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

by Catherine Cooper

  After several hours of a tortuously slow journey, we pass a sign which announces our arrival in La Madière. No doubt the resort will have changed hugely since I was here. I think about Nell. I wonder where she is now? Probably married to someone rich. She was always quite shallow, if fit. I wonder if she’s happy? And I think about Will. Lying dead in the snow all that time. Dead, without the privilege of being happy or not.

  He didn’t deserve to die. But I am not going to be blamed. Whatever it takes, I refuse to let what happened mess up the rest of my life.

  44

  BEFORE

  Not long after finishing catering school, I got a job as a chalet girl. There was a rigorous interview process and I had to cook a three-course meal for a board of tasters. By then I was an excellent cook and had spent hours on social media studying how a chalet girl tends to look and how she is expected to behave. Even though I had never been near a ski resort, let alone a ski chalet, I aced the test and a few weeks later, I left for the Alps.

  That was my first time outside the UK. Anna helped me apply for a passport and even paid the fee for me, though I’m sure she’s not really allowed to. It was also the first time I’d been on a plane. I felt like I was holding my breath the whole way; it seemed so unreal. Meanwhile my new colleagues, as I guess you’d call them, chatted and joked like it was nothing at all to them. It probably was nothing at all to them – I imagined most of them had been on several flash holidays every year since they were tiny.

  Nonetheless, there were a few exclamations of ‘ooh, look, snow!’ as our coach drove in the resort. Only ever having seen short-lived sprinkles of snow at home, I could hardly believe my eyes. There was so much of it! It was like something from a film, or a Christmas card. Everything was white and glistening. Enormous icicles which looked like they could kill someone if they fell hung from the chocolate-box-style buildings.

  As well as paying for my passport, Anna also helped me buy a decent pair of walking boots before I left. ‘Call it an early Christmas present – can’t have you getting cold feet!’ she’d said. Thankfully, the chalet company provided not only a uniform but also a logoed ski jacket which we had to wear at all times while outside the chalet, even when we were not officially on duty. This was a huge relief to me, having seen the price of ski jackets.

  When we arrived, we were divided up between about six chalets. Many of the girls had put in requests to share rooms with other girls they already knew from school or from previous seasons they’d worked, so I lucked out and got a room all to myself.

  It was by far the most beautiful room I had ever been in. The bed was enormous and there were fur throws everywhere. I touched one – it felt like stroking a pedigree cat. I’d never seen towels so white or so thick – each one was monogrammed and had a snowflake embroidered on it. There was both a huge shower and a massive claw-foot tub in my bathroom.

  I flung myself back on the bed. It was like lying on a cloud.

  Of course, after the training we were moved to our staff accommodation – mine little more than a narrow bed in a windowless cupboard at the top of the chalet I was to work in. I kept my head down, worked hard, and didn’t socialize much. The job involved long hours and some of the clients were total wankers, but I loved the cooking and even most of the cleaning so, on the whole, it was pretty OK. Like playing house – something I had never had the chance to do before. Most importantly, the work was mindless and it gave me plenty of time to think. To plot, to plan, and wonder how I could best make life difficult for the person who had helped to ruin my life.

  But then something unexpected happened.

  45

  January 2020, La Madière, France

  Ria

  The strength of the wind takes my breath away as I slam the chalet door behind me and step out into the blizzard. I’m wearing my ridiculously expensive furry snow boots and Moncler ski jacket, but I instantly regret not putting my salopettes on. Millie has been coming in and out all day, so it must be possible to get around, I tell myself. But the path from the chalet is uncleared and there are huge drifts of snow, many of which are taller than me.

  ‘It’s not safe!’ Hugo had been shouting when I stormed out. Maybe he’s right. But either way, I need to make this call and I can’t do it in the chalet with him or anyone else potentially listening.

  I stumble into the first café I come across which is open, imagining I’ll be almost the only one in there, thinking no one will venture out of their cosy chalets in this weather, but to my surprise, it’s packed. The fire’s on, music is blaring, people are drinking, laughing, and chatting as if nothing has happened. As if nothing’s changed. I suppose for them, it hasn’t. A body in the snow – beyond ‘poor guy’ and perhaps a silent prayer of thanks that it wasn’t them or anyone they know, he’s now old news, as far as they’re concerned.

  But for me, it’s all come flooding back. Like it was yesterday. And now that the dead man’s brother is on the way out, it’s all going to be over. He’s bound to recognize us. He’ll have questions. He’ll want to know what happened – go over the details. And I don’t know how much more I can lie about it. Not to his face. Not when his brother’s body has been lying in the snow all this time.

  Is this what it’s all been leading up to? For so many years I’ve managed to live a normal life, thinking I’d escaped what happened in the past. Though every day I’ve been scared of someone knocking on my door, telling me that the truth has come out, that I’m going to be arrested, that there’s going to be a proper court case, that I’m going to go to prison.

  I make my call and Cameron agrees to meet me in the bar. I order a hot chocolate which I don’t want to try to make the double whisky I’m ordering to drink alone at my table seem less tragic at this time of day. I wait, my foot tapping under the table, unable to keep still.

