Although it was only the first full week of the season, the heavy snow had drafted in plenty of skiers, and the restaurant was filling up by the time they got there. Laura had never been so happy at the thought of sitting down. If she’d pushed herself skiing with Mark, she’d practically skied for her life against Alex. They had taken five runs to get here, and on each one Alex had weaved round her, giving chase, recognizing in her the thrill of speed and knowing she couldn’t resist the challenge. And she couldn’t. Each time, against her own better judgement, she’d taken the bait, sometimes beginning her descent with a bluff, arcing across the plain in languid sweeps before suddenly pointing her skis downhill and crouching down to improve her aerodynamics. Other times she was off and speeding away before he’d got his goggles back on. But every time, she’d known that, for all her skill, he could still just about take her. He liked chasing her, but he liked catching her more.
Sticking their skis in the snow and unbuckling their boots, they walked into the restaurant, a traditional Savoyard-style chalet with rows of pine tables set out on various levels. Laura swept the room, looking for Rob, Kitty, Orlando and the rest. And Sam – where was she?
‘Table for two,’ Alex said to a waiter as they walked in.
Laura turned back to him. ‘For two? But you said we were meeting everyone for lunch.’
‘So I lied,’ Alex said, his eyes challenging her as they had on the slopes.
The waiter, standing at their table, gestured for them to join him.
‘Of course, if you want to ski the five runs back to where they’re meeting, we can,’ he shrugged.
‘Back? You mean we were already there when you saw me with Mark?’
‘I was just about to join them. But then I saw you laughing in the snow and what was I supposed to do? Share you with everyone else?’
They sat down. ‘You know I’m living with someone,’ she said as the waiter handed her a menu.
‘I’d prefer not to think about it, actually.’
Laura couldn’t help but laugh, enjoying his humour. She felt positively euphoric with the afterglow of her morning’s exercise – her skin was glowing, her heart was still pumping double-time, and this badinage was uplifting and fun. ‘Poor Isabella. I hope she knows what she’s letting herself in for. When’s the wedding?’
Alex motioned for some drinks. ‘Yet to be decided. Summer, probably.’
‘And how did the two of you meet?’
‘Through work.’
She dropped her menu down and gave him an exasperated look. Blood. Stone. ‘And what is it that you do?’
‘I’m a sports broker.’
‘Ooh. I bet you’re popular with the lads in the pub, then.’
Alex agreed. ‘I get to do what every little boy dreams of.’
‘And Isabella? Is she a broker too?’
Alex shook his head. ‘She’s a marketing executive for Nike, Ronaldo’s sponsor. Ronaldo’s one of my clients.’
‘Oh wow. So you’re a power couple,’ she said.
Alex sat back to let the waiter set down their drinks and a bowl of warm bread rolls. ‘Hardly.’
‘No? If I wanted tickets to the World Cup final, could you get them for me?’
‘Sure, although it’s not for ages.’ He placed his elbows on the table and leaned in towards her. ‘But is this really what you want to know about me? My job and my fiancée?’
‘No,’ Laura said, shaking her head, playing the game. ‘What I really want is to know about you and Cat, Alex-the-ex.’
Alex sat back in his chair and studied her. ‘Must we?’
‘It’s why I’m here,’ she said, beginning to pick at a bread roll.
‘I brought you here so that I could get to know more about you and how you learnt to ski like the devil. It makes me wonder what else you can do.’
Laura met his eyes and a zip of electricity flashed between them. ‘I make killer jewellery.’
‘You must do, if the rumours are right about what Rob’s paying for this necklace of yours.’
‘It’s not merely decorative, Alex. It’s going to tell Cat’s life story.’
‘You’d better give me an extra-big charm, then. I feature pretty heavily.’
‘Oh, I’m sure,’ Laura nodded, an amused smile on her lips. ‘You’re her first love, the boy who broke her heart. It makes you unforgettable.’
He slumped back in his chair, his eyes pinned on her. ‘I want to know why you didn’t say you could ski like that. You could have joined everyone on the heli-ski earlier.’
