‘It would have been a chairlift. This is one of our newest lifts – it’s one of the fastest in the region, in fact. Every hour, it can transport up to …’ Didier falls silent, perhaps realizing that this isn’t the moment to be showing off about the speed of their new lift.
‘It was very cold on the lift. And windy. I remember that,’ I say.
‘I believe so. Having read some of the reports, I think it was so windy they closed the lifts shortly after your … the accident.’
There is another awkward silence.
‘Are you happy to go up?’ Didier asks. ‘Perhaps we can get out at the top, if you would like, or we can carry on round in the gondola and come straight back down. It’s up to you.’
I don’t want to go up at all – what’s the point? But I don’t feel I can tell him that, so I say: ‘Yes, let’s go up. Thank you.’
Didier says something I don’t understand in French to the lift operator who opens a small gate and lets us through, giving me a small, sympathetic nod as he does. We get into the bubble, which is nothing like the draughty, scratched-Perspex bubbles I remember from my skiing holidays. This is more like a limousine with tinted windows, faux-leather seats, and movement so smooth and silent it barely registers. I bet Didier is dying to point out its best features as he no doubt would to anyone else visiting the resort, but he maintains a respectful silence.
At the top we get out and stand outside the lift station. It is colder and windier up here and I feel the snow seeping into my shoes again. I take a discreet step back so I can stand on the black anti-slip matting of the lift station rather than in the snow.
‘So,’ Didier says, putting his finger to his lips as if in thought. ‘As far as we understand from the reports, you headed off in that direction.’ He points towards a sign which reads ‘hors piste’ and has a somewhat overdramatic and inappropriate picture, given the circumstances, of an upside-down stickman falling down a mountainside. There is an embarrassed silence as we no doubt all take in the sign and decide not to say anything.
‘As you know, the weather was not good and you sadly became separated from the guides. After that … well, we don’t know. You were found at first light the next day in a hole you had dug in the snow, hypothermic and unconscious and poor Will … from where he was found we think he must have fallen from the edge. It is not usually a very dangerous path, but it can be tricky to see in bad weather.’
Silence falls again. This is awful. My head suddenly feels hot. For a second I think I might be sick, but I swallow the intense wave of nausea down.
I have an almost irrepressible urge to scream or, at the very least, bellow at them that I don’t understand why they are making me do this as it isn’t going to help and it certainly isn’t going to bring Will back but instead I keep my voice steady and polite and simply say: ‘OK. Thank you. I’d like to go back down now please.’
Matt puts his hand on my arm again and I turn away, pretending I am moving to get back in the bubble but really I don’t want anyone touching me.
‘Of course,’ Didier says. ‘We go.’
‘And if you don’t mind, I don’t think I need to meet the pisteur. I don’t have any questions for him. This is all quite upsetting and I’ve already seen enough.’
Didier nods. ‘No problem. I understand. Perhaps we can have some lunch, and then we can take you to the hospital to identify the body.’
Lunch is actually OK. They take me to what I imagine is the best restaurant in the resort – according to the blurb on the menu, it’s recently been awarded a Michelin star, and we have several tiny courses that look more like works of art than food. To my relief, we move away from the subject of Will and what happened and instead fall into comforting, bland, chit-chat – I talk about my travels and what living in Thailand is like, and Didier talks in general terms about the resort and his career, probably a similar spiel to the one he gives visiting journalists or people who want to invest in the resort.
The oysters are fabulous – I can never remember if you’re only supposed to eat them when the month does or doesn’t have an ‘r’ in it, so I don’t fret about it. I can’t imagine it’s something you need to worry about in a restaurant like this. The dessert is particularly impressive – a chocolate concoction served in a balloon made of sugar. But when coffee is served with petits fours, in spite of the many glasses of excellent wine I’ve drunk, I feel my mood dampen. This afternoon I get to see Will’s body.
