The Chalet: the most exciting new debut crime thriller of 2020 to race through this Christmas

by Catherine Cooper

  A panicky feeling rises in me as I glance around the huge room full of what looks like tight-knit groups laughing and joking together – how can I possibly march up to one of them and start talking? I might be paying for the party but that doesn’t make it any easier to join a group of people I don’t know and think of something to say. Now that everyone has had a glass or two and become reacquainted with their industry mates, they’ve probably forgotten that their whole reason for being here is meant to be to suck up to me.

  I down my champagne and abandon the glass on a nearby table. I’m about to head off to the gents for a pee to give me something to do when a woman with sleek dark hair wearing a tight emerald-green dress appears in front of me. My first thought is that she looks like a mermaid.

  ‘Mr Redbush?’ She tilts her head to one side and hands me a glass of champagne.

  ‘Hugo, please,’ I say, as Olivia said I should in almost all situations. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Ria. I run an events company, it’s called, um, Ria Events.’

  I laugh, even though it isn’t funny. ‘Good name.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she says, blushing. ‘Sometimes we book locations and hotels through Redbush Holidays, which is why I’m …’

  ‘It’s very kind of you to come,’ I say. ‘I hope you are enjoying the evening?’

  I sound like some kind of Victorian gentleman or Montgomery Burns from The Simpsons. I am always rubbish at speaking to women. I look over Ria’s shoulder to see if I can spot Olivia.

  ‘It’s lovely here,’ she says, circling her finger around the top of her champagne glass. ‘I mean, it’s a lovely venue. I haven’t been here before.’

  ‘You never came to the museum as a child?’ I ask.

  ‘No.’ She pauses. ‘My childhood was rather odd. But you don’t want to hear about that now.’

  I do actually, but feel it would now be impolite to ask.

  Ria looks up at me through long, dark lashes. ‘In all honesty, I’m not much good at parties. I always find events like this intimidating. I feel I have to come for the sake of networking and the like but, honestly, I’d rather be in a quiet bar chatting one-to-one with someone.’

  I smile. ‘I know exactly how you feel.’

  She takes a strand of her almost-black hair and twirls it around her finger. I feel a stirring of lust in my groin and panic – is she about to walk off?

  ‘All these people,’ she continues. ‘So exhausting. In many ways, I think I’m in the wrong line of work. I make my living organizing parties and events, but I’d rather gouge my eyes out than actually go to one. In many ways, I’m just not that good with people.’

  I smile. ‘I’m totally with you there. I’m not supposed to admit this, but these parties fill me with dread. I’m much happier talking one-to-one too.’ Argh. Does that sound too cheesy? Like a bad pick-up line?

  Olivia reappears at my side. ‘Right. All sorted. Now then …’

  ‘Olivia – this is Ria. She runs Ria Events and books locations through Redbush sometimes.’ Making an introduction. Giving them both some information about each other. Olivia will be impressed – it’s what she’s always trying to drill into me. I don’t want Olivia to whisk me off to talk to more boring men in shiny suits – I want to stay here and talk to Ria. She’s the only woman who’s spoken to me all evening, and definitely the only person I’ve met here, or anywhere recently for that matter, who I’d actually like to spend more time with.

  Olivia extends her hand. ‘Ria. Lovely to meet you. Thank you for coming. I hope you’re enjoying the evening? I’m so sorry, but I’ll need you to excuse Hugo, he has to give a speech …’

  ‘It was lovely to meet you, Ria. I’d love to continue our conversation later,’ I say. I feel myself blush. I’m terrible at this. Was that too direct? Am I going to scare her away? Am I supposed to pretend I’m not bothered in case she thinks I’m a potential stalker? Might she even think I’m harassing her? Am I being inappropriate as she’s a client? Would she feel like she had to come for a drink with me if I asked? It’s such a minefield talking to women these days. ‘I mean, only if you’d like to …’ I bluster.

  Olivia looks at her watch, clearly embarrassed for me. ‘Hugo, we need to—’

  ‘I’d love to,’ Ria says, to my utter amazement.

  Olivia’s mouth drops open. I clap my hands together, and then silently admonish myself for doing so. ‘Great! Well, I’ll get my presentation out the way, then we can go somewhere quieter. Nicer. Just you and me. Like we were talking about a minute ago.’