Laura shrugged. ‘I’m not here to play.’
‘So what are you doing out here now, then?’ He gestured to the chalet they were sitting in, positioned halfway up the piste.
‘Being polite.’
‘Polite?’
She burst out laughing. ‘What else could I do? There was no one at home for me to interview. Rob had arranged for Mark to give me a lesson so I couldn’t keep protesting I’d be holding you all back, and Cat told me to wear her clothes so I couldn’t plead that I didn’t have any kit either. If I’d kicked up a fuss about still not going out in the face of all their hospitality, Cat would start wondering exactly what I was doing out here, and this necklace is supposed to be a surprise, remember.’
He shook his head. ‘No. It’s not that. There’s something else. You’re different. Something’s happened to you since we left you at breakfast this morning.’
She leaned forward, pressing her weight on to her elbows. ‘Ah, I see you’re a conspiracy theorist,’ she grinned, puncturing his truths with teasing jabs, her eyes sparkling.
He paused for a beat. ‘I’ll get it out of you, Laura.’
Laura held his gaze for a moment before looking down at her menu. If he persisted in staring at her like that, he might get more than just plain talking from her. ‘Well, while you’re busy giving me an exotic past, I’m going to order. I’m starving.’
He cracked a tiny smile. ‘Then we must not delay. Appetite is like desire.’
Laura lowered the menu. ‘Huh?’
Those eyes were pinned on her again. ‘The only way to overcome it is to satisfy it.’
‘I’m glad we’re just in time, then!’ a familiar voice snapped next to them. Laura looked up to find Rob clicking his fingers at the waiter to bring over another table. He looked down at Laura. ‘And he’s quoting Somerset Maugham, by the way. Don’t be fooled into thinking the words are his own.’
‘The sentiments are,’ Alex muttered tetchily, sitting bolt upright as Cat, Isabella, Orlando, Sam, David and Kitty rocked up behind Rob.
‘So this is where you’re hiding!’ Kitty grinned, grabbing the chair next to Laura.
Laura smiled at her, relieved to be rescued from Alex’s attentions. She watched as Cat, looking particularly feline, unzipped her caramel-coloured suit and every pair of eyes in the restaurant swivelled over to her.
Rob practically threw himself on his seat, looking furious. ‘What are you doing here, anyway? You knew we were all meeting at Marmotte.’
Alex shrugged. ‘Hello, darling,’ he said as Isabella came over and leant down to give him a kiss. ‘I don’t see what you’re making such a fuss about, Rob. I ran into Laura on the way over and decided to take her to lunch.’ He lowered his voice, throwing a discreet look over at Cat to check she wasn’t listening. ‘She does have to interview me, after all.’
Laura marvelled at how easily he told the lie. They both knew he hadn’t had interviews on his mind.
‘How did you know where to find us?’ Alex asked.
‘We ran into Mark. He said you were taking Laura to have lunch with us here.’
‘Well, it’s all turned out fine, then, hasn’t it? We’re reunited for lunch after all.’
‘Give us another five minutes,’ Rob said to the hovering waiter. ‘And bring over some more vin chaud.’
Sam’s eyes skidded over Laura’s light blue ski-bunny outfit and pink cheeks. ‘Had a fun morning?’ she asked, still pale in spite of the day’s exercise.
Laura straightened up and looked her straight in the eye. ‘Yes, thanks. Fabulous.’
‘Bully for you,’ Sam muttered, lunging at the bottle of wine that Alex and Laura had already ordered.
‘Orlando? Was it fun?’ Laura asked, turning her attentions to him.
‘Two wipeouts.’
‘Oooh, ouch!’ She placed a sympathetic hand on his arm. ‘Poor you.’
‘My own fault. I am never drinking again. As you are my witness.’
‘Not God as your witness, Orly?’ Kitty asked from Laura’s other side, smiling indulgently.
