by Rosie Thomas
Julia did scream now. ‘What does he mean? Where is the avalanche?’
The other skiers passed, unrecognisable, but not Josh. Sophia’s ruddy face had turned grey-white. Julia understood that avalanche was something terrible. She shrank back against the wooden wall of the funicular station, feeling the splintery planks give a little at her back. They waited, still in silence, their faces all turned upwards.
And then, again, Felicity shouted, ‘Look!’
Julia knew at once that this one was Josh. He came, seemingly, straight as an arrow down the dizzying slope. Crouching low over his skis he didn’t swoop, bird-like, as the others had done, Josh had power, not grace. A wordless cry burst out of the girls and before the echo of it had gone Josh was whirling down to them. Julia glimpsed the red silk scarf wound round his neck, the white flash of his smile, and his pole lifted in a brief salute. An instant later he was past and they swung round to watch him carving a straight path down the fall of the slope.
Julia realised that they were all cheering and whooping. The icy air tore at her throat and there were tears of relief and excitement pouring down her face. She clasped Belinda in a bear-hug and they capered in a circle, laughing and gasping.
‘He’s not there yet,’ Felicity warned.
‘But skiing like that,’ Belinda answered, ‘he’ll not only get there, he’ll bloody well win.’
Down again, after the Allmendhubel. Josh had glimpsed Julia at the funicular station, but the thought of her had vanished from his head just as quickly. He was tiring rapidly and he was skiing through open country, over and down treacherous humps, and every atom of concentration and muscle power was needed to find the right route, the fast route. But he had come this far, and determination was like a tight wire inside him.
At Winteregg, he came to the railway line. A bigger knot of spectators waited beside a little tea hut and as he reached them a storm of questions in three languages broke around him. ‘Happy Valley,’ he panted. ‘Alex Mackintosh was hurt, but they’ve got him away now.’
Someone tried to pat him on the back but he ducked away and pushed on again. Beyond Winteregg was a kilometre and a half of flat country. His body felt like lead, but he clenched his teeth and poled on. He thought of Alex Mackintosh’s faint encouraging smile.
And then, at Grütsch station, the route dived downwards again. Josh took one gasping breath and pointed his skis down the slope. Beneath him, beyond the dense fir forests, was Lauterbrunnen.
Down.
The pain had spread to his chest now, and there was burning from his armpits to the top of his thigh. But still, there was the kiss of fresh powder under his skis too, and the clearings between the black trees opening like soft, white mouths.
If he was going to make time, he must do it now. Josh flexed his knees, lower, crouched into an egg-shape. The trees and the snow and the clearings flickered by, but suddenly they were no threat. Miraculously, forgetting everything that had happened, he was part of them. He was inviolable, spawned by the snow itself. The wind of his speed sliced into his cheeks. Josh could hear his own breath rasping in his chest. He was skiing faster and better than he had ever done in his life, and he was drunk on it. In that moment he was all-powerful.
The arches of the funicular loomed and flashed overhead. Still down, crossing and recrossing under the pylons. Then he was out of the trees and open grazing fields lay below him. Swooping across them, the seconds began to beat in his head. How long? How much further? He caught the warm, lowland smell of animal dung. He saw Lauterbrunnen, a frozen sea of snowy roofs. There was the station to one side, and a little road leading to it. The finishing line. Josh’s poles bit into the snow and he flung himself forward for the last time. He knew that he was exhausted now.
A dark knot of people spread across the snowy track ahead of him. He heard them cheering and half turned his head to look for the reason. As he swished over the finishing line he understood that they were cheering for him. The Swiss timekeeper clicked his stopwatch and Josh collapsed against a wooden fence. It sagged beneath his weight but it held him. It was just as well, because Josh couldn’t stand up.
The prize-giving for the 1956 Inferno was held at the Palace Hotel, Mürren. The room was packed with competitors, finishers and non-finishers, organisers and supporters. When Julia saw Josh she felt almost shy of him. She couldn’t manage to struggle across the room to him before silence was called for the results.
Twelve skiers had finished the course.