  46

  January 2020, La Madière, France

  Adam

  ‘Can I take your name?’ asks the cheery girl with a clipboard as I descend from the coach. The weather hasn’t improved much. The wind cuts into my face and my feet are soaked as soon as my trainers hit the snow; I don’t own snow boots. I should have bought some at the airport.

  ‘Adam Cassiobury,’ I tell her. Her expression changes to become more sombre.

  ‘Ah, Mr Cassiobury,’ she says. ‘We’re all so sorry for your loss. Matt is here to meet you personally – he’ll be taking you to your accommodation and should be able to answer any questions you have. I’ll call him over for you. Matt. Matt!’ she yells towards a figure standing a few metres away in yet another logoed jacket, but there’s no way he’s going to hear her above the noise of the wind.

  ‘It’s OK – I see who you mean. You’re obviously very busy – I’ll go and introduce myself.’

  I drag myself through the snow and tap him on the shoulder. This weather is horrible. I feel sorry for all these poor saps who have paid thousands for their holidays and come out to this. ‘Uh, Matt? I’m Adam. Adam Cassiobury. The – uh – girl – lady over there said you’d come to find me.’

  ‘Mr Cassiobury!’ Matt sticks out a gloved hand, covered in snow. ‘Welcome to La Madière. I’m only sorry it’s in such sad circumstances.’

  I nod. ‘Thank you. And call me Adam, please.’

  ‘Adam. Let’s go and get your stuff and then I’ll take you to your accommodation. I’m afraid the chalet we’d planned to offer you has been water-damaged, so we’ve found you an en-suite room in another one. It’s equally as luxurious, but there are some other occupants too. I hope that’s OK for you? They’re happy to help, given the – uh – circumstances. There’s plenty of room.’

  I nod. I don’t care – I’m freezing cold and just want to get inside.

  ‘They’re very nice people,’ he continues, ‘and they, um, understand the situation, so I’m sure they’ll be – well. I’m sure you’ll be comfortable. I’ve brought a skidoo, so if you’re happy to hop on the back, we can get you installed. Just this one, lug
gage wise, is it?’ he asks, glancing at my old and shabby backpack.

  ‘Yeah – I left in a hurry,’ I say. ‘And I don’t have any cold weather clothes anyway, as you can see. I’m living in Thailand at the moment – they don’t do snow there.’ I am shivering in my thin raincoat and wish we could cut the small talk and get to wherever we’re going.

  He smiles. ‘Well I’m sure we can lend you a jacket or fleece or something for your stay. Best if you put your backpack on and then hop on behind me. We’ll get you inside and warmed up in no time.’

  I straddle the snow bike self-consciously, noticing that everyone else is having to drag cases through the snow – some aided by porters, some by reps and chalet girls, and others doing it by themselves, in some cases while having also to coerce over-tired and screaming children or precariously balance sleeping babies on their shoulders.

  I’ve never been on a skidoo before and am not quite sure how to hang on – I don’t want to put my arms around this guy’s waist because, well, it would be weird, wouldn’t it? I don’t even know him. So I awkwardly hang on to the seat behind me. I don’t have gloves and my hands are red raw as soon as we start moving. Matt, probably noting that I’m not fixed on in any way, drives slowly. We travel for a minute or so up a short hill, turn off onto a tree-lined driveway and then stop outside a stone and wood building.

  ‘Oh. It wasn’t far then,’ I say as we both climb off.

  Matt smiles kindly. ‘No. But many of our clients don’t like to walk through the snow, so it’s a service we provide. Normally it’s a four by four rather than a snowcat, as it’s easier with the luggage, but the snow’s too deep today.’

  Matt pushes open a heavy wooden door and I’m instantly grateful for the warmth inside. There’s a row of hotel-style slippers lined up inside the door, so I follow Matt’s lead in slipping off my manky raincoat and sodden shoes (I take off my socks too, which are also soaked), and push my feet into the soft, puffy slippers. They are chocolate brown with a pattern which makes them look like they’ve been knitted. In that moment they feel like the most comfortable and comforting thing I’ve ever worn.

  ‘Let’s get you inside, show you your room and introduce you to the others. I think the – uh – formalities are taking place tomorrow? I’m not sure exactly what you’ve arranged with the police, and things keep changing anyway on account of the weather. But if you’d like to see where your brother – Will – was found, or any other part of the resort, anything that helps you generally, well, you know, say the word and I’m sure it can be arranged.’

  I nod. ‘Thank you.’ Almost the worst part of all this is everyone else’s embarrassment. Why can’t anyone treat me normally? It all happened a long time ago. We’ve all moved on.

  Matt opens a heavy door into a beautiful open-plan living/dining room with a huge window, stone walls, blond wood, and fur throws everywhere.

  Matt clears his throat. ‘Hello, everyone. This is Adam, our new guest – I believe Millie will have told you …’

  Everyone looks up. ‘Let me in introduce you to everyone,’ Matt continues, ‘Simon …’

  A portly man with a flushed face and comb-over gets up out of a leather armchair and comes over and shakes my hand. ‘Good to meet you. Sorry for your loss.’

