‘Bien sûr,’ Gilles gives him the go-ahead.
I have to say, these cityscapes and Carnival overviews are nothing short of stunning. I love how he chooses one aspect as a focal point and then uses the background as a chorusline to the star feature. And this curved lens effect is amazing. In fact, all the images, I think as I scan back through the collection, have so much life and personality to them. This may be Va-Va-Vacation!’s best collection yet.
‘You’ve done a really good job, Gilles,’ I concede. ‘You should consider doing this for a living.’
For a second he looks confused, as if I mean it.
After all the tension of the day, this is all I need to crack me up. Which sets Gilles off. Which makes me worse.
Suddenly we hear the sound of a door slamming.
I turn around and find Jacques gone. ‘Where’d he go?’
‘You think we made him jealous?’
I stoop to pick up the pictures he knocked to the floor in his haste to leave. And then I freeze.
Oh no.
I turn on Gilles. ‘The double chins you remove and these you leave lying around?’
It’s the pictures of us kissing at the ice hotel. Pillows drooping by our side, feathers fluttering in the air.
His hand flies to his mouth. ‘I was going to show you and then put them away, I-I’m sorry—’
‘You’re crazy!’ I blurt. ‘What if Annique saw them? Can you imagine how she’d react?’
‘How I’d react if I saw what?’
She’s standing right behind me.
Before I can even speak she’s taken the pictures from my hands.
It would be bad enough if she’d slapped Gilles or raged her fists against his chest, but she doesn’t. Instead she turns to me and says, ‘This has been going on since the Hôtel de Glace?’
‘No!’ I gasp. ‘It was just one weird moment—’
‘I thought we were friends.’
And then she leaves.
For a moment Gilles and I stand there in shock. This is worse than the decapitation of the snow sculpture.
‘I’m going after her.’
‘Hurry!’ I implore.
‘Can you lock up for me?’
‘Yes! Just go!’
I sit down, a little weak-kneed from obliterating so many relationships in a matter of minutes.
I take out my phone to call Jacques, not that he’ll answer. Perhaps a text would be better. But what should I say?
‘It’s not what you think!’
‘It didn’t mean anything!’
‘It was just one time!’
Only clichés come to mind. Though, ‘It happened before we met!’ may be a good way to start.
It’s just unfortunate that I lied to his face the other day when he said he thought Gilles had some kind of attraction for me. I didn’t mean to be deceiving, it just seemed unnecessary to go there. Of course, if I had confessed then, perhaps he wouldn’t have run out on me tonight.
I start and then delete half a dozen more text messages, ultimately sending:
‘I’m so sorry Jacques. Those pictures give completely the wrong impression. I hope you will give me the chance to explain.’
It’s still not right. But I don’t know what else to say. Half of me feels it’s a thankless task trying to win him back – for what? I’m leaving tomorrow. Why would he bother with the emotional upheaval? After all, as brief as that moment was with Gilles, it still means I was kissing another man a week ago and that doesn’t paint me in the best possible light …
I slope back over to the laptop and focus on reviewing the final images, trying keep the hysteria at bay. I can’t believe that just happened. I can’t believe I got so close to having a cosy night with Jacques, only for some stupid pictures to ruin everything!
I linger as long as I can, hoping he will return – either my text or to the studio, but he does neither. And then it dawns on me that I don’t want to be here if Gilles and Annique come back so I hurriedly gather my things and leave Gilles a note to say I’ll see him tomorrow at the starting point for the dog-sledding race. But then I change my mind – the last thing Jacques would want to see before he took off would be me squished alongside Gilles. So I scrap that and write a new note saying, ‘Meet me at Château Frontenac Starbucks at 11 a.m.’
So what now?
With my dinner plans gone awry, I decide to eat at my auberge restaurant Le Pain Beni – blessed bread for a cursed girl.
The waitress seats me beside a lively mural featuring two nuns.