Julia clenched her fists, struggling to hear. She couldn’t understand any German, and barely a word of the rapid French. There was a lot of cheering and laughing. The Swiss race chairman peered at a sheet of paper. As he read out a name and a number there was a burst of clapping. The winner was the Frenchman, Gacon.
Beside Julia Sophia whistled. ‘Twenty-seven minutes, thirty-seven seconds. Bloody fast. But then he was through before the avalanche.’
Everyone knew about the avalanche. On their way up, the girls had heard that someone had stopped to dig someone else out.
Amidst calls for silence, the second and third placings were read out. Neither of them was Josh. Julia stared with dull disappointment at the back of the head in front of her. She had been sure that Josh would win, whatever Belinda and the others said. She didn’t see Tuffy Brockway stand up, but as soon as he started speaking her skin prickled.
‘In announcing the fourth, and incidentally the highest amateur, placing we have a special commendation to make. This competitor was caught by the avalanche in Happy Valley. Nevertheless he freed himself and went to the rescue of Alex Mackintosh. Alex is now in the hospital in Berne. He has a broken leg, some concussion, other uncomfortable but fortunately minor damages. His fellow-competitor reached him very quickly, and there is no doubt that he was instrumental in saving his life.’
Julia’s heart began to thump in her chest. ‘Once he was assured that Mr Mackintosh was safe, he continued the race. And finished the course in the remarkable time, once credited with the minutes he had lost in helping another man, of thirty-one minutes and seventeen seconds. Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you to applaud the courage and spirit of Mr Joshua Flood.’
Sophia and Belinda and Felicity cheered wildly with everyone else. Julia sat silent, stock-still, hardly able to see for pride.
Josh was presented with a commemorative Inferno medal. Tuffy Brockway pinned it to his dark-blue jumper for him. In the hubbub afterwards, it was Josh who elbowed his way through the crowd to Julia. Belinda clung to his arm and Sophia and Felicity kissed a cheek each. Julia just looked up at him.
‘Well done,’ she said quietly.
Josh held out his hand and she stood up. The room might have been empty as they looked at each other.
‘Will you do me the honour, ma’am,’ Josh drawled, ‘of accompanying me to the Swann Ball tonight?’
Julia pretended to consider.
‘I might,’ she said at last. ‘I just might, at that.’
He nodded gravely, and offered her his arm. They swept out together.
There was a string orchestra that played Strauss waltzes, and polkas, and foxtrots, and a wide, shining dance-floor. Julia had giggled as Josh led her out on to it. There was no bebop and certainly no rock and roll, but Josh had been properly brought up and he knew the right steps to the right dances. Julia only had to let him whirl her in grandiose circles.
She felt that she had stepped, satisfyingly, into one of her own dreams.
There had been a wonderful banquet at the hotel. They had sat down at long white tables glowing with candles in branched candelabra. After the food and wine there had been speeches, speeches that had seemed funny even to Julia. There had been a toast to the race winners, a special toast to Josh that had made her glow with pride all over again. Julia was wearing Mattie’s greeny-black party dress, far too big for her around the hips and bosom, but Belinda and Sophia had pinned and stitched her into it in the latest demonstration of their new-found friendship. J
ulia had received enough flattering glances and invitations to dance to make her feel that even if she didn’t belong she could at least cope on her own terms. The champagne was flowing, but Julia was used to drinking at Jessie’s and Mattie’s pace, and the wine simply made her feel that she was floating on a warm tide of happiness.
And there was Josh. Josh with his black bow tie and his white starched shirt, his blond hair watered so that it lay smooth and dark, as correct as any of the Englishmen. Yet somehow wicked as well. The hero and the villain, infinitely more intriguing, all at once.
Julia laid her head against his black shoulder and sighed.
She knew that it was the most perfect evening of her life.
Josh lifted her chin with one finger so that he could look at her. ‘Are you tired?’
‘No. I want to go on dancing for ever.’
‘Mmm. Not quite for ever, perhaps. D’you remember that place that Harry took us to? The night we met?’
