The door closed behind them with a swish and Clover felt eyes being raised as they walked up to the reception desk.
‘Linz, how are you?’ Julian asked, one hand casually slipped into his trouser pocket.
‘Mr Orsini-Rosenberg, always a pleasure to see you. I have your usual table ready for you.’
‘Very good.’ He turned and looked at them all. ‘You’ll like it.’
Foley said nothing. He was wearing the black suit she’d seen in his wardrobe, no tie, and was staring at Linz like the poor man was the source of all his troubles.
‘May I take your coats?’ Linz asked, as Matty wriggled slinkily out of hers, Julian rushing to help her.
Clover was resistant to taking off her ski jacket at all. She was still chilled from her day effectively sitting in a fridge and her three-minute shower hadn’t cut it in warming her up. She gave a shiver as she reluctantly wriggled out of it, Foley making no attempts whatsoever to help her get her arm out.
‘Won’t you follow me?’
Linz led them through the restaurant. It had old fir planks on the ceiling and slate walls, with an open fireplace and contemporary rugs. The fawn-leather chairs were handsome and spare in the 1930s style, set around large tables draped with curtain-quality cloths. Church candles flickered on every surface, sculptured bronze plaques adorned the walls. The overall effect was intimate and grand, arresting and timeless.
The clientele was distinctly younger than in the hotel and a couple of well-heeled young families were already eating.
‘It’s so beautiful here,’ Matty breathed, her eyes shining as her chair was held out for her.
‘It’s very special,’ Julian agreed. ‘We may be out in the mountains, but we do not have to be savages, I hope.’
Matty laughed readily. Clover forced a smile. Kit didn’t bother with either. He was glancing around the room as if making a mental note of everyone who was staring at him, rounding up his enemies. He flicked his napkin open, somehow managing to infuse a note of aggression into the gesture.
‘Kit, would you like to look at the wine list?’ Julian asked him graciously as the menus were handed out.
Kit looked up. He seemed in no hurry to speak. ‘No,’ he said evenly. ‘I’m sure you’ve got a much more nuanced opinion on that than me.’ His gaze flickered over Clover, who had been forced to sit opposite him. Matty had once again bagged prime position opposite Julian. All the better for gazing into one another’s eyes . . .
Clover wondered if Kit knew what was happening between his sponsor and her researcher; he’d not seen them together yet.
They listened in polite, stiff silence as Linz ran through the specials. Clover caught almost none of it. She didn’t want rich, fancy food served over four courses. A bowl of chilli, eaten in the bath, would have been her idea of heaven this evening.
Julian ordered the wines as Clover looked down and smoothed the fabric of the deep cranberry-red silky viscose dress Matty had lent her – again. It was a constant wonder to her that what had seemed like such a wildly unrealistic wardrobe for a working trip in the mountains was actually on the money. Aside from her ski kit, Clover had brought leggings and a single pair of jeans.
‘You look really good in that colour, Clo,’ Matty said, seeing her evident discomfort and still trying to win back her good favour.
Clover frowned. ‘. . . Thanks.’
‘Yes, it really sets off your hair,’ Julian agreed. ‘You should wear it often.’
‘. . . Okay.’ She wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that.
‘You are going to go more easy on me tonight, I hope,’ he smiled, before looking over at Kit. ‘Has she begun with interviewing you yet? Don’t be fooled. She’s a smiling assassin.’
Kit’s frown became an outright scowl.
On Clover, too. How exactly did it help their cause to have the one man who wielded any power – and therefore control – over this renegade, tell Kit Foley that his interviewer was a smiling assassin?! ‘I hardly think—’ she began.
‘Dear god, just don’t go on camera about that night in Monaco!’ Julian laughed.
Clover caught sight of the profound change in Kit’s expression.
‘What happened in Monaco?’ she asked, looking between the two men.
‘Nothing,’ Kit snapped.
Julian, who had been laughing, immersed in the memory, seemed to cotton on to Kit’s profound displeasure. His smile faded at the faux pas. ‘Nothing interesting, Kit is right. It was just an old joke from when I was trying to sign him up. Nothing relevant to what you are here for,’ he said blandly.
But Clover wasn’t buying it. Everything about Kit Foley’s life was up for grabs in this documentary. Monaco. She made a mental note to get Matty onto finding out more. Frankly, it didn’t look like it would be difficult for her friend to elicit quite a few secrets from their handsome host.
