ROAD TO MANDALAY

by Rolf Richardson

  As teacher, Dave set off first, saying he would wait for us at the bottom of the couloir. “Catch you if you fall,” he joked.

  Next was Gudrun. Last year I had been so focussed on the dying Kuznetsov I had only registered her skiing ability to the extent that she must have been good to have come down that slope carrying another pair of skis and sticks. This was my first chance to judge how she actually performed on the snow.

  Whereas Dave sailed down without fuss, nice and neat, as one would expect from a mountain-man, fuss was exactly what Gudrun wanted. A chance to show off. She attacked the couloir, swooping high up on the walls, from side to side, deftly avoiding any deadly rock, finally setting up a mini blizzard as she braked next to Dave. A bravura performance designed to impress. And it had.

  I had no intention of trying for a maximum six points in artistry, only wanted to get down without injury and with pride intact. This I managed with a series of quick turns, keeping it as tidy as possible. It was fun and I did not disgrace myself.

  As I braked in front of the others, Gudrun delivered a smile. “Not bad.”

  I felt I’d passed her test. And had certainly been impressed by her.

  The rest of the run down was a frolic in mostly easy powder until we hit one of the regular pistes, which perchance had a mountain hut, where we celebrated with vin chaud. We parted back in Val Fornet at around midday, when I had to return to work in my bar. I told Gudrun I could not play truant for a second time, so no chance of another dinner together. However, if she cared to drop round to see me in Jimmy’s Bar she’d be most welcome. Might even give her the first drink on the house.

  22

  Gudrun did indeed turn up at Jimmy’s Bar, just after ten, now ladylike in a skirt and blouse, her tan topped up by an afternoon ‘bashing the La Bisque slopes’, as she put it. This area faced west, perfect for late sun. She accepted my offer of a drink, “nothing too dangerous, just a white wine”, and established herself on a bar stool.

  I had work to do, so was unable to devote much attention to my honoured guest, who seemed well able to amuse herself chatting to other customers. Although Val Fornet was primarily a skiing rather than a drinking resort, there would always be a few who didn’t know when to stop and would stagger out in the early hours to vomit on the steps and then have to be helped home. To discourage such clients Jimmy’s closed its doors at midnight.

  I was shutting up shop in the usual way when I noticed Gudrun was still with us. Perfectly sober - I think she was only on her second glass of wine - but still there. I was about to make some diplomatic comment to ease her out when she held up a hand and said,“Don’t worry, Max. I’m about to leave. Nice bar. A lovely evening. But I was wondering if you could see me back to my hotel.”

  “Of course!”

  I’d been so busy running things that such a gentlemanly offer had not occurred to me. I asked my Number Two to lock up, helped Gudrun into her anorak, and off we went.

  By now it was very cold again and we shuffled along as fast as we could without straying onto any ice patches. It was only a few minutes to the haven of the Glacier Hotel and its welcome warm air. Gudrun took off her anorak. I stood there irresolute. I knew she didn’t do hugs, but the memory of that fleeting kiss...

  “Come on.” She grinned. “You’ll freeze to death if you go back.”

  She went to the elevator and pressed the button. I followed. Up to floor three, the top. Opened the door to room 312. The lights of the resort twinkled in the clear night air, but she doused them by drawing the curtains. Threw her anorak on a chair, said,

  “I enjoyed Jimmy’s Bar. Now it’s my turn to play host. Feel free to use the facilities first. It might be a long night.”

  It was.

  23

  A blast of morning sun woke me. Gudrun, dressed in one of the hotel’s white robes, was drawing back the curtains. Another prefect day. The bedside clock showed a few minutes past eight. Bar work was for owls rather than larks and my current job had made me an owl - at least for the season. So no need to rush.

  I rubbed my eyes. Sat up. Realised I was feeling somewhat battered. Noticed, with a start, that the sheet I was lying on was streaked with red.

  “What the hell!”

  Gudrun smiled. “You bleed rather easily.”

