by Roz Marshall
Contents
Title page
Copyright
Dedication
In this collection
Winter Arrives
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Fear of Falling
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
My Snowy Valentine
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Before you go
An extract from 'The Racer Trials'
A note from the author
About the author
Other books in the series
Characters
Glossary
Copyright © 2014 Roz Marshall
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. You must not circulate this book in any format.
The characters, places and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
First published, 2014
Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at www.rozmarshall.co.uk
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For Mum and Dad, with love
In this collection:
This set contains episodes 1 to 3 of Secrets in the Snow:
Episode 1, "Winter Arrives"
Episode 2, "Fear of Falling"
Episode 3, "My Snowy Valentine"
Episode 4 ("The Racer Trials") is now available, and Episodes 5 and 6 will be published in 2014.
Wednesday 7th December 2005
HOW COULD HE do this to me?
Scanning the email, the devastating words started to dance a jig in front of her eyes, blurring into an alphabet soup. A tightness gripped Jude's shoulders and hollowed her chest as she tried to quell the trepidation that was creeping upwards from the pit of her stomach and threatening to overwhelm her.
She was brought back to the present by a rumble like a miniature earthquake as her daughter, Lucy, clattered down the stairs and crashed through to Jude's office, shouting, "Mum! I can't find my costume for drama. Have you seen it?"
Surreptitiously wiping under an eye with her forefinger, Jude said , "Have you checked the laundry?" Her voice sounded a bit strange to her own ears, but Lucy didn't seem to notice. Sometimes the self-absorption of a teenager could be a blessing.
-::-
Rugged hills soared purple, green and grey over the little village nestled in a quiet Scottish glen. The main street was lined by stone houses with small front gardens, dormer windows jutting out of grey slate roofs looking like nuns' habits all in a line.
Some way down a side street was a rather sleepy rural station, which had no obvious staff, but plenty of notices and billboards. Running parallel to the main street, the rail tracks led off north and south towards civilisation, and cast-iron signs with Art Deco curves proclaimed in black and white that visitors had arrived at 'White Cairns'.
It was time for the twice-daily visitation from the capital city, and a colourful InterCity was disgorging its few passengers onto the platform.
Stepping down from the train, a tall, spare-looking mountain man with two-day stubble and technical clothes hoisted a large navy rucksack onto his back and slung a battered ski bag over his shoulder. He looked around him for a moment, taking the measure of the place, then strode off in the direction of the village.
-::-
Jude stood by the side of the road, resisting the natural impulse to raise an arm and wave Lucy off on the school bus. She contented herself with watching until the bus was out of sight, knowing that her daughter would be mortified if her friends thought that she was seen to the bus every morning by her mother. Jude only got away with it by pretending that she was on her way to the post office or to run some other errand, a ruse that she couldn't expect to work forever.
She sighed. At thirteen, Lucy's teenage angst would be sure to start soon, and Jude would be lucky if embarrassing her daughter was the worst thing she had to worry about over the next few years.
With that thought, her mind swung back to the distressing email she'd received that morning. How was she going to cope?
AS JUDE WALKED distractedly back up the street, the village postman was coming the other way.
"Good morning, Judith, how are you today, lass?" he greeted her.
"Fine thanks, Lachie," the lie tripped easily off her tongue. "How are you?"
"Och, can't complain, can't complain." He dug in his bag as he spoke and handed her a few letters. "They don't look very exciting. Sorry."
She looked at the envelopes. Mostly brown. Those were usually Allan's department, but she realised that after this morning's email, she might have to start dealing with the realities of business. She frowned at the thought.
Lachie caught her frown and misinterpreted it. "I haven't seen any snow in the forecast yet, more's the pity."
She looked south-east towards the hills, which were conspicuously dark, and then up at the cloudy sky, but they were the wrong colour of clouds — white, rather than the heavy, dark-grey which usually preceded snowfall.
"Yes, it doesn't look like snow, unfortunately," she replied.
"Hopefully it'll come soon." He turned back down the street. "Right, I'll be off then. Good day to you."
Walking off along the pavement, he nodded, "Good morning, Fiona!" to an approaching jogger in a blue tracksuit.
-::-
Jude smiled as her friend stopped beside her, bent over with hands on her knees as she caught her breath.
"How are you, Fiona? I'd have thought you might've stopped jogging, by now."
"Got to keep fit so I'm ready for when the snow comes," a mischievous smile lit her face. "I need to be able to keep up with all the hotshot new instructors that Allan keeps employing!"
"New instructors?" Jude eyes widened.
"Yeah, Allan's sorted out some new full-timers, hasn't he?" Fiona forehead creased as she noticed the look on Jude's face. "He hasn't?"
