The Chateau

by Catherine Cooper

  I turn my back and get on with my unpacking, but Molly won’t leave it alone. ‘I’m just surprised that you, that you’re still … I mean,’ she continues, ‘would it be your first time?’

  ‘None of your business,’ I snap. I should never have told her about the whole Mr Dorian thing. Suddenly Molly seems to think we need to know everything about each other and I really don’t feel that way. It’s not like she’s Tash or Lily. I mean, we’ve only just met. Why is she so nosy and needy?

  Molly holds up her hands. ‘Fine. Sorry. I bet if Jack were …’ she tails off.

  ‘If he were what?’ I ask impatiently. She’s overstepping the line. I don’t want to talk to her about this.

  ‘Nothing. Forget it,’ she says airily. ‘You’ll only go off on one.’

  I go back to unpacking, acting as if I don’t know what she was going to say.

  But I do. And she’s right. If Jack were Mr Dorian, I would feel differently.

  Once we’ve unpacked we all go off to get our ski stuff. In the end I settle for wearing a purple cashmere jumper (a reasonably clingy one with my best boob-enhancing bra though) rather than the little top I was planning on and I’m glad I did because it is freezing outside. The hotel is really, really heated, triple-glazed and super-insulated, so it’s easy to forget that as soon as you step outside it’s something mad like minus ten degrees.

  It might be cold here but it is very, very pretty. There are foot-long icicles hanging off the roofs and our footsteps make a kind of muffled, squeaky sound as we walk the hundred or so metres to the ski shop. I stick my hand out to catch some falling snowflakes on the back of my black ski glove and examine them. They’re like tiny, mini versions of those snowflakes we used to cut out from paper when we were at primary school at Christmas – you can actually see their delicate, intricate pattern and it’s true what they say – every one is different.

  ‘Look how pretty they are,’ I squeal, holding up my glove to Jack’s face for him to inspect the flakes.

  He smiles at me. ‘Do you know what I like best about you?’

  I frown. ‘My inside-out knowledge of Modern Family?’

  He laughs. ‘I have to admit that is pretty appealing, but what I was going to say is that you seem to have no idea of how gorgeous you are.’

  I lean over to kiss his cheek. I wish I could make myself like him more, in the way I like Mr Dorian. ‘That’s such a nice thing to say.’

  He shrugs. ‘I’m only saying it because it’s true.’

  I don’t know what to say to that but luckily we are at the ski shop and Miss Fielder is shouting stuff about needing to decide now whether to ski or snowboard and making sure we are signed up to the right lessons, so I start asking Jack about ski lengths and bindings and things like that I really don’t care about at all, and our conversation quickly moves on to safer ground.

  About an hour later we are finally kitted out with our ski stuff. I am dreading having to carry it all back to the hotel – it’s so heavy and unwieldy – but it turns out we can leave it in the ski shop and pick it up in the morning.

  It’s snowing even harder on the way back. ‘Powder’ll be amazing tomorrow,’ Jack says.

  ‘Powder?’

  ‘That’s what you call fresh snow.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Lots to learn.’

  Jack links his arm through mine. ‘It’s a shame we won’t be in the same group during the day.’

  I laugh. ‘I think you’d be pretty bored, skiing with me. I’ll probably spend the whole day on my arse.’

  ‘Such a nice arse, though,’ he says, pinching my bum. ‘I suppose you’ll be with Molly? And Ethan, as they’re beginners too?’

  ‘Think so.’

  There is a pause.

  ‘Can Mr Dorian ski?’ Jack asks, out of nowhere, his voice somehow artificially light.

  My stomach lurches. ‘Um – no idea. Why d’you ask?’ I say, equally lightly. Why is he asking about Mr Dorian?

  Jack waves his free hand. ‘No reason. Just wondered if he might be with me.’ Pause. ‘Or with you.’

  ‘Oh – um – I really don’t know. I guess he might just ski by himself? I’m not sure if they’d make him join a lesson, would they?’ Can we please stop talking about him.

  ‘Maybe not,’ Jack muses. I sneak a look at him but I can’t read his expression. He looks back at me and smiles. Back to normal.

  ‘I wonder what’s for dinner?’ he says.

