The Racer Trials: Secrets in the Snow, Episode 4

by Roz Marshall

  Callum was momentarily silent, which was unusual for him, before saying, "Thanks," with a voice that sounded like an engine needing lubrication. "I'd better get away. Give me a shout if you need anything."

  After Callum had skied off, Ben waved the two new arrivals forward and suggested that they had a warm-up run before trying the race course. He turned to Neil, who'd been standing quietly in the background throughout this exchange. "Are you around for free skiing later on?"

  Neil slid forward and glanced up at the sky. "The forecast's not good for this afternoon, is it?"

  Ben shook his head. "Don't think so."

  Neil made a face. "Sounds like today might be a day to quit while we're ahead, rather than pushing our luck."

  "You're probably right."

  "I think I owe you a beer tonight, though?"

  "Aye, right enough." Ben looked across at the clouds rolling in from the west. "But I might need some anti-freeze, rather than beer, if it carries on like this."

  Neil smiled, and pulled up his jacket collar so that it covered his chin. "You have a point. I think I'm going to head to the café for a coffee while I can still feel my face."

  Ben snorted. "I hadn't taken you for a fair-weather skier, Neil. You're a lightweight!"

  Neil just grinned and skied off, leaving a flurry of snow behind him.

  -::-

  As they ascended the Highlander chairlift, Callum turned to his pupil and asked, "So, Vernon, is this your first time at The Cairns?"

  "Actually, no, I've visited a few times, now." The older man adjusted the zip on his ski jacket. "And I'll be here pretty regularly from now on."

  Callum frowned briefly. "Why's that?"

  "Well, I just bought myself a little cottage up in White Cairns. I'll be using it for vacations and some weekends. As a 'retreat', I guess you could say."

  He nodded. "White Cairns is where I live. Where's your cottage?"

  "It's on Railway Road. Near the end."

  Callum recalled seeing a 'for sale' sign on one of the houses. But he wouldn't have called it 'little'. "The white one? With the nice tree in the garden?"

  "Yeah, that's it. Birch Cottage."

  "Great."

  "And do you also own a house in the village?"

  "Oh, no, me and some of the other instructors just rent a house between us."

  "It sounds like we'll be neighbours?"

  Callum grinned. "Yeah, I suppose so." When they reached the top of the run, he raised the bar of the chairlift. "Right, time for some more skiing!"

  One of the advantages to temporarily stepping into Mike's shoes as chief instructor was that he got to do any private lessons that were booked outside of the normal group classes that the other instructors handled. A one-to-one lesson was usually more fun and, if it wasn't, at least it was only an hour long. But, luckily, this morning's client, Vernon, was one of the good ones.

  The next time they ascended the chairlift, Vernon turned to him and asked, "Now, Callum, I think I said, I'm up here for the whole weekend. Could I please book another lesson with you for tomorrow?"

  Callum looked sideways at him. "Well, you could, but, if I'm honest with you, I don't know that I've been able to help you that much with your skiing — your technique is pretty sound. I'd feel bad taking your money again — why don't you just go free skiing, instead?"

  "Well, thank you for your kind comments and for your honesty, Callum, I appreciate it." The older man turned to face him, and Callum could see his face reflected in his mirrored goggles. "But I'm perfectly happy to pay for another session tomorrow — I've enjoyed having you to show me around the ski area, and I've enjoyed your company." He chuckled. "Sometimes a man just wants some companionship for his day in the mountains."

  "Well, if you're sure, I'm happy to ski with you again. Same time tomorrow?"

  "That would be wonderful, thank you kindly." He inclined his head graciously. "Now, can I change the subject and plunder your insider knowledge of the area?"

  "Of course."

  "Would you happen to know of any house-sitting services around here?"

  Callum looked at him quizzically.

  "I was kinda hoping to find someone to keep an eye on the cottage for when I'm not around."

  "Uh — how often would you need it checked?"

  Vernon opened his hands. "Whenever. I just want to know it's safe."

  "It's just— I'm sort of looking for somewhere else to stay right now." He glanced at Vernon. "Would a live-in house-sitter be any good to you?"