"No. Allan's, erm…" Jude paused, trying to decide how much to say, "been held up in New Zealand."
-::-
As the newcomer from the train turned onto the main street, a man was standing at the gate of the corner
house, hanging a swinging 'Vacancies' sign underneath a larger sign that said 'North Lodge Bed and Breakfast'. His portly build, rosy cheeks and almost-white beard made him look like he should perhaps be living with the elves at the North Pole rather than at North Lodge.
The sign gave the traveller pause, and he stopped to ask, "G'day mate, can I ask about the bed and breakfast — do your rooms have internet access?"
The owner of the guest house looked in surprise from the vacancies sign to the stranger before him and back again, as if wondering whether its mere presence had somehow conjured up a customer. "Well, I suppose you could use the network connection in the lounge. Would you be looking for a room?"
"Yes, for a night or two, at least."
"Well, young man, I suppose you'd better come in and have a look. Are you on your own?" He peered suspiciously over his tortoiseshell glasses at the prospective guest, as if he might be hiding a bus-load of relatives inside his rucksack.
The stranger nodded. "Yeah, just me. I'm Mike Cole, by the way."
"Sandy Potter.” The older man held out his hand. “We don't have any single rooms, you see, so I'd have to charge you for a double." He looked as if he thought that this might be beyond the budget of the man standing at his gate.
"No worries, if the internet works that will be fine."
"Okay, well, I suppose I could let you have Room One, it's closest to the lounge. Would you like to see it now?"
"That’d be good," said Mike, opening the gate and following him down the path to the front door.
-::-
Jude turned the key to let them into the ski school office, and the foosty smell of the air inside betrayed the fact that the place had lain unused for weeks.
"So, has he asked you to organise the recruitment, then?" Fiona said. "There's not much time left before the season starts."
"He asked me to look after things, but he didn't give me any instructions." She stepped into the room. "I'll have to hope I don't mess things up. When Dad ran the ski school, he did it all himself, and Allan's been a bit like that too. So I've no real idea how they did it."
JUDE WRINKLED HER nose. "Maybe I should just wait till he gets back."
"You need to have more confidence in yourself!" Fiona said, "You’re more than capable. And you don't have to do it on your own — I'll help, if I can, and I guess you could try asking Sandy to give a hand — if you can cope with his constant moaning!"
Jude switched on the lights and moved over to the counter, where she put down the keys and the post. Under the counter were piles of paperwork and an overflowing 'in' tray. It looked daunting to her inexperienced eye. — she was a graphic artist, not a manager. How on Earth could Allan expect her to run the ski school, even for a few weeks? She sighed. She'd probably bankrupt them.
"How do you do it, Fiona?" she asked. "How do you have the confidence to…” she waved a hand, “to stand up in front of a group of strange people and talk to them about skiing? Are you not scared stiff?"
Fiona laughed. "Of course I'm scared, sometimes! But you just hide it, you play a part."
"Play a part?" Jude repeated, still mystified.
"Yeah, like being an actor, you just pretend to be someone who wouldn't be scared." She pursed her lips. "And you can remind yourself that they're all just the same as you — I like to remember that they all wear underpants!" She smiled, "or I tell myself 'what's the worst that could happen?' And after a while, it gets easier. But you still need to switch on the 'character' if you're having a bad day, or tired or something."
"So I could just imagine I'm, erm, Princess Diana or something?" Jude sat down behind the counter.
Fiona smiled. "Yeah, Lady Di, or Kelly Holmes, or Paula Radcliffe. Whoever works for you."
"Okay." Jude picked up the top piece of paper off one of the piles under the counter as she mulled this over. It was a notification about changes in the rules for employing staff — something else that she'd have to get her head around in this new world that she'd just had foisted on her. "So, for the ski school, how many staff does Allan usually have?"
"Hmmm, me, Sandy, himself," Fiona counted on her fingers, "and last year there was Roddy, Amy, Jaques, Flip and Hoover. So eight, including Allan. Plus a few part-timers at weekends."
"So we need five more?"
"Yeah. Oh — no, wait, you'd need six until Allan gets back, wouldn't you?" Fiona crossed to the kitchen alcove at the back of the room as she spoke, and started filling the kettle. "Mind if I...?"
"Go ahead — and could you make me a coffee please?" She made a face. "Though I don't think there'll be any milk here."
"How about if I pop over to the shop and get some milk? And I'll stop at the house on the way and pick up a fleece — it's not so warm now I've stopped running. Then we can sort out who you need."
"Okay, but I'll make the coffees then." Jude opened a cupboard and took out a couple of mugs as Fiona headed for the door. "See you soon!"