  She smiles shyly. ‘Yeah. That would be lovely.’

  Olivia takes me by the arm and smiles tightly at Ria. ‘Will you excuse us, please?’

  ‘I’ll see you by the stage in twenty minutes,’ I call behind me to Ria as Olivia bustles me away.

  ‘What was that about?’ Olivia hisses.

  ‘What? Can’t I ask a girl out if I want to? I mean, ask a woman out?’

  Olivia rolls her eyes. ‘Well of course you can, but this is hardly the time or the place. You’re supposed to be networking, not asking out the first female who thrusts her tits at you. You’re the boss here – there’s no need to be so grateful.’

  I am mildly shocked – Olivia never speaks to me like that. Or rather, she does but I’ve never heard her say anything like ‘tits’ before. She sighs, stops marching me towards the stage and turns to face me.

  ‘Sorry. Who you do or don’t ask out is none of my business – it’s up to you, of course. I just don’t want to see you … taken advantage of.’

  I don’t entirely understand what she means. I get that some women are going to find my money attractive but that doesn’t mean I can’t take anyone out for a drink, does it? Sometimes I think that’s why I’m still on my own. It’s easy for me to assume women who want to spend time with me are only after my money. Sometimes they are. But I like to think I can spot those women a mile off. Besides, even if I include the so-called gold-diggers, I’m hardly beating off women with a stick.

  ‘Thank you for your concern, but I’m a big boy, Olivia, I can make my own decisions,’ I say primly. ‘Now, shall we get this presentation out of the way?’

  The presentation is mortifying as usual but I read the words on the autocue and everyone claps politely, no doubt counting the minutes until they can get back to drinking their champagne. I can’t concentrate properly, wondering if Ria will be waiting for me like she said or if she’s already gone off to giggle with her friends about how dorky I was when we spoke. Perhaps she was only talking to me as part of a bet or dare. It’s not like that’s never happened before, though admittedly not for a good few years (or not that I know of, at least). Do grown-ups do that kind of thing? I don’t really know.

  I step down off the stage and Ria is there at the front, right where I suggested she wait. I grin. Maybe I didn’t mess things up too badly this time. ‘Ready?’ I ask.

  She smiles back. ‘Ready.’

  I ignore Olivia, who is frantically trying to tell me that I need to stay at the party and network some more. Business can wait this time.

  We go to my club, though I’m not sure it’s quite the right place to take someone like Ria. While it’s quiet and exclusive, it’s not exactly what you might call hip. But as I almost never go out socially, I can’t think of anywhere else to go.

  We sit on a low sofa, facing each other and holding those enormous gin and tonics with peppercorns and rosemary they serve there. I don’t consider myself the most interesting of people, but Ria is easy to talk to and laughs at my feeble jokes. She keeps touching my arm to make her point and, after a few more drinks, her leg is pressed up against my leg. Despite my lack of confidence when it comes to these things, a couple of hours later when I ask her if she’d like to come home with me and she says yes, I’m not really that surprised.

  9

  January 2020, La Madière, France

  Ria

  In the time it takes me to go upstairs and get changed into s
ome dry clothes, Cass arrives back. I hear a small commotion while I’m getting dressed and by the time I go downstairs she’s sitting on one of the enormous sofas with Inigo fidgeting in her lap while Sarah hovers nearby. Cass’s eyes are shiny and she’s pulled her oversized cardigan down over her hands again in that nervous way she always does. If I didn’t know better, I’d probably assume Cass was the nanny and Sarah the spoilt young wife. Cass somehow looks out of place and uncomfortable in these luxurious surroundings, making even her high-end designer clothes look cheap and ill-fitting. Sarah, however, seems completely unfazed by it all. Perhaps she has nannied for rich families before.

  ‘Ria!’ Cass calls as I come in, unnaturally bright. ‘I’m so sorry you went out looking for me unnecessarily. I woke up early, went out for a walk and forgot to take my phone – it didn’t occur to me that anyone would be worried.’ She looks vague and spacey and I wonder if she’s on antidepressants. Didn’t Hugo say something about postnatal depression earlier?