‘Excuse me, Mr Foley.’ The alto tenor of the voice made them look around as one. A young boy, maybe seven or eight, had come over to the table and was standing beside Kit. ‘Please could I have your autograph?’
Clover watched Kit, not the boy. He looked astonished by the request. Surely he was used to signing autographs? Or had he simply not signed any lately? ‘. . . Sure,’ he said after a moment, sitting up straighter. ‘Have you got something to write on?’
The little boy looked panicked suddenly, as though he hadn’t got as far as thinking of that. He twisted around to look back at his parents, who were discreetly watching from their table at the other side of the room.
‘Don’t worry. Here, this’ll do,’ Kit said, winking at him as he whipped his napkin off his lap. He reached inside his jacket pocket and retrieved a fountain pen. Clover was surprised. She had fancied him a Biro man. ‘What’s your name, kid?’
‘Elias.’
‘Okay, Elias,’ Kit murmured, writing a message and signing his own name across the heavy white linen in black ink.
Julian looked horrified.
‘That okay?’ Kit asked, handing it over to him.
The boy nodded, seeming overcome.
Kit watched him. The boy seemed reluctant to leave. ‘. . . You want a selfie too?’
The boy brightened. ‘Yes please.’ And he held out the phone that he’d been hiding in his other hand. Kit took it and activated the camera screen. He looked up at her, hesitating. She knew he didn’t want to ask her for a single thing, not even on behalf of a fan.
‘Here, allow me,’ she said, reaching across the table for it and saving him the agony of asking.
‘Like this,’ Kit said, putting one arm around the boy’s shoulder and holding his fist up for a fist pump with the other. The boy delightedly pressed his small fist to Kit’s and they both looked straight at her through the lens.
Clover felt a jolt of the usual panic she was coming to accept as normal whenever Kit Foley looked directly at her. ‘Say cheese.’
‘Cheese,’ the little boy replied obediently.
She took a couple of shots as quickly as she could. ‘There you go.’
‘Thank you. Thank you, Mr Foley,’ the boy said quickly.
‘No worries, Elias. Stay cool, buddy.’
They all watched as he walked as quickly as he could back to his table, his mother ruffling his hair affectionately as he took his seat and showed them his prizes.
‘I think you just made his week,’ Julian said, looking pleased. ‘What did I say? Once a hero, always a hero! The people love you still, Kit. Just you wait, you’ll see.’
Matty looked across the table at Clover, but Clover couldn’t react. Kit was glowering at her again, as though Julian’s words had just reminded him that it was Clover herself who had taken away his glory and good name.
She looked down with a weary sigh and began to study the menu. Their aperitifs were poured as an awkward silence stretched above their table. Even Matty seemed stilted, losing her usual dry, laconic wit in Kit’s presence. He managed to convey his sullenness through body language alone and Clover could tell he was already regretting forcing this dinner upon them all. He had been too quick to try to score another goal against her, not stopping to think what it would ask of him too.
‘Have you warmed up now, Clo?’ Matty asked, desperate to keep the conversation going.
‘The chalet is not warm?’ Julian asked in surprise.
‘Oh, no, the chalet is perfection,’ Matty clarified. ‘Clover just got a bit chilled today, that was all. She was hallucinating about having a long bath . . . then of course remembered that we don’t have one!’
‘Oh, yes, I am sorry,’ Julian said, looking pained. ‘The only bath in the chalet is in the master suite.’
‘It’s fine, really. A hot shower was just as wonderful.’
But Julian was looking so troubled, Clover wondered whether he was actually deliberating having baths installed to make up for the oversight. ‘I’m afraid baths are a very British thing. In Europe, we prefer showers.’
‘Oh, I know. Honestly, it was no problem. I didn’t care that much.’ Clover shot Matty a look. Why did they have to be discussing this? It simply underlined Kit’s point-scoring against her today.
‘Of course, I’m sure Kit would not object to making the room available for you if you really coveted a bath,’ Julian offered.
The look Kit gave to Julian following this comment almost made Clover laugh out loud. Their mutual disbelief was the first thing they could finally agree upon.
Kit slowly looked back at her. ‘Oh yeah. Any time, day or night. Why not?’ The sarcasm was as thick as Chantilly cream.