  "Like a caretaker?"

  "Yeah, I suppose"

  "I guess that might work." Vernon nodded slowly. "Why don't you come round tonight after work and take a look at the place, see what you think?"

  NEIL TOOK A pull on his beer and wiped his frothy lip. "Ah! That's good, after a hard day's skiing!" Perched on the edge of a bar stool, the warmth of the Skean Dhu was gradually defrosting his chilled bones.

  "Hard day's skiing? You hardly moved out of the café all day!" Ben's tone was scathing, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

  Neil kept his face straight. "Hey, look who's talking. Any time I looked, you were at the top of the Dheighe. Poor Trudy and the others were skied to a frazzle, and your skis saw so little use you won't need to bother waxing them for tomorrow."

  Ben grinned. "At least they were on my feet, rather than stuck in a ski rack outside the café all day."

  Neil couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from rising. "Touché!" He held up his beer. "To race training!"

  Their pint glasses clinked together, and Ben said, "To racing!"

  The way he said it caused a hollow feeling in Neil's stomach. "Have you decided what you're doing about racing? Are you still thinking about going back to it?"

  Ben nodded. "Aye." He looked sideways at Neil. "If the coaching thing had worked out…" He shrugged. "But that chancer Ed screwed that up for me, so I'm back to thinking about it."

  Neil studied his beer. "Would your trainer be okay with you being back on the team?" He glanced up at Ben. "Given what happened with his wife."

  Ben drew a circle in the condensation on the outside of his beer glass. "That's what's making the decision harder. I'm not sure how he'll be about it." The circle received dots for eyes, and he glanced at Neil. "It wasn't him that found out, y'see." A mouth appeared in the circle, but it was a wavy line, so Neil couldn't tell if it was meant to be a sad face or a smiley. "But I'm sure he's heard by now."

  -::-

  Vernon opened a door and indicated, "This is one of the spare bedrooms. You could use this one, or—" he strode down the hall and opened the next door, "—this one." He nodded to a door at the end of the hall. "That's my room down there. And—" he set off down the stairs and nodded for Callum to follow him, "—this is my study." He waved a hand at the room, which had bookshelves stuffed to overflowing, a desk overpowered by a huge computer monitor and walls peppered by a confetti of post-it notes. "This is where I do my writing, when I'm here." He pointed at the walls. "You can see I've got a system going on, so I'm afraid this room needs to be off-limits."

  Callum nodded. "How often will you be up here?"

  "Well, I have to spend a lot of my time in London, but I'll aim to get to Scotland at least a couple of times a month. In the ski season I'll hope to fly up most weekends."

  "Good plan."

  "Yeah," Vernon's sonorous voice echoed round the small room, "being here is such an inspiration, the words just flow. And, of course, I also get to ski every day!" He glanced up at a clock on the wall. "Now, by my thinking, it's time for a drink?"

  A cavernous fridge in the spotless kitchen produced a couple of bottles of German beer. Vernon handed one to Callum and leaned against the bench. "What do you think, Callum? Could you cope with living here?"

  Callum laughed. "Does a one-legged duck swim in circles? Of course I could. It's a great place." He took a swig of his beer. "But, how much rent would you be looking for?"

  Vernon held up a han
d. "No rent. You'd be doing me a favour, looking after it." He ran a finger over the worksurface. "But I guess if you could keep the place clean, that would save me employing a maid service."

  "Are you sure? That would be really generous of you."

  Vernon shook his head. "Don't mention it. Of course — it goes without saying — no wild parties when I'm not around."

  "Of course not."

  The American smiled. "Well, that's a deal, then. I'm here till Monday morning, so you could move in any time this weekend?"

  When the American stretched out his hand, Callum noticed that his tan faded under his shirt cuff, just below his fancy watch. A Rolex, if he wasn't mistaken? But seeing the watch reminded him of the time. Crap, I need to get away to Edinburgh. "Great! Maybe Sunday night? If that won't disturb you too much? I need to head out tonight."

