Fire and Ice
Page 3
“Stefan?” Kate repeated, her eyebrows furrowing in a frown. “He said his name was Sebastien.”
Mimi sat up abruptly, rubbing her hands together with relish. “Ah, some gossip for the mill. You got to meet the elusive Sebastien, eh? Maybe they’re going to keep Stefan out of the scene for a while until the scandal is forgotten about. Interesting.”
Kate shook her head. “How do you hear about all these things?”
Mimi touched the side of her nose. “Connections. Friends in high places. In low places. In the local pub, in this case.”
Kate padded across the floor to refill her friend’s wine glass. “So tell me what you know about these guys then.” She tried to make her voice sound disinterested. “I need to be a bit more prepared this time.”
Emily wasn’t fooled. “You want a picture of the Pichards? Or just the dark, brooding one?”
She ducked as a sofa cushion winged her way. “Ok, let’s see. Stefan is the older one, smooth, blond, outrageously good-looking and charming, a real playboy. He’s the one who had the infamous fling with the Bollywood star. Sebastien is more of the diamond in the rough type, also a hottie. Or so you may have noticed.”
Kate curled up with her wineglass and gazed into the fire. Yes, she had noticed. Despite the activity and fun of the past few days catching up with her friend and exploring Verbier, she had caught herself frequently thinking about Sebastien. She could still feel the intensity of those dark eyes and picture the handsome, rugged features. She cringed in embarrassment when she thought of her awkwardness but she found herself approaching the upcoming weekend with a mix of apprehension and anticipation.
Emily snorted, bringing Kate back to earth. “Once upon a time both guys were the considered contenders for the title of catch of the century and they enjoyed the attention of many fair maidens,” she continued in a fairy tale voice. “But then an evil witch disguised as a stunning model stole Sebastien’s heart and a good chunk of his fortune in an ugly divorce, leaving him broken-hearted and cold, swearing never to trust the motives of women again, because they are all manipulative fortune-hunters.”
Kate shook her head. “Now that’s just prejudice. I wouldn’t be after his fortune, just his body.”
Mimi grinned approvingly. “Such noble sentiments. You always were such a hopeless romantic. So you do admit that you’re attracted to him.”
“It’s purely physical,” Kate hastened to clarify. “His personality didn’t exactly exude warmth and charm. Au contraire. I’ve met warmer ice cubes. He seemed either distracted or stressed or just plain irritated by me. Then again, I wasn’t an example of wit and charm myself.”
“So it wasn’t exactly “Some Enchanted Evening.”” Mimi shrugged carelessly. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“No, he gave off more of a “Never Let A Woman In Your Life” type of vibe,” Kate replied with a grimace. “He looked at me as if I was some kind of extra-terrestrial.”
“It couldn’t have been as bad as all that, or you’d already be fired.” Mimi reassured her cheerfully. “And it’s probably just as well if he’s cold and reserved. It never pays to fall in love with somebody you work for.”
“Or with,” Kate added darkly. “Don’t worry, I’ve learned my lessons the hard way.” She sighed and stared into the flames, draining the rest of her red wine. Memories of her time with Mickey were all clouded now by the ugly ending and she couldn’t remember even their passionate start without doubting her judgement.
But she didn’t want to think about that anymore. It was time to put it all behind her and move forward, rather than to sink into self-pity. This job, giving her time in the Alps with her friend and time to write would also be time to heal. Already she found herself waking with a sense of excitement about the coming day instead of the dreary sense of flatness and failure that Mickey had left her with.
To get involved with anyone right now would be foolish. Her judgement was obviously not sound, and she was living and working under false pretences. Merely thinking of her sexy new boss made her flush, particularly remembering how socially awkward she had been and how icily he had looked at her. But she couldn’t help thinking that it would be nice to see what was behind that cold exterior, to make those enigmatic eyes smile.
