The minibus Rob had hired to transfer them from Geneva to the chalet was ready and waiting as they trooped out of the arrivals hall, and everyone piled on noisily, sprawling themselves across both seats in each row in unspoken agreement. Laura made a point of sitting – or was it hiding? – at the back of the group. Sam, sitting up front, had pulled a couple of bottles of Dom Pérignon from her suitcase before they’d boarded, and the group were drinking it steadily as they made their way through the mountains, swapping stories of their summer holidays and which runs they wanted to make.
Rob and David were sitting separately in the front two rows, talking in low, serious voices and doing lots of earnest nodding at each other’s comments. Laura was much more interested in getting a handle on the rest of the group. From what she could tell, peering inconspicuously over the headrest, Cat was the queen bee of the set, Sam was the party animal, Kitty the mother hen, and Orlando the chameleon, able to camp it up singing along to Adele with Sam one moment, and commiserate over rampant mint in the strawberry beds with Kitty the next.
It was clear everyone was up for a party, drinking happily without worrying who was going to be ‘designated driver’ or whether they had to be up early with the kids the next morning. Interestingly, they were much more imposing as the sum of their parts. Laura had met both Kitty and Orlando separately and been intimidated by neither, but here, amidst the ready laughter and insider repartee, they fulfilled all her nervous expectations of what she’d envisaged the Blakes’ glamorous social set to be – even Kitty, now that she was out of her crooked cottage and pinny, looked imposingly grand without children hanging off her. She had blow-dried her hair and was wearing a spot of make-up, and she now perfectly embodied Fee’s observation: ‘She sounds like she does the gardening in pearls.’
Laura wondered for a moment what Fee would make of them all. At twenty-three, Fee wasn’t just significantly younger, she was infinitely less sophisticated too. The conversations that Laura kept picking up on – spending Easter on Lake Como (Sam); the numbers being paid at Mat Collishaw’s new exhibition (Cat); the long-term returns of investing in wine (Orlando); hosting the Boxing Day meet (Kitty) – were so far out of her orbit, they might as well have been conducted in Latin, and it saddened Laura to realize that her own dearest friend would be dangerously out of her depth here.
And what about Jack? How would he fit in? Laura’s eyes flitted back to Rob and David, appraising the sleek cut of their expensive suits and the discreet thickness of their seven-fold silk ties, the way they made bullet points in the air with fingers that didn’t boast wedding rings. He would flounder here too, she knew. The few suits he did own had the shine to them that was the downside of being washable, not dry-clean, and his voice lacked the bass timbre of theirs that came from years of public-school debating and corporate pitches. Nor did he do irony or sarcasm of any kind; he was unapologetically straightforward and sensitive, and perfectly happy to wear his heart on his sleeve. Even his face was wrong somehow – too fine-featured and clean-cut, as if he hadn’t started shaving yet. He was a boy to their men.
‘. . . Laura?’
‘Huh? What?’ Laura turned to find Cat, Kitty, Sam and Orlando staring at her.
‘You were miles away!’ Kitty smiled. ‘Sam asked whether you ski.’
Laura’s heart sank. There it was. The single question that pinpointed to them all whether or not she fitted in here. Even if she could look the part in her new clothes and keep up with the broader strokes of the conversation, could she do what they could do? Backwards? Drunk? In the dark? In their sleep?
‘No,’ she replied quietly. ‘I don’t.’
An embarrassed hush fell over the party and Laura felt the humiliation rain down upon her. She felt a quiet fury gather inside her. She had been sitting quietly, tucked away at the back, determined not to bring attention to herself or intrude in any way on this intimate gathering. She hadn’t asked to be here; she wasn’t trying to muscle her way in to their oh-so-exclusive clique.
‘Oh,’ Sam said, with a certain archness.
‘Don’t worry,’ Cat said quickly. ‘We’ve got a fantastic instructor out here. He’ll have you flying down the slopes in no time.’
Laura felt Rob’s eyes on her and looked at him for help. But he said nothing. ‘Thanks so much,’ she replied. Cat couldn’t know she was here to work.
‘In the meantime, have another drink,’ Orlando said, filling her glass to the brim so that bubbles sloshed on to the carpeted floor.
