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

by Catherine Cooper

  But most of the time I felt angry at my father’s brother. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Mama’s face when she told me about what he did – so full of hate. But at the same time, so broken and vulnerable. None of this was Mama’s fault – she couldn’t help the way she was. It was his fault – my dad’s brother – the one who was responsible for his death. He made her life turn out the way it did.

  If it hadn’t been for him, none of this would have happened. Mama would have left university and got a good job. She’d have married my dad. I’d have grown up in a normal family. Maybe we would have lived in the mountains like she’d always said he did and I’d have had an idyllic, rural childhood instead of being shunted around from foster home to foster home. Or we might have lived in a big house with a garden in somewhere like Surrey where he would have a job in a bank and Mama would have a home-based job making jewellery or something which meant she had lots of time for me too. We would do things like bake cakes together and steal each other’s make-up. We’d go on holidays somewhere sunny and stay in a villa with olive trees and a swimming pool. Now and then we would argue over something silly but we would soon make up and watch something fun on TV together. Mama would have been normal and I would have been normal. There’s no way Mama would have been the way she was if my dad hadn’t died. If he hadn’t been as good as killed by his brother, like Mama said. It was all his fault.

  Will Cassiobury. Mama had finally told me the name of my dad the day before she died. Did she know even then what she was going to do? Is that why she told me? Must have been. She must have planned it that way. She must have wanted me to take my revenge. She couldn’t do it herself because she was too messed up by him – but I could do it for her.

  Fired up, I hammered my dad’s name into Google. I scanned the results quickly but couldn’t find anything about a Will Cassiobury who died in a ski accident. But when he died newspapers weren’t really online – at least not in the full-on way they are now.

  However, there were other ways to research, and I was determined. People still managed to find stuff out before the internet. I was going to do the same.

  Mama, I won’t let you down.

  I spent a lot of time at the library. I told my various foster families that I was studying and because I moved home and even sometimes schools so often those days no one noticed that my marks were dropping. While I still went to school most days, all my spare time was spent trying to find out about my dad, so I pretty much never got my homework done. It seemed unimportant compared to this.

  Because I didn’t know the exact date of the accident, or even where it happened beyond in a ski resort, it took me a good long while to find any mention of my dad. There are way more ski accidents around the world each year than I would have imagined, had I ever thought about it before. And even when I did finally find the few reports that existed about my dad and his death, the stories were disappointingly small and exact details extremely scant. It seemed that, to everyone but me, my dad was little more than a statistic, one tragic and pointless death among many, and that made me even more angry.

  Eventually I found a report in the Daily Mail which mentioned Dad’s name, as well as that of his brother Adam. It also mentioned my mama and his brother’s girlfriend at the time who was called Nell Herrera. It said that there would be an investigation into the accident, so that gave me something else to look for – wouldn’t the investigation have been reported? It said that they were skiing with guides, but didn’t name them.

  I searched further for several weeks and eventually managed to find a report of the investigation in a skiing magazine on a microfiche. The two guides were British and, in this report, they were actually named. According to the report, although certain ‘irregularities’ had come to light, they were not found guilty of any crime. That made me very angry. No punishment at all for not adequately protecting a man who was in their care. For killing him.

  I put the names of the two ski guides into Google. I managed to find one. And then I started to come up with a plan.

  40

  January 2020, Haute Savoie, France

  Adam

  In between crying children, complaining would-be holidaymakers and more and more snow-blocked waifs and strays being brought into the hall throughout the night, I get barely any sleep. That, along with thinking about what I have ahead of me when I get to La Madière. What will be expected of me. And what I need to do.

  I regret a lot of things that happened on that holiday. Given my time again, I would have done things very differently. In fact, I wouldn’t have gone on that trip at all. Or Nell and I could have gone alone. That would have been much better – we wouldn’t have had to stay in that God-awful chalet which Will chose so as not to intimidate his girlfriend too much by taking her somewhere too upmarket.

  What was her name? Leah? Lisa? Something like that. She was a minx – a social-climbing minx. I could see she thought she’d done well for herself getting her distinctly lower-middle-class claws into my little brother, with her not-quite-right accent and not knowing how to hold her knife.

