Laura pressed her forehead to the glass window, enjoying the feel of the cold seeping into her skin. It was already dark outside – the only colour in the sky a streak of magenta backlighting the mountains – and she was watching the lights switching on in the valley one by one.
Cat. Angry. She kept running the two words together in her head, but they just didn’t fit, repelling each other like two magnetic norths. From everything she’d seen of Cat – relaxing with friends in her own home – she seemed anything but: she was languid, chilled-out, gracious.
There was a quick knock on her door.
‘Come in,’ she called, turning.
Cat came in, smiling. Talk of the devil! Or rather, angel. She was wearing a bathrobe – her waist looked tiny in the tightly cinched belt – and her hair was twisted back in a casual chignon. ‘It occurred to me that you might not have any swimwear with you,’ she said, holding up a small white bag. ‘I’ve never worn this. It’s still got the tags on, so you can have it if you like – if you don’t think it’s a bit “eww” to wear another woman’s swimwear, that is.’
Laura chuckled. ‘God, you really are the consummate hostess. You think of everything! Thank you so much. I didn’t have anything with me, no.’
‘Well, bless Orlando. He’s great on advising which moisturizer will help with chapped skin out here, but an actual packing list? Hmmm.’ She walked towards the bed, looking at the clothes Laura had laid out ready for dinner. ‘Is that what you’re wearing tonight?’ she asked.
Laura looked over at her outfit: jet-black skinny Gap cords, a scoop-necked silky T-shirt from Next with black bead details, and a new pair of fabulous red-heeled shoe-boots that she’d been hiding from Jack for about two months at the back of the wardrobe. They were open over the foot, with large, looping semicircles meeting and lacing in the centre – far too dressy for the rest of the outfit, but she didn’t care. She didn’t have anything else that would go with them and she’d been so desperate for an opportunity to wear them. She knew it wasn’t an ideal outfit for tonight, if Sam’s cornucopia of satins and chiffons was anything to go by, but it was the best she could cobble together, given that Claudia had omitted to mention the dress code for Orlando’s party plans.
‘Yes.’
Cat looked back at her, a diplomatic smile on her beautiful face. ‘It’s black tie.’
‘I know, but . . . well, I haven’t got anything else that’s suitable,’ she shrugged. ‘It’s the best I can manage.’
Cat nodded kindly, but Laura could tell this best wasn’t good enough. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to get ready for the pool,’ Cat said. ‘We’re all going down to the spa for a bit before we get ready for drinks. Come down if you fancy it.’ She put a knowing hand on Laura’s arm. ‘Please don’t hide away in this room. I know it’s hard coming into a noisy group like ours, but we’re all really glad you’re here – especially now you’ve shown yourself to be an Olympic-standard skier. Poor Sam’s spitting nails!’ She laughed. ‘And Rob’s so excited. He’s just been raving about your technique on the moguls, actually. He gets so frustrated skiing with me – I’m happiest on blue runs, you see. He calls me Scaredy Cat.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Anyway, see you downstairs, maybe.’
‘Okay. I’ll be down in a minute, then,’ Laura promised.
She waited for the door to close and peered inside the bag, pulling out the red bikini with mounting horror. It had a tiny triangular top and skimpy side-tie bottoms and wasn’t much bigger than her hand. And she had little hands.
Laura’s bare foot touched the slate floor and she hugged herself protectively in the bathrobe. The first person she saw was Isabella, wearing a leopard-print bikini and reclining on one of the loungers, a folded towel over her eyes. Beside her was Cat, doing the same in a white bandeau bikini that showed off a tummy that was not only enviably toned but also tanned, paying no respect whatsoever to the fact that it was the middle of December and most people’s tummies – in both colour and muscle tone – resembled bread sauce.
Laura sat down next to them, wordlessly sucking her tummy in and deploring Jack’s generous helpings, which meant her ribs didn’t show. She was just arranging a towel to place over her eyes when Kitty raced past in a low-leg, muscle-back navy Speedo.
‘Hey! Where are you going?’ Laura asked her.
‘Into the snow room. Alex and Orlando have promised to buy one each of Joe’s pigs next Christmas if I manage five minutes in there.’
‘Oh well, if it’s for the pigs . . . a noble cause,’ Laura quipped.