Laura accepted it with a tight smile and looked out into the darkness of the Alpine night. The point had been made and everyone knew where they stood now. Kitty’s, Cat’s and Orlando’s friendliness notwithstanding, she wasn’t one of them.
‘So this is it!’ Orlando grinned, holding Laura’s hand as she alighted from the steps.
‘It’s not much, I know,’ Kitty quipped as Laura took in the low, rather small, stone chalet with shallow casement windows and top-heavy pitched slate roof that sat upon it like an oversized hat. It was tiny and there were going to be nine of them here. Rob hadn’t mentioned anyone sharing a room.
‘Finally! What took you so long?’ a male voice boomed from the beam of light that spilled out through the front door.
Laura took a deep breath. Here was the next one to contend with, then – and he didn’t sound shy.
She hung back, fiddling with the extending handle on her bag, as Cat, Sam, Kitty and Orlando – particularly Orlando – swamped him with affectionate, drunken embraces. David was behind her unloading the rest of the bags and Rob was tipping the driver. The others, forgetting all about their luggage, raced into the house, ‘dibbing’ particular rooms.
‘Bagsy I get the sheep!’ Kitty shrieked.
Laura sighed, knowing that as ‘the staff’, she had no say whatsoever on the matter and would probably be doing well not to be sleeping on a sofa. Pushing her suitcase on to its wheels, she stepped into the light towards the stranger who was standing watching her.
‘Hello, I’m L—’ she began, but her voice failed as though all the breath in her body had been snatched out of her by a sprite. His skin was darkly golden, his hair more blonde than brown, he had a dimpled chin like that Hollywood actor with the sex problem – what was his name? – and blue eyes that were double-ringed so darkly they were like stop signs.
She couldn’t move.
‘Sorry. I missed that.’ His eyes were as steady as her pulse was not.
‘Laura. Laura Cunningham,’ she mumbled. ‘I’m the jeweller.’
‘Hello, Laura-the-jeweller,’ he replied, his gaze grazing over her. ‘I’m Alex-the-ex.’
Rob drew up alongside them both, a leather holdall under each arm and wheelie cases in each hand. ‘Make yourself useful, Alex,’ he muttered in an unfriendly tone.
Alex flashed an amused grin at her as Rob stalked into the house. ‘Guess I’d better get the rest of the bags,’ he said, releasing her finally with his eyes. ‘See you in there, Laura-the-jeweller.’
Laura shot into the chalet as if she’d been prodded with a red-hot poker and walked through a roomy porch, banked on both sides by deep bench seats with at least half a dozen pairs of ski boots sitting on racks and various skis and poles pinioned to the walls. She didn’t see the stray shoe that someone had kicked off in their race for the best bedroom and lurched into the main body of the house inelegantly, falling straight into Orlando, who was talking in a low voice in rapid Italian with a sensational-looking woman.
Orlando caught her by her elbow and straightened her up quickly before anyone else saw.
‘Thanks,’ she said gratefully, looking back to the porch and seeing a solitary python stiletto that she’d clocked Sam wearing earlier.
‘Laura, here you are! Let me introduce you to Isabella, Alex’s fiancée.’
‘Hello,’ Laura nodded, shaking her hand briskly and taking in her laughing brown eyes – the chocolate counterpart to Alex’s – and lithe, angular figure. Laura didn’t need to see the two of them side by side to guess at the chemistry between them.
‘Ciao,’ Isabella smiled, doing her own visual sweep.
Alex followed her in with the remaining bags, dropping them dramatically in a heap, arms outstretched.
‘Hey!’ Orlando cried, rushing to rescue his pale blue leather Connolly bag. ‘Mind my duty-free!’
‘You should have carried them in yourself, then. What else are all those extra muscles for?’Alex quipped, wandering over to a tray of glasses and handing one each to Isabella and Laura. ‘Ladies.’
Laura sipped it tentatively as she began to look around her. The chalet wasn’t anywhere near as small as she’d thought from outside. In fact – she wandered over the stone floor to the balustrading and looked down – they were on a mezzanine above a double-height sitting room.
‘Come on, let’s get you settled,’ Alex said, leading her over to a wide stone staircase in the right-hand corner that, gently and in no rush, took them down to the main living areas.