  Obviously, there was no telling Will that – he was smitten, God knows why. She was pretty enough, I guess, but nothing that special, if you ask me. Which, of course, he didn’t.

  I realize I didn’t cover myself in glory in my, shall we say, dealings with her during that trip. I guess now, after all this #MeToo business which I haven’t managed to escape even in Thailand, people might say that I’d forced myself on her. Assaulted her. Raped her even?

  But no. It wasn’t like that. Not at all. I saw straight through her act of innocence afterwards in her and Will’s room, acting like she hadn’t wanted it. She had. She’d made it clearer and clearer the whole of that afternoon. And I know her type anyway. She’d have dropped Will in an instant if someone who’d looked like he might be a better bet for providing her with a big house in the countryside and a huge diamond ring she could show off to her friends had come along.

  But I don’t want to think about her today. Louisa. That was her name – so she claimed. I bet it was Louise really. She’s probably married with two kids by now and still desperately trying to fit in like she was during that holiday. I bet she’s with someone like Will, or even like me – of the two of us, I was always going to have the better job and earn more.

  I eat my breakfast of surprisingly good Croix Rouge croissant and coffee sitting on my camp bed, staring at the irate men and women haranguing the poor reps for more information.

  It’s different for me than for most of the people in this hall, obviously. There’s a large part of me still hoping that the information will be that the roads are remaining closed, we’re all going to be put on coaches and taken back to the airport, told sorry for the inconvenience but we’re not going to get through to the mountains this time.

  I have made my peace with what happened. It might have been my idea to go skiing that afternoon, but beyond that, what happened out on that mountain was not my fault. And I’m not going to let something that happened twenty years ago ruin my life. Whatever it takes.

  41

  BEFORE

  Just before I was due to do my A-levels, I quit school. I was bored of it and my marks had dived by then anyway as I did less and less homework and eventually started bunking off to spend more time on my research. Mama was clever and went to Oxford, and where did that get her? To end up miserable for most of her short life and then dead at the bottom of a car park a few years later. No, no point. Not for me.

  I signed up to catering college instead. Anna helped me. She was surprised that I wanted to leave school when my exams were so close and said she thought I had a lot of academic potential. Anna had known me since I was tiny and, as tragic as it was, given that helping to look after me was her paid job, she was the closest thing I had to family, except for Rhonda, who was by now very unwell so I didn’t want to bother her with my problems. I knew I was very lucky to have Anna on my side. She was always on about wanting me
to follow my dreams, so when I told her that I wanted to be a chef she was more than happy to help set me up.

  And while I initially came up with this idea as a means to an end, once I started college I was surprised to find I actually liked cooking – and I was pretty good at it. I’d never done much cooking at my various ‘homes’, but taking basic ingredients and making them into something else, something tasty, was surprisingly satisfying. Baking was really fun; I loved making elaborate cakes and icing them, and also experimenting with unusual flavours. There was something comforting about it. No doubt my various therapists would have said it was because it evoked the homeliness and nurturing that I largely missed out on as a child. Maybe they would have been right. Then again, maybe I just liked it.

  I also enjoyed cooking savoury dishes – finding out which herbs and spices worked with which fish and types of meat, and thinking up inventive vegetarian and vegan dishes.

  And as well as cooking, I learned about ingredients and foraging – how to take dandelions and nettles and turn them into tea or soup, how to search for berries in the hedgerows, even in towns, and work out which ones were safe to eat. How and where to find mushrooms, how to prepare them, how to know which ones were safe. That was my favourite part of the course.

  42

  January 2020, La Madière, France

  Hugo

  We are sitting around after yet another board game. Simon is quite drunk now. Inigo is still crying upstairs. Cass is sitting in an armchair flicking through a magazine she doesn’t seem to be reading, in between staring miserably out of the window at the still-falling snow. I am starting to see what Ria means – it is becoming claustrophobic in here.

  Millie brings in yet another tray of cake and coffee and sets it down.