‘You’ve got the right idea, sister,’ I mutter under my breath.
With not much of an appetite, I go straight for dessert and order the banana cognac flambée Annique’s friend had raved about – but I can’t eat it. It seems too much of a treat. I’m in a suffering mode. I need poutine.
After checking back at Reception – ‘No messages? No packages?’ – and then checking my phone a dozen times more, I head down the road, once again passing the Hôtel Clarendon, the Musée de l’Amérique Française, Simons department store and so many of the shops we dipped into on our ‘window-licking’ excursion. My brow rumples further at the sight of Les Frères de la Côte – the bistro where we had lunch, back when Annique liked me.
I hurry past, turn right on Côte du Palais and there it is: Chez Ashton, which sounds terribly chic and exclusive but is in fact Quebec’s answer to McDonald’s.
The menu offers fast food burgers, hot dogs, ‘rosbif’ and trough-loads of their signature dish of poutine.
It comes in three sizes – regular, mini and – clearly for those people who feel compelled to say they’ve eaten it but are frankly terrified – bébé.
To think that I could be sipping wine while Jacques conjures up his ‘spécialité de la maison’ but instead I’m sitting alone at a fluro-lit table surrounded by a coach-load of teenagers preparing to eat what looks like prison slops out of a foil carton with a plastic fork.
I heave an almighty sigh.
Bon Appetit!
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Laurie is positively reeling from all the drama.
Stolen religious jewels! Skiing with horses! Secret tryst photo-scandals!
But the thing that really sends her ergonomic chair spinning is this:
‘You actually liked the poutine?!’
‘I don’t know what to say,’ I sigh down the phone. ‘It was sooo delicious. I think it’s like Marmite in that you love it or you hate it but if it hooks you then it sets up a craving that no another food on earth can satisfy. I actually fancy another portion right now.’
‘For breakfast?’ Laurie wretches.
‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.’
‘I’d say bring me some back, but the thought of those cheese curds after an overnight flight … ’
‘Do you know they actually squeak when they’re fresh?’
‘Krista,’ Laurie adopts a serious tone. ‘Do you think perhaps that you’re fixating on the poutine as a way of not dealing with what happened with Jacques? Not to mention the fact that this is your last day in Quebec?’
I slink lower beneath the covers. If I don’t get up then the day can’t start.
‘What are you going to do about him?’
‘What can I do, realistically, when I only have a matter of hours left and he’ll be tied up with the race for most of those?’ I puff. ‘Even if I could make it right with him, what would that mean beyond today?’
‘Being a bit defeatist, aren’t you?’
‘I just realised my infatuation with him is a fantasy – I’m all caught up with my feelings for him and not really looking at the practicalities.’
‘I thought you said that you could see yourself living on the Île D’Orléans mushing huskies, tapping maple syrup and speaking French with a Bromley accent.’
‘I could.’
‘And what about that little puppy-child that needs a mummy?’
‘Teddy,’ I sigh, panging as I reme
mber the moment at which he emerged from Jacques’ jacket. ‘But what are the odds of him inviting me to stay? I mean, as holiday romances go, we didn’t even get to the romance part.’
‘That’s because he’s had a lot going on emotionally. It’s not like some drunken Ibiza bar hookup.’
‘Hold on – there’s another call coming through.’ I look at my phone.
‘Who is it?’ Laurie demands.
‘I don’t know, I don’t recognise the number but it is a 514 area code … ’
‘Answer it!’
‘Hello?’ I fail to disguise the caution in my voice.
‘Krista?’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s Sebastien.’
‘Is everything all right?’ My thoughts immediately go to Jacques.
‘Yes, I just need to ask a favour.’
‘Go ahead … ’
‘There’s a church opposite your hotel, can you meet me there an hour from now?’
‘Yes … ’
‘I’ll explain when you get here.’
And then the line clicks off.
‘What do you think he wants?’ Laurie asks when I bring her up to speed. ‘And why a church?’