  "Sure." The older man looked at him appraisingly. "I don't mean to intrude, but are you sure you'd be happy living here on your own? It might seem lonely compared to your shared house." He scratched his chin. "You strike me as being the gregarious type."

  Callum shrugged. "I am. But I think I'll enjoy living here — it's so peaceful. I'm sure I'll get enough company during the day." And at least he wouldn't have to cope with seeing Debbie with Ben, night after night. Anything would be better than that.

  Friday 3rd March

  New Zealand

  LISTENING TO THE lawyer drone on with interminable legalese, Mike found his mind wandering. Were the profusion of framed certificates on the walls, the shelves groaning with multi-volume leather-bound tomes, and the polished mahogany table so shiny he could see his face in it, designed to impress or intimidate, he wondered?

  "And, er, okay… Now we come to the distribution of assets." The lawyer tapped a sheaf of papers on the table, squaring the edges, before laying them down again and smoothing the first page with beautifully-manicured hands.

  Across the table, Robert sat up straighter.

  "In simple terms, Mr. Cole has left his savings bonds and his portfolio of stocks and shares to his daughter, Mrs. Hollis, plus any jewellery in the house apart from his wristwatch," Robert darted a small, triumphant smile at Lauren, while the lawyer continued, "which he leaves to Mr. Cole junior — Michael — along with his house, and the ski shop building and business," she nodded at Mike, "including any sales stock and any balance in the business account."

  What?

  Before Mike could digest this news, there was an outraged exclamation from Robert. "Ridiculous! How can he leave the shop to him," he jutted his jaw at Mike, "when he swanned off on walkabout and left us to do all the hard work running the shop for the old man for years?" He looked at Lauren for affirmation. "There must be some mistake!"

  The lawyer glanced down at her papers, and ran a hand across the top surface again. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Hollis, it's very clear. There are only the two beneficiaries — his two children — and a relatively simple division of the assets. It's all here in black and white — I'll be providing you all with copies in due course."

  Robert's face had taken on a purple tinge. He threw his hands open and glared at Mike. "I'm sorry, Mike, but I don't understand why he would leave the shop to you when we've been the ones running it and looking after him? He must've lost his marbles."

  The lawyer sent a steely look across the table. "Mr. Hollis, I can assure you that your father-in-law was perfectly compus mentus when he gave us the instructions for his will — I was here to oversee it myself. He was quite clear about what he wanted." She glanced across at Mike. "I think that he perhaps hoped that young Mr. Cole would be encouraged to take after him and run the family business."

  Run the ski shop? Running a shop in New Zealand had not featured in Mike's ideas for the future — such as they were. He circled a forefinger on his temple. His future plans were a mess right now but, even so, he couldn't see himself settling back here right now, if ever.

  "Could I ask, please," said Lauren, tentatively, "what's the value of the stocks and shares?"

  "I wouldn't be able to give you an exact tally, I'm afraid, Mrs. Hollis," the lawyer checked the papers, "but we are definitely talking a substantial six-figure sum."

  Lauren's eyebrows raised. "Really? I had no idea that Papa had so much money! He lived very simply."

  Mike smothered a smile of satisfaction. Dad must've taken my advice. Good.

  Hearing this valuation seemed to have calmed Robert somewhat, and the lawyer cleared her throat again. "I'll have my assistant send you copies of all the relevant paperwork. If there are no further questions, I'll bid you good-day?"

  -::-

  Scotland

  Frost caught the back of Jude's throat and the low sun made familiar objects sparkle as if they were part of a magical fairyland, instead of the mundane hardware of everyday life. It's one of these mornings that make you feel glad to be alive, Jude thought, walking along the main street of White Cairns after seeing Lucy off on the school bus.

  Passing the post office, she paused to check the notices in the window; as she stood there, the bell at the top of the door jangled and Jean, Sandy's wife, stepped onto the pavement.

  Spotting Jude, Jean stopped in her tracks, and her hand came to her mouth with a gasp. Then she seemed to gain control of her features and stepped forward, placing a hand on Jude's arm. "What terrible news from New Zealand, my dear," she said, glancing up at Jude with solemn eyes. "If there's anything I can do — we can do — to help, don't hesitate to ask."