  I inspected myself. No signs of body leakage.

  “Your back,” she explained. “Look in the mirror.”

  Then I remembered. Her fingers had been like talons. Out of control, wild talons. At the time I’d hardly noticed. Now I was aghast. The bed looked like a battlefield.

  “W... what will the hotel say?” I stammered.

  “Nothing. They’ve seen far worse than this, believe me. For the rates they charge they can afford to re-decorate the entire room.”

  I giggled, beginning to see the funny side of it. “Feels like I’ve had the sort of flogging they once gave naughty sailors.”

  “You seemed to enjoy it. Unless you were pretending.”

  “No pretence. You were like a... like a Valkyrie...”

  “Funny you should say that. I grew up near a square called Valkyrie plass. In Oslo. Was once also a station on the metro - the underground, but was so little used they closed it. Became a ghost station. Until quite recently, when they resurrected it for one of those terrorist films. Yea, Valkyrie plass... takes me back.”

  “There you are, then. Knew I was right. Valkyrie Gudrun.”

  “That was then. Now it’s time to get you cleaned up.” She was back to her usual efficient self. “I’ve just had a shower, so the bathroom’s yours. They supply a razor. There’s a bath tub. Do what’s necessary to prevent gangrene. And make yourself presentable. Meanwhile, I’ll order up breakfast. What’s it to be?”

  “Continental, with juice and tea will be fine,” I replied, easing myself off the bed.

  I sloped off, a self-conscious nude and dishevelled male, into the bathroom. Shaved. Ran a hot bath. Madam came in to inspect my back and apply a soothing sponge to the damage. Said she thought I might live. Departed, leaving me to lie back in the soap bubbles and meditate.

  An older woman’s toyboy. How had this happened? Very easily. No question who was in control and it wasn’t yours truly. An older woman who didn’t do hugs, but ripped your back to shreds. A Valkyrie. A dangerous Valkyrie, who had half admitted terminating an enemy by launching him down an icy slope.

  Except that the fall had not killed Kutznetsov. Not immediately. I’m never convinced by those plots where someone is bumped off by driving a car at them. The target may jump clear or be only slightly injured, so it’s an uncertain murder method. Same with the Kuznetsov scenario. Then I thought again. Gudrun had probably surveyed the black run and thought it was empty. Not noticed two figures off to the left. Just sent her victim on his way and if he were not already dead by the time he reached the bottom, it would be a simple matter to finish him off. He had not been killed by the fall, only badly hurt, but before she could do anything more two strangers, Alexei and I, had appeared. Out of nowhere. Was his subsequent demise fortuitous? Or had she found a way of completing the job in hospital? Questions I would probably never find the answers to.

  After a good hot soak, I towelled down, got dressed and returned, to find breakfast already on the table. Sitting down, I was struck by a thought.

  “Didn’t you say you were leaving today?”

  “Check out isn’t until twelve.”

  “When’s your flight?”

  “In a couple of days. From Zurich.”

  “Thought you’d flown in to Geneva?”

  “I did. So I’ll be returning my rental car at Geneva, then taking a train on to Zurich. Where I have a business meeting.”

  “Stockmann business?”

  She smiled. Said nothing.

  “I trust your business here in Val Fornet was to your satisfaction,” I said, in an attempt to get some sort of verbal reaction.

  She gave a little bow. “Very much so. We had an enjoyable tim
e. And I believe you now realise the importance of accompanying Ricketts to China. Both of you.”

  “Doubt if I’ll be able to persuade Alexei. She has a good job, which doesn’t allow for long foreign trips.”

  “Nothing is forever. Even well paid city jobs. Especially well paid city jobs. Neither of you is getting any younger and girls like Alexei don’t grow on trees. You’d be foolish to let her go.”

  “Are you saying Alexei must come with me to China?”

  “We pay you good money.” She smiled. “Sometimes with a bonus thrown in. If you want to continue this relationship, you’ll do as we ask. Which is to take this vacation on our behalf. All expenses paid and with a salary increase. What’s the problem?”

