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

by Catherine Cooper

  You have to be careful, naturally. Poisonous mushrooms don’t always look poisonous – they’re not red with white spots or anything. Actually – those ones are poisonous, but rarely deadly. They’re not nearly as poisonous as something like the Amanita bisporigera, otherwise known as the destroying angel, or its friend Amanita phalloides, commonly known as the death cap. Those two can easily be mistaken for edible mushrooms, even by someone like Cameron’s artisanal mushroom grower, I would imagine. Yes, it’s important to be very, very, careful, and even experts can make mistakes. I brought quite a range with me, when I came out here; I wasn’t 100 per cent sure how far I wanted to go. But now that I have met these two awful men who ruined mine and Mama’s lives, I know what I need to do.

  Once the risotto is all bubbled down and the liquid is absorbed, I plate it up. I add a sprinkle of parmesan shavings to each of the plates, and my own special mushrooms to two of them.

  Then I take them through.

  51

  January 2020, La Madière, France

  Hugo

  ‘And while some of the chalet companies offering lower- and mid-range accommodation are struggling lately on account of the economic climate, because our clients are all high net worth individuals we’re finding that during most weeks of the season there is more demand for our chalets than we can cope with, which is why next year we’re looking to take on at least one new property in …’

  I tune out. I can’t listen to any more of Cameron’s monologue, so I abruptly push back my chair and say, ‘I’m sorry, Cameron, you’ll have to excuse me. I’m going to go and check on Ria – see if she wants anything.’

  ‘Let me know if you’d like me to take her up anything else?’ Millie says, placing the plates carefully on the table. As usual, she serves the ladies first – tonight just Cass – then Adam, I guess because he is the newest arrival and the guest of honour, due to his situation. She then disappears back into the kitchen and returns with two more plates, which she puts in front of Simon, Cameron, and myself.

  ‘Not a problem, Hewg,’ Cameron says (no one calls me that) also pushing back his chair, ‘I’m going to duck outside to make a call.’

  I don’t really feel the need to check on Ria and would even go so far as to say I don’t especially want to see her at the moment as I still feel she’s keeping something from me, but anything will do to get away from Cameron right now. I creep up the stairs, push the door open as gently as I can and whisper, ‘Are you awake?’, mentally crossing my fingers and hoping that she isn’t.

  The room is in darkness and there is no reply, so she’s either asleep or, more likely, pretending to be. I tiptoe back down the stairs and into the dining room where Simon and Adam are now alone at the table talking about golf.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ I ask, sitting down next to Simon in Cass’s seat rather than in my original chair, hoping to avoid having to sit next to Cameron any longer listening to him bore on.

  ‘Cam’s still on his call, Cass has popped upstairs to check on Inigo – Sarah’s having a well-earned night off,’ Simon says. ‘I think she’s got her eye on one of those ski instructors, the minx.’

  Cass reappears and I cry: ‘Oh sorry, I’m in your seat!’ as if I’ve sat down in the wrong place by accident and only just noticed. She waves her hand dismissively.

  ‘It’s fine,’ she says, passing over my water glass as I pass hers back. ‘I’ll sit here,’ she says, moving a couple of other glasses around accordingly. ‘I like the view from here better anyway,’ she adds, pointing at the window. It’s dark and stormy and there’s no view at all tonight but I guess she’s being polite.

  Cameron comes back and sits down where I was originally, seemingly not noticing that we’ve all changed seats, so hopefully not taking in that I’ve moved specifically to avoid him. ‘Sorry about that,’ he says, uncharacteristically apologetic. ‘Important call. Didn’t mean to hold you up.’

  He picks up his fork and takes a huge mouthful, chewing noisily with his mouth open.

  52

  January 2020, La Madière, France

  As I come back into the dining room with the decanted red wine, the first thing I notice is that some of them have moved places. For fuck’s sake! I can’t remember exactly who was sitting where before and who has whose food, but I know that Cass definitely wasn’t at the head of the table, Cameron was. Which means she has his food. In a blind panic I pretend to trip, making sure to smash the no-doubt-very-expensive crystal decanter on the edge of the solid granite table.