It was as if Emily could read her mind. “Don’t waste your energy trying to warm him up. Hundreds have tried and hundreds have failed. Anyway, he threw himself seriously into the business side of things and left the dazzling Stefan to continue to do the dazzling thing. Remember, men who work too much make good business partners but poor bed partners.”
Kate yawned and Emily rose to her feet. “I’d better let you get your beauty sleep for your big day tomorrow,” she said, tousling her friend’s curls as she passed. She shot her a final wicked grin as she reached the door. “Anyway, if you are looking just for the physical side of things, there’s always Stefan.”
Kate stuck out her tongue. “I think I’ll stick to using the Pichard boys for their lovely chalet.”
And maybe just a bit of daydreaming, she added to herself, as she stretched to wake herself up. She wanted to read over her weekly column before she sent it.
She padded over to the table and opened her laptop. The piece was the first in what she hoped would be a series about Switzerland, just light-hearted reflections on Swiss society based on her experiences this winter.
This time she had chosen to write simply about the difference in attitude towards winter that people felt here in the Swiss Alps compared to back in London. Over the week Emily had shown her around and introduced her to a collection of her friends, most of them also just arriving for the winter season to work in bars, boutiques and ski schools. Kate had enjoyed the positive energy, the sense of fun that prevailed as everybody made plans for the upcoming season.
And she was starting to love Verbier. The ski resort had come to life in preparation for the opening weekend. The restaurants, bars and hotels were all open and there was a festive atmosphere as Christmas lights twinkled against the drifted snow and carloads of people, skis and snowboards arrived.
The original village had been a group of alpages, where farmers brought their cows in the summer months to graze on the open slopes of wildflowers. The lower village was still made up of the original old chalets and wooden storage barns on stilts, perched in a sunny bowl surrounded by rocky peaks. The construction of gondolas and chairlifts that gave access to expansive terrain and steep faces had suddenly rocketed Verbier to its position as one of the trendy ski spots in Switzerland.
The upper town had spread as more and more holiday homes were built, but they remained true to the traditional chalet style and the village centre itself remained small, just a few streets radiating off a small square that was lined with bars and ski shops where cutting edge design and outdoor gear rubbed shoulders with traditional cheese shops.
Satisfied with her column, Kate concluded with a comment about lifestyle choice, about the fact that ski resorts were full of people who chose to live there because they loved it. She thought back to her life In London after Mickey’s gambling disaster that had cost them their flat and little bakery. Had it really been her choice to stay or just the easiest default option?
She was still thinking about it as she saved the article and sent it to her editor. Emily was right. London had never really been her place. She had stayed there after university because of a job offer, but with the intention to move on in a year or so. Instead she had met Mickey, charming, unreliable Mickey, and had gone along with his café dream. But even then she had missed the warmth of small-town Ireland.
Now she was finally somewhere she felt happy simply to be. The views across the valley to the snow-covered ridges and the Trient glacier took her breath away every morning. For the first time in a while she had time to appreciate her surroundings. She was living in a spacious chalet in a ski town just doors away from her old friend. And to add a little spice, she had a harmless crush on a stunning Swiss man.
Chapter Four
“Would anybody like another digestif or a cup of coffee?”
Kate stepped into the living room. The fire crackled cheerfully and sent a cosy glow toward the sofas and low table where the guests were seated. She had taken the liberty to set out a few candles and poinsettias to add a bit more of a homey feeling to the large room. As she surveyed her handiwork, she was pleased with her effort. The effect was soft, a flickering glow that reflected against the light golden wood of the larch walls.
Not that there had been much to do, but this was her first Friday, her trial by fire, and she wanted to do a good job. In the afternoon she had opened shutters and aired guest rooms, stocked up on breakfast items and prepared the fire. Then she had made herself comfortable at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and a book.
Sebastien and his guests had gone straight to dinner in a restaurant in the village before coming to the chalet. Now they were relaxing by the fire, making small talk.