Laura rotated several times at the bottom, taking in the vast exposed stone chimney wall and the pale, limed wood walls that appeared to have been cut and laid like bricks. The floor was wooden but barely visible beneath a massive pale grey evenly patchworked ponyskin rug, and acres of plum velvet sofas were blanketed with taupe cashmere throws.
It was all Laura could do not to take her clothes off and rub her skin against the sumptuous textures like a horse in hay.
‘Got it! Got the sheep,’ Kitty called, panting as she emerged from another staircase that apparently led to yet another floor below and coming to stand by Laura. ‘Like it?’
Laura nodded. What words were there to describe this? ‘It’s very nice’ wouldn’t really cut it.
‘Sorry. I tried to get you the cow, but Sam beat me to it. And I really thought I had a chance against her in those shoes, too.’
‘I kicked them off,’ Sam crowed, appearing behind her.
‘How many bedrooms are there?’ Laura asked, just as Cat and Rob reappeared, wondering if this meant she was going to be on the sofa after all . . . Rob had changed out of his suit into jeans and a grey cashmere jumper. It was the first time she’d seen him not wearing a suit and he looked a lot more rugged, his curls untamed and flopping forward at last, and a distinct five-o’clock shadow across his jaw.
‘Ten,’ he said, walking past her towards the kitchen. Laura turned, taking in the glossy seal-grey units and row of five burgundy oversized drum lights hanging from the ceiling. Two uniformed women were busily and silently arranging canapés on long silver platters.
‘Oh.’
Cat smiled at her as she wandered over to the sound system and turned Coldplay on to blare through the chalet. She had taken off her sumptuous fur accessories but her pedicured feet looked just as expensive on the ponyskin rug. She had a jade-green polish on her toes that on anyone else would have looked tacky, but against her honey-brown skin and contoured jeans it looked high-fashion edgy.
Laura felt clumsy just standing up, compared with the easy, oiled way Cat moved, wiggling her shoulders and hips unselfconsciously to the music. ‘It’s so kind of you to let me come along this weekend.’
One of the maids came over with a tray and Cat took a drink from it. ‘Nonsense! I’m so excited to get to meet one of Orlando’s new friends. He’s one of my favourite people in the world, you know,’ she shrugged. ‘You must be pretty special. He hasn’t stopped telling me how witty and funny you are.’
Laura gulped her drink, feeling woefully unwitty.
Rob came over and Laura watched the way his eyes lingered on Cat’s face as if they were taking a rest there.
‘Have you had this chalet very long?’
‘Three years this Christmas?’ Rob replied, his intonation indicating he couldn’t be sure exactly. ‘I bought it for Cat as a surprise.’
‘You bought Cat this chalet as a Christmas present?’
‘Why do you sound so shocked?’ he asked. ‘You’ve bought your boyfriend the beach hut.’
Laura tried not to laugh at his sincere expression. As if the two properties could be remotely compared to each other!
‘Ooh, tell me about your boyfriend, Laura,’ Cat said, her green eyes keen and interested, as the beats of ‘Viva La Vida’ made the floor vibrate beneath their feet. ‘I want to know all about you.’
The maids began wandering around with the canapés and Laura accepted one enthusiastically. She was surprisingly hungry, and realized she’d only had half-glasses of champagne to drink since arriving at the airport – not that Sam or Orlando were showing any signs of slowing down. If anything, they were only just getting started, their bodies beginning to move to the music. Isabella was standing by the fire with Alex, one arm slung languidly over his shoulder as she spoke quietly in his ear. Laura watched as Alex smiled and kissed her lightly on the lips, then took her by the hand over to the others, his eyes flitting briefly over at Laura, Cat and Rob.
‘There’s not much to tell,’ Laura shrugged uneasily. ‘His name’s Jack. We live in a tiny fishing village called Charrington in Suffolk.’ She ran out of information. ‘We have a dog called Arthur.’
‘I love dogs,’ Cat sighed. ‘I’m desperate for one, but Rob won’t let me.’
‘Don’t make me out to be the bad guy,’ Rob protested. ‘You know perfectly well we could have animals if you chose to stay at home. But you’re always so busy flitting between Surrey and London and here and God only knows where else. We’re never in one place long enough to eat, much less keep pets.’