  “The problem is that Alexei can’t do that and at the same time keep her job. Next month she’s booked in for a week’s skiing here. Another... however long it would take in China... Morgan Durlacher wouldn’t wear it.”

  Gudrun became pensive. Finally said, “Life’s a series of crossroads, when you have to decide which way to go. Not always easy. Alexei must have enough money by now to keep herself - and you - in comfort. Why not try something else?”

  “Like a career with Stockmann?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a career. Too uncertain for that. It’s more a calling for independent people looking for a new challenge.”

  “A secular priesthood?”

  She smiled. “Don’t mock. Our aims are worthy even if our methods may be... a little rough.”

  “I have the scars to prove it!” Rubbed my back. Added, “So your ends justify the means?”

  “Absolutely! We do the necessary jobs, sometimes the dirty jobs, that keep Joe Citizen safe in his bed at night.”

  “Not sure I’d be very good at that. Nor Alexei, come to that.”

  “We’re not asking you to. You only have to be Freddie’s China chaperones.”

  “What if something goes wrong? He refuses to come back to England?”

  “You press the panic button. Call Stockmann. That’s why we want you there.”

  “Then what?”

  “Someone - probably me - will arrive to sort things out. Naturally we hope that won’t be necessary. That Freddie will be a good boy and return to Streatham. If he doesn’t, you and Alexei must hold the fort until the cavalry arrives.”

  “I doubt whether the cavalry, as you put it, would be able to do much in China. A place that’s much more foreign and less forgiving than the Alps.”

  “You’d be surprised.” Gudrun got up. She had finished breakfast and started packing her belongings into a small case. It was time for me to leave.

  I got up, said, “I’ll do my best with Alexei, but no promises.”

  She stopped packing, came over, held my hips in both hands, looked me in the eye, said, “You do that. And thanks for... everything.”

  A barely perceptible caress across our lips and she released me. No hug.

  I wrapped up in my full winter gear and departed.

  24

  VAL FORNET. MARCH

  Alexei and I had discussed her dilemma in countless emails, eventually agreeing she must come to a decision during her week with me in the snow. I had the feeling that, like me, she might be edging towards one of life’s more adventurous crossroads. Have to see.

  During the three week interlude between Gudrun and Alexei some things became clearer. Freddie announced he had booked on Cathay Pacific from Heathrow to Hong Kong on 23rd April, followed by an internal flight to Kunming.

  According to mum Megan, this had been fixed by Panda, which would no doubt explain the strange destination of Kunming, which Google Earth informed me was a city near the bottom left hand corner of China: a pretty big place by the look of the satellite images.

  I’d spent a fair amount of time on the phone to Megan, partly because speaking was her preferred method of communication, but mainly because it would be impossible to keep email secrets from our cyber king.

  Freddie had apparently always recognised that going off on his own was beyond him, even with a buddy waiting at the other end. But he had to be weaned off the notion that his mother would be his companion. There was nothing Megan wanted less than to go swanning off to China, so when I had offered to go in her place, she had been delighted. Not so Freddie, who was mentally still almost tied by the umbilical cord of birth.

  Megan told me she had been waging a constant campaign to get her son to accept a role reversal: that his designated moggie minder - me - should in fact go with him to China, while mum would stay at home to look after the cat. She was claiming some success in her endeavours, adding that the possible addition to the party of my girlfriend seemed to make Freddie better disposed towards our proposal. Yet another reason for Alexei to join us.

  For her ski break Alexei wanted to avoid the scramble over Easter, which came in early April, so had chosen mid-March. This is usually one of the best months, but ‘usually’ isn’t ‘always’, because March that year was something of a weather disaster, with high winds, fluctuating temperatures and poor snow conditions. To drown our sorrows Alexei said she would splash out on an evening at Monsieur Hulot’s, the art deco restaurant where we’d had our first meal together.