‘Let us not be hasty,’ Orlando said, a smile growing on his lips. ‘I say “never”, but I mean . . . “until tonight”.’
‘We’d better not make this a long lunch,’ Sam sighed wearily, lighting a cigarette. ‘We’ve got to get Laura back now. That’s going to take some time.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about me, please.’
Sam snorted, arching a plucked eyebrow at Laura’s newly assertive behaviour. ‘You think you can keep up, do you?’
Laura fixed her with an even stare. She was actually going to enjoy this. ‘You know, Sam, yes, I think I just might.’
By the time they’d skied back – everyone almost falling over as Laura zipped past them effortlessly – and stopped off in town to buy their Secret Santa presents, it was getting dark. They fell through the front door, laughing, pink-cheeked and half drunk, unzipping their top layers and unbuckling their boots in the porch. Sam – first through – was surprised to find a large Christmas tree set up by the windows in the sitting room, a box of decorations sitting alongside it. ‘A delivery for you, Rob!’ she called.
Laura hung up her jacket carefully as Cat stripped back down to her thermals. ‘Cat, I just want to thank you again for lending me this kit. It’s amazingly kind, and completely unexpected.’
‘If I had known you were such a great skier, I might have thought twice,’ Cat smiled. ‘You made us all look bad out there today. And my bum doesn’t look half as good as yours in those trousers,’ she chuckled, patting her lightly on the bottom. ‘No fair,’ she winked.
Laura laughed, not taken in that Cat thought she looked good, and kept her trousers on as she walked down the stairs, unlike the others, who had stripped down to catwalk-ready thermals. Cat looked lean in chocolate silk long-johns, Isabella cosy-cool in pale grey ribbed leggings, and Sam was in a Dolce & Gabbana knitted reindeer-print playsuit that was almost inducing an on-the-spot heart attack in Orlando – she was wearing a pair of navy opaque tights over white knickers. Not a good look. The fact that Kitty was also staying covered up suggested she felt she had just as much to hide as Laura.
Laura joined Kitty by the sixteen-foot tree and peered into the box of decorations, curious to see how the Other Half decorated Christmas. She was guessing it wouldn’t feature tinsel or plastic reindeer.
‘I thought we could all decorate it later, when we have drinks,’ Rob said, leaning over the mezzanine and addressing them both. Laura looked up. He had stripped down too and was wearing a black cotton vest that revealed muscles that were clearly primed to cope with more than just off-piste skiing. He hadn’t shaved from the day before and the two-day-old stubble glinted like metal filings. From this distance – with his hair dishevelled and the delight of a hard day’s skiing reflected in his eyes – he looked more like a logger than that stiff, polished businessman who’d knocked at her studio door and Laura found herself thinking this rugged look suited him better. If she was Cat, she’d keep him here all year round, so that he’d stay looking like that – vital, strong, happy. ‘It’s something of a tradition,’ he added.
Laura realized she was staring and nodded quickly. ‘Great.’
He smiled and headed off to his bedroom.
‘A sixteen-foot Christmas tree? It seems rather extravagant for just a weekend jolly,’ Laura murmured, turning back to Kitty, before remembering that if he didn’t count a chartered chopper as an extravagance, a non-drop blue spruce was hardly going to cause him any sleepless nights.
‘I know,’ Kitty sighed, reaching into the box and twirling a Lalique crystal snowflake on the end of her finger. ‘He doesn’t realize, of course. He’s not trying to be flash.’
Laura looked around them. Things had gone surprisingly quiet – at least for the moment. David and Alex were drinking beer and watching the Inter Milan versus Juventus match on the fifty-inch plasma screen; Cat must be in her room with Rob; and Orlando and Isabella had gone off to have the side-by-side facials they’d booked at breakfast.
‘Hmm, I wonder where Sam is? Now would be as good a time as any to try to interview her,’ she said quietly, just in case Cat should be approaching.
‘Good idea. She’ll either be in her room or in the spa, I should think. Drinks aren’t till seven-thirty. I’m going to ring home. I’m dying to speak to the kids.’