Julian seemed oblivious to the pillorying. He chatted away – about the weather, the wellness spa plans they had for the hotel. He tried to engage Kit in conversation about the training camp in Switzerland the following week but Kit shut down all possible threads on the matter, saying he’d never been there before so couldn’t comment.
‘Tell me some more about you,’ Julian said, turning at last to Clover again.
‘Me?’ Oh god, no.
‘Yes. Did you always want to become a filmmaker?’
‘No. I spent most of my childhood convinced I’d be a fire-fighter or a zoologist.’
Matty spluttered on her drink. ‘No way!’
‘Oh yes. My big brother was obsessed with nee-nors and hee-haws, so naturally I copied him and was too.’
Matty laughed.
‘You have a brother?’ Julian asked. He was a master of small talk, seemingly interested in even the most mundane details of other people’s lives.
‘Yes. Tom. He’s three years older.’
‘Are you close?’
‘Yes, but we don’t get to see each other as often as we’d like. I travel and am away from home a lot and he lives in Geneva now, with his family.’
‘Oh? What does he do there?’
‘He’s a corporate lawyer.’ She gave a careless shrug. She didn’t want to be sharing the minutiae of her family life in front of her interviewee. As far as she was concerned, the less Kit knew about her, the better.
‘How does he feel about having a famous little sister?’
‘I’m not famous,’ Clover rebuffed quickly. ‘But even if I was, he’d be distinctly underwhelmed. Tom doesn’t care about stuff like that.’
‘He doesn’t like the perks of success? But he’s in the world of big business!’ Julian teased. ‘Bonuses! Making partner!’
‘That drives most lawyers, I know. But not Tom.’
‘What then? Surely not the pursuit of justice?’ Julian gave another laugh.
Clover sat very still. When he said it like that . . .
‘Oh.’ There was another awkward silence as Julian realized his latest blunder. She could see Matty wishing it had been dinner for just the two of them now. Clover and Kit were lumpen dinner guests. ‘Well, then, that is very interesting,’ he said, rallying, never down for long.
‘Is it?’
‘Yes. Your brother concerns himself with seeking truth and just reward.’ He regarded her. ‘As do you.’
Clover swallowed. She said nothing, but she could feel her cheeks colour.
‘That is what you’re chasing in your films, isn’t it? Justice?’ he posited. ‘So perhaps you are still copying your big brother after all?’ He grinned again.
Clover gave a tight smile.
‘I wonder what made you both truth seekers?’
‘Does there have to have been something?’ she asked defensively. Too defensively, she realized as Kit’s head – in her peripheral vision – tilted to the side interestedly. ‘Besides, that’s not how I’d describe what I do,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m just looking for good stories. Human interest features.’
‘Well, you choose wisely. You appear to have an unerring instinct for what people want to see. Fallen angels, flawed heroes, struggles back to redemption . . .’ Julian spoke almost as if Kit wasn’t sitting right there with them. ‘Do you enjoy it?’
‘I love it,’ she said simply. ‘I can’t believe I get paid to do it. Don’t tell my producer, but I’d do it for free.’
Julian laughed and pressed a finger interestedly to his lips. ‘Tell me why you love it so much.’
She thought for a moment. ‘There’s a moment in every project when . . . someone sees themselves truly. When they’ve come through a struggle and they . . . This sounds really pretentious but, you see them step into their power. In my Grenfell film, Bindi, this young mother, twenty-two years old, dared to apply for an Open University law degree so that she could help in the fight for their rights . . . We were with her the day she got the acceptance letter. It was amazing. After everything she’d been through, we saw the world open up for her.’ She inhaled. ‘I guess I’m saying I love those moments when “I can’t” becomes “I can”. When people defy their limits, and you see the surprise in their eyes that they could actually somehow be more.’
‘That’s what you’re aiming for with Kit?’
Clover looked straight at Julian. ‘No. Kit already knows what he can be.’
Julian leaned towards her, just a little. ‘So then . . .?’
Clover turned and held Kit’s stare as he glowered at her, daring her to say what she wanted from him. ‘In Kit’s case, it’s almost the opposite. When you already are more, where is there to go? What becomes of your humanity? The need to win comes at what cost? And are the sacrifices worth it? Because it seems to me that when we reach for the sun, we always get burned.’
‘Ah yes, the allegory of Icarus – when mortals play at being gods.’ Julian smiled, his gaze lifting over to Kit.