Nobody has said I have to do it, but I get the impression it’s expected of me. I don’t know how these things work but I imagine they could get all they need from DNA now, couldn’t they? Or dental records? Perhaps it’s different as he died so long ago.
I don’t really know what to expect at all.
After what seems like forever in the car but is probably less than an hour, we pull up at a small hospital.
We go into the reception area and Didier says something to the woman at the desk, who gives me the sympathetic look I am starting to get accustomed to, while explaining something to Didier with plenty of pointing. I guess she is telling him where we need to go.
‘OK, they are ready for you,’ he says. ‘Your brother is in the chapel of rest. It is up to you, you can see him if you want to, but if you feel it would be too distressing, you don’t need to. Either way, as long as you give your permission, we would like to take a swab from the inside of your mouth so we can verify the DNA, and that the … that it is definitely Will who has been found.’
A wave of panic rises up in me. Do I want to see him? I didn’t know there’d be a choice. What is he going to look like after all that time on the mountain?
‘Um, ah, I’m not sure, I don’t know if …’ I bluster.
Didier touches my arm and this time I’m surprised to find I’m grateful for the human contact. ‘Sorry. We should have explained the procedure. We’re going to go and meet the nurse – she has already seen your brother. She will take the swab and perhaps she can tell you about what to expect. Then you can decide if you’d like to see him, or if you’d rather remember him as he was. Does that sound OK?’
I nod and manage to whisper, ‘Thank you.’ I am suddenly feeling faint and slightly tearful. Perhaps I shouldn’t have had all that wine at lunchtime. I stumble and Didier gently guides me by the elbow to a chair.
‘Can I get you something? A glass of water maybe?’
I want nothing more than to lie down and go to sleep, but I accept the water, take a few deep breaths, and the dizziness subsides.
‘Sorry. Thank you. It’s all been a bit emotional today, as you can imagine. I’m OK now. Let’s go and see the nurse.’
The nurse is a matronly woman with a kind face who speaks no English whatsoever. Using Didier as translator, she explains that she’s going to take a swab from inside my mouth, does so, and then puts the thing that looks like a giant cotton bud in a plastic tube.
She then speaks at length to Didier, before he translates for me.
‘So. She says that the DNA result will be back within twenty-four hours because, given the circumstances, they will rush it through. She has read the police and autopsy reports as well as having seen your brother and she wishes to stress that from the state of the – um – well how he is and the clothing that remained, there is very little doubt that it’s your brother. That it’s Will.’
I nod, which makes my head spin. ‘Yes. Yes, I understand that.’
‘She also said that you can see him if you would like, and that many relatives find that a comfort. However, in this case, because he has been out on the mountain so long, his appearance is not so good and you might prefer not to. But she would like to stress it is up to you – it is your decision.’
I nod, more slowly this time. I’m still unsure what’s best.
‘Because the body – Will, I mean, I apologize – had been there so long, it was impossible to finalize a definite cause of death,’ Didier continues. ‘Would you like me to tell you some of what the aut
opsy report found, or would you rather I didn’t? Or I could let you read it yourself, if you can understand some French?’
‘Tell me what the report said, I’d like to know,’ I’m surprised to hear myself say, as I’m not sure I do want to know. It’s not going to change anything.
Didier nods. ‘OK. It seems that he had sustained a fall – there were several broken bones, and a fractured skull. So it is likely that the fall was quite large – which would also explain why he could not be found as he was far from the slope – and that it killed him very quickly and he did not suffer. I hope you will take some comfort in that.’
I nod. ‘Thank you. That is good to know.’
‘We can also tell you what he was wearing. He wore a blue Spyder ski jacket and black salopettes – these were more degraded so they’re not sure of the brand. Do you remember if …’
I shake my head. ‘I’m sorry. It was a long time ago. I don’t remember what he was wearing.’ I don’t add that I never bothered developing the photos I took on that holiday. I didn’t want to be reminded.
‘That’s OK. The test results will come very soon and confirm everything. Now all that remains is for you to decide if you would like to see your brother.’