‘See you later, then,’ Laura smiled, padding towards the smaller staircase.
It was quiet on the lower levels and Laura hesitated at the Cow-room door. It was firmly shut, and for a moment Laura worried Sam might be sleeping. She’d had scarcely any sleep last night, a morning’s arduous exercise and a skinful of vin chaud at lunch. If she was resting, she would not be happy to be disturbed by Laura for a chat about Cat.
On the other hand, Laura was here to work, and in between skiing, massages, drinks and meals, exactly when was she supposed to get hold of everybody?
She knocked, weakly at first. Then, when there was no reply, harder.
‘Sam?’ she asked into the thick wooden door. ‘Sam? It’s Laura.’ Gently she pushed the door open. ‘I wondered if we could have our . . . talk.’
The bedroom was empty. Was she in the spa? Laura was just turning to go when Sam appeared at the bathroom door, dabbing her face with a towel and swaying ever so slightly, a glass of water in her hand.
‘Oh. I thought I heard the door.’ She was deathly pale and looked more like she’d spent the day sleeping in a coffin than skiing in the Alps. She took a sip of water and walked further into the room.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.’
‘I suppose you want to talk about Cat?’ she sighed, grabbing a hairbrush from the shelf next to her and bashing down her hair.
‘Yes. But I can come back if this isn’t a good time.’
Sam dropped her hands down and leaned heavily against the wall. ‘No, no, let’s get it out of the way,’ she said, finishing her drink and throwing the brush on to the floor ready for David to step on later on his way to the bathroom.
‘Come in and shut the door, then. Drink?’ Sam asked, walking over to a table by the window and screwing the cap off a bottle of vodka and pouring it into her glass. Not water, then. Laura shook her head. It was too early for her.
‘No, thanks. I’ve, uh, got a massage in an hour so . . .’ she fibbed.
‘God, yeah! There’s nothing worse than drinking before one of those.’ She added tonic water to the glass and took a sip. ‘Remind me not to book one!’
Laura couldn’t help but smile – Sam was nothing if not consistent – and she scanned the room discreetly, looking for somewhere to sit. It was very definitely a room of two halves. On David’s side, his suits were hanging on padded hangers, his trousers were pressing, and the latest Robert Harris was sitting bookmarked on the table. On Sam’s side of the room, savage heels poked out of perilous mountains of clothes, the make-up on the dressing table looked as if it had been thrown there, and copies of Grazia and German Vogue were tossed on top of a tower of plastic-coated files.
‘Is it okay if I sit here?’ Laura asked, pointing to a chair that was covered in a shaggy Mongolian fur jacket – the designer version of the type she’d been considering for Fee – and six pairs of jeans.
‘Just shove all that stuff on the floor,’ Sam said, flinging herself on to the bed and lighting a cigarette.
Laura lifted it all up in an armful and carefully placed it in an artful heap on the floor.
‘So how does this work, then?’ Sam asked, blowing out a puff of smoke and staring at Laura through the grey haze. ‘Are you going to take notes?’
‘I will later.’
Sam’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is that accurate enough?’
Laura ignored her. They were hardly legal documents. ‘Tell me how you and Cat met.’
‘We were at Manchester together. Shared a room in digs. Hated her on sight.’
‘Why?’ Laura asked, hoping she wasn’t going to answer every question in bullet points.
Sam hiked up her eyebrows. ‘You’ve seen her. I was totally determined to hate her,’ Sam smiled, flicking ash into a cup beside the bed. ‘Make her life a living hell. Why should I give her an easy ride? I thought.’ She gave a sudden devilish laugh.
‘Why did you want to do that?’ Laura asked mildly, resisting the impulse to fling open the door and sprint away from this insanely competitive woman.
‘Ugh, I can’t bear these pretty-pretty girls who waft around simpering and being decorative.’ She shot Laura a contemptuous look. ‘I thought Cat was one of them.’
‘But she wasn’t?’
