The wheels of the small jet touched down at St Moritz. Clover looked out through the window, feeling a sense of dread. As feared, the story had exploded in the international press. On almost every front page of note, Kit’s face – chiselled and angry, handsome in black tie – had been placed mugshot-style beside pictures of Amy with black eyes and a split lip.
Kit was sitting in the seats in front, with Ari. Ari was briefing him on what to say and do – and more specifically, not do – when they arrived at Samedan, the private airport just outside St Moritz. Julian’s generosity in chartering a private plane for this trip was a final act of kindness, if not mercy, before the relationship was formally severed; it meant they wouldn’t have to travel in public (a blessing for Julian as much as Kit; the indelible link between their two names was toxic). No one thought it would be a good idea for Kit to be faced with people taking pictures of him in the airport. Not so soon after the exposé.
She, Johnny and Matty were keeping their heads low, trying to minimize their impact on a highly flammable situation that arguably they had helped create. None of them were talking much but Clover wasn’t sure it could all be put down to the general muted mood surrounding Kit. Johnny was still angry with her for her comments last night, but Matty had been oddly quiet all day too; Clover didn’t think she was finding it quite as easy as she’d thought to walk away from her sophisticated lover. Last night’s scandal wouldn’t have given them the romantic goodbye she had been hoping for.
Clover looked over surreptitiously at Kit again; he was sitting diagonally across from her in the row ahead. She could just make out his profile. He kept sitting back, pressing his head against the headrest and, his eyes closed, sighing heavily. He seemed exhausted – and not just because of their night together. She had been careful to get back to her room before Carlotta and Fin were up at six. No one knew about them and, this time, no one would.
She glanced at her friends. Johnny was already watching her. He looked away again, as if his point had somehow been proved. The camera was sitting in his lap, ready to go again. He’d filmed Kit getting into the plane, sitting in the plane, and he would capture him again getting off it and into the waiting car at the other end. Kit seemed not even to notice him now. He was in the midst of a scandal that was poised to finally shred his reputation beyond repair and they were perfectly placed to capture it from the inside. It was everything Clover had hoped for. Her film had a purpose now, a remit for Cannes.
So why did she feel sick?
She looked back outside as the steps went down and the cold alpine air rushed into their warm cabin. Johnny was first out to get into position on the tarmac, then Ari – checking no reporters had tracked them here, although there was clearly a high chance they would arrive via this airport. Kit glanced over at her before he stepped out. He hadn’t shaved and his jaw was dark with stubble. She could see he wasn’t the man he’d been yesterday – the look in his eyes was different; he seemed if not broken, certainly fractured. Irretrievably weakened. But no matter how tightly he had held her last night, whispering her name into the darkness and losing himself, he wouldn’t relent. His secrets were still his. They were still on separate sides of the glass.
She looked out the window. Like him, she had to remember herself. She couldn’t allow herself to feel things. She had to look at this journalistically. The events of the past eighteen hours had changed everything; suddenly her film wasn’t the dead duck she had assumed. She had to retain focus. Amy was alleging assault and battery, and Kit wouldn’t deny it. That meant she could take Amy at her word and confirm the worst about him (something she would have paid for at the start of this project). Or she could find out why he wasn’t fighting back. What was he hiding? Either way, her film had legs. The pictures of her and Kit taken on the way into the casino had created a white-hot frenzy of speculation for her latest project and Liam had already left three messages for her. She had yet to go back to him – he would think she was keeping him hanging, but her head was as scrambled as Kit’s.
The runway was clear with only their driver waiting for them, and they filed into the blacked-out BMW X7 with relief. Johnny sat beside the driver in the front, Kit and Ari in the middle and Clover and Matty at the back. They swept along the floor of the Engadin valley in silence, the mountains soaring above them like gothic cathedrals. The light was pink-tinted under a crystalline clear sky and the mountains here again seemed more jagged and saw-toothed than in Austria, the snow iced and peaked like a wedding cake.
In under ten minutes they were in town, passing the famous frozen lake and horse-drawn sleighs. Clover wasn’t sure she’d ever seen more furs outside of the zoo. Posters were up all around town, advertising the FIS competition with headshots of the biggest names: Scotty James. Mark McMorris. Everyone looked so healthy – tans, white teeth, bright smiles . . .
Clover felt a wave of relief that Kit’s photo wouldn’t have been included – he wasn’t yet a big name in this sport and now he was a big name for all the wrong reasons. The lower his profile could be here, frankly, the better.
Kit frowned as the driver slowed and indicated to turn into the drop-off area outside Badrutt’s Palace, in the very heart of the town. It was a vast, old-school European hotel, with arches, stone walls and turrets, a Swiss flag flying in the breeze and quite the most enormous Christmas tree Clover had ever seen.