Laura saw Alex flop on to the velvet sofa next to Sam, pulling Isabella down on to his lap. She watched as Sam tucked her legs beneath her, her flaming hair clashing gloriously with the sofa as she regaled them all with a story that made Orlando slap his thigh with laughter. She could almost see the group rebonding, tightening like a knot.
Cat’s sigh pulled her attention back and she saw that Cat was shooting her a conspiratorial look. ‘See what I have to put up with? He’s so unreasonable.’ Her hair swished silkily around her shoulders with every shake of her head and Laura resolved to practise with her own in the mirror later. ‘So, do you work?’
Laura nodded, her eyes meeting Rob’s briefly as she wondered how much to leave out. ‘I’m a jeweller, actually.’
‘You mean you actually make the jewellery yourself?’
Laura nodded.
‘I can barely make a sandwich.’ Cat smiled. ‘Or the bed!’
‘Laura’s been featured in the FT magazine,’ Rob added.
‘So then you’re talented as well as shockingly pretty and witty!’
‘Oh no I’m not . . .’ Laura faltered.
‘I knew that would make you blush,’ Cat grinned. ‘You are crazily modest. Do you have anything I can see?’ Her eyes flitted over Laura’s hands and face and neck, looking for rings, necklaces, earrings. But she was wearing only a watch.
‘No, I . . . I never wear jewellery myself.’
‘But why not?’ Cat puzzled.
Laura shrugged.
‘But you could be your brand’s best ambassador,’ Cat pushed, echoing Fee’s sentiments entirely. (Oh, Fee would be so proud if she knew!) ‘Do you have any sketches I could look at?’
‘Everything’s in my studio.’
Cat smiled, determined not to be brushed off. ‘Well then, I’ll just have to come to your studio, won’t I? We could go for lunch.’
‘That would be lovely,’ Laura said quietly, overawed by the interest Cat was taking in her.
‘Hey, Cat!’ Orlando called over. ‘Why are you hogging Laura? She’s my guest, you know.’
‘Tch, look at that! We’re fighting over you already – it’s far too exciting to have some new blood in the group!’ Cat winked, sashaying over to them.
Frangipani wafted behind her as Rob and Laura watched her go.
‘Well, it doesn’t look likely that I’m going to get to interview anyone tonight. They all look like they want to unwind, and I’m pretty tired,’ Laura said quietly as Cat stretched out on Orlando’s lap. ‘If you can just let me know where I’m sleeping, I’ll head to my room and get out of everyone’s way.’
Rob frowned at her. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I don’t want to intrude—’
‘You’re not intruding.’
‘Okay, but this is a gathering of your closest friends and I’m here to work. It’s only natural that—’
‘Laura, you are a guest and as welcome here as anyone else – you don’t have to hide yourself away this weekend. It might make Cat suspicious.’ He cracked a wry smile. ‘But I’ll show you where everything is, anyway.’
He turned, leading her towards the stairway she’d seen the others come up from. It was significantly smaller than the one at the entrance and led down to a wide corridor with arched doors running along at ten-metre intervals on the left-hand side.
The first door was open and David, sitting on the edge of the bed, a BlackBerry in his hand, looked up sheepishly. ‘Ah! Do you need me? I won’t be a sec. Just got to dash off a quick—’
Rob held up his hands. ‘No rush, David. I’m just giving Laura the tour.’
Relief washed over David’s face. ‘Super,’ he said, looking back down at his screen.
‘So this is the cow room,’ he said briefly, giving Laura only just enough time to clock the chocolate-coloured quilted velvet bedspread and thickly padded curtains that puddled dramatically on to the leather floor. Laura spotted a heap of silk, chiffon and sequinned evening dresses already upended on the bed and felt a quiver of panic shoot through her. Exactly how formal was this weekend going to be?
Rob led her along to the next room. ‘And this is the sheep room,’ he said, opening a door to reveal a similar room in a creamy palette, this time with ivory sheepskin rugs everywhere.
Laura looked at him questioningly. ‘Cow? Sheep?’
He gave an embarrassed cough. ‘I made the fatal error of allowing my six-year-old niece to name all the rooms.’
Laura couldn’t help but smile – a multi-million-pound chalet named after farmyard animals? ‘I see. This should be interesting, then.’
‘Yes,’ he replied, not meeting her eyes. ‘So Kitty’s in here, and Orlando’s in the next one.’