Sam’s eyes met hers, fierce and shining. ‘She was a soul-mate. Up for anything. “No” wasn’t a word that was in her vocabulary.’
Laura watched her take another sip of vodka. ‘It sounds like you had a wild time.’
‘Oh yes,’ Sam said, retreating further into the memories. ‘I reckon if you went back to Manchester now and mentioned our names to the students, they’d know who we were. We ruled that campus.’
Big claim. Big ego, Laura mused. ‘What was your crowning moment together, would you say?’
‘Flying our knickers from the flagstaff on graduation day, definitely,’ Sam replied without hesitation. ‘Knickers were our signature back then – well, knickers and lack thereof. We had set up a little business on the side making them out of old scraps of Liberty fabric. They had tied ribbons at the sides that pulled apart. Every girl on campus wanted a pair. It made us some pocket money,’ she shrugged, swinging a toned leg restlessly. ‘Of course, every other blonde you meet is making them now, but we were the first. Agent Provocateur even took them for a while.’
‘Really? So has the business continued?’
‘Hell, no. There’s no money in it. No serious money, anyhow. We jacked it in as soon as we graduated.’
Laura wondered what qualified as ‘serious money’– her yearly income as a day rate? ‘You said you shared a room in the first year. Did you live together after that?’
‘Yes. We got a house near campus, shared it with some rowers. The rugger buggers wanted us too, but we weren’t stupid.’
‘Because they’d have wanted to sleep with you?’
Sam shrugged, cradling the glass. ‘We’d pretty much slept with them all anyway. Except for the tight-head prop. Bad skin.’ She shook her head. ‘No, the problem was, we couldn’t cook. Literally. One of them had to show us how to make pasta with Dolmio. “See the bubbles, girls? That means the water’s boiling. Now, pour in the pasta . . .”‘ She giggled. ‘It was a tactical decision to keep us fed. They were so into their diet and shit.’
‘Did they know you were using them?’
‘We would throw occasional benefits their way,’ Sam said, her eyes flashing provocatively as she continued emptying her glass in increments.
Laura tried not to react – it was exactly what Sam wanted – but it was hard to reconcile this portrait of Cat with the one she’d heard from Kitty and Orlando, or indeed with the woman she’d met upstairs. From what Laura had seen so far, Cat was charming, generous and understated. She had gone out of her way to make Laura feel comfortable here, complimenting her and opening up her house, her wardrobe . . .
Sam took a drag of the cigarette and held it in front of her as though assessing it. ‘Man, we were useless. If they were away, we scarcely ate . . . We served toast at a dinner party once.’
‘No. You didn’t,’ Laura protested, dragging her attention back to Sam’s recollections again. It was likely that Sam was guilty of the same mistake as Kitty – ramping up the past into a higher-voltage version of itself. In Kitty’s case, it was a sisterly nostalgia. In Sam’s, wistfulness for bygone wildness.
A hint of a smile threatened to splinter Sam’s face. ‘We’d made everyone dress in black tie too. It was hilarious.’
‘What did you both study?’
‘Cat did economics. I did French and German.’
‘So you didn’t have any lectures together?’
‘No, thank God,’ Sam drawled. ‘That was the only time I got any sleep.’
Laura chuckled. She might not like Sam, but she had to admit she had a certain dangerous allure.
‘You have to go abroad if you do languages, don’t you?’
‘Yes, in the third year. Six months for each country.’
‘It must have been hard for the two of you being apart when you’d been so close.’
‘We made sure we kept in touch. I was staying in Méribel for the French component, autumn through to Easter. Cat came over in the holidays and we worked as chalet girls together.’
‘But surely you have to be experienced cooks to work as chalet girls?’ Laura asked, watching as Sam swapped hands and drank from her vodka glass.
‘In theory. But our housemates taught us six recipes the week before we left – ham omelette, carbonara, chicken cordon bleu . . . a different meal for every night – and we just put cereal, yoghurts and croissants from the bakery out on the breakfast table every morning. No one ever sussed we didn’t even know how to mash a potato.’