‘Are there squirrels living in that thing?’ Matty whispered.
‘What are we doing here? I thought we had an apartment,’ Kit said in a low voice to Ari.
Ari nodded. ‘We did. But the landlord bailed when . . .’ He shrugged diplomatically.
‘When he heard I was the client.’ Kit looked out of the window, his jaw balling. ‘. . . Well, did it have to be here? This place is too . . . showy. I’m a snowboarder, not a banker.’
‘It was all Julian could get at short notice. Everything’s pretty much booked out for the comp. His family know the Badrutts. They’re doing him a favour.’
‘. . . Fuck’s sake,’ he muttered, looking back at Ari again. ‘There’s press outside as well. How could they know I was coming here when even I didn’t?’
Ari shook his head, looking surprised. ‘I have no idea. You’re booked in under a pseudonym . . . Don’t worry, mate. Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re looking for you. This place gets all the big names. There must be someone else of interest in town.’
‘Hmm.’ Kit reached into his coat pocket for his shades anyway. He was in jeans, trainers and his minimal JOR gunmetal grey snowboard jacket. He pulled on a beanie too. Everything was low-key; nothing about him stood out – apart from those cheekbones.
Ari leaned forward to the front seat and tapped Johnny on the shoulder. ‘No filming here, mate. The last thing we want to do is alert this pack of hyenas to who’s here.’
Johnny glanced at Clover in the rear-view mirror as he patted the camera on his lap, like it was a pet. ‘Sure. Understood.’
The driver turned into the hotel’s covered courtyard and stopped in front of the mahogany doors. Kit opened his car door and, with his head down, bounded straight past the uniformed doorman and into the revolving doors.
The photographers’ flashes started up instantly, his name yelled out indecorously, asking yet again for comments. They were too late to get the shot, but they weren’t too disappointed – at least they knew, now, that he was here and getting past them and up the mountain every day was going to be like running the gauntlet. He was clearly who they’d been waiting for.
Clover jumped out from her side of the car, pulling up the hood on her coat to hide her distinctive hair and keeping her face well away from the press pack – but she stopped suddenly as if hit by a bullet.
‘What is it?’ Matty asked, almost walking into the back of her. ‘Oh.’ She put a hand on Clover’s shoulder, steering her away from the sight of the poster on the opposite side of the road. Mikey Schultz was grinning back at them. ‘Jesus. Not exactly responsive, are they?’ Matty muttered angrily.
Inside the hotel, there was no sign of the unpleasantness that lay on the other side of the stone walls. Marble latticed floors gleamed beneath vaulted ceilings, intricate wall sconces threw out lacy patterns, vast picture windows gave directly onto the frozen lake at the back, snow lying on the surface in several areas.
Kit was already standing at the reception desk, his back to the lobby as he tried not to bring attention to himself, waiting for Ari to come over and tell them exactly which pseudonym they were booked in under. People were staring nonetheless. There was just something about him that drew the eye – his athleticism, his dynamism. It was his posture, too, though: head down, shoulders rounded, as if he was trying to hide.
They each had their own rooms. Julian was covering the tab. It was supposed to have been his grand gesture for the big debut; now it was his swansong. Matty, Clover, Johnny and Ari had rooms with balconies looking onto the lake, while Kit had a suite. Kit had just rolled his eyes when told. His sponsor’s ongoing generosity felt de trop when everything had gone so badly wrong.
Everyone retreated to their rooms with relief. The strange mood that had blanketed them all day hadn’t lifted. No one was themselves. There were no plans for this evening. This was a working trip for them all. Kit had deliberately missed the warm-ups today for obvious reasons, choosing to go straight into the qualifiers tomorrow, and he needed to focus. Ari would be waxing and prepping the boards; Kit would have a massage, an early night . . .
Clover had a long shower and curled up on her bed, still wrapped in towels. The pillows felt silken under her cheek, the duvet soft and enveloping. She stared out across the lake, feeling the silence of the mountains steadily begin to slow her rushing blood and the questions in her head. She felt both drained and gripped by the urge to see Kit – to push him again on why he was protecting Amy . . .
Just to see him.
Suddenly the fact of leaving here – him – in a few days was feeling less and less like a promise. Johnny had been right. Whatever this tangle of emotions was between them, it wasn’t as simple as hate. He repelled her in one instant and attracted her in the next. She had climbed into that bath, his bed, even as he continued to deny Amy was lying, because she believed – or wanted to believe – that he was something better.
It was a lie to pretend she was impartial or a neutral observer; she never had been that. She had come here clearly in Cory Allbright’s camp, but at least her position had been unambiguous. Now, though, she had stepped inside Kit’s story and she couldn’t step out again. His life was like a massive avalanche and she had been caught up in the powder cloud. Who was she here for?
