Falling for Her Mediterranean Boss

by Anne Fraser

  Soon, just had the sun had fully risen in the sky she was on the road, heading north. As she drove, she kept going over everything in her head. Admittedly she had almost flung herself at Pierre. She recoiled, recalling how she had responded to his kisses. No wonder he thought her a solution to his problems. No doubt he saw how love-struck she was. Too smitten to ask questions. Too much in love to demand that her wishes were taken into account. He probably thought of her as someone who he could live with, someone who could give him children and be satisfied with whatever scraps of affection he threw her way. She shook her head to clear it. But the way he had held her, the way he had comforted her outside the hospice. Surely these were the actions of a man who cared? But in her soul she knew she wasn’t really in a position to judge. She had so little experience of men or relationships. He, on the other hand, had so much.

  By lunchtime she had booked in with a surprised but welcoming Doris and was on the top of the mountain. The snow was melting, and had almost completed disappeared at the lower levels. There had been avalanche warnings posted at the bottom of the lifts, and Julie knew better than to venture off piste where the danger was. Nevertheless, she carried her emergency backpack with her. It was force of habit. She looked across the Grey Corries to the Mamores in the distance and down into Five Finger Gully. Although it was the most challenging run on the mountain, it was child’s play to Julie. Besides, she wanted to ski the most difficult run she could. She wanted to lose herself in the speed and concentration she needed to descend in the quickest possible time. Her record was under five minutes. Today she wanted to cut at least thirty seconds off that. She needed to remind herself that there was one area where she was better than everyone else. She needed to regain her self-esteem, which had been so cruelly torn away from her.

  There was hardly anyone else on the slopes despite it being the weekend. It was now the end of the season, and only the hardiest skiers would be on the slopes; the beginners and less experienced put off by the conditions and the threat of avalanches. The sun was losing its heat as the clouds covered the sky. Up at the top of the mountain the wind was strong, whipping snow around Julie’s head. Not for the first time she was glad of her goggles. Apart from protecting her eyes from the stinging snow, they gave her sight a depth she needed in what could very quickly become a white-out.

  She skied down the run, letting the exhilaration of the speed whip away all thoughts of Pierre and his deceit. At the bottom she checked her watch. Five minutes exactly. Too slow. She would repeat the run until she was able to cut at least thirty seconds off that time. It might take her the rest of the afternoon, but it would have the added bonus of exhausting her. Hopefully she’d sleep tonight. She had spent too many nights tossing and turning lately. She took the lift back to the top and prepared for another descent. Before she could set off, however, she felt her arm pulled in a vice-like grip. Spinning round, she came face to face with Pierre. Even in the swirling snow, she could tell he was angry. His eyes glinted.

  ‘I knew I would find you here,’ he said grimly.

  ‘I thought I asked you not to come looking for me,’ she bit back, furious. Why couldn’t he leave her alone? Allow her to salvage even the smallest vestige of pride?

  ‘We can’t talk here,’ he said, raising his voice to compete with the sound of the wind. ‘Let’s go down and find somewhere out of this crazy weather.’

  Julie laughed bitterly. ‘You can do as you please, but for now I’m skiing.’ Twisting out of his grasp, she turned and headed down the slope. She was conscious of him following her, but she increased her speed, putting more distance between them. She didn’t want to talk to him. Not now. Not ever. At least not until she had calmed down—possibly in a hundred years’ time. If then.

  But as she came to the first sharp corner she noticed a couple of skiers below her. The figures, a man and a woman from the shape and size of them, looked to be out of control. By this time visibility was almost non-existent and Julie could tell that they had no idea that they were heading for a steep verge, which, even supposing they managed to negotiate it safely, would take them off piste into the avalanche danger zone. The smaller of the figures, wearing a red all-in-one skisuit, was leading the way, with the larger skier, in black, following close behind. Julie knew that there was no point in calling out. The snow would muffle her voice—there was no chance they would hear her in time. She knew there was only one viable option—she had to stop them before they reached the edge. Without breaking speed, she headed off after them.

  Within seconds she had almost caught up with the skiers. She wasn’t quite sure how she would stop them, she only knew she had to get to them before it was too late.

  She came up alongside the red-suited skier, slowed down and pointed frantically away from the cliff edge. For a moment she caught a glimpse of frightened eyes, then, realising the skier hadn’t the control to remove herself from danger, Julie leant her body into hers, forcing her skis in the opposite direction from the cliff. And then the inevitable happened. Their skis caught, catapulting them both down the slope.

  Julie had fallen enough times to know to relax and let her body go. She would come to a halt eventually. In what seemed like minutes, but could only have been a seconds, she slid to a stop. The red-suited blonde, minus both skis, was lying in a crumpled heap several metres ahead of Julie.

  Julie glanced around. The other skier, oblivious to what had happened behind him, was still heading for the verge. Julie hesitated for a moment, torn between helping the injured skier or going after the man. But just at that moment Pierre arrived.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked Julie, anxiously scanning her body for evidence of injury. At Julie’s nod, he seemed to relax slightly. ‘Dieu, for a minute I thought you were going to kill yourself! We will speak about it later.’ Then he was on his knees by the injured skier.