He opened the next door to reveal a butterscotch and cream colourway with gingham curtains at the windows. Laura looked at him quizzically. She couldn’t work out how this fitted into the theme.
‘Palomino pony,’ he sighed.
‘Very specific,’ she giggled.
‘Mmm,’ he said, closing the door quickly. ‘So that’s this floor. All the rooms are en suite, of course.’
Of course, she echoed in her head, following him down another flight of stairs.
‘And this is the spa,’ he said, motioning towards a vast pool bordered with huge slate tiles and replenished by a flat, minimalist chute at one end, with wall-to-wall picture windows on the far side. Behind the pool was an arrangement of sofas with magazines – fashion, economic, current affairs – fanned across a low table.
‘So down here there’s a steam room, snow room and sauna, jacuzzi and a massage room. Both Sasha and Gemma, the house staff, are fully trained in shiatsu, Swedish, Thai, hot stone, reflexology . . . whatever you like. Just try to let them know the morning you’d like a treatment so they can order their schedules accordingly.’
‘Okay,’ she managed. She had absolutely no intention of indulging. She was here to work. ‘What’s a snow room?’
‘It releases snow on you. It’s like a steam room, but cold.’
‘But why?’
‘It reduces inflammation, amongst other things – helpful if you pick up a niggle on the slopes.’ He pointed to a narrow corridor beyond the treatment rooms. ‘The cinema’s back there, and the staff’s bedrooms are just beyond it, so I ask guests as a courtesy not to wander back there unless we’ve scheduled a film night.’
‘Of course. Is my room down there?’ she asked, thumbing the way.
Rob frowned at her. ‘Of course not.’ He turned and led her towards a door in the corner. He pressed a button on the wall and the doors pinged open. A lift!
She stepped in after him, aware of how tiny the space was. It couldn’t really fit more than four people at a time and she kept her eyes up, away from the mirrors, as they sped up through the house.
‘This is the top floor,’ Rob said when the doors opened, and they stepped into a thick-piled carpet that almost swallowed her feet. Further along the corridor, she could see the stone floor and balustrade of the entrance hall. ‘There are three suites up here.’
‘I’m in a suite?’
‘Yes. Well, you’re going to need to work, aren’t you, and there’s more room in these. Plus they’re quieter for the interviews.’
‘Oh.’
He opened a door into a large room that was a symphony of dusty pinks. She couldn’t help but smile. ‘The Pig room?’ she asked, arching an eyebrow.
Rob smiled back. ‘I prefer to call it the Old Spot suite.’
‘I’m sure you do.’
Rob pointed towards a door to their left. ‘Cat and I are in the Leopard suite on the corner there.’ Then he pointed to the right. ‘And Alex and Isabella are in the Drake at the other end.’
‘I think I can probably guess what they look like.’ From the sounds of their room she wasn’t sure she wanted to see it. Leopard suite? It sounded more Vegas than Verbier.
He walked further into the pink room and Laura followed him in, seeing her bags had already been brought up and deposited beside the wardrobe. The same muted pink velvet had been used for both the bed coverings and curtains, which had four rows of tiny pleated mushroom silk ruffles running down the centre panels, and a deeply pocketed slipper seat was positioned at the end of the bed. Laura walked over to the windows and peered down over the valley. The lights from all the other chalets twinkled beneath her like a starlit sky reflected in water. She could scarcely wait for morning to come and the view with it.
‘There’s a place for you to work at, obviously,’ Rob said, indicating the antique George IV desk alongside the wall, ‘and the bathroom’s just over here,’ he continued, pressing a button that looked nothing like a light switch but the lights came on anyway, revealing whisper-pink marble and a steam shower. ‘And that’s it. That’s everything,’ he shrugged. ‘So at least you know where you are now.’
‘Yes, heaven on earth,’ she smiled, just as her mobile buzzed in her pocket. ‘Oh, that’ll be Jack.’
‘Right,’ Rob said. ‘Well, I’ll give you some privacy. Come back down when you’re ready.’
‘Actually, if it’s okay with you, I will just turn in for the night, now I’m here. I’ve been working long hours recently and I’m really tired.’
Rob looked sceptical. It was barely nine o’clock, but she desperately wanted a warm bath, a painkiller and to curl up in bed. The first day ‘on’ was always the worst.