Julia remembered it, and she remembered how they had danced then, fused together, making a promise that was still unfulfilled.
The thought struck a white-hot bolt of longing straight through her.
Her feet tangled with Josh’s and they stood still in the swirling sea of dancers.
‘I think we should go upstairs now,’ Josh whispered.
Julia bent her head, unable to say, yes please, and he kissed the thin, warm skin over her temple before they slipped out of the crowded room and left the music soaring behind them.
They ran up the stairs and along the shadowy corridor to Josh’s room, laughing and whispering like children playing truant. But when he had unlocked his door and locked it again behind them the stillness and quiet stifled their laughter. There was a bright white moon in the star-prickled sky, and pale silver-grey squares lay over the floor in front of them. With Josh’s fingers wound in hers Julia went to the window and looked down. She saw the shallow roofs of the little wooden houses under their thick folds of snow. The streets were empty and the village lay in its silver cup with the mountains raising their heads against the stars.
‘It’s so beautiful,’ Julia said. And then, reaching awkwardly for the words, ‘I’m so happy tonight. It feels strange.’
‘It shouldn’t be so strange,’ Josh told her.
They turned away from the window and faced each other. They kissed, tasting each other out of hunger, suddenly greedy. It seemed a long time, infinitely too long, since the nightclub in London with Mattie and Harry Gilbert.
Josh’s hand touched the bodice of her dress.
‘May I?’ he asked, and she nodded. He couldn’t find how to undo it and she told him, ‘I’m stitched into it.’
Josh groaned and they were laughing all over again as they pulled at the dress. In the end they tore it off her. Julia stood in her stockings and suspenders while Josh looked at her. They had forgotten the cottage in the woods, and everything else except the grey and silver room, and this moment. Josh unhooked her stockings and rolled them down, and kissed the exposed white skin of her thighs. He kissed her belly, slowly tracing downwards with his tongue, and then he turned her around and touched his mouth to her shoulders and the long furrow of her spine.
Julia’s back arched. ‘Josh.’
He picked her up and put her on his bed. She sank down into the feathery Swiss mattress and the feather coverlet billowed luxuriously around her. She lay in her white nest, watching as Josh undid the ribbon of his black tie. He took the studs out of his shirtfront and the starched wings crackled. As he turned, barechested, Julia saw the vicious dark bruises down one side of his body. She jerked upright, her hair falling around her face, and he looked back at her. His face changed at the sight of her and she was suddenly almost frightened.
‘You’re hurt,’ she whispered.
He was beside her, leaning over her, and she felt the heat of him.
‘The snow fell on me,’ he told her. His mouth closed on her breast. Julia’s head dropped back and she shuddered. Josh struggled out of the rest of his clothes.
‘Isn’t it painful?’ Julia asked innocently. He leaned over her now, and she glimpsed the old, mocking Josh.
‘Tomorrow, I won’t be able to move. But tonight, who gives a goddam?’
He lay down beside her and they reached out for each other, smiling. It seemed very simple to Julia. There was only Josh, and Josh was all she wanted. Her arms locked triumphantly around his neck.
‘Are you sure you want to?’ Josh whispered. ‘The first time …’
‘It isn’t the first time. I went to bed with Felix. The day of Jessie’s funeral.’
He lifted his head to look at her. ‘Is that so? That surprises me, a little.’
‘We were both so sad. It was very sad too. It didn’t work very well.’ She thought of Felix, left alone in the flat waiting for his call-up. He seemed close, important. ‘But it made us better friends.’
‘I’m glad,’ Josh said.
She knew that he meant he was glad she was friends with Felix, that he didn’t have to take the responsibility for the first time, that she was here with him now. If there was anything missing, Julia willed herself not to notice it.
‘I think it will be better for you and me,’ Josh murmured.
His hands stroked her, teasing her, and there was no need to say any more. Julia closed her eyes and this time there was no interruption, nothing except the muffled, unheard music of the little string orchestra and the unseen silver light.
Josh was as thorough and as expert at love-making as at everything else. He was generous, too, and he found that his gentleness drew from Julia’s narrow body an intensity that he had never dreamed of.