  Knowing that the injured woman would be well cared for, Julie turned her skis back towards where she had seen the man disappear. The snow away from the run was deep and it was unlikely he would be badly injured. Nevertheless, she needed to make sure. She had to walk back up the slope before she could gain enough height to ski towards him. Happily the snow had stopped, but even so, with the rise in the verge blocking her view, the other skier was out of her sight. Once Julie had gained enough height she skied towards the edge, stopping at the cusp of the slope. Below her, about fifty metres away, was the body of the man. She could see that he wasn’t hurt badly as he was struggling to extricate himself from a deep mound of snow. She was about to turn back to the injured woman when a crack like the sound of a cannon going off boomed across the snow. Turning towards the sound, she was horrified to see a lump of snow break off from the top of the mountain above the struggling skier and begin to make its way down the slope, increasing in size and momentum as she watched. Knowing that she was witnessing the beginning of an avalanche, and that the black-suited skier was directly in its path, she made up her mind. By this time he had got to his feet and was looking behind him. He seemed incapable of moving out of the way. Julie guessed she had thirty seconds—maybe less—in which to act.

  ‘Julie! No!’ Pierre shouted from behind her. Somehow he must have guessed what she was thinking. For a split second she held his gaze, committing his dear face to her heart. She smiled briefly, before heading off towards the man. There was a faint chance that she would get to him in time to lead him out of the path of the avalanche. If not, well, she wouldn’t think about the if not. It wasn’t that she wanted to put herself in danger, and she certainly didn’t want to die, but she couldn’t just stand watching while a man was killed in front of her.

  As she shot towards him, she glanced to her left. Coming towards her was a wall of snow, almost of tidal wave size and intensity. If the skier in front of her was capable of movement, there was still a chance he could ski out of its path. But he seemed rooted to the spot. Now she had no option. She stopped in front of him, knowing they had seconds before they were hit by th
e avalanche. With a strength born of desperation, she pushed him down into the snow. Then, throwing herself on top of him and in the last second before they were submerged, she cupped her hands in front of her mouth to create an air pocket. Then the snow hit and everything went dark.

  Pierre watched in horror as the cascading snow hit Julie and her companion, covering them completely before continuing down the slope. ‘No!’ he cried out into the silent snow-covered mountains. In the distance he heard the mournful wail of the klaxon that would alert the rescue services to the avalanche. They were a regular occurrence in France and Pierre knew only too well that often lives were lost, either through the sheer impact of the snow or, if they survived that, a lack of oxygen. He also knew that there was a window of about fifteen minutes if the victims were to be found alive. After that their chances diminished with every passing second. If they weren’t found and dug out within the first thirty minutes, the chances of survival were almost non-existent.

  ‘Julie. My Julie. Qu’est que tu as fait? What have you done? And I didn’t even get the chance to tell you I loved you,’ he shouted, but the wind whipped away his words. She had to know. If she was dead, that would break him in two, but if she died believing that he didn’t love her…He dismissed the thought. That wasn’t going to let that happen—he wouldn’t let it happen. He hadn’t found her after all these years only to lose her now.

  The woman at his feet had nothing worse than a badly sprained ankle and was shocked and frightened. But he had to leave her. He had to find Julie. He would dig her out with his bare hands if he had to!

  He told the frightened woman to stay where she was until help came. He instructed her to keep trying her mobile, although he knew it was unlikely she would get a signal. Then he sped towards where he had last seen Julie and the black-suited skier.

  He could only guess where they might be buried. It was possible that the weight of the snow had dragged them much further down the slope, but he had to start somewhere.

  He looked at his watch, amazed to find only a minute had passed since the snow had covered the two bodies. Refusing to let himself think about the possibility of Julie not being alive, he called out her name before dropping to his knees and frantically tearing at the snow.

  Julie couldn’t hear or see anything. She took stock of her situation. Her body was pinned by the weight of the snow, but she was aware of the body of the skier under her arm.

  She was able to twist her head just enough to see that she had she managed to create a small but potential lifesaving pocket of air. Spitting snow from her mouth, she called to the still figure next to her.

  ‘Hey, mister. Are you okay?’ There was no reply. He was either unconscious or, worse, dead. She tried to move her arm. It took great deal of effort, but finally she was able to release it from the snow. She felt along the figure until eventually she could feel the top of his jacket and the cold flesh of his neck. Straining to reach around the side of his neck, she eventually found the carotid pulse. A regular pressure underneath her fingertips told her he was alive. She closed her eyes. Thank God. She fought against rising panic. Take one step at a time, she told herself. You have air—not a lot, admittedly, but enough to buy some time. Pierre would find her. They were alive and they would be rescued—she had to hang into the thought.

  She let her thoughts turn to Pierre. What would he be thinking up there? Probably that she was dead. He had no way of knowing that the force of the snow hadn’t killed her outright. She wondered what he would be going through. She had been involved in rescues like this one before and she knew the desperate race against time that everyone looking for her would be feeling. Please, God, let them find us in time.