‘So you think people should settle for . . . mediocrity?’ Kit’s voice was low. Cutting.
Her eyes met his. ‘No. Not everyone, although I do think most people are happy with what mediocrity offers; it gets a bad press, if you ask me,’ she said evenly. ‘A bigger life doesn’t necessarily equate to a better life, but some people just seem to need more . . . intensity, feedback, whatever you want to call it.’
‘And which camp do you fall into? Or shall I take a wild guess?’
‘I don’t think anyone would be surprised that I’m happy with a smaller life.’
‘No,’ he sneered. ‘It’s perfectly clear how your life’s going to unfold.’
She stared back at him, hating him, as he sat back in his chair, enjoying himself. ‘You’ll do this for a bit. Then you’ll meet a guy in a suit. You’ll get a house, have kids, get fat. And spend the next thirty years having TV dinners.’
She felt stung by his withering prediction, but she wouldn’t let it show. ‘Well, only if I’m very lucky,’ she replied pithily.
She dragged her gaze off him and back to the others. Matty was looking worried again, her big eyes wide at their unconcealed antagonism.
‘Actually, I would have to disagree with you there, Kit,’ Julian said, surprising everyone. ‘I think Clover’s future trajectory is far more aligned with yours than she’s letting on.’
‘Excuse me?’ Clover almost choked.
‘You both have trophies. You both prepare exhaustively for your goal, immerse yourselves fully in the lifestyle, commit to getting a win. Neither one of you would be where you are now without that singular vision and obsessive drive. I don’t see you becoming a housewife any more than I do Kit.’
The pause that followed his pronouncement bloomed into a silence and Clover reached for her glass. She could feel Foley staring at her still. His scowl had deepened, his finger tapping intermittently on the table, one arm slung out in front of him idly, waiting to pounce on any perceived weakness he could find.
She forced herself to smile brightly. ‘And I understand your trip to Salzburg was very successful the other day?’ she asked, unapologetically changing the subject.
‘Indeed it was.’ Julian glanced at Matty. ‘Martha helped more than she could know.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes. In fact, it was the reason I was so keen we should all have dinner tonight. I have a rather special announcement to make.’
Julian glanced at Kit, who was looking back at him with outright suspicion; the relationship between the two men was distant to the point of out of sight.
‘At ten o’clock tonight . . .’ He checked his watch and tapped it. ‘A little over an hour and a half from now, an announcement is being released to the press: Kaprun, and specifically the JOR snowpark, will from next year host a four-day tournament – covering Big Air, Slopestyle and, of course, Halfpipe – as an official stop on the World Snowboard Tour. JOR shall be the official sponsors and Kit, as our original signing, will be the face of it.’
Kit looked stunned. It was clear he had had no idea of these discussions. A small smile came into his eyes and as his defence weakened momentarily, Clover realized how walled up he was all the time. Now he looked like a seventeen-year-old boy being given his first car. ‘Seriously?’
‘The deal is embargoed until tonight, but I hope this indicates our absolute faith in you and what we believe you are going to achieve in your new sport.’
There was a protracted pause, Kit’s eyes roaming over Julian’s face as if looking for signs of a trick. But Julian simply waited. Kit gave a sudden bright smile, reaching across the table and grasping Julian’s hand in an earnest shake. ‘. . . I’m stoked. Seriously stoked.’
Matty looked at Clover with bright eyes, relieved that for once, peace had broken out. Clover smiled too, but she was less taken in by Julian’s extravagance. Matty had relayed exactly this scoop to her last night – and if Julian was readily spilling his secrets, was Matty spilling theirs? It was in Julian’s best commercial interests to make sure they polished his star to a shine. What was Julian getting from her friend? And how?
Julian picked up his glass to make a toast – another one. ‘To bright horizons.’
‘Bright horizons,’ Clover murmured, watching as Julian’s gaze came to settle upon Matty again. New friends, bright horizons: he was having one hell of a week.
Clover watched the maître d’ hand back Julian his card. She wanted to weep with happiness. It was after midnight and a seemingly endless day. The wine had gone to her head, the waiters pouring too regularly for her to keep up, and although the tension of the evening had dissipated after Julian’s announcement, she still couldn’t get to her bed fast enough.