  Everyone leaps up from their seats, grabbing at napkins and frantically dabbing at clothes as I fuss about the table, apologizing profusely. Cameron struggles to contain himself, clearly not wanting to swear at me in front of clients but at the same time, no doubt desperately wanting to yell at me. If it weren’t for the guests, he’d probably fire me on the spot.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I mumble as I rush into the kitchen to fetch paper towels and join the clients in the general dabbing and mopping up. ‘I simply can’t apologize enough. I think my foot must have caught on the edge of the rug, but that’s no excuse at all.’

  I take a surreptitious glimpse at the dishes of risotto on the table – I’ve managed to splash most of them with wine, but not quite all. ‘I’m afraid I’ve entirely ruined the meal – I can’t possibly allow you to eat anything from the table in case there are shards of glass – as you can see they’ve gone absolutely everywhere and they’ll be impossible to see.’

  Thank GOD for the granite table which sent tiny, sharp pieces of the decanter far and wide.

  ‘And I can only apologize for Millie’s clumsiness,’ Cameron adds, still barely able to contain his anger. ‘Obviously any dry-cleaning will be at our expense, and if anything is ruined beyond repair, we will cover the cost of replacement.’ No doubt he means my meagre wages will cover the costs but, whatever, I don’t care right now.

  People need to pay for what they did to my dad, but that doesn’t extend to killing someone innocent in the process, especially not someone as wet and pathetic as Cass.

  ‘But more immediately, Millie,’ Cameron continues pompously, ‘our guests have had their dinner ruined. It’s too late now to find them a table in a decent restaurant even if they wanted to go out in this atrocious weather, so do you have anything else you can rustle up quickly as a replacement meal once you’ve cleared up this mess?’

  ‘I could do a cheese fondue,’ I suggest. ‘With salad. That won’t take too long. If you’d all like to retire to the sofas while I clean up and get organized, I can bring you a new bottle of wine. Again, I apologize for the inconvenience.’

  ‘Don’t give it another thought,’ Adam says, touching me lightly on the shoulder as he passes.

  It’s all I can do to repress a shudder.

  53

  January 2020, La Madière, France

  Adam

  I don’t know how reps like Matt do it – looking so bright and cheerful when I know he was up drinking with us until around 2 a.m. The bags under my eyes are more like suitcases and yet this guy looks like he might have got up at the crack of dawn and already done a full workout at the gym. He’s sitting at the breakfast table drinking a coffee when I come down, along with a woman who I haven’t yet met.

  Matt stands up when he sees me. ‘Adam! There you are. I hope you slept well?’ He gestures at the table. ‘Please, sit down and have some breakfast before we go, there’s no rush. Oh, and you haven’t met Ria yet, have you? Ria, Adam, Adam, Ria.’

  Hugo’s wife, must be. Attractive, but older than I’d expected. Probably only a few years younger than Hugo, with a good decade and a half or more on Cass. She looks up and nods at me, before pushing back her chair and dabbing her mouth with a white napkin.

  ‘I hope you’re feeling better?’ I say.

  She smiles briefly. ‘I am, thank you. But I hope you’ll excuse me, I have a phone call to make.’

  I sit down at the table and Millie places a pot of coffee a
nd a small jug of what looks like freshly squeezed orange juice in front of me.

  ‘Good morning, Adam,’ she says. Like Matt, she looks immaculate and well-rested, though she can’t possibly have got more than a few hours’ sleep. ‘What can I get you for breakfast?’

  ‘Um … I’m not sure, uh …’

  ‘I’d like to apologize again for what happened at dinner – I’m so very sorry and hope none of your clothes were stained?’

  ‘No need to apologize, look at me! All my clothes are from market stalls these days. A bit of wine doesn’t matter.’

  She nods. ‘That’s very generous of you. I understand you’ve been travelling for some time so … how about a traditional full English? I expect you won’t have had one of those for a while?’ She puts her head to one side and looks at me expectantly. She really is extraordinarily pretty.

