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

by Catherine Cooper

  I wince. It sounds so suggestive when he puts it like that. ‘Ria?’ I say pointedly. She has a name. ‘I think she’s feeling better, thank you.’

  ‘It’s been great to see her again. We go back a long way.’

  ‘Really?’ This is news to me. I feel a lurch of alarm. Ria and Cameron know each other? Since when? Is this something else she hasn’t told me about?

  He does that weird bark/laugh again and it makes me shudder. ‘Ah, silly me – I forgot,’ he says, in a sly way which makes it clear he didn’t. ‘I wasn’t supposed to mention it. Not sure why – you’d need to ask her. She’s a dark horse, isn’t she? Yeah, we worked together. Long time ago. Practically a different lifetime, in fact.’

  ‘Oh yes, that does ring a bell actually,’ I lie. It definitely doesn’t. I would have remembered something like that. I feel sick. Why wouldn’t Ria have told me? I don’t want Cameron to know that my wife isn’t being honest with me, so I try my hardest to remain nonchalant, but all the while alarms are going off in my head. I’m sure he knew I didn’t know – I bet he only told me just now so that he can feel like he has the upper hand here.

  Have they slept together? Is that it? Is that why she didn’t tell me they know each other? Is that why she asked him not to say anything? Is that why she keeps not wanting to come to dinner? Is that why she’s being so weird and strange this week and saying she wants to go home the whole time? Is that even why she doesn’t want to have children with me – does she still have a thing for him? My face grows hot and I need to be away from this man. I mumble something about being in touch soon and make a dash for the door.

  Ria is in bed reading when I get back. She puts down her iPad and smiles at me. ‘Hey. How was the chalet tour?’

  ‘It was … illuminating,’ I say curtly.

  ‘Oh yes?’ She nuzzles against me. ‘I imagine they’re all pretty much like this one, aren’t they? Showy luxury for people who like to feel they deserve only the best?’

  I feel a pang of love for her, I can’t help it. ‘They are. But it wasn’t that that was illuminating – the chalets were pretty much as I expected them to be. Cameron says you and he already know each other. Is that true?’

  She sits up, looking appalled. ‘He promised! I mean … what did he say?’ she squeaks.

  ‘I want to hear it from you,’ I snap. ‘How do you know each other?’

  I didn’t realize this actually happened in real life, but the colour drains from her face.

  ‘Hugo … why do you need to know?’ she whispers. ‘It was all so long ago …’

  I knew it. ‘He’s an ex!’ I shout, my voice coming out much louder than I was expecting. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Fuck, I must look like such a twat! He’ll have been laughing at me all week! No wonder he has such a smug expression on his face the whole time. God, Ria!’

  I turn away and pace to the other side of the room. I can’t look at her. And I’m not sure I can bear to look at Cameron again either. Maybe we should get out of here now, like Ria wants to, go home. Maybe Olivia could sort a flight somehow? Perhaps we could get a private jet like those clients of Cameron’s he was talking about. Anything, anything to get away from this man who has slept with my wife.

  ‘No!’ Ria cries, interrupting my mental fuming. ‘Gross. He’s not an ex. Nothing like that. I can’t stand him. But we … we worked together. A long time ago.’

  I turn and stare at her. ‘That’s what he said too. But if that’s all it was, why wouldn’t you have told me? There must have been more to it than that?’

  She shakes her head. ‘There wasn’t. There isn’t. We worked together. That’s all. Look, does it matter? It was long before I met you and, before this week, I hadn’t seen him in years. I forgot to tell you about it. So what? There are plenty of other people I’ve worked with who you’ve never met. It’s now that matters.’ She throws back the covers and crawls across the bed. ‘Look, I’ve stopped taking those pills now so why don’t we …’

  She starts fiddling with my belt buckle but I push her hands away. ‘No. I want to know why you lied.’

  ‘I didn’t lie!’ she shrieks. ‘I never told you I didn’t know him!’

  ‘But he was there at dinner,’ I say, slow and measured. ‘You didn’t tell me that you did know him. You must see that that’s not normal behaviour, Ria? You acted like he was a stranger. You arranged this trip, you didn’t mention it then either. He said you’d asked him not to say anything. So if he wasn’t an ex then …’

  She slumps back on the bed.

  ‘There are things … something … from that time of my life I’m not proud of.’

  ‘We all have things in our past we’re not proud of. I’m your husband. You shouldn’t be keeping things from me.’ I pause. ‘Look, if you had a one-night stand with him or something, that’s fine, it’s not like I think there was no one before me, I’d just rather you’d told me what to expect before we got here, that’s all. I feel like he’s been laughing at me all week.’

  Tears start to roll down her cheeks. ‘I never slept with him. I wouldn’t ever have wanted to. He’s not laughing at you, I promise,’ she says hoarsely. ‘It’s just that he knows stuff about me.’ Ria almost never cries. I feel myself soften inside.

  ‘Ria, come on, it can’t be that bad,’ I say gently. ‘What happened? Where were you working when you met him?’

  She swipes the tears away. ‘Here. We were working here. We were ski instructors. We killed someone.’

  56

  January 2020, La Madière, France

  Adam

  Well, that was the worst day ever. Thank God it’s over. The day after tomorrow, I can be on my way back to Thailand and hopefully things can return to normal.

  Poor Will. As soon as I get back in the car I wonder if I should have visited him in the mortuary after all. But I can’t imagine twenty years on a mountainside is kind to a body. Seeing him in that state isn’t going to help him, and it certainly isn’t going to help me. I don’t believe in an afterlife, so he’s not going to know or care either way.

