The young woman lazily flicked through the pages of a magazine and slurped on a soda. Her greasy hair was scraped into a messy ponytail and her fingernails bore the remnants of blue polish.

The bell above the door jingled and a man strode in. He glanced around at the peeling paint and mismatched furniture, then gingerly walked up to the reception desk.

Without removing the straw from her mouth, the woman looked up. ‘Are you checking in?’ she asked. She sucked the dregs from the bottle, then belched.

He nodded, a grim smile set on his face. ‘Yes, thank you.’

‘You’re not from around here, are you?’ the girl said. He didn’t look like their usual clientele of backpackers and young skiers. This man was much older, though still handsome. He had a shock of silver hair and wore a black cashmere coat. ‘Do you want me to call Fanger’s Palace or somewhere a bit more upmarket?’ she offered.

The man shook his head. ‘No, no, this is fine,’ he insisted. ‘The booking should be under the name Florian.’

‘Florian …?’

‘Oh, von … no, um, Epple,’ he said. ‘Florian Epple.’

‘Are you sure?’ the receptionist asked.

‘Yes, my name is Florian Epple,’ he said firmly.

The woman flicked through the guest register. ‘Here it is,’ she said, scribbling something down next to the booking. She placed a key on the desk. ‘I think this is for your room, but if you get up there and find that it doesn’t work just come back and I will look again.’

‘Thank you.’ Florian glanced at the number on the key. Thirteen. Of course it was, he thought to himself.

‘That will be two hundred and fifty francs,’ the woman said.

Florian swallowed. ‘Are you sure it’s as much as that?’ he asked.

The receptionist nodded. ‘High season. You should see what they charge over at Fanger’s. I heard from a friend of a friend who works there that some rooms are thousands of francs a night. It would want to be good for that much money.’

Florian took out his wallet and peered inside. He’d have to pay cash as his credit card had already been declined at the train station.

‘By the way, your toilet is blocked, so you’ll have to use the communal bathroom down the hall,’ the woman added. ‘Sorry about that, but the plumber only visits once a week and it clogged up a couple of nights ago.’

Florian was tempted to head back to the station and take the first train home. And what then, pray? he chastised himself. There had been some difficult times before, from which they had emerged relatively unscathed, but this he could not understand.

Florian’s stomach grumbled. ‘I don’t suppose you have room service?’ he asked, then wondered why he had even bothered. This was the last place he’d choose to eat something from.

‘No, but there’s a convenience store just across the road where you can get some takeaway,’ the girl replied.

Florian nodded and picked up his small leather suitcase. ‘Could you tell me how to get to my room?’ he asked.

‘It’s on the third floor,’ she said, looking up. ‘The lift is just through there, but you’ll have to take the stairs because –’

‘The lift man only comes once a week,’ Florian finished.

The receptionist grinned. ‘Ja, sorry about that.’

‘Daddy, isn’t that the Baron?’ Alice-Miranda asked as her family and friends strolled along the snowy street. She pointed at a man climbing the steps to a building across the road. He was holding a small takeaway pizza box.

‘The Baron from Zermatt?’ Millie asked.

Hugh immediately looked over. ‘Florian!’ he called, waving to the man.

Just as he did a bus rounded the corner. The driver blasted the horn and screeched to a halt as another car swerved into the roundabout. For a few seconds the bus completely blocked their view. By the time it moved, the man was gone.

‘Yes,’ Alice-Miranda said to Millie, ‘but I must have been imagining things.’

‘No, I thought it looked like him too,’ her father said. ‘And it’s quite possible he and Giselle have come over for the racing.’

Alice-Miranda skipped along beside her father with Millie. They crossed the street and reached the building they had seen the man enter.

‘It’s a guesthouse,’ Millie said, spotting the two stars on its signage.

‘Do you think Uncle Florian could be staying here?’ Alice-Miranda asked, taking in the flaking paintwork on the door and cracked window beside it.

‘Anything’s possible, I suppose,’ Hugh replied, though he had his doubts. It wasn’t the sort of accommodation the Baron and his wife would normally frequent.