  39

  February, French Alps

  Ella

  ‘Seven thirty! Up you get!’ Miss Fielder shouts, banging on our door before it is even light. ‘Got to be in reception all kitted out and breakfasted by nine o’clock at the very latest! Vite, vite, vite!’

  ‘Whose idea was it to come on this trip?’ Molly groans, switching on the bedside light and rolling out of bed.

  ‘Um – yours?’ I say. ‘Or actually I think it was Ethan who first suggested I come.’

  ‘Pffft. Bloody Ethan. I’ll blame him, then,’ she grumbles, padding over to the tiny bathroom and closing the door behind her.

  Guess that’ll be Molly having first shower then. I force myself out of bed and over to the cupboard. I fish out my pants, ski socks, thermals, neck warmer, inner and outer gloves, jumper, wildly unflattering salopettes, goggles, sunglasses, brand-new ski jacket from TK Maxx and the bag of Mini Mars Bars Mum insisted I bring to put in my pockets. That’s the other thing about skiing, apart from the early mornings – there seems to be so much gear to deal with.

  The bathroom door opens and Molly comes out wrapped in a towel. ‘Bathroom’s free!’ she sings. ‘I don’t know about you, but now I’m properly awake I’m actually quite excited about today.’

  By the time we get down to breakfast it’s five to nine, so we only have time to cram in a croissant and have a quick slurp of hot chocolate before Miss Fielder is shouting at us all to hurry up and assemble in reception. As we start walking to the ski shop to pick up our stuff, I suddenly feel quite nervous.

  Jack, though, is bouncing around, totally excited in a way I’ve never seen him before. ‘Look at that blue sky!’ he says. ‘Today’s going to be amazing!’

  I smile. ‘I’m a bit scared,’ I admit.

  ‘Don’t be,’ Jack says. ‘Honestly, by the end of the day I bet you’ll wonder what you were worrying about. You’ll love it.’

  I stand with the gathering group of beginners, watching the door of the ski shop from where the stragglers are still appearing. I’m trying to look like I’m just staring into space but really, I’m looking out for Mr Dorian. I haven’t yet seen him this morning and I know it’s ridiculous but there is a part of me that misses him. As if I just need to see him, even if we don’t speak.

  Another, smaller part of me wishes he hadn’t come on this holiday at all. Maybe if he wasn’t here, I would be able to stop thinking about him every waking minute. Maybe then I could concentrate properly on Jack. Maybe then I’d actually want to …

  And suddenly, there he is. He looks so hot in his black beanie and I instantly feel self-conscious in my hideous rented helmet which is probably giving me nits. I drag my eyes away from him and look at my reflection in the shop window. I don’t know if it’s the angle of the glass or the padding in my clothes but I feel like I’ve never looked less sexy.

  And then he’s walking towards our group. He looks so at ease carrying his skis over his shoulder, so assured and comfortable in this beautiful but alien environment. I was convinced he’d be with the advanced skiers, with Jack.

  I was feeling nervous before but now it’s all I can do to stop myself trembling. He catches my eye as he comes over and smiles. I smile back, shyly, glancing at Jack but he’s busy chatting with his instructor and doesn’t even notice me.

  ‘You with us, then, Mr Dorian?’ Molly asks. I feel myself blush.

  ‘Yup. I’m a total ski virgin,’ he says, and I feel myself blush deeper.

  I want to say something. I want him to think I’m witty a
nd funny, natural and easy to be with.

  But I can’t think of anything at all, so instead I crouch down and needlessly adjust the buckles on my boots while Molly witters on seemingly about whatever comes into her head.

  ‘Beginners’ group, oui?’ asks a deeply tanned man in a red ski suit, who seems to have appeared out of nowhere, but then I guess I had been studiously looking at the ground. ‘I am Romain, your moniteur – teacher – for the week.’ He does a head count. ‘Ten. Impeccable. All here. Good! Then we go! Follow me!’

  ‘Whoa, he’s gorgeous!’ Molly says, predictably, as we clump after Romain towards the cable car.

  ‘Careful,’ Ethan grumbles, ‘you nearly whacked me with your pole.’

  ‘Sorr-ee! Got your period or something?’ Molly says.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ Ethan mutters, increasing his pace to get past us.