  Before Jude could ask what she was talking about, Jean gave Jude's arm a quick squeeze and bustled off up the street in the direction of North Lodge. New Zealand? What was that all about? With a sense of foreboding, Jude turned to cross the road and headed for the shop.

  She was fumbling with her keys when she heard the clearing of a throat behind her and Lachie, the village postman, said, "I'm so sorry to hear your bad news, lass, it must've been an awful shock for you and Lucy…" His voice faltered when he saw her mystified look.

  "What's going on, Lachie? You're the second person today to be talking about my bad news. What's happened?"

  Lachie inhaled sharply. "Allan. We heard about Allan. I'm so sorry."

  She shook her head. "You heard about Allan? But you know he's in New Zealand."

  "Yes, and we heard about the avalanche. What a terrible tragedy!"

  "Avalanche?" Jude's voice came out louder than she meant it to. She could feel her heart pounding faster than normal in her chest, and her legs started to feel weak. "What avalanche?"

  "Here, lassie, let's get you inside so you can sit down." Lachie took the keys off her and opened the door, ushering her inside. "Let me put the kettle on, I can see you've had a shock."

  She felt for a stool and sank onto it, all the time staring at Lachie. "What avalanche, Lachie, I don't understand? Has something happened to Allan?"

  Lachie put the kettle down and came over to put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm afraid—" Then his head jerked back. "But how don't you know? Lucy knows." He frowned. "Or so I heard."

  "Lucy knows?" She felt stupid for just echoing him all the time, but her head was spinning and she was having a hard time thinking straight. "What does Lucy know?"

  Lachie rubbed a hand across his forehead and sighed. "The way I heard it, Lucy told one of the other girls at school — Penny McMasters, I think — that her dad had died in an avalanche in New Zealand. And Penny told her mum, and her mum — well, you know what things are like in a village. Everybody knows everything."

  "But— when was this? I just saw her off to school on the bus five minutes ago, and she's said nothing to me."

  When Lachie frowned, his bushy eyebrows almost met in the middle. Right now, they were like a solid grey line across his forehead. "Well, that's very strange, lass, very strange."

  Jude's eyes fell on the phone on the counter. "I'll try phoning him!"

  Lachie frowned again. "I suppose that's worth a try. Set your mind at rest." He turned back to the kitchen are
a. "I'll get that tea made."

  New Zealand

  IT WAS THE physicality of skiing that Mike adored. The way that your whole body and all your senses got involved, making it feel like you were at one with the mountain as you strained your muscles to create that perfect turn, that perfect run, that perfect day.

  And that absorption in the sport had the beneficial side effect of allowing the subconscious to work away at a problem in the same way that 'sleeping on it' would often produce a solution. This had definitely been the right way to spend the afternoon, after that fraught morning in the lawyer's office, he decided.

  As he ascended the chairlift again, he closed his eyes and raised his face to the sun. This is what I'm meant to do. I can't be inside, running a shop. He'd known that all along, really; he just hadn't known what to do about the shop, about his legacy. But now it was clear, it was obvious. He loved that about skiing.

  He smiled. Time for some moguls!

  -::-

  Scotland

  Of course, there was no answer on Allan's phone. There hardly ever was.

  Since he went to New Zealand, his communications had become less and less frequent. There'd been that original email with the devastating news that he wasn't coming back for the winter season, which had meant Jude had to pick up the reins and run the ski school. There'd been a Christmas card with a Vodafone voucher for Lucy, which had arrived two weeks into the new year. There'd been a few phone calls, including the one to Lucy that had nearly lost them the ski race, but precious little else. Not even a payment into their bank account, which had been the whole point of him going away in the first place.

  So was his phone going straight to the messaging service just the usual issue of him being up the back country somewhere and not getting a signal, or was it something more sinister, like it — and him — being buried under ten feet of snow?

  Lachie pushed a mug of strong tea in front of her. "Could you contact Lucy?"