Kitty laughed. ‘I could buy the kids’ stocking presents alone from the proceeds. Want to join me? I could do with the moral support.’
Laura did – it sounded a laugh.
‘Actually, Kit, I was hoping to take the opportunity to get to hear a bit more about Laura’s jewellery business,’ Cat said, peering from under her towel and placing a hand on Laura’s arm. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
The disappointment in Kitty’s eyes was only evident for a moment before it was blinked away and replaced with a careless smile. ‘Sure thing,’ Kitty shrugged, running selfconsciously towards the snow room and leaving Laura behind with the cool girls.
An hour later, there was a knock at Laura’s door. She had just finished painting her toenails, having bought some red polish in town earlier – as much as she was inspired by Cat’s edgy green, she didn’t fool herself that she could pull that look off – and was wondering how to achieve a ‘smoky eye’ with a four-year-old Rimmel kohl stick and some Avon eyeshadow which was damp from the steam in the bathroom. She usually didn’t bother with make-up at all, but tonight . . . well, tonight she felt different. She had completely stepped out of her own skin today and it was as if she had champagne flowing through her veins. She felt enervated, fizzy and giggly all at once, perpetually ready to laugh and smile, to chat, to flirt even – she’d held her own against Alex earlier and was revelling in Cat’s attention. And she didn’t want to give these feelings up. At least, not yet.
‘Come in,’ she called, sitting on the stool by the dressing table.
Rob popped his head round the door. ‘Hi. Cat wondered if you could just nip in to her for a moment?’
Laura nodded, but before she could get up, he checked the corridor was clear and stepped into the room, quickly shutting the door behind him. ‘Before you go, have you managed to speak to anyone yet?’ He leant against the wall looking immaculate in his dinner jacket, his eyes glittering with excitement at the surprise he was planning.
‘Well, I managed to get some time with Sam.’
‘Ah, and how was our quiet friend? Soft and fluffy, obviously.’
‘Yes, exactly.’
‘You’ve heard her nickname, I assume?’
Laura shook her head.
‘The Blazing Assassin.’
‘I didn’t think it was going to be the Easter Bunny! Well, she was very forthcoming. She told me all about her and Cat’s time at Manchester, inter-railing, moving to London together . . .’ She pulled a face. ‘It sounds like they were pretty scary, to be honest.’
‘They were quite a force to be reckoned with. If I’d met Cat when she was out with Sam, I’m not sure I’d have approached her.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘Actually, no, that’s not true. I’d have walked through fire to get to her.’
Laura stared at him in amazement as he realized what he’d said and looked away in embarrassment. She hadn’t ever met anyone who was so clearly as besotted with his own wife as he was. Other people’s, certainly . . .
‘Cat must be a strong character herself,’ she said. ‘To be able to take on a woman like Sam.’
Rob considered for a moment. ‘She is. But Sam’s not really as tough and scary as she makes out. A lot of it’s an act.’
‘Oscar-winning act.’
‘What else did she say about Cat? I’m intrigued.’
‘Well, it would appear your wife was an atrocious cook. I can only assume the way has been up since then?’
‘In that we have a cook.’
‘Oh!’ Laura giggled. ‘Well, as a chalet girl, she had a repertoire of just six recipes – pretty much all ham and cheese.’
‘You mean like raclette, omelette, fondue . . . ?’
‘Something like that – and those were the glory days! Toast kept her alive up until that point, I gather.’
‘She still loves hot buttered toast.’
‘But did you know she served it once at a black-tie dinner?’
Rob’s face crumpled with laughter and again she saw exactly how he had looked as a twelve-year-old boy, just like she had that first day in her studio. Most of the time he came across as so bluff and buttoned-up, but occasionally she glimpsed this other side to him – relaxed, witty, playful, teasing . . . Rob-lite.
‘It sounds like it went really well, then.’
‘. . . Yes.’ She had survived at least.
He smiled, looking around the room casually. ‘And are you comfortable in here? Is there anything you need?’ His eyes fell upon the red bikini drying in the bathroom and she saw him notice that she had made up the bed with hospital corners, the towels were hanging as she’d found them, and all her make-up was still packed in her bag, not strewn across the counters like Sam’s, which had looked more like an explosion in a flour factory. A baffled expression registered across his features at how little she had settled herself in.
‘It’s like being in a five-star hotel. It’s amazing. I can’t believe you live here,’ she said nervously.