Suddenly I am sure. ‘No. Thank you. I think I’ll take the advice of the nurse and remember him as he was. I think it’s what he would have wanted.’
But I know that’s not true. He wouldn’t give a flying fuck whether I viewed his dead body or not. What he’d have wanted would have been still to be alive.
54
January 2020, La Madière, France
Ria
So far, I have managed to avoid spending any length of time with Adam. He didn’t show any sign of recognition when we passed at the breakfast table and, as Cam said, why would he? It was so long ago and it was so cold that day, we were all so wrapped up, he probably never saw my face. And he’s had twenty years to get upset about it, to take action, and we’ve never heard from him. So rationally, I’ve little to fear.
But that isn’t how I feel. All the guilt of the last two decades, all the lies are weighing me down, crushing me. I can’t bear to be here any more. I can’t spend time with the brother of the man whose death I am at least partially responsible for. I can’t do the ‘sorry for your loss’ thing when his loss is my – our – fault and we’ve lied about it for so long.
‘The roads are open again now,’ I say to Hugo. ‘Can’t we leave? Say it’s some emergency at work or something? I’m sure Simon will understand.’
Hugo sighs. ‘We’re due to leave in a couple of days anyway. Like I’ve said, I think it will be very tricky to arrange alternative transport, particularly with everything that’s been happening, and I also think it would be rude to both Simon and Cameron, both of whom I need onside for the business going forward. So no, I’m sorry, I think we’re going to have to stay. After all,’ he gestures around the room, ‘there are worse places to be stuck, aren’t there? Millie’s looking after us pretty well and surely the company isn’t THAT bad?’
‘It’s just, I’m finding it very claustrophobic, being cooped up in here, especially now that … that other guy is here too. And I think Cam – Cameron is coming for dinner again, isn’t he? And he’s awful – you agree with me about that at least, don’t you? I’ve had enough of being sociable.’
‘You usually like a party.’
‘Not today. Can’t we go home?’
Hugo narrows his eyes at me. ‘What is this about? Is there something you’re not telling me?’
I feel myself go red. ‘Of course not.’ I can’t tell him. He wouldn’t want me if he knew I was responsible for someone’s death and that I’d lied about it all these years. And then I’d be back out practically on the streets, I’d be no one, penniless again. Just like I was when at Cameron’s behest I gatecrashed Hugo’s party at the Natural History Museum in the last good dress I had, up to my eyeballs in debt and with bailiffs banging at my door. Hugo might be annoying to live with but, in essence, he’s a good man and a life of penury would be way worse. Obviously.
Hugo takes my hand. ‘Is it the stuff about not wanting to have children? Is that why you don’t want to be here with me? It’s OK, I’ve already forgiven you for the pill thing. We can wait. I’d rather you’d have talked to me than taking your pills without telling me but … well, it’s you I love. You that I need. The theoretical baby would just be the cherry on the cake.’
I feel myself soften and squeeze his hand. ‘It’s OK. We don’t need to wait. I’ve already stopped taking the pills. But I would still like to go home.’
He pulls his hand away. ‘You’re not getting round me that easily. Sorry, Ria, but we’re staying.’
55
January 2020, La Madière, France
Hugo
‘And this chalet was built in 2016,’ Cameron is saying, ‘though it looks like it could have been here almost forever. The stone is all local, apart from the granite in the kitchen, which is one of the best types you can buy. As you can see, we have Banksy prints here on the wall – none of this alpine hearts and wooden skis rubbish for our guests. The fur throws are real because that’s what most of our guests are impressed by, but if we have any eco-types coming, we can take them away and replace them with fakes – they just have to let us know. Hardly ever happens. The champagne is Bollinger, unless the clients request otherwise, and there are high-end candles in all the rooms – we offer a choice of different brands and scents in an email before they arrive. And pretty much any requests, from helicopter transfers to alligator steaks for dinner, we’ll endeavour to fulfil – at a price, of course. It’s all very bespoke – high net worth individuals love all that.’