She closed her eyes, telling herself the sky would soon clear and she would find everything settled once more. She would know what to do. Things were already shifting. It was different here from the chalet; they were no longer sharing space, she didn’t even know where his room was. He was a step removed, already drifting out of her orbit . . .
It was dark when she opened her eyes again, sitting up with a feeling of confusion. Where was she? She had slept in so many different beds recently . . . Her heart was beating far too fast, in the way it always did when she was roused from a deep sleep. But what had woken her?
The knocking came again. At the door.
‘Wait,’ she called, her voice muffled as she tried to coordinate her limbs into shuffling off the bed. Kit?
‘Who is it?’ She looked through the peephole before opening the door. ‘I was fast as—’ Her voice failed at the sight before her. Oh god. What had happened now?
Clover stared at the image on Matty’s phone screen. They were sitting on her bed and it had taken Clover several minutes to get her calm enough to speak.
‘The bitch called you? After she sold her story?’
Matty shook her head frantically, trying to make herself clear, but her thoughts and words were a jumble. ‘No, not me. This is a photo I took. Julian was in the shower and his phone rang. Normally I’d ignore it but it had been such an insane night . . . people kept ringing him, wanting a comment. I thought I should at least look to see who it was, in case it was important.’
Clover put her hands up to stop her. ‘Wait – so this is a photo of the lock screen on Julian’s phone?’
‘Yes.’
‘. . . But why would Amy be ringing him?’
Matty’s eyes widened again. ‘That’s what I’ve been asking myself! What possible reason does she have for contacting him? How does she even have his number? I’ve been going over it all day, trying to think of an innocent explanation . . . But I can’t!’
Clover didn’t reply. That was why Matty had been so distracted all day? She got up from the bed, needing to move to think. ‘Okay, pause. Take a breath. Let’s think it through. There’ll be a perfectly logical explanation for why she’s ringing Julian . . . hours after her story broke . . .’ she murmured. ‘Perhaps she was warning him that the story was coming out? She knew he could tell Kit for her.’
‘But in that case, she would have rung Ari, surely? He’s Kit’s manager. Or me! I was the one who’d made contact with her.’
‘Yeah,’ Clover agreed. ‘Either one of those would have made more sense . . . But it’s not completely outside the realm of possibility she called his sponsor instead.’ Clover bit her lip. ‘She might even know him. If her husband’s that rich, they might move in the same social circles?’
‘Clo, no . . .’
Clover turned at the tone of Matty’s voice.
‘I’ve been over every scenario. It’s my fault. I know it is.’
‘Your fault?’
‘. . . I told Julian about Amy. The first night you were in Geneva, he took me out for dinner. I was really psyched; I hadn’t seen him for a few days and I’d just made contact with Amy; even though it wasn’t a good call, I felt certain we could swing her. I was convinced we’d finally got the missing piece to the story . . . I was excited about it and so I told him.’
‘That you’d found Kit’s ex-fiancée?’
‘I know I shouldn’t have said anything at all, but I figured where was the risk in telling him about Amy? She’s just his ex, right? There was nothing to tell about her, beyond bikini model. I mean, that was all we knew! That and the fact he’d kept the engagement a secret.’
‘And so that’s what you told Julian?’
‘Yes. I didn’t think it was a big deal. I just mentioned it in passing.’
Clover tightened the towel wrapped around her. She was still ‘dressed’ from her shower earlier. ‘So you told Julian about Amy, and the next thing we know, Amy’s sold her story and is ringing him afterwards?’
‘But that . . . I mean, that makes it sound so bad – but there has to be an innocent explanation!’ Matty said, her words a gabble.
Clover frowned, thinking hard. ‘Did you get the impression Julian had heard about Amy before you told him?’
‘No. He was as surprised as I was.’
‘Did you have Amy’s number written down anywhere Julian could see it?’
Matty hesitated as she tried to think back. ‘Uh . . . Well, yeah. I think it was written down on some papers on my desk.’
‘On the desk in the hotel room Julian gave you to work in?’
Matty’s eyes widened as she caught the intimation. ‘Yes. But . . .?’ The word was an airy puff of disbelief.
Neither woman spoke for several moments. If Julian had been spying on her work, what else had he been doing? Clover began to pace. She had a gathering feeling of doom. Something was very seriously off about this.
‘. . . It was Julian who first made contact with us, wasn’t it?’ Clover asked, thinking back to the start. ‘He got in touch with us about the possibility of the film . . .’
‘Yes.’ Matty’s voice was quiet.
They stared at each other. Clover could see goosebumps on her friend’s arms.