‘Did you remain close after university?’
Sam took a deep drag, closing her eyes as she let slip a ribbon of smoke. It was her final puff and she dropped the stub into a water glass beside the bed – there were already four butts in there – and let her arm drop heavily down the side of the bed. ‘We moved to London together and shared a flat for three years – until Cat met Rob.’
‘Where were you living?’
‘Putney. We lived in the same street where Mr Ben was set, actually. D’you remember that TV series? It was about a bloke going into a fancy-dress shop and whichever outfit he put on, he’d be magically transported to that particular world. Well, we called ourselves the Bennies. Every party we had there was fancy dress.’
Laura straightened up excitedly. This could be good for inspiration.
‘What themes? Do you remember?’
Sam closed her eyes, thinking, and for a moment Laura wondered whether she was going to sleep. ‘One was called “Come as something beginning with P”; another was “I can’t believe you’re wearing that!” They were the best. All-nighters. The police got called out every time.’
‘What did Cat go as?’
‘Oh, man . . .’ she sighed. ‘She was a pilchard at the P party – wrapped herself in tin foil for that one. And she was . . . um, a . . . oh God, yes! It was classic! She was a diver at the other: wetsuit, snorkel, mask, flippers, the lot. It was a nightmare every time she had to go back to the kitchen to get refills. She worked out that walking backwards was best,’ Sam chuckled, taking another slug of her drink.
‘Random.’
‘Funny!’ Sam insisted.
‘Did you go on holidays together too?’
‘A couple of times. We went inter-railing around Europe together the first summer at Manchester. We had to wash in train terminals and eat—’ She pulled a face.
‘Oh no,’ Laura squirmed. ‘Please don’t say out of bins.’
‘No. But we’d go round the cafés in the evenings, sweet-talking the waiters into giving us the sandwiches they were going to throw out. Even now I can’t look a prawn sandwich in the eye.’
‘It sounds hard.’
‘It was excellent! The first time in our lives we were both completely and utterly free,’ she exclaimed vehemently, punching the word out so that her shoulders lifted off the pillows. ‘Pity it didn’t last,’ she murmured, staring sightlessly at the far wall.
‘Are you still as close?’
Sam gazed down sadly at her hands. ‘I live and work in Frankfurt. What do you think?’
‘Oh. You must miss her.’
‘More than you’ll ever know,’ Sam said, her eyes fluttering up to Laura’s and back to the far wall again. Laura flinched at the sudden aggression in her voice and she noticed Sam’s eyes were glassy and unfocused. Laura glanced over at the vodka bottle – it was half empty. How many had she had since she’d been down here?
‘Well, I am trying to know,’ Laura said in a conciliatory tone. ‘That’s the point. Rob wants it to—’
‘Tch, Rob wants, Rob wants,’ Sam mimicked. ‘And Rob always gets what he wants, doesn’t he?’ She held up her glass, staring into the clear liquid as if it showed her the future. ‘Well, not this time, if you ask me,’ she murmured.
‘What won’t he get?’ Laura asked, confused. It was clear Sam was drunk.
Sam stared over at her. ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out,’ she taunted.
Laura sighed. ‘I think I’d better leave you to rest,’ she said, getting up from the chair. She got to the door, stopped and turned back. ‘Can I just ask you one more thing?’
‘Ssshoot,’ Sam slurred, waving her drink dangerously about.
‘What three words would you use to describe Cat?’
Sam’s eyes narrowed like a cat’s. ‘Ooooh, good one!’
Laura waited as Sam stared intently at the opposite wall. ‘When you’re ready.’
‘Wild, definitely.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Another long pause.
‘. . . Fearless.’
‘Yes.’ There was another minute’s procrastination. ‘Wild, fearless. What else?’
‘. . . Angry,’ Sam mumbled.
‘Angry?’ Laura echoed. ‘What is she angry about?’
But her only reply was the sound of the glass tumbling on to the leather floor as Sam finally, thankfully, passed out.