Cameron has been showing me round all his chalets in the resort today. He is still no less of a cock than when we first met but I have to admit, the chalets are impressive and he seems to know the luxury market inside out.
‘How many weeks of the year would you typically have bookings?’ I ask.
He gives me a withering look, even though I’m sure my question is a perfectly sensible one. ‘We’re usually as good as fully booked for the winter season, plus we’ll get a good few weeks in the summer. But there are enough people out there with more money than sense to make the chalets pay; you can charge absolutely ridiculous money for the peak winter weeks. Sometimes very rich families will book one of the smaller ones like this for most of the season – they’ll bring the kids, the nanny, the tutor etcetera and come and go in a private plane or helicopter, since we have an altiport here. They might only end up being here for a total of four weeks or so out of the season and we make a mint on it because they’ve paid for several months. Some of them who come out don’t even ski. It’s beyond me why they pay the prices I charge, but they do, so I’m not complaining.’
‘Sounds good,’ I say, wondering if Cameron’s contempt for his clients is really a good fit for Redbush’s wholesome and personal service-led image. ‘And do you yourself have much, um, contact with the clients?’
He makes a noise which sounds a bit like a bark, which I think is actually what passes for a laugh with him. Not for the first time this week I wish Olivia was here; she’s so much better at dealing with people like Cameron than I am. And so much more consistent than Ria, for that matter.
‘Fuck no,’ he says. ‘I’ve only made an appearance this week because you’re the head honcho at Redbush and Simon’s wedged. I’m out of here after tonight. I only come up from the valley for skiing or biking usually, or if someone needs a massive bollocking. And speaking of bollocking, I’m still wondering what to do about Millie’s display last night. On the whole, she’s exactly the kind of girl I like on staff – not fussed about skiing or going out and getting drunk as far as I can tell – but such clumsiness at dinner in front of guests is unforgivable.’
‘It was a simple mistake,’ I say. ‘Could have happened to anyone. Please don’t sack her. She’s been amazing all week.’ It’s not my place to
say that to Cameron but I get the impression he needs me at least as much as I need him. I hope I’m conveying ‘I don’t want to do business with you if you’re the type who would sack a young girl over something like that’, but I’m not sure it’s coming across. Poor Millie. I don’t want her to lose her job over some broken glass.
‘Hmmm,’ he says. ‘You’re a better man than me. And I guess it would be tricky to replace her at short notice at this point in the season anyway – busy period coming up. I’ll think about it.’ There is a pause. ‘Anyway, going back to your question, I’m just here for the mountains. I have as little contact with the punters as possible – I leave that to the experts like Millie and Matt. I’m not a great fan of the general public as you may be able to tell.’
I’m not sure if this is meant to be a joke or not so I smile blandly. I don’t want Redbush clients coming into contact with someone like Cameron day to day, but I do think the chalets would be a good addition to our stable.
‘Well, they’re certainly beautiful properties and I’ve been very impressed by the level of your service and everything else this week,’ I say, adding ‘apart from you personally’ silently to myself. ‘Perhaps you could send through details of your pricing structure for the various chalets and we’ll have a look at including you in our luxe range, if we can agree suitable commission and the like. My assistant usually deals with that side of things – I’m not very good with figures.’
Cameron smirks and claps me on the shoulder. I flinch and hope he doesn’t notice.
‘Gotcha. Yeah, I don’t deal with any of that stuff these days either. But I’ll get my numbers person to give yours a call and hopefully we can strike a deal. I think we can help each other out.’
‘Yes, I think so too,’ I reply. Which is true.
‘I’m on a three-line whip to come for dinner again tonight,’ Cameron adds. ‘Matt and Didier think I should put in another appearance for the dead man’s brother, and I need to stay in Didier’s good books. So I’ll see you later. Your lovely wife out of bed yet?’
The Chalet: the most exciting new debut crime thriller of 2020 to race through this Christmas Page 20