  Molly tuts and rolls her eyes. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with him, he’s been in a bad mood since we left London.’

  The entrance to the lift is surrounded by a huge throng of people queuing but Romain pushes through a little gate at the side and we go straight to the front. ‘When you are with me, you are a VIP,’ he quips.

  Molly chatters away on the way up, flirting with Romain. I turn to face the outside and simply watch as we rise up into the mountains. It is so beautiful. The sky is a clear blue, the trees are all covered in snow and there’s something floating in the air – I’m not sure what – which actually glistens.

  ‘It’s amazing,’ I breathe to no one in particular.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ says Mr Dorian.

  My stomach lurches. I’d been so engrossed in the view I hadn’t noticed he was standing right next to me. His gloved hand is on the window next to mine, almost touching. My breath catches in my throat. Stay calm, I tell myself. Talk sensibly. Be interesting.

  I take a surreptitious deep breath. ‘Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?’ I ask.

  He glances at me, and then out at the view. ‘Almost never,’ he replies. ‘I’ve certainly never seen a landscape like this in real life. It’s my first time skiing.’

  ‘And mine,’ I say.

  ‘A first … for both of us then.’ He pauses. ‘All of us probably, I mean. All of us here.’

  I smile and he smiles back briefly before turning to look out the window again and we ride the rest of the short journey in silence.

  40

  February, French Alps

  Ella

  The morning is tiring but fun as we find our feet and learn something called a snow plough – going up a conveyor belt and then putting the tips of our skis together so we can slowly weave our way down the nursery slope. After that, Romain announces we are ready for something called the tire-fesse – ‘I think, en anglais, a drag lift,’ Romain adds. He shows us how to use it, making it look easy and graceful, and then we follow.

  Ethan is at the front of the queue and shuffles forward. He takes the pole and puts it between his legs. I watch him brace himself in a way which Romain didn’t but a couple of seconds later Ethan is gliding calmly up the slope too.

  ‘Yay!’ I call, clapping my hands. ‘Go, Ethan!’ He is hanging onto the bar with both hands and doesn’t look round, but then, I probably wouldn’t either in his position.

  ‘Well, if my silly little brother can do it, I’m sure I can,’ says Molly, pushing forward and taking the bar. One by one they all go up the hill, not looking quite as relaxed as Romain, but making it look pretty easy even so.

  And then it’s my turn. I take the pole as the man hands it to me and place it between my legs. I bend my knees and hold on tight. I almost feel like closing my eyes, but I don’t imagine that would help. I tense and wait, there is a little tug and I start moving. I’m moving! I’m going up the hill!

  ‘It’s working!’ I call out to no one in particular. ‘I’m doing it!’

  Something to my left catches my eye – maybe a snowboarder moving very fast – and I turn my head to look.

  Big mistake. My skis cross and suddenly I am falling forward. The tire-fesse pulls away from me and I desperately try to hang onto it but I am falling, falling … and I’m on the ground. But I’m OK – I’m not hurt.

  And then someone is shouting. ‘Move, Ella, move, move!’ It’s Mr Dorian. He’s on the lift behind me and approaching fast. I try to shuffle out of the way on my bum but with the skis still attached to my legs it’s impossible.

  ‘Nooooo,’ I call as his skis crash into mine and he falls on top of me. I duck my head to avoid the swinging pole and notice the lift has stopped.

  ‘God, Ella, sorry – are you OK?’ he asks breathlessly as he levers himself off me. Our skis are tangled up together. I try to pull mine away from his but I can’t. My goggles are covered in snow so I push them up onto my helmet.

  I nod. ‘I’m fine. It was my fault. I fell off the lift. Are you OK?’

  ‘Yep – nothing broken.’ He leans forward and pushes the back of the bindings down – both his and mine – so that our boots click out of the skis. He stumbles to his feet and pushes our skis out of the way. ‘There. No harm done.’ I am still on the ground and he holds out his hand to pull me up. I take it and haul myself up. A little thrill runs through me as I do so. He feels so strong. I wobble slightly as I stand and he steadies my elbow.

  ‘You sure you’re OK?’ he asks. He has pushed his goggles up onto his helmet and is looking straight into my eyes. Those lovely, deep brown eyes. ‘You didn’t bang your head or anything?’