  ‘Because why would it?’ Simon says, snippily. His ‘devoted and worried husband’ mode of earlier appears to have disappeared. ‘We’ve wasted Matt’s entire morning, making him call the hospitals and the police, and Hugo and Ria have been all over the resort looking for you. In fact, Hugo is still out there in the cold for all I know – I can’t get hold of him to let him know you’re back.’

  ‘It’s not a problem for me. Don’t worry at all,’ Matt says. ‘That’s what I’m here for.’ He glances at his watch. ‘That said, I’m a bit behind now with a few other things, so since Cass is safely back perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I …’

  ‘No! No, of course not,’ Simon says, clapping Matt on the back effusively. ‘I’m only sorry my wife has wasted your time in this way.’ He emphasizes wife in a way which couldn’t have sounded more sneering if he’d tried – he might as well have said ‘stupid little wife’ and be done with it.

  Cass is fussing over Inigo and pretending she isn’t listening, but I see her redden and tears brim at Simon’s words.

  ‘It’s honestly fine,’ Matt reiterates magnanimously. ‘I’ll pop by for a drink later in case there’s anything you need.’

  As soon as Matt is out of the door, Simon’s face darkens. ‘Right. Well, now you’re back, Cass, I should go and find Hugo and tell him the good news that you’re here. Can’t have him tramping around in this weather for no good reason.’ Simon gives Cass a final disparaging look – she is still dandling Inigo on her knee and pretends not to notice – before he storms out of the chalet, banging the door behind him.

  Cass looks up at me. ‘I’m sorry if I worried you, Ria.’ She looks back at the baby and I see the tears which were brimming fill her eyes and roll slowly down her cheeks.

  I sit down next to her. Though I barely know Cass at all, right at this moment I feel sorry for her. Anyone would.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I say, lamely. ‘Can I get you anything?’

  She shakes her head. ‘I’m fine. I’m sorry for causing a fuss. All I wanted was a bit of time to myself.’

  She hands the baby back to Sarah, who takes him and stands over by the window as if she’s looking out at the view. I wonder if she is listening to our conversation. I pat Cass gently on the knee and say ‘I understand’, though it’s not true because I don’t understand at all. Sarah seems to have Inigo most of the time so I’m not sure what the problem is for Cass or why she feels she needs time to herself. Perhaps she means time away from Simon – that I can understand.

  Another couple of fat tears roll down her cheeks and she swipes them away with the heels of her hands. ‘It’s weird being here,’ she almost whispers, her voice hoarse. ‘Simon came here a long time ago with an old girlfriend. I know it’s silly, but … I hate things like that. I keep wondering if he had a better time with her than he’s having now with me and Inigo.’ She looks down, as if embarrassed by her outburst, having suddenly confided in me, unbidden. She wipes her face again.

  I touch her arm gently, thinking to myself that she’s being a bit of a bunny boiler. I mean, who cares if Simon has been here before with someone else? But I guess postnatal depression probably does weird things to you.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ I say, in my best sympathetic voice. ‘He’s with you now and you have a baby together! You’re his world. You should have seen how worried he was when he didn’t know where you were this morning.’

  She sniffs and looks up at me. ‘Really?’

  I tilt my head to one side. ‘Yeah. Honestly, you’ve got nothing to worry about. He adores you.’

  She smiles weakly. ‘Thanks. Yes. I guess I’m being silly. It’s just, with the baby and everything … I don’t feel like myself at the moment. It makes me think about things I don’t want to and brings back bad memories. Makes me think about … well. You know.’

  We both sit in silence for a few seconds while I absentmindedly pat her arm. I have no idea what she’s on about but telling her so isn’t going to help either of us.

  ‘I think I’ll go and lie down for a while, if you’ll excuse me?’ she says, standing up, suddenly brisk. ‘I hope Simon manages to find Hugo quickly. It’s not a nice day to be outside. And please … you won’t say anything to Simon about what I said, will you? I wouldn’t want him to know I’m being so silly and jealous. I’m sure it’s just me being all hormonal. I know Simon loves me. I shouldn’t have said anything. Shouldn’t have bothered you with my stupid thoughts.’

  She does that thing with her cardigan sleeves again and looks down at the floor. I can see she has gone red.