  Pierre was also praying as he dug frantically with his hands, knowing all the while that it was no use. He needed a pole to try and locate them and a shovel to dig them out, and he had neither. But he couldn’t just sit back and do nothing, even though he could see a rescue team in the distance. ‘Hurry up!’ he shouted, looking at his watch. Ten minutes had passed. If she wasn’t already dead, her chances of survival would be diminishing with every minute. Then he had an idea. Grabbing his ski pole, he pulled the bit off the end. Now he at least had something with which to probe beneath the snow. Steadying the panic that threatened to drive him mad, he set about methodically testing the snow for her body.

  Why hadn’t he told her he loved her when he’d had the chance? If he had told her, she would never have believed he was marrying her out of some mistaken loyalty to Iona. He had thought his feelings for her were perfectly obvious. But he should have thought about Julie’s fragile self-esteem. Her lack of belief that anyone could love her. She just didn’t see herself the way others did. Beautiful, fiery, loving and loyal. Who could not love her? And he did. More than life. More even than he had ever loved Iona. This time he loved completely and with no doubt. Julie was the woman he wanted to have his children, the woman he wanted by his side every day of his life, the woman he wanted to grow old with. He groaned aloud. He couldn’t bear it if he had lost her. Not when he had so recently discovered her. Not when there was still so much to learn about each other and he had thought they’d have a lifetime to learn it.

  The rescue team had arrived and were pulling out their equipment, getting ready for the search. One of them was attending to the injured skier Pierre had had to abandon. The rest were pulling out poles and shovels.

  ‘How many? Where?’ the rescuer in charge asked.

  Pierre pointed to where he had last seen Julie and her companion. Although he wanted nothing more than to grab a shovel from the man’s hands and dig until he found Julie, he knew that it wasn’t the best way to make sure they found her alive.

  ‘Hey, over here!’ one of the men shouted, standing over a piece of ground only a metre or two away from where Julie had flung herself down, and from where Pierre had been searching. He felt the first real stirrings of hope. At least now they had a small chance of finding her alive. He looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes had passed. This time there was no stopping him as he joined the other men digging at the point where the signal had come from. A probe had told them that there were bodies submerged at that point and how far they could dig with the shovels before reverting to their hands.

  As they dug frantically Pierre felt something beneath his hands. It was a body. Alive or dead, he had no way of knowing. Another minute passed until at last they a hand and then a black skisuit. It was the skier Julie had gone after. Pierre was torn between hope and despair. It wasn’t Julie, but if they had found one of them, the other couldn’t be far away.

  ‘Hold on, Julie,’ he yelled. ‘Just another few minutes.’ He had no way of knowing if she could hear him, but he had to believe she was alive. As they pulled the man out Pierre could tell instantly that he was unconscious, perhaps dead. Dread washed over him, turning his blood cold. If he was dead, then it was likely that Julie was too. He carried on digging. And then suddenly he felt something solid beneath his fingers. It had to be her. Scraping away the snow, quickly but gently he exposed her face. It was deathly pale, the colour of the washed-out sky, her lips tinged with blue. Others were helping him, clearing away the snow until at last they were able to pull her free. For a moment his heart stopped. Were they too late? As they laid her gently on the ground, he felt for a pulse. Yes, underneath his frozen fingers he could feel its shallow beat. Calling for an oxygen mask, he placed it over her lips. Then he pulled her body into his as if he could transfer his life force into her. She shuddered in his arms and then coughed weakly. He lifted his head to look at her dear, precious features. Her lips were moving. He thought she was trying to say his name.

  With a cry of triumph he pulled her back into his arms, calling her name over and over. He could feel her breath against his cheek. He looked into her face, her dearly beloved face. Her eyes flickered open. ‘Pierre,’ she said. ‘You found me!’ And then as he felt his eyes burn with relief she smiled faintly and closed her eyes once more.


  Julie came to in a hospital bed. She had been vaguely aware of gentle arms lifting her onto a stretcher and taking her off the mountain. She remembered Pierre being there, his eyes dark with fear, him calling her name, telling her he loved her over and over. She had tried to tell him that it was all right, that he didn’t have to pretend any more, but she hadn’t been able to form the words through her frozen lips.

  She focussed on her surroundings. Her body felt as if she had been run over by a car, but apart from that she seemed, miraculously, to have escaped serious injury.

  A shape leaned over her. Pierre, unshaven and the most dishevelled she had ever seen him, brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes. Despite his appearance, he had never seemed more dear to her.

  ‘You are okay,’ he said hoarsely. ‘You are a very lucky woman.’

  Then it all came rushing back to her. Caroline explaining that Pierre still loved his dead sister-in law. That he only wanted her to marry him so she would come and live in France.

  ‘You don’t have to stay,’ she said. Even in her fatigue she was conscious of the need to salvage some pride. ‘I’m all right—you said so yourself.’

  ‘What were you doing back there?’ he said. Now he seemed angry with her.

  ‘I couldn’t leave him,’ she said. ‘Is he okay?’

  ‘He’s fine. So is the woman he was with. But you! Why do you always put your life at risk for others? Don’t you care about living?’ He said that as if the words had been torn from somewhere deep inside him.