  I smile tightly. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘This is my wife, Cass,’ he adds, indicating a very young, awkward-looking woman sitting with a similar-aged woman on a sheepskin rug half-heartedly dangling a plastic toy above a baby who is intermittently swiping at it, ‘our son Inigo and nanny Sarah.’

  One of the women gives me a sympathetic smile and raises her hand in greeting. The other doesn’t look at me. I’ve already forgotten which woman is the wife and which the nanny, but I don’t imagine it matters.

  Another man, younger and fitter-looking than Simon, stands up from the sofa. ‘Welcome. I’m Hugo. Good to meet you. Sorry it’s in such circumstances.’

  I nod. ‘Thank you. And thank you all for allowing me to crash your chalet. I’m not sure what I’d have done otherwise.’

  A door opens and a young, pretty girl wearing a long-sleeved polo shirt with the same logo as Matt’s jacket comes in with a tray of champagne glasses and places them on the table.

  ‘And this is Millie, who will be looking after you during your stay,’ Matt adds.

  She straightens up. ‘Hello. I’m so sorry for your loss. And I’m sorry we weren’t able to get Chalet Alpaca ready for you in time. But we hope you’ll be very comfortable here. Please don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything we can do to make your stay … well, just don’t hesitate.’

  She uncorks the champagne – which seems odd to me as the mood is hardly celebratory, but I guess people expect champagne before dinner in a high-end chalet like this. It was the kind of thing I aspired to the last time I was here, after all, but couldn’t yet quite afford. Or rather, Will and his little girlfriend couldn’t. A few years on, this would probably have been me, if it hadn’t been for what happened on the mountain. I haven’t skied since.

  ‘Will Ria be joining us for dinner?’ Millie asks Hugo.

  He sighs loudly. ‘I’m not sure. She was … she said she wasn’t feeling too well earlier. I’ll go and check on her in a minute if that’s OK?’

  She nods. ‘Of course. I only wanted to know how many to set the table for. But no rush.’

  ‘No problem. I’ll go and see what she says,’ Hugo replies.

  Millie hands everyone champagne flutes and I sit down. There is an awkward silence.

  ‘So, um, have you had a good week?’ I venture. May as well stick to the standard ski holiday chat I just about remember, as no one is going to want to talk about my dead brother. Least of all me.

  ‘Weather hasn’t been the best, obviously,’ Simon says, ‘but we got one day in the sun and then some amazing powder, so can’t complain. And anyway, under the circumstances … well, there are worse things than bad weather.’

  Simon turns a deeper shade of red and takes a large gulp of his champagne. I can’t cope with much more of this. I put my glass down on the table and draw my hand across my mouth.

  ‘Look, I appreciate your … solicitude and kindness and I’m sorry to be intruding on your holiday like this. But Will, my brother, died a long time ago. I’ve come to terms with that. Identifying his body is an unpleasant formality and, as I’m sure you will understand, there are many places I’d rather be than here, but there’s no need to handle me with kid gloves.’

  Silence.

  ‘And now I feel like I’m being incredibly rude.’ I stand up. ‘Perhaps I should go up to my room, leave you good people to it.’

  Simon stands up too. ‘You’re not being rude. We’re being insensitive. Please, you must be tired and ravenous after travelling for however long it’s been. Stay and have dinner with us. We’ll feel terrible if we’ve driven you away.’

  By now I just want to lie down on my bed and go to sleep but, if I do that, it’s going to look like I’m storming off like a toddler having a tantrum. So I force myself to smile and say: ‘I’m sorry. It’s been a long couple of days and I’m very tired. I think I’ll go and have a quick shower – I’ve been in these same clothes for days – and then I’ll join you.’

  ‘We’ll eat in about an hour, so plenty of time,’ Millie says, placing a plate of exquisite-looking canapés on the table. ‘Matt has already taken your bag up, so I’ll show you where your room is now, if you’re ready.’

  I down the rest of my champagne and stand up. ‘That would be great, thank you.’

  Millie leads me up two flights of stairs and opens a door. It’s an eaves room with sloping ceilings and a Velux window. There’s a double bed made up with white linen and covered with a fur throw, and a fleece-covered chair. A small door in one wall looks like it probably leads to the bathroom.

  ‘I’m sorry it’s rather small,’ Millie says, ‘but I hope you’ll find it comfortable. There are towels and toiletries in the bathroom, and if you ne
ed anything else, please don’t hesitate to let me know. There’s no code for the Wi-Fi – it’s open. Though it’s not working too well because of the weather, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘I very much appreciate you putting me up.’

  ‘Cameron – the owner of the chalet – felt that it was the least we can do. He’s coming for dinner to pay his respects, so you can thank him then if you like. But there’s really no need – he’s very happy to have you here.’ There is a pause. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’

  She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I guess she’s had enough of having to wait on her guests hand and foot for several days solid since the lifts closed. Having to put me up as well has probably only added to her load.

  ‘No, this looks great, thank you. I hope having me here isn’t putting you to any extra trouble?’

  ‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ she says, diplomatically ignoring my question. ‘See you in an hour for dinner?’

  ‘Looking forward to it,’ I lie.