‘I have no idea. I just hope he doesn’t know about the pictures with Gilles; he’s extremely protective of his brother.’
‘You’d better get ready,’ Laurie urges. ‘And dress for all eventualities.’
‘Laurie?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re such a good friend, always there for me.’
‘Oh don’t start!’
‘I mean it.’
‘Just bring me back a bottle of Caribou and we’ll call it quits.’
As I layer on my clothes I feel nervous, curious and sad all in one. Is there any way for this situation to turn around? The thought of going back to my life in London seems nigh-on unbearable.
Time to go. I’m halfway down the stairs when I collide with Annique.
‘Oh!’ She takes a step back. ‘I was just coming up to see you but obviously you’re headed out.’
I look at my watch. ‘I’ve got five minutes.’ And then I think that sounds callous so I explain, ‘I have to meet Sebastien – he needs some kind of favour.’
‘Sebastien? Did you resolve things with Jacques?’
I shake my head. ‘I sent him a text but he didn’t respond.’
‘Perhaps his phone doesn’t accept texts?’ she offers.
‘Perhaps. What about you and Gilles? Is everything all right now?’
She sighs. ‘No. But it’s okay. It’s for the best.’
My shoulders slump. ‘Annique, you have to understand I hadn’t even met you when it happened and I had no idea that the two of you were—’
‘No,’ she cuts in. ‘But he did. He knew.’
‘I know he thinks the world of you … ’
‘Do you know how old he is?’ Her chin juts the question. ‘Or rather I should say, how young?’
‘I just found out yesterday,’ I say in a small voice.
‘You consider his age, the fact that he’s not ready to be a father, the fact he was kissing another woman two days after we met … ’
I grimace. ‘Well, when you put it like that … ’
She checks her watch. ‘You need to get to your appointment.’ She leads me back down the stairs and pushes the bar on the door. ‘If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that I need a man who has all the time in the world for me and for Coco.’
It is precisely at this point that I look across to the church and see Mr Dufour waiting in the car park. Retired, mad about kids … I turn back to Annique.
‘How do you feel about older men?’
She shrugs. ‘It might be time.’
‘I want you to come and meet someone.’
‘Ohh, not now, I have Coco with me – she’s just waiting in the souvenir shop.’
‘Actually, she would be a bonus as far as this guy is concerned.’
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely.’
So now there are three of us heading for the church.
I understand the choice of venue now – this is where all the sled-dog vans are parked, bringing with them the distinctive smell of hay and revved-up dogs.
‘Krista!’ Jacques’ father does his classic welcome cheer.
‘Hello Mr Dufour!’
‘Call me Philippe.’
‘Philippe, I’d like you to meet Mademoiselle Coco.’
She is a darling little girl, eyes like chocolate buttons, hair braided with bright pink bows, sticking out from her jaunty cerise beret.
He doffs his cap with a swooping bow, causing her to giggle and respond with a curtsy.
‘And this,’ I pause for effect, ‘is Annique.’
His eyes widen to take in her beauty. ‘Enchanté … ’
‘She’s even prettier on the inside.’
He looks back at me to check my sincerity and I give him a nod of confirmation – she’s the real deal.
‘Would you like to meet the dogs?’ He turns his attention back to Coco. ‘Give them a lucky paw-shake before they race?’
She looks excitedly up at her mum for approval.
‘That would be lovely,’ Annique confirms.
‘After you … ’ Mr Dufour motions towards the truck. But before he follows them, he turns back to me and husks, ‘I think I just met my next wife...’
I’m just thinking that I should probably have asked where Sebastien is when he appears beside me.
‘Thanks for coming,’ he puffs, a little out of breath.
‘Everything all right?’
‘Just running around setting up for the race. Jacques is already at the start with the first group. I don’t know if you know but we run a couple of teams each year?’