  We are standing so close I can feel his breath on my face.

  ‘Ella?’ he prompts, and I realize I am still staring at him and haven’t said anything. I look down at his mouth and then back into his eyes. He is still holding my elbow. I could stay like this forever.

  ‘I’m … I’m fine,’ I stutter. ‘Just fine. Sorry.’

  He looks at me for a couple of moments longer and then suddenly smiles awkwardly and steps backwards.

  ‘Good. Good. So we’re both fine. Nothing broken. Guess we’d better put our skis back on and try that again then?’

  Unbelievably, by the end of the day we do actually ski all the way down to the bottom of the mountain. Admittedly it takes our group most of the afternoon and I don’t think my thighs have ever screamed so much or I’ve ever felt quite so bruised and battered from so many falls. But I’ve also never felt quite so exhilarated.

  ‘So, a good day, yes?’ Romain asks as we arrive back in front of the ski shop.

  ‘It’s been amazing!’ I squeak, as if I am five years old and have just spent the day at Disneyland. Molly loops her arm round Romain’s neck, a little awkwardly as they are both still wearing their skis, and kisses him on the cheek. ‘It’s been brilliant,’ she coos. Normally I would think this was typical flirtatious Molly but this time I can see how she feels – I almost feel like kissing him myself but I’m not going to do anything like that in front of Mr Dorian.

  Romain laughs. ‘I always thought you anglais were so reserved. Perhaps it is not so.’

  Mr Dorian shakes his hand. ‘I think I speak for all of us when I say we’ve really enjoyed today. Thank you for all your help.’

  ‘De rien. I wish you a bonne soirée and that your legs do not ache too bad. A demain!’

  And with that he pushes off and kind of skates away, leaving me, Molly and the other girls dreamily watching his retreating back and perfect bum.

  Mr Dorian claps his hands together. ‘Right – good work today! You’ve got a few hours now to get changed and … do whatever you want to do and then dinner’s at seven thirty downstairs followed by … bowling, I think?’ He presses his poles down on to the backs of his bindings in turn, clicks his skis off and hoists them on to his shoulder. He nods briefly. ‘See you all later. In the meantime, behave yourselves.’

  41

  February, French Alps

  Nick

  Today was a great day. I’m really glad I came. The kids were on good form and fun to be with. On
e day, I will come back to the Alps with my family and teach Sorrel and Bay to ski. I bet they’ll love it. But right now, although I feel a little guilty about it, I’m rather enjoying their absence.

  Much as I love my boys, I haven’t had an entire day away from them since they were born. Every morning I’ve had to sort their breakfast, every day after school I’ve had to rush to collect them from nursery or help out with bath time and I literally haven’t had an unbroken night’s sleep since Sorrel was born.

  Conversely, this evening once we’d finished skiing for the day I got to have a beer with the other teachers, without having to keep an eye on the time like I do if I go out with a mate after work, and without worrying about the bollocking I’d get from Aura for coming home slightly later than I said I would.

  Instead, when I was ready, and when I decided, I came back to the tiny, basic hotel room and had a leisurely shower without fretting that I needed to get out as soon as possible in case one of my boys choked on a marble or fell down the stairs while I was doing something as simple as having a wash.

  And while I’m not expecting much from the all-inclusive buffet dinner we’ll be having this evening, I won’t have to cook organic fish goujons or pasta and pesto for anyone who will likely refuse it or throw half of it on the floor, neither will I have to wash up afterwards, so I can’t wait. Best of all, I can sleep all night. Unless there’s an emergency with one of these kids who are pretty much adults, no one will wake me up.

  Lounging on my bed in my towel with a cold beer, I realize with, I have to admit, some reluctance, that I should probably check in with Aura. I hope she’s in a good mood. She’ll have had a day to herself to get on with her coursework like she wanted, and hopefully by now the boys will have eaten and be quietly watching CBeebies. They should be soft and calm and smell of their madly expensive organic lavender baby bubble bath Aura insists on. I feel a pang of love for them. Even though I am enjoying the time to myself, I do miss them. Though I am still also hugely looking forward to my unbroken night’s sleep.