  Jacques greeted us with his usual bonhomie, patting my back as we went in and whispering: “Congratulations, monsieur. Still with Madame I see.”

  The said madame had insisted on a repeat performance and was therefore paying, a bottle of champagne on ice waiting at our table. She was looking especially snazzy in skin-tight trousers, expensive beige top and some sparkly stuff around her neck which I’m pretty sure had not come from a Christmas cracker.

  A waiter presented the menus, popped the champagne cork and departed. My beloved raised her glass, smiled, and announced, “I’ve decided.”

  “China?”

  She nodded. “Time for a change. I’m going to tell them soon as I get back.”

  “How long will you have to serve out your notice?”

  “You must be joking! Soon as I say the dreaded words I’ll have thirty seconds to clear my desk before being frog-marched out.”

  “Rather uncivilised.”

  She smiled. “Money factories like Morgan Durlacher have many secrets, which they don’t want exported. It’s the routine when anyone leaves.”

  “What will you do after China?”

  She shrugged. “Some consultancy work...” Grinned. “Start a family. I’m in danger of becoming an old maid.”

  “Ah yes, the broody years. Do you have anyone in mind to help you in that direction?”

  “Now, now, not so fast. First there’s China. Which seems to be an open-ended assignment. When that’s done... we’ll see.”

  I nodded. “There are plenty of loose ends to tie up before we leave: Chinese visa, money, meeting his nibs in person...”

  “That’s another thing that worries me. We’re on the verge of agreeing to mother a strange young man we’ve never met and take him to a strange country we’ve never been to. Must be nuts.”

  I raised my glass. “Of course we’re nuts. It’s our mid-life crisis. End of the boring old stuff. Bring on the new.”

  Alexei clinked glasses. “Let’s hope we don’t come to regret what we wish for.”

  25

  LONDON. APRIL

  Alexei and I found that now we were in a role reversal. I was the one stuck in a job - I could hardly abandon Jimmy’s bar until after the Easter rush - while she was the one with time on her hands.

  The parting from Morgan Durlacher had not been as brutal as she had feared. In fact the boss had taken her out to dinner and a very acceptable handshake had been added to her bank account. Nevertheless, all ties with her past had been rapidly terminated, which left her free to be Stockmann’s London representative in my absence.

  First task had been to take herself off to Streatham to make her mark with Megan and become acquainted with our client. I was relieved to hear that this had gone well, indeed better than expected. I
’d always felt the two ladies would hit it off, but Freddie was a different matter. We’d heard so much about him and his difficulties I hardly knew what Alexei would find. When she phoned me after her first meeting, she sounded both relieved and surprised.

  “Freddie’s really nice.”

  “He doesn’t have two heads?”

  She giggled. “A bit reserved, maybe. Doesn’t say much. But he looks perfectly presentable. Seems quite normal.”

  “Normal but different,” I observed. “If that’s logical. The important thing is did he accept you as part of the team?”

  “No sign that he objected. And Megan, who must know him best of all, gave me a thumbs up. Freddie struck me as a passive sort of bloke, would go along with most things, except when riding one of his hobby horses, which seem to be computers and Cobber the cat. His big worry was that Mum might forget to feed Cobber properly if he went away.”

  “So all set to go?”

  “We’re getting there. I’ve booked us on the same flight as Freddie to Hong Kong. Even managed three seats next to each other; A, B and C. Way back in steerage, but we’ll be able to nursemaid him.”

  “And this Panda fellow will meet us in Hong Kong?”

  “Apparently not. China is still something of a police state, with internal travel restrictions to what they call their Special Economic Zones. Hong Kong is more special than most, with its own currency, the Hong Kong dollar and no visa requirements for us Brits.”

  “Would have thought Panda could have fixed a problem like that.”

  “Whatever the reason, he’ll be meeting us in Kunming. Which means we’ll be able to have three nights in Hong Kong first. Lots of jetlag to overcome and we might as well enjoy a bit of normal tourism on the way.”

  “Sounds like you’ve taken over command of the expedition.”