‘No … ’
‘And I was due to race second but,’ he gives an exaggerated grimace, ‘I’ve got this twinge in my arm and I can’t risk messing up my body before the Cirque du Soleil tour. You understand?’
‘Of course.’
‘So you’ll do it?’
‘Do what?’
‘Race in my place?’
I stare at him in disbelief. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Why not?’
I give an involuntary snort. ‘You’ve seen what happens when I mush under pressure – I land flat on my face!’
‘You’ll be fine.’
‘Sebastien!’ I despair. ‘I can’t believe you’re being so blasé about the Dufour reputation. What if I completely mess up? Which is really likely considering I have done this precisely twice before and only out in the snowy wilds – I don’t know anything about careering through a town centre with hundreds of whooping people lining the trail.’
‘Oh you’ll love it, it’s a total trip.’
I blink at him. This must be a wind-up. It has to be.
And then it strikes me …
‘If you knew an hour ago that you weren’t going to race, why didn’t you ask one of the other guys or Lucy … ’
‘Because it has to be you.’
Before I can probe him further he adds, ‘And it has to be now.’
At which point Mr Dufour comes around the corner with six super-charged dogs, rearing up on their hind legs with excitement.
‘You’re not going to deny them their race now, are you Krista?’
Oh cripes, he’s in on it too!
‘You can do it!’ Annique encourages.
I want to point out that she’s in no position to be allowed an opinion since she was curled up in a hungover ball when we were last at the farm.
‘I asked them to run faster than they ever have done in their life,’ Coco adds.
‘Thanks for that,’ I mutter, feeling faint with anxiety.
As we progress up the hill to the starting point, Sebastien continues with his pep talk.
‘You can’t mess this up.’
I give him a ‘Be real!’ glare.
‘What I mean is, th
is is a fun race, a Carnival attraction. You’re not going to make or break us.’
‘Then why is it so important?’
‘Because I don’t want the last image Jacques has of you to be the one he saw in the photo studio.’
My stomach drops like a stone. He knows.
‘I feel awful about that,’ my brow crumples. ‘It was just a fleeting moment—’
He holds up his hand. ‘I know. I saw Gilles on the way in. Jacques wouldn’t speak to him but I did.’
I heave a sigh. And then I startle: ‘I’m supposed to be meeting Gilles at Starbucks—’
‘I already told him you had other plans.’
I give Sebastien a steady look. ‘Do you really think me doing this is going to make a difference? It won’t just annoy Jacques more?’
‘Listen, you’re not the only one around here with devious ways of fixing situations.’
I raise an eyebrow.
‘And don’t act all innocent with me. I know Montreal was your idea.’
I bite my lip.
‘So you see, I owe you.’
An announcement is made over the tannoy. Sebastien translates for me:
‘It’s your turn.’
I take a breath, the mere influx of oxygen making me giddy. I can hardly hear the dogs barking for the rushing in my ears, but I can feel them straining, yanking at the sled.
‘Set us free! Set us free!’
Sebastien places his hands over my trembling mittens.
‘Trust the dogs, trust yourself. Lean to the left, lean to the right. And enjoy it – in approximately three seconds you will be the star attraction at the Quebec Winter Carnival!’
Oh my god!
And with that, we’re off!
It’s an interesting thing being a writer. Nobody cheers and whoops as you sit at the laptop. There are no crowds of people peering over your shoulder, elbowing at each other to get a better look at your adjectives or gasp at your innovative use of punctuation. You might get a compliment after the fact, but the actual act of writing is about the least likely ‘spectator sport’ you could get.
So this rush, this frenzy, this sky-rocketing adrenalin is all very new to me.
Not that I can really take any of it in. Other than passing through the archway as we exit the Old Town, I don’t think I could even describe the route that I am currently pounding down. I am soley focussed on the dogs. I try so hard not to panic-brake as we plunge downhill but a few times I get a ‘runaway train’ sensation and have to slow them just enough to keep my hysteria at bay.
WINTER WONDERLAND Page 25