  ‘Of course,’ I say. ‘And don’t worry about Hugo – he won’t mind at all, I’m sure. He loves both being out in the snow and playing the hero.’ Anything that helps him suck up to Simon is good news as far as he’s concerned, I add to myself silently.

  After Cass has retreated upstairs, Sarah comes over with Inigo and sits down on the sofa next to me. She lies him down in her lap and he grins up at her.

  ‘Poor Cass,’ I venture. ‘Seems like she’s finding motherhood a little tricky.’

  Sarah tickles Inigo and he squeals in delight. He’s a big round football of a baby and I can see that if you’re into that kind of thing, he’s probably quite sweet.

  ‘Yeah,’ Sarah says. ‘She’s very … nice and it’s clear she wants to be a good mum but I can’t help wondering how she’d manage if I wasn’t here. Even with my help, it seems like she’s struggling.’ She looks up at me. ‘Shit, sorry, it’s not my place to say that, is it?’ Her brow furrows. ‘You won’t tell her, will you?’

  I smile. ‘Of course not,’ I say, though I am mildly shocked. Sarah is Cass’s (or at least Simon’s) employee, after all, and I am a virtual stranger. It seems out of order that she’d speak about her like that to me. I decide it’s best to change the subject.

  ‘Have you been a nanny long?’ I ask.

  She wiggles Inigo’s hands above his head and he giggles. She seems like a natural with babies.

  ‘Not that long,’ she says, still looking at Inigo rather than me, pulling faces and making him laugh. ‘Cass is only the second mum I’ve looked after. But I’ve got a lot of younger brothers and sisters, so I’ve always been used to babies.’

  ‘And where were you working before?’ I ask, struggling to place her accent. Bristol? London? Difficult to tell.

  Sarah picks up Inigo and stands abruptly. ‘Dubai,’ she says. ‘With another English family. Look, I’m sorry to be rude, but I think I’d better go and see if Cass is OK. It’s been lovely chatting though.’

  Sarah heads up the stairs before I can say another word, as if she can’t get away from me fast enough.

  The coffee I had while I was pretending to look for Cass has made my hangover worse, so I go up to our room to lie down too.

  I pick up my iPad to read the news, but it opens on my emails page. My stomach lurches and my heart starts beating faster – I know I didn’t leave it like that.

  I hear the chalet door bang, heavy footsteps on the
stairs and then the door bursts open. ‘Cass is back!’ Hugo exclaims.

  ‘Yeah, I know. We had a chat. I feel sorry for her – she seems like she’s in quite a state. Personally, I think Simon could have been more sympathetic. Plus the nanny is a bit of a bitch, as it turns out. But listen, Hugo, have you been using my iPad?’

  He frowns. ‘No. Why d’you ask?’

  ‘So you haven’t been looking at my emails or in my contacts or anything?’

  He kisses me on the forehead. The minor drama of Cass going briefly missing seems to have enlivened him to the point he’s forgotten that he was annoyed about me getting drunk last night. ‘Of course not! Why would I do that?’

  I shrug. ‘Dunno,’ I say, tugging the pillows from Hugo’s side of the bed so I can sit myself up straighter as I start to feel sick again. Hugo is flinging open cupboards and drawers, taking off his clothes and pulling out others. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask.

  ‘Getting changed! Simon and I are going skiing. We’ve wasted enough of the day already.’

  I glance out the window, where the snow is blowing almost horizontally across the glass. ‘Skiing? In this weather? Rather you than me.’

  ‘It’ll be great! Fresh snow! Can’t come all this way and not ski because of a bit of bad weather. Plus, Simon is hardly going to be impressed if I wuss out of skiing because there are a few snowflakes blowing around, is he?’

  I shrug. ‘Up to you. I hope you both know what you’re doing.’

  Hugo hauls on his salopettes, leaps off the bed and kisses me full on the mouth. ‘It’ll be fine – Simon has booked a guide, so we can do some proper off-piste. You get a couple of hours’ rest and we’ll do some baby-making later, OK? That app told me it’s your most fertile day today.’

  I cringe – I hate the way he follows my cycle – it makes me feel like a prize cow. I should have never let him download the app. But I can’t be bothered to start a row so instead I smile weakly and say, ‘Yeah. I’ll be here. See you later. Have fun.’