-::-
Dropping his rucksack in the corner, Mike looked around the room and nodded. "This is fine, thanks."
"I see you have some skis with you," Sandy said, looking pointedly at Mike's ski bag. He put a hand on his belly and expanded his chest. "You'll be waiting a while before you can use those, I reckon. There probably won't be any snow for months, yet."
Mike nodded, as if he agreed. "Okay, but is there somewhere I can ask about getting a job as a ski instructor?" he asked, propping the ski bag up against the wardrobe. "For when the snow finally arrives," he added.
"Well, I suppose you could try at Winters' Ski School, up the street. But they probably won't have any jobs; they tend to employ locals, like myself."
"Oh, do you teach?"
"When there's snow, yes, I try." He puffed out his chest again. “I’ve been teaching up the hill for over thirty years now.”
Mike wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be impressed or to feel sorry for the older man. He smiled. "Well, I guess I'll give it a go then. Thanks for the info."
-::-
Concentrating on not spilling the coffee, Jude took the steaming mugs over to the counter and set them down to await the milk.
Sitting down, she noticed the pile of mail that Lachie had given her. She ripped open the first envelope. Junk mail. The next was a Public Liability Insurance renewal notification. The figure seemed pretty high, but numbers weren't her forte, and it only served to remind her why she didn't usually deal with that sort of thing.
The next envelope was a white one and turned out to be from the bank. There were several sheets inside, and once she got past the bumf that was destined straight for the recycling box, she found their bank statement.
She flicked it open and scanned the columns, then frowned. 'DR'? How could they be overdrawn? Allan had been working in New Zealand for months and paying in regularly. Hasn't he? She checked the deposits column. The only entry in it was the £250 she'd paid in for that quick book jacket job she'd done last month.
Suddenly she understood the meaning of the phrase 'her heart sank'. She felt as if a cylindrical hole had opened up in her chest, and someone had dropped a lumpen weight into it, taking all her breath with it. How had this happened? And where was all their money? Is there something Allan isn’t telling me?
AS MIKE CAME out of North Lodge's garden gate, he nearly bumped into the postman, whose head was down, checking the letters in his bag.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" Lachie apologised.
"No worries, mate, my fault."
The postie cocked his head to one side. "Where are you from, son? I can tell you're not from round here. Australia, is it?"
"No mate, I'm a Kiwi." He paused, and then added, "From New Zealand."
Lachie nodded slowly, as if filing this new information away. "What is it that brings you to these parts, then?"
Mike smiled. "Someone told me that Scotland has five ski areas. I've skied in nearly every country in the world that has a ski slope, but not Scotland." He shrugged. "Thought I'd start
here."
Lachie looked off in the direction of the hills. "I'm afraid there's not much snow right now, son, you're a bitty early, I'm thinking." The man's accent had a lilt to it, as if he normally sang those words and still had the tune in his head.
The Kiwi shrugged again. "Then I guess I'll have to be patient." He looked over the other man’s shoulder into the village, and asked, "Could you point me at Winters’ Ski School?"
"Winters? Oh, you mean White Cairns Ski School? It's just up the main street there in the centre of the village, right opposite The Rowan. The Rowan Hotel, that is."
Looking in the direction the postie was pointing, Mike spotted the small white building opposite the hotel. He smiled wryly to himself, wondering if a sleepy post office, small hotel and deserted-looking petrol station counted as the commercial hub of a village. Perhaps in these parts it did. "That's great mate, thanks for your help, see you again."
-::-
There was a knock at the office door, and Jude frowned at Fiona's formality. "Just come in!" she shouted, shuffling the letters and envelopes into a pile and putting them under the counter. She'd phone Allan later; there must be some mistake and he'd no doubt have some complicated explanation.
The door opened and she jumped in surprise as a male voice said, "Hello?"
She looked up and saw a long-legged man with a lopsided smile and the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. "Oh, sorry, I was expecting someone else!" she said.
"No worries. I was told you might have some work for ski instructors?"
"Well, yes, probably." She stood up. "We were just talking about that actually. It's all a bit up in the air right now—" She was interrupted by the door opening again and Fiona came in, brandishing a carton of milk and a packet of chocolate biscuits.
"I thought we might need some brain food! Oh!" She stopped short as she spotted the stranger.
"Oh, thanks, Fiona, good idea. Erm, this is..." Jude tailed off, realising that she didn't know his name.
"Mike. Mike Cole." He offered his hand to Fiona, then strode across the room to take Jude's hand. "Sorry, I should've introduced myself." For a man who looked so strong and energetic, his grip was pleasantly cool and considerate.