Kate had been curious to watch Sebastien in action. He had been polite but short with her upon arrival, leaving her anxious to impress him, if only by remaining discrete and professional. But with his guests he was courteous and attentive, definitely a polished host, used to entertaining.
The guests this weekend were two couples. Kate guessed them to be in their mid- to late-thirties, about the same age as Sebastien. They were in the watch business, which was all that Sebastien had deemed necessary to tell her during his Wednesday phone call. She had felt like a teenager awaiting his call, trying to judge his attitude through his voice down the line, but he had been brisk and unemotional.
Even now, under his smooth manner, she found him businesslike with his guests. Not cold, but not warm either. Impersonal and detached, she realised, watching from the kitchen doorway. He gave nothing of himself away.
The guests seemed to be enjoying themselves in a quiet way. The conversation was comfortable but slow, discussions about the skiing, the amount of snow recently, this year’s “salon d’auto” in Geneva where the latest cars were exhibited.
Kate waited until a longish pause in the chatting to ask about drinks. Colleen, a friendly-looking brunette who hadn’t contributed much to the conversation, turned gratefully towards her.
“What do you suggest as a traditional thing to drink after our fondue dinner?” she asked, apparently hoping to change the topic.
Kate beamed at her, sending a heartfelt, silent thank-you to Emily for a week’s immersion in Verbier ski culture and Swiss culinary norms. It made her feel less guilty for lying about her experience.
“Well, after cheese, the Swiss swear by eau-de-vie, fruit-flavoured distilled spirits like Williamine’s, which is made with pears, or pomme, made with apple. It’s also good for giving you the courage to face the cold. But they also make a liqueur out of wildflowers, Gentiane, which you really have to taste while you’re here. Of course, there are always herbal teas if you prefer, but you are on holiday, after all.”
She bit her tongue. Despite her best intentions, she didn’t seem capable of remaining coolly professional if she said more than two words. But her enthusiasm seemed to thaw the conversational chill.
“I was about to ask for a coffee, but after that sales pitch, I’ll have to try one of those spirits, maybe the pear one,” Colleen’s husband, Liam, said jovially.
Kate finished taking the requests for drinks and soon everybody was sipping their digestifs. As she served Liam his Williamine’s, she couldn’t help exclaiming, “I could swear I hear a hint of old Dublin. Are you living here now or just in Switzerland for business?” The pleasure of hearing an accent from home made her forget her resolution to remain quiet and in the background.
“Our first time in Switzerland, actually,” said his wife, sounding almost apologetic. “You’ll have to tell me what I should shop for here tomorrow. I’ve got a knee injury and won’t be skiing with the others.”
“Oh, you’ll love poking around Verbier,” Kate said confidently. “I’ll show you my friend’s boutique, if you want to check out winter fashion. And there’s a cute little antique shops with truly Swiss things like old cow bells – did you know that they actually have cow fighting here in the spring? They call it the “Combat des Reines”, the fight of the queens. And of course you’ll have to take chocolates and cheeses back home, so you’ll have to taste a few to find the best. We’ve got some here if you want to taste test.”
She caught herself chattering at warp speed and stopped, turning scarlet. Was she completely out of line? Was she even supposed to speak with the guests apart from to take drink orders?
By now the brunette was engaged in a full-fledged conversation with her, talking happily about her chocoholic habits. “And once I get started, you might as well kiss the whole box goodbye,” she was saying, smiling guiltily.
Kate risked a quick glance toward Sebastien, who was watching her with an unreadable expression. At least he didn’t seem upset with her, and it was too late to stop the conversation.
The second couple, Janet and Darren, joined in as well.
“You know those giant Toblerone bars they sell in the duty free?” Darren boomed. “I’ve had to stop buying them for fear of giving myself a diabetic coma. More dangerous than good whiskey.”
It was Janet’s turn to turn pleading eyes to Kate. “Did you say something about a chocolate tasting then?”