Julia hardly knew her own body. Betty’s influence had been strong enough to make sure of that. But what Josh did seemed so natural, surprising at first and then essential. She was amazed to discover that he did it without embarrassment, only humour and tenderness, and she responded to him as he guided her. Their bodies wound together, shiny and supple, and the squares of moonlight crept over the floor.
In the Swann Hotel ballroom the violins played the last waltz and the English skiers joined hands for ‘Auld Lang Syne’. Julia and Josh didn’t hear the singing or the cheering.
At last, when he could lead her no further, Julia’s head fell back and she cried out, one long, silent cry. The discovery was made. The enormous simplicity of it, the depth of satisfaction, left her peacefully rocking like a boat on a wide, spangled sea. She turned and looked into Josh’s eyes. Her mouth curved and he touched it with the tips of his fingers.
Beneath their window the dancers were streaming out of the hotel and lights glimmered on the snow. Julia and Josh lay quite still in one another’s arms, almost shy now, faintly awed by what they had created between them.
‘Thank you,’ Josh said gravely.
Julia was so happy that she wanted to laugh. The feathers from the white coverlet tickled her throat and suddenly she was shaking with it. Josh laughed too, rolling her over and over in the mounds of the mattress and kissing her face and her neck and her breasts. They clung together and Julia rested her head on his chest.
‘I didn’t think it would be like that,’ she admitted. ‘I didn’t think it would be so … important. I love you, Josh.’ Her eyes shone and her face was suddenly wet with tears. Josh stroked her hair. He was looking at the navy-blue square of the window, and he didn’t see her face.
There was snow outside the window, and he remembered the race. The Inferno medal was still pinned to his ski-jumper. Josh grinned in the darkness. Julia was in his bed, with her long legs wound round him and the fresh apple-scent of her skin caught in the feather folds. He had enjoyed making love to Julia more than anyone else he could remember. Her pleasure, the surprising strength of it, had made his own much keener. Josh felt himself harden again at the thought of it.
He turned and buried his face in her hair.
‘I love you too,’ Josh said.
Later, Julia ask
ed him, ‘No Frau Uberl’s?’
Drowsily Josh said, ‘Nope. No Frau Uberl’s. I guess I’m popular enough tonight for even Tuffy Brockway to turn a blind eye to immorality. So you see, honey, ski-racing does have its uses after all.’
In the morning, Julia woke up first. She lay looking at the duck-egg-blue sky and thinking, this is being happy. Here and now. If I could take hold of this moment, and keep it …
Josh stirred beside her, and groaned. He opened his eyes and saw Julia leaning over him. Her dark hair brushed his face.
‘I told you I wouldn’t be able to move.’
Julia lifted the covers and inspected his bruises.
‘Hmm. Looks nasty. But you don’t seem to be too badly damaged elsewhere.’
‘That’s luck.’
Julia grinned. Then she lifted her hips and gently slid her body over his.
‘Would you like me to move for you?’
‘Yes, please,’ Josh said.
It was long past breakfast-time at Frau Uberl’s when Julia skidded back through the snow to the chalet. The hem of Mattie’s dress was bunched up under her coat, but Julia felt that her evening slippers were painfully conspicuous to the ski-booted crowds. She reached the gate of the chalet and slipped in through the front door and up the stairs. In her room all four beds looked identically slept in, and Frau Uberl’s maid was polishing the floor under Felicity’s. Julia shot her a dazzling smile, grabbed her ski-clothes, and fled to the bathroom to change. Sophia was hovering there, white-faced after her evening of champagne and army officers. They eyed each other, and then Julia held out her hand.
None of them was like Mattie, but Josh was right. They were nice, friendly girls.
‘Thanks,’ Julia said.
Sophia nodded and weakly shook hands. ‘We guessed you wouldn’t be in. We rolled in your bed and told the Frau you’d gone out early to the slopes. She looked so pleased that you were getting keen at last, it was quite touching.’ Sophia peered at her, but she was clearly feeling too ill to be envious. ‘What about you? Are you all right?’
