Backside 1260. Like, practically no one can do those. White did it once, I think, at X Games.’
‘Oh?’ Clover watched the cacophony with vague bemusement. Snowboarding was opaque to her. See one twisty jump, you’ve seen them all, was her feeling. ‘Watch! Foley’s up.’
They waited as Kit slid into his starting position. He kept looking over at Tipper . . . Clover frowned. Did they have some sort of code? A Bluetooth connection that enabled them to speak to one another? Because Tipper suddenly stiffened. His hands came out of his coat pockets. He shook his head firmly. Took a step forward, shook his head again.
But Foley looked away. For a few moments, he readied himself and then he was gone – out of sight down the drop that made Clover’s stomach pitch. Two seconds later, he emerged high on the other side.
It was astonishing to her that people could do these things. That he could. Standing in front of him, having him tell her to get the hell out, and now watching him down there, flying and free . . . how could he be both men?
Wait . . .
Clover frowned as she waited for his next trick. And then the next. Was she imagining it? She glanced at Tipper and saw how he was standing – as erect as if frozen. The crowd’s murmurs confirmed it for her too.
Johnny’s mouth was hanging open again as he positioned the drone. ‘You’ve gotta be kidding,’ he breathed.
Clover looked back at the pipe. At Tipper’s rigid stance.
‘Isn’t he copying Schultz?’ she asked Johnny. ‘He’s doing exactly what Schultz just did?’
‘Yeah. But he won’t do the last trick. There’s no way he’s experienced enough yet—’
But he did. For his last aerial, Foley took off. She watched as his body exploded upwards like a rocket, doing exactly what he asked it to do . . . twisting, arching, reaching . . .
Clover’s hands flew to her mouth.
He landed perfectly on the airbag at the end, not even trying to land it. But it was abundantly clear that if he had gone for the hard landing, he’d have made it. It had been stroke perfect, his point clear – he had just matched Mikey Schultz, trick for trick. He had shown his cards.
Beau and Ari were standing at the sides, bear-hugging each other and roaring delightedly in each other’s faces. Even Tipper was moving more freely, pacing in small figures of eight and clapping quietly.
But no one else moved. All along the pipe, on both sides, the spectators were perfectly still, utterly quiet; arms hung limply in silent protest. Clover watched on, clearly able to see from this elevated position the passive-aggressive vibe coming from a community that was famous for its bromances. There was no camaraderie here, not for Kit Foley. Among snowboarding’s band of brothers, he was a lone wolf.