  ‘Everything OK?’ she asks. Everyone murmurs vaguely in assent.

  ‘It seems unlikely you’ll be able to ski tomorrow, I’m afraid. But the road is due to open later, so hopefully things are improving,’ she adds. ‘Also, I had something I needed to ask you all.’

  Everyone looks up, suddenly interested.

  ‘Do you remember Cameron was keen to offer a room to the brother of the man found in the snow? Well, unfortunately the only chalet we have empty at the moment has suffered a broken window in the storm and there’s some water damage. Cameron wanted me to ask you if we could offer him one of the spare rooms here. I know it’s quite an ask, but the poor man has already had a terrible journey; at the moment he’s stuck in a community hall that’s been turned into an emergency refuge for stranded travellers. What with his having come all this way to identify the body of his dead brother, Cameron doesn’t want him arriving with nowhere to stay and …’

  ‘’S fine,’ Simon proclaims, taking another large slug of his red wine. ‘Poor bastard. Least we can do. Plenty of room for him.’

  ‘No!’ Ria shouts. Everyone turns to look at her. ‘I mean, sorry, but I’m not comfortable with it,’ she adds in more measured tones. I see tears spring to her eyes.

  ‘Why ever not?’ Simon barks, looking her up and down with disdain. ‘The chalet’s plenty big enough. We’ll barely notice he’s here. And it’s only for a day or two anyway, isn’t it? Ria, c’mon, show some charity.’ He takes another large gulp of his wine. ‘Least we can do for the poor sod, surely.’

  ‘Darling?’ I prompt. ‘That’s OK, isn’t it?’ I think she is being weirdly unreasonable and I don’t want Simon to think we’re the kind of couple who wouldn’t help someone in need. Not that he’s what I’d call caring, based on what I’ve seen, but you never know.

  Ria turns on her heel, her face red and blotchy, and runs upstairs. I can’t tell if she’s angry or upset, but neither can I understand why she’s behaving this way. I’m embarrassed that she’s acting like this in front of Simon and I feel I should make an excuse for her.

  ‘I’ll talk to her,’ I say. ‘I’m sure it’s fine. Probably her time of the month or something,’ I add and then, noticing Cass’s expression, remember that you’re not supposed to say stuff like that, especially in front of women. ‘I mean, I think she’s feeling a bit overwrought about being cooped up in here like this. She keeps saying she wants to go home.’ Perhaps I should have kept my mouth shut – it feels like I’m only making things worse.

  As I head up the stairs to find Ria, I hear Millie ask Simon: ‘So shall I tell Cameron the man’s brother can stay here? I’ll need to let him know as soon as possible – it’s only fair. It’s going to be almost impossible for him to find something else at short notice with the resort chock-a-block the way it is.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Simon says. ‘We’re more than happy to help. Ria’ll get over it.’

  I’m a bit annoyed about Simon speaking for all of us like that but, then again, I can hardly say anything to him. It would help if I understood why Ria is being so strange about it all.

  I open our bedroom door, expecting to find Ria lying on the bed, but she bursts past me, jacket and boots on.

  ‘Darling? Where are you going?’

  ‘I can’t stay here another second!’ she shrieks, eyes wild. I’ve never seen her like this before. ‘I’m going out!’

  ‘Ria, no! Stay here. We can sort this out, I’ll talk to the others. You’ve seen what the weather’s like! You can’t go out in this snow! It’s not safe.’

  She pushes past me. ‘I’m going. Please, Hugo, let me go. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Let me come with you at least?’ I call after her, running into our room, kicking off my slippers and wondering where my salopettes are.

  ‘No!’ she shouts up at me. ‘I need some time to myself.’ She bolts down the stairs and I feel a gust of cold air as she wrenches the heavy chalet door open and I hear it bang closed behind her.

  I go downstairs and find Cass sitting alone on the huge sofa.

  The sofa gives a whoompf as I sit down next to her and say, ‘Mind if I join you?’ It’s quiet in the chalet now so I guess Inigo has finally gone to sleep.