‘All this time, I thought he was trying to influence us to go easy on Kit,’ Clover murmured. ‘But look at the timings of the things that have happened . . . the fight outside the restaurant: we were Julian’s guests. Last night at the casino: Julian’s guests . . . That’s too neat to be coincidence, surely? Any time we’ve been with Julian, Kit has been stitched up. People with an interest seem to know where he is at the right time. That mob outside the restaurant, the press at the casino . . . And on each occasion, it’s been timed for maximum exposure . . .’
‘But that makes absolutely no sense! Julian wouldn’t sabotage Kit! That would be shooting himself in the foot. No, more than that . . . it would be blowing his own leg off! Think about the money he’s spent promoting Kit, setting up the clothing line especially for him, the boards, bringing the FIS world tour to Kaprun . . . The chalet, the car . . . He’s spent an absolute fortune!’
‘And yet hours after the story broke, he was taking a call from the woman responsible for obliterating his star signing?’ Clover said. ‘Why would he liaise with the woman who’s undone all of it?’ She looked at Matty as a thought dawned, buffering in her brain. ‘. . . Unless that’s exactly what he wanted?’
‘What?’
‘You said it yourself, he’s spent an absolute fortune . . .’
A whisper of old words flickered through her mind. He’ll have done what I needed by then. Clover’s eyes widened as she suddenly saw the whole picture. ‘Oh my god – scorched earth . . .’ Her hands pressed to her mouth, her heart escalating to a gallop.
‘What is . . . scorched earth?’
‘My brother told me about it in Geneva. It’s a tactical business ploy, a high-risk, last-ditch strategy – selling off assets, acquiring debt. That’s what Kit is to Julian – a running, spiralling debt: the tour, the sponsorship, the products . . . Everyone knows Julian’s burning money; that he doesn’t have the expertise – or frankly the interest – in snowboarding! He’s just running up debt to make his family’s company look unattractive to the hostile bidders’ board.’
Matty had grown very pale. Clover was relieved she was sitting down. ‘No . . . He wouldn’t do those things to Kit.’
‘Mats, it’s precisely why he signed Kit. Look at the headlines he’s garnered! The Orsini-Rosenberg name has been in the papers for all the wrong reasons. It’s deliberate reputation mismanagement. Kit was already toxic – no one else would touch him! – and Julian’s been pouring fuel onto the fire.’
Matty’s hand was over her mouth now as they stared at one another in appalled silence. ‘. . . I feel sick . . . How could I . . .?’
Clover reached over to her, sinking beside her on the mattress. ‘Mats, you couldn’t have known. He’s been playing us all, every single one of us. I thought he was just a ridiculous, spoilt posh boy. I completely underestimated him too.’
Neither of them spoke for a few moments. It was a lot to take in. Even the flashy hotel room they were sitting in was part of his ploy to devalue the family brand, just long enough for the sharks to stop circling.
‘There’s something I don’t understand, though,’ Matty said flatly, staring unseeingly at the mirror opposite. ‘If Julian did contact Amy after I told him about her, why would she spill the beans now? She’s moved on with her life. That’s all in her past. She’s got a rich husband – it’s not like he could have paid her to say those things, surely? She doesn’t need the money. So what’s in it for her?’
Clover thought hard too. ‘It’s got to be damage limitation,’ she murmured finally. ‘Whatever she thinks Kit might be saying to us about her, it must be worse than what she’s flinging at him. At least in this, she’s a victim and, thanks to those photos, Kit can’t disprove it. His reputation is so tarnished, who will the world believe – her or him?’
Matty looked at her in surprise. ‘Are you saying you think Amy’s lying?’
‘I know she is. Kit’s many things, but he never hit her.’
‘Has he said that to you?’
‘Not in so many words.’
‘So then . . .?’
‘He’s being evasive,’ Clover sighed. ‘I can’t put a finger on it, but . . . it’s like he thinks this is the lesser of two evils. Or something.’
Matty gave a surprised, joyless laugh. ‘How is this a lesser evil? Amy has kneecapped him!’
‘I know. I don’t understand why he won’t come out fighting.’ Clover shrugged helplessly. ‘He’s just rolling over and letting her beat him.’
‘Which is not like him. We all know he’s a fighter.’
If Matty’s point had been to cast doubt on Clover’s defence, it didn’t appear to work. Matty watched her closely, seeing how Clover was studying her nails, biting her lip. ‘. . . I can’t believe I’m going to say this—’
Clover looked back at her. ‘Say what?’
‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say you looked like someone having doubts . . .’
‘Me?’ She watched as Matty stood up, as if to get a better look at her.
‘You do still want to nail him, don’t you?’ Matty asked, staring down with a hard look. ‘For what he did to Cory?’
Clover nodded, but her voice seemed lodged in her throat. ‘. . . Mm-hmm,’ she croaked. She cleared her throat. ‘Of course I do.’
‘So then why do you look like a bride at the altar, gathering her skirts and getting ready to run?’