‘Huh, I wish. I’d stay here all winter if I could.’
‘But you come out for weekends and holidays, don’t you?’
‘Yes, as much as possible. It never feels enough, though. I love the mountains,’ he said, walking across to the windows and looking out. The curtains were still open and Verbier sparkled back at them like diamonds on velvet.
‘Me too.’
He looked back at her. ‘So what’s the story on you, then? I’m curious. Why did you lead us all to believe you couldn’t ski?’
‘I didn’t mean to mislead anyone. I just genuinely didn’t think that I would be skiing this weekend. It was very much a work trip in my mind.’
‘And now?’
‘Still a work trip. I’ll get it all done, I promise.’
He laughed lightly. ‘No, I mean . . . I don’t know. You just seem completely different out here,’ he said, his words echoing Alex’s at lunch. Was the distinction really so obvious?
‘Well, so do you. We’re all off-duty and relaxed now,’ she continued, trying to close down the conversation and stop the questions before they started. ‘But look, I’d better go and see what Cat wants. I don’t want to keep her waiting.’
Rob looked disappointed that the conversation was being cut off so obviously, but he followed her as she got up and walked to the door.
‘See you downstairs, then,’ he said, bounding athletically down the stairs.
Laura nodded and knocked on the door of the Leopard suite before opening it. Kitty was sitting on the tub chair, looking lovely in a greeny-grey chiffon dress, which had puffed sleeves to show off her freckled arms and a gold lace detail at the bust. Her gold sandals had been kicked off and she was hugging her knees.
Cat, who had been peering into her wardrobe, walked over to the bed and held up a dress. It was black lace with a slash neck and sleeves that stopped at the elbow. There was a pronounced waist and a skirt so tight it looked like castors were going to be the only way of getting about in it.
‘Oh wow,’ Laura breathed reflexively, feeling infinitely flattered that Cat was asking for her opinion. ‘Yes. Whatever else you were going to show me – yes. It has to be that one.’
‘I’m glad you said that,’ Cat laughed, winking at Kitty. ‘Because it’s got your name on it.’
There was a moment’s delay as Laura realized Cat’s intention.
‘It’s got someone called Dolce & Gabbana’s name on it,’ she protested, and Kitty threw her head back, giggling like a schoolgirl. Laura watched her, amused – she was sure the snow shower had gone to her head. Brain freeze?
She looked back at Cat. ‘It’s gorgeous, Cat – and I really do appreciate the thought, but I couldn’t possibly. That dress is worth more than my house, and I’ve already worn quite enough of your clothes today. I’ll get by with what I’ve got . . .’
Cat stared at her evenly, all friendliness suddenly gone. ‘Laura. This is Orlando’s fortieth-birthday dinner. He’s been on the brink of a breakdown since he turned thirty. The absolute only thing that’s going to get him through this crisis is if we, his girls, dress top to toe in Italian labels – basically his porn – and dirty-dance with him till dawn.’
‘Do it for Orlando,’ Kitty pleaded.
‘Orlando, the pigs . . .’ Laura muttered at her. ‘Tch, talk about a pound of flesh.’
Cat took a step closer to her, swinging the dress ever nearer.
‘I’ll try it on,’ Laura said finally, reaching out for it. ‘But it probably won’t even fit.’
‘Oh, it will,’ Kitty said, as though the dress wouldn’t dare not to.
‘Well, thank you,’ Laura said, turning to go.
‘Not so fast.’ Cat planted her hands on her hips. ‘We’re not done yet.’
A small shiver danced up Laura’s spine. She looked down at Kitty – dear, sweet, gentle Kitty – who merely shrugged. ‘We’re not?’
Cat swept an arm towards the bathroom, and Laura spied Gemma in there, her sleeves rolled up and towels in her hand.
‘What’s she going to do?’ Laura mumbled.
‘Don’t worry, Laur,’ Kitty smiled, jumping off the bed and propelling her along. ‘There’s actually nothing she can’t do. She’s got more strings to her bow than Gwyneth Paltrow’s nanny.’
Laura swallowed hard as Cat and Kitty shoved her into the bathroom with Gemma and shut the door behind her. She shrugged at Gemma helplessly. ‘I didn’t know Gwyneth Paltrow’s nanny played the violin.’