  ‘That sounds lovely, thank you,’ I reply, trying to push my lecherous feelings away. I doubt hitting on the chalet girl would go down well in a place like this.

  Matt takes a slug of coffee. ‘How are you feeling about today?’ he asks. ‘If it’s not a stupid question?’

  I sigh, longer and more loudly than I was intending to. ‘In all honesty, I’m dreading it.’ Is that the right thing to say? I’m not sure. Matt takes another mouthful of coffee and nods sympathetically.

  ‘Must be a hard thing to do after all these years,’ he says. ‘But good to get some closure too, no?’

  I nod. ‘Yeah. I guess. I mean, after a day or two of Will being missing there was never any real doubt that he was dead though so …’ Argh. That doesn’t sound like the kind of thing I should be saying.

  ‘Do you remember much about the accident? I understand you were skiing with … the deceased … your brother at the time?’

  Millie puts down a plate of prettily presented full English breakfast in front of me. There are even baked beans, which I haven’t had for years. It looks delicious.

  ‘Thank you, that looks wonderful,’ I say. Millie gives a brief nod and goes back into the kitchen. I start to eat.

  ‘I don’t remember much,’ I lie. ‘The weather was abysmal that day, the visibility awful. I do recall that it was my idea to go out, though, not his, and I’ve never got over that.’

  Matt puts his hand on my arm. It makes me feel uncomfortable, but it would be weird to pull it away. ‘I’m sure it wasn’t your fault,’ he says.

  I nod, and for a second I’m surprised to feel tears welling. ‘I don’t think it was anyone’s fault. There was an investigation which concluded that no one was at fault, that it was an accident, pure and simple.’ That’s my story and that’s the one I’m sticking to. I take a mouthful of bacon and force it down. ‘Poor Will. It’s only now I’m older I realize quite how young he was when he died.’

  ‘Yeah. A terrible thing,’ Matt agrees. There is a reflective pause where no one says anything and my chewing sounds extraordinarily loud.

  Matt pushes back his chair. ‘Right. Well, I’m going to leave you to finish your breakfast in peace while I go and check a few things with Millie. I’ll come back at ten thirty to take you to your … various appointments. Does that sound OK?’

  I nod. ‘Great. And thank you for your kindness and hospitality. You and your colleagues are making a difficult situation as easy as possible.’

  ‘Not at all,’ says Matt. ‘We’re a small community here, and something like this affects us all. We all want to do what we can to help.’

  He gives me another pat on the arm and a sympathetic smile before heading off to the kitchen.

  I get back to my breakfast.

  Matt comes back on the dot of ten thirty with a man who introduces himself at Didier Delpont, who is apparently head of the tourist office.

  ‘I am so sorry for your loss, Monsieur Cassiobury,’ he says, his English grammatically perfect but so heavily accented it sounds almost as if he must be doing it deliberately. He shakes my hand in a way that is almost like a clasp, his other hand on the back of mine as he looks directly into my eyes. It feels too intimate and I don’t know what to say. It’s all happened so quickly, this being the bereaved brother thing.

  ‘Thank you. Your colleagues here at the resort have all been so kind. I am so very grateful for all your help.’

  He finally lets go of my hand, thankfully, and gives a little shrug. ‘It is the least we can do. Your brother was taken by the mountains and we wish to pay our respects. When one of us is lost, we all feel it.’

  Us. We were never an us; Will, me, and the resort. We only visited once. It occurs to me that this sentiment has become a theme since my arrival, and I briefly wonder if all this hero’s welcome is to try to prevent me apportioning blame, suing, or similar. The world is so much more litigious than it was two decades ago.

  But no. I have no intention of suing, opening the whole thing up again, putting myself under unwanted scrutiny. It would seem my late parents accepted the decision of the investigation at the time, that no one was at fault. As for me, I barely paid any attention to it. As soon as I was out of hospital and well enough to travel, that’s what I did, taking as many drugs as I could to forget about it all, enjoying extreme adventures for a while as I didn’t care whether I lived or died.