He looked at the phone still ringing in her hand. ‘Fine. Breakfast is anytime from seven. The first lift opens at eight forty-five a.m.’
‘Oh, but I don’t . . . ski,’ she said, but the door had already closed on her. Natch.
She pressed connect. ‘Hi, Jack.’
‘Hi! How’s it going over there?’
‘Fine. We only got here half an hour ago.’
‘How was the journey?’
‘Fine. On time.’
‘Where are you? It sounds like you’re in a club. I can hear Chris Martin from here.’
‘I’m in my room. Everyone’s up for a party downstairs, so I thought I’d have an early night.’ Rejoicing, she didn’t add.
‘Uh-huh. Is it nice there?’
‘Oh, you know . . . so-so.’ Her hand brushed the silk velvet beneath her. ‘How’re things over there?’
‘Yeah. I’m just waiting for Fee and Paul to swing by and we’ll head off to the pub together.’
‘Great. Send them my love.’
‘I will.’ A small silence bloomed. ‘Bit chilly here tonight,’ Jack murmured.
‘Put another dog on, then.’ Their house was so cold and draughty, it was their favourite joke. He forced a laugh for her sake.
‘Arthur’s looking at me as if I’ve done something to you.’ His voice changed and she knew he was talking to the dog. ‘Aren’t you? Why are you looking at me like that? She’s fine. Go and lie in your bed.’ He came back again. ‘He’s missing you.’
‘I’m missing both of you.’
‘Are you?’ His tone took her aback. Why would he doubt it? Of course she was missing them. But he’d been quiet all week since she’d presented this trip as a fait accompli, as though she had in some way thrown him over.
She heard the lion’s head knocker rap sharply on their front door.
‘Oh. That’ll be them,’ he murmured. ‘I’d better go.’
‘Sure. Have fun.’ She heard Fee’s distinctive laugh in the background as she used her own key to get in.
‘Hey, Jack! You’re so never gonna guess what just happened to me,’ Fee screeched.
‘I’ll call you tomorrow,’ he said quietly.
‘Okay. Bye.’
Laura threw the phone on the bed, vividly imagining Fee blowing through the house excitedly in her Friday-night ‘pulling kit’ – skinny jeans and a scoop-neck red top with a sparkly silver belt and vertiginous ankle boots. Almost immediately the vision of Cat downstairs – barefoot, languid and creamy – swam before her eyes. She pulled off her socks and looked down at her own toes sinking into the thick carpet. They were as pale as porridge, the nails a bleached albino that hadn’t seen any kind of colour since her twenties. It was lucky for her that Jack didn’t care about things like that. She wiggled them, wondering how they’d look in jade green. Gangrenous probably.
She sighed, stripped down to her underwear and turned the bath taps on before wandering back to the windows again. She couldn’t help it, even though she knew all she would see would be the black of night. Just knowing the view was there was enough to accelerate her pulse. She didn’t need to see it to feel it.
Her eyes began to make out the shadows of the mountains and she knew that being a spectator was going to be the hardest thing about this weekend. Everything about this place was a feast of the senses – the as-yet-unrevealed view, the purer-than-pure air, the heady textures, the music pulsing faintly now beneath her. It all felt strangely intense, as though the colours were stronger, the tastes sweeter.
She was usually so meticulous about never putting herself in the way of any kind of temptation, but this had been unavoidable. The interviews wouldn’t be completed otherwise, and with the money already spent . . .
She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She would be fine. It was just a few days and then she’d be—
The door burst open and she looked up with a gasp. Alex was standing there.
‘Oh!’ he said slowly, his two-toned eyes taking in the sight of her in just her bra and knickers. ‘Sorry – wrong room.’
‘Th-that’s okay,’ Laura stammered, immediately pulling at the tawny-pink velvet curtains and wrapping them around her.
A couple of beats passed. ‘Well, sleep tight, Laura-the-jeweller,’ he said in a low voice.
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
He shut the door, but she didn’t dare move, didn’t dare drop her cover. Only when she heard a door close further down the corridor did she run across the room and lock herself into the bathroom. She told herself not to panic, but how could she not? Rob had told her on the plane that Alex and Isabella had arrived here last night. Which meant he knew perfectly well where his own room was. There’d been nothing accidental about it at all.