Soon Kate was presenting a wooden board with various types of chocolate broken into small chunks for comparison. Everybody joined in playfully when she suggested a blind tasting afterwards.
The volume of conversation rose as the sugar and eau-de-vie kicked in. Kate tried to slide away unobtrusively but Colleen tugged at her sleeve. “You have to stay, you’re my local guide,” she protested.
Kate shot a helpless look toward Sebastien. She was starting to feel that she had completely overstepped her position and now things were a bit out of her control.
To her surprise, he held her eye and flashed her a sudden boyish grin. It transformed his face, crinkling into his eyes and softening his features. It also transformed something in Kate, whose heart flip-flopped unexpectedly. He gave a barely perceptible nod, as if giving her permission to continue, before he turned back to his guests, a hint of amusement still in his eyes.
“Well, if you are all going to get wired up on chocolate, we will have to counter the effects with a shot of whiskey or you’ll never get to sleep,” he announced, striding over to the liqueur cabinet and returning with a bottle.
A cheer went up from the table. The party seemed to be progressing nicely, Kate thought happily, as Sebastien produced a row of little shot glasses and splashed a generous portion into each. It took her a moment to realise that he had poured six.
He looked at her expectantly, almost challenging her to continue what she’d started. She hesitated a second before giving up completely on her ineffective attempts to stay in the background. He didn’t seem to mind, and if he did choose to fire her after this, she might as well have a fun last evening.
She picked up her shot glass and joined the others in clinking glasses, making eye contact with each person in the Swiss style. When she raised her glass against Sebastien, there was a friendly, conspiratorial twinkle in his eye that made her heart turn somersaults.
She threw back her drink quickly and let the liqueur blend with the warmth already spreading through her body. Between the sunny morning ski, the fire and the liqueur, there was enough colour in her face to hide the blush that she could feel spreading through her cheeks.
When she looked back at Sebastien he was busy with his guests, this time telling a funny story about an incident with his brother when they were teens, “borrowing” the ne
ighbour’s dog who was left outside at night and using him to attract women.
“The problem came when we took him down into the village at about the time the pubs were emptying. We had met a couple of young Quebecoise girls on the hill that day and suspected they’d be in the pub until it closed. But just as they came out, Croc Blanc caught sight of this rather over-the-top lady wearing a fox fur stole. He was normally such a good dog, but apparently he had a thing for foxes. He shot across the road like a bat out of hell, snatched the stole in one jump and was gone. We tore after him, the lady screamed and called the police, the two women we were interested in just disappeared and we spent most of the night trying to find the dog and the rest of the season trying to pay off the ruined stole.”
He laughed fondly at the memory and the others joined in. Kate sat back and took in the ambiance around her with a smile. This was how a ski weekend in a chalet should feel, she thought. Festive. Fun. Chocolaty. With the occasional moment of connection with the dark-eyed man across the room from her, a sense of team.
Another little cheer went up and she came back from her reverie to find her glass full again and five faces turned toward her. She had a sudden image of her family in Ireland, the same sense of fun solidarity.
“Hell, yes!” she said, echoing her oldest brother’s favourite cry and joining the others. It was not going to be an early evening.
Chapter Five
The next morning Kate woke with a slight headache and a dry mouth. She had set her alarm early to prepare breakfast in time for the skiers to take the first lifts, but she doubted that any of them would be up before eight. The evening had wound down at two o’clock and several rounds of whiskey had animated the discussion.
Despite her fatigue, she found herself humming “Good Morning Starshine” as she stretched and rolled over to turn off her alarm clock. Thinking of the night before brought a smile to her tired face. Everybody had enjoyed themselves and laughed a lot, including her. Including Sebastien. She felt like she had seen another side of him, glimpses of something more real than the cold face he generally wore. The trouble was that this made him all the more attractive, the warm laughter in the dark eyes, the roguish grin.