  As far as anyone here is concerned, it was an accident. These people love the mountains and are genuinely sorry for me. Sad that something so awful happened in their resort, the place that some of them think of as home. I need to do my death tour, be gracious, confirm it’s Will they found, and get out of here as quickly as possible.

  ‘Monsieur? Is that OK for you?’ the resort guy is asking.

  ‘Sorry. I was miles away. What was it you said?’

  ‘That is fine. I know it must be a distressing day for you. I said that first we will take you to where your brother was found, then up to the lift where – well, the lift you took that day. I don’t know if you remember but the run, it’s off-piste and interdit, that is to say forbidden, on a day like today, so we would advise not going any further. But if you are very definite that you would prefer to see it and you are a confident skier perhaps we can arrange a guide if the weather is better later—’

  ‘No,’ I interrupt. ‘Thank you, but that’s fine. I haven’t skied since the accident and I don’t wish to start again now.’ It comes out snappier than I intended. ‘But I appreciate the offer and I understand that you are trying to make this all as easy as possible for me,’ I add.

  Didier nods curtly. ‘As you wish. And then later we are going to meet Guillaume, the pisteur who found your brother. We thought maybe you might have some questions for him.’

  I nod. ‘OK. Thank you.’

  He nods towards a four by four which is parked nearby and hands me a coat. ‘I brought the car – it is not too far, but I think better than walking. Matt told me you didn’t have a proper coat as you have come from a hot weather climate, so I have brought one for you. I hope it does not offend you. You are very welcome to keep it if you would like, but I understand if there are too many sad memories here for you to do that, so there is no obligation.’

  I shrug it on – it’s an enormous coat with the resort’s logo emblazoned in red on the back – and feel instantly slightly better. It’s comforting – like wearing a duvet. I will definitely keep it. ‘Thank you. That’s very thoughtful.’

  ‘If you are ready, we will go?’ He turns and heads off towards the car. Matt and I follow.

  The whole thing feels awkward and wrong. We drive up the hill and out of the village. The road gets snowier and turns into a track. We carry on up until we reach an ancient shepherd’s hut, where Didier stops the car and says, ‘We get out here.’ We are at the edge of a piste just above the village and skiers in colourful gear are whizzing by. I can feel my feet getting wet almost as soon as I step out of the car and the snow soaks through my totally unsuitable shoes. It’s still snowing and the wind is fierce. I shove my hands deep into the pockets of the borrowed coat as I don’t have any gloves, b
ut then I realize this probably looks too casual for the occasion, so I pull them out again and ball them into fists to try to keep warm.

  Didier points up the slope and says softly: ‘Your brother was found there – at the other side of the piste. There was a small avalanche that night and we think he came down from his previous resting place with the snow. I believe there were photos taken by the police before he was moved; I don’t know if that’s something you would want to see, but if you have any questions about that you can ask later.’

  ‘No, that’s fine, thank you.’ The three of us stand there in awkward silence, staring at the ground. I clasp my hands in front of me and close my eyes momentarily as if I might be praying, but really I am thinking about how wet my feet are, how cold my hands are, and wondering how long I have to stand here before we can get back into the nice warm car.

  I open my eyes and look at Didier. I wonder if he has been having the same thoughts. It is absolutely freezing out here.

  ‘Do you have any questions?’ he asks, gently. ‘There is no rush, but we can take you to the lift whenever you are ready.’

  ‘No questions. I appreciate you bringing me here, thank you.’

  We trudge back to the car, and Didier starts the engine.

  I’m already colder than I ever remember being in my life, so am dreading the next part of my death tour, which I am fully expecting to be a chairlift. I can’t actually think of anything I would like to do less than take this lift again, but it seems churlish and even borderline disrespectful to say so. However, I am thankful for small mercies when I see that what I remember as a rickety old chairlift has now been replaced by a state-of-the-art bubble.

  ‘Ah. Was this a chairlift … when I was here?’ I ask. ‘Or have I misremembered? As I was telling Matt earlier, my memory of that day isn’t so good.’