‘You could ask,’ Millie suggested.

‘Good idea,’ Hugh said. He turned to Cecelia, who was walking behind them and chatting to Pippa. ‘Darling, why don’t you all go on to the restaurant?’ he said. ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’

‘What are you up to?’ the woman asked.

‘Alice-Miranda and I thought we spotted the Baron, so I just want to check,’ Hugh explained.

Cecelia smiled. ‘Oh, that would be a lovely coincidence. We’ll see you in a minute, then.’

‘We’ll come too, Daddy.’ Alice-Miranda grabbed Millie’s hand and the pair followed Hugh inside.

The reception area was sparsely furnished, almost bare apart from a bicycle and a rack of ski boots off to the left.

Millie pinched her nose. ‘Pooh!’

Hugh looked at the boots. ‘I quite agree, Millie. It isn’t ideal to have a drying rack in the lobby.’

A young woman emerged from the back room, carrying a steaming mug. ‘Hello, are you checking in?’ she asked.

‘No, I just wanted to inquire about a friend of ours that might be staying here,’ Hugh said.

The woman took a sip from the mug and opened up the guest register. ‘Sure, what’s the name?’

‘Baron von Zwicky,’ Hugh said.

The girl almost spat out her drink. ‘As in a real baron?’

‘Yes,’ Hugh replied, smiling patiently.

‘I don’t think so but I’ll check for you.’ She ran her finger down the list of names and then shrugged. ‘No barons. There are no dukes or kings, either, for that matter.’

‘Sorry to have troubled you,’ Hugh said, clearly disappointed. ‘Come on, girls, we should get going.’

They turned to leave and were hit with another wave of the pungent odour of sweaty feet. Millie turned back to the woman, unable to hold her tongue any longer. ‘You should really find a better place for those boots,’ she said. ‘They stink.’

The receptionist nodded. ‘I know, but someone locked the door to the drying room downstairs and I can’t find the spare key.’ She held up a handful of keychains with keys of all shapes and sizes.

‘Wouldn’t it be a good idea to sort them out?’ Millie asked.

‘Ja, I just don’t have time.’ The woman flipped open the pages of a magazine and sat down on the stool.

Millie frowned. ‘I’d have thought sorting out the smelly boots would be more important than reading that rubbish.’

The woman shook her head. ‘It’s not rubbish, and you never know who might be in St Moritz. Lawrence Ridley was here a few years ago but I didn’t get to meet him because he was constantly surrounded by pesky photographers.’

‘That always happens,’ Alice-Miranda said, taking her friend by the arm. ‘Come on, Millie.’

Hugh waited by the door, hoping neither of the girls elaborated on Lawrence.

‘Goodbye.’ Alice-Miranda waved, but the woman’s eyes were glued to the magazine.

‘Well, I still think you should get rid of those boots,’ Millie huffed, walking to the door. ‘First impressions count, you know, and I wouldn’t want to stay here.’

The receptionist looked up. ‘Me either.’

Millie stepped out onto the street, shaking her head. ‘There’s no way I’d want her working for me.’

‘I couldn’t agree more, Millie,’ Hugh said with a chuckle.

‘You have to ask yourself: what’s wrong with the kids of today?’ Millie tsked.

Alice-Miranda and Hugh laughed.

‘What?’ Millie said, looking at them.

‘You are a kid of today, Millie.’ Alice-Miranda grinned.

‘Oh, yeah.’ Millie smiled back. ‘But hopefully not like her.’

‘You can come and work for me anytime, Millie.’ Hugh wrapped an arm around each girl and led the way down the street.

‘I might just take you up on that one day,’ Millie replied, ‘after I open my rescue stables and write a bestselling book.’

Hugh smiled, holding open the door of the restaurant a few shops down. ‘Just say the word. Anyway, I don’t know about you two but I can feel a pepperoni pizza coming on.’

‘Me too,’ Millie said.

‘Me three,’ Alice-Miranda agreed as they walked inside.