  Cass smiles gratefully. She pulls her jumper down over her hands, though the fire is roaring and it isn’t even remotely cold in here. ‘Of course I don’t mind,’ she says, ‘but please don’t feel you have to keep me company.’

  Sitting close to her I see again how young she is and feel sorry for her. Why is she with an oaf like Simon?

  ‘How have you found the week?’ I ask. ‘This isn’t your first time skiing, is it?’

  She pulls a face. ‘No, it’s not. I did a season as a chalet girl a few years back, but my employer kept us very busy and I didn’t get to ski much at all. So while I have skied, I’m no expert and didn’t fancy skiing too much in this weather.’ She pauses. ‘It’s all been a bit weird here, hasn’t it?’

  I nod. ‘Yeah. There’s certainly been a lot going on.’

  There’s another awkward pause.

  ‘To start with I felt stressed about being here because Simon had been with an old girlfriend,’ Cass continues, babbling. Maybe she feels she has to fill the silence. ‘I’ve been jealous and insecure about loads of things since Inigo was born. Silly really, especially in light of everything else that’s happened since. Things get put into perspective when someone’s found dead.’

  ‘I guess they do,’ I agree, but I am no longer listening to Cass. Instead, I’m thinking about Simon having been to La Madière before, and trying and failing to remember if Ria also said she’d been here before or not.

  I realize, to my shame, I haven’t had a proper conversation with Cass this entire week, so I continue, ‘Remind me how you and Simon met?’

  She blushes. ‘Oh. This sounds terrible but … I catered a dinner party for him and his ex-wife. Like I said, I was once a chalet girl like Millie, then I set up a small catering company when I got back to the UK. Simon and I kept in touch and I did some business lunches for him and … well.’ There is a pause. ‘They were already pretty much separated by the time we met, and he started confiding in me and … one thing led to another. Once they were o
fficially divorced, Simon asked me to marry him.’

  But I am still only half-listening to Cass as I am desperately racking my brains to recall if Ria said she had been here before. I’m pretty sure she has. Was it with Simon? Was she the girlfriend Cass is referring to, whether Cass knows it or not? Has there been something between them in the past? Is that why Ria’s been so strange this week? Has Simon made another pass at her? Is that why she won’t come down from her room?

  I feel myself growing hot and try to tune back in to what Cass is saying, but it sounds like blah blah blah blah blah.

  I remember that it was Ria who booked the chalet, but I can’t remember whose idea it was to get Simon along on this particular trip. Was it mine? Olivia’s? Or Ria’s? I can’t think straight with Cass burbling on next to me so I get to my feet and say:

  ‘Oh gosh, Cass, I’m so sorry but I’ve got to make an urgent call. Let’s talk again later, OK?’

  She looks startled and says: ‘Oh, yes, OK, of course,’ and I feel momentarily bad as I realize she was confiding in me but I can’t worry about that now. I’ve got my own problems to think about.

  I go back up to our room to try and remember who came up with the idea of this week. And while I’m up there, I might see if I can sneak another look at Ria’s iPad. Usually she keeps it well locked down, and she’s been exceptionally cagey about it this week. Perhaps there is something in there she doesn’t want me to know about. I might have another look.

  43

  January 2020, La Madière, France

  Adam

  By late afternoon I am on a coach. It’s not a fun journey – you would think people would be cheered by the prospect of getting to their holiday destination at long last. But no – all the talk around me is of how much time they are losing when they should already be on the slopes, with people competing over who has the worst holiday-from-hell story, who has lost the most money, who has had the worst journey, who has spent the longest time awake/on the road/away from a functioning loo, and who has been inconvenienced to the greatest degree. Sometimes I feel like interrupting to ask if anyone here has ever finished a holiday leaving a relative dead on the mountainside and then had to come back years later to deal with the fallout, but of course, I hold my tongue. I don’t yet know the logistics of identifying Will’s body. I don’t even know where it is. Do I have to see it? I’m not sure. I don’t know if I want to. But the kind-sounding man from the resort who phoned after I’d had the call from the police seemed to think I might like to visit the spot where he was found ‘to pay your respects’, as he said in his perfect English.