Matty’s nerves had dissolved too and if Kit had been oblivious to the flirtation between his sponsor and her researcher before, he wasn’t now. Several times Clover had caught him openly frowning at them both when one gave the other an outright compliment or they lapsed into a seemingly private joke.
Once, just for a moment, before he caught himself, Kit had looked over at her in astonishment. Julian had just told Matty she had the eyes of La Joconde and – mouth open, his eyes burning with scorching ribaldry – Kit had automatically looked over at Clover as an ally, one of his team to banter with. Her own incredulity had matched his so that her return smile had been automatic and for a single, blinding moment, they had been united in shared disdain. In that one moment, he wasn’t the guy who’d cut in front of Cory, forcing him into the water as the wave crashed down, but the hero she’d seen on the podiums and posters: dazzling, irrepressible, the world at his feet.
It had gone again in the next instant as he remembered himself, the flickering connection abruptly switched off as he turned away and demanded more wine. But it had happened and she knew they’d both felt it. For one fractional moment, he hadn’t hated her. And if he could manage one, then he could manage two. The thaw had begun, she knew it had. She’d known it when Cory, after two weeks of staring at the wall in a blacked-out room with her sitting quietly on the sofa, waiting, had finally turned over and asked her the time. And she knew it now, too. Kit might never like her, but he was learning to tolerate her. She could work with that.
A waiter gallantly held out her ski jacket for her and she shrugged it on. Its pillowy warmth was an instant comfort; in spite of the rich dinner and toasty fire, the earlier chill had set in her bones and she could still feel it flickering up and down her spine. Julian had collected them earlier in his Panamera and was dropping them back at the chalet too. She would be in bed in under ten minutes.
‘Oh! What’s all this?’ Julian asked as the door was opened onto the street.
A small crowd had gathered, some of them carrying banners. Clover, coming through, caught sight of Kit’s name on one.
‘It looks like your fan club has found you,’ Julian laughed, looking pleased and turning back to Kit as he stepped out after them. Kit looked on with a suspicious half-smile.
It had been a surprisingly positive night, what with the young fan, Julian’s news, and now—
Something, a bright, glossy streak, flew through the night and landed on them. There was a moment in which time contracted and everything held still, like a television on freeze-frame. Then Matty gasped and screamed as she saw her cream suit covered in blood. Julian looked stunned too. It had gone over his hair, his face.
What—?
He reached for Matty blindly, pulling her away from the small crowd that was beginning to encircle them. Kit. There were a dozen, maybe fifteen people, all suddenly baying at him, throwing buckets, pelting them all with . . . Clover couldn’t tell what . . . old fruit? Rotting vegetables?
She blinked, trying to understand what was happening. She felt cold liquid ooze over her skin. As if in slow motion, she put her finger to it and stared at it.
She looked again at the banners. Her German was rudimentary but she could translate them well enough. Kit Foley – blood on your hands! Kit Foley – go home!
With a gasp of utter horror, she looked over at him. He wasn’t moving. Ironically, the blood appeared largely to have missed him, landing mainly on Matty and Julian as they’d exited first. But then he moved – like a leopard leaping from a tree, he was suddenly upon them, in the very midst of the crowd, pushing them back. Several of the men staggered back, out of the way, but on others, fists were pulled back and punches began to fly at Kit. They swarmed him.
‘Stop!’ Clover screamed, unaware she was screaming. ‘Stop!’
Several white flashes dazzled her, popping in the blackness of the night, and she saw people were taking photographs and filming them. Her hands rose automatically as she staggered towards them. ‘Stop! Stop this!’
Several more people ran off, but it made no difference. Kit was still being attacked by four men. His suit jacket had ripped, his arms held back by three of them as the biggest of all punched him in the stomach, doubling him over.
‘Stop!’ Clover screamed, lurching towards them and into the melee. She felt the heat of the fight, the visceral tension like fibres binding them all together. Her flailing hands gripped the hair of one of the men holding him, and she yanked it back as hard as she could. The man buckled and twisted, opening up a space. A fist was heading straight for her.
‘No!’ The roar now didn’t come from her. It was too deep for her body to contain. She felt the contact of bone upon bone, a terrible thrashing of limbs exploding like fireworks in the corner of her eye for several long seconds.
And then the world, closing down in diminishing circles. The last thing she saw was a pair of blazing blue eyes looking down at her. Until there was only black.