  It’s a huge relief to be back at the chalet. I’ve grown accustomed to living quite basically in Thailand, in spite of my recent inheritance. It makes a change to have a bit of luxury, especially being waited on so attentively.

  When I arrive, Millie is laying out afternoon tea – homemade cakes, biscuits, and plates of fruit. As soon as I enter, she straightens up.

  ‘Good afternoon, Adam,’ she says. ‘I hope your day went to plan and wasn’t too distressing?’

  ‘Thank you. It was upsetting, of course, but Didier and Matt did everything they could to make it as easy as possible.’

  ‘I hope you feel that there’s been some … closure, if I may?’

  ‘Closure?’ I say, taking a beat or two to realize what she means. I hate these new-agey therapy-speak words. ‘Yes. I guess so. Though I will still have to arrange a funeral. I haven’t decided what to do about that. I haven’t really arranged one before.’ By ‘haven’t really’, I mean haven’t ever. Mum arranged Dad’s funeral, and bar a few emails and calls, I left the same funeral house and the family solicitor to arrange Mum’s a couple of years later. I simply turned up on the day. It might sound callous, but these people are dead, they’re just bodies. They don’t care what their casket is like or which flowers people choose. It’s all a giant fuss and waste of money as far as I can see.

  Will’s funeral, though, was something which was brought up at the hospital. It was couched in the nicest possible terms via Didier’s translation, but the upshot was that Will couldn’t stay in the hospital morgue forever and I needed to let them know as soon as possible what I wanted to have done with the body.

  ‘Oh?’ Millie prompts. ‘Will you not want to, um, take him home to your family so they can, ah, say a proper goodbye?’

  I spoon a few pieces of fresh fruit onto a plate and sit down on one of the lovely plush sofas. ‘There’s no family, only me,’ I explain. ‘My parents died some
time ago. And I don’t have a base as such. I’ve been travelling for a long time and now I’m mainly in Thailand. But Will had never even been to Thailand, so it would be weird to take him there.’ Poor Will. So many things he never had the chance to do.

  Millie nods. ‘I see. I hope I’m not speaking out of line, but in that case perhaps I wonder if you might like to have him cremated and his ashes scattered here?’ There is a pause. ‘As I understand it, from what you’ve said, he was happy here during your last holiday together – perhaps it would be somehow appropriate, if there’s no particular home for you as such.’ She pauses. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. Obviously, the funeral details have to be your decision and I shouldn’t even be expressing an opinion about something like this.’

  I see her blush as she starts fussing with the already perfectly arranged tea tray.

  ‘No. No, that’s a nice idea – thank you,’ I reply, because it is. And what else am I going to do with his body? At least this way I will be seen to have made an effort, rather than having Will cremated somewhere anonymous with no one there at all while it happens. ‘Perhaps I could arrange that before I go back. I’m not sure of the formalities, how long it would all take. Obviously, I would find myself somewhere else to stay,’ I add hastily, ‘I wouldn’t want to impose on your and Cameron’s hospitality any longer.’

  She smiles. ‘We are very pleased to have you here. If you do decide to stay on, I can speak to Cameron and see if anything can be arranged. But I’m afraid it’s his call, not mine, and I know the chalets are very busy.’

  ‘Of course. I wasn’t fishing for an invitation,’ I add, embarrassed.

  She nods. ‘Don’t worry, I know you weren’t. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and finish the hot chocolate and coffee. Do you have everything you need, or can I get you anything else?’

  I suddenly feel very tired. ‘Do you have any paracetamol? I’ve got a crashing headache.’

  ‘I’ll bring you some. And perhaps some water – maybe you’re dehydrated? Still or sparkling?’

  ‘Still. Thank you.’

  57

  January 2020, La Madière, France

  Adam

  I go for a lie-down and fall asleep immediately. When I wake up, I feel worse – groggy and slightly sick. It’s dark so it must be evening. I check the time – almost seven. I’ve been asleep for over two hours.

  I feel better after a shower, helped by the lovely thick towels and fabulous-smelling toiletries. The hot water on my skin is invigorating – it’s so rarely cold enough in Thailand to warrant using water which is properly hot. I still feel rough and wish I could go straight back to bed, but I think I should put in an appearance at dinner.

  By the time I get downstairs the rest of the group is on the various sofas, drinking champagne and eating canapés. My stomach churns.

  ‘Adam!’ Simon booms. ‘How was your day?’

  Simon is red-faced, I’m not sure whether from wind burn from being outside today or from alcohol. Quite possibly both. His young wife (Cath, was it?) gives him a nudge and he pulls an ‘oops’ face. ‘Sorry,’ he blusters. ‘I mean, I hope your day wasn’t too difficult. Can we offer you a drink? Ease the, uh, I mean, well, would you like a drink?’

  Millie appears at my side with a tray of champagne glasses and I fight down a wave of nausea. ‘Could I have a glass of water for now?’ I ask. ‘Maybe I’ll have some wine with dinner.’

  ‘I hope today went as well as it could have,’ Hugo says. It sounds like a line he has learned.

  ‘Thank you. I hope your wife is feeling better?’

  He colours slightly. ‘Ria’s … a little better. She said she’d rather stay in her room this evening. But she sends her condolences I’m sure.’

  I nod. ‘I appreciate that. I’m not feeling too good either. Perhaps there’s a bug going round.’

  There is an awkward silence which Matt fills by asking Simon about his day. Thankfully he launches into a long and boring story about exactly which pistes he skied and a punch-up he witnessed in a lift queue, so there is no need for me to say anything.

  We have dinner. There seem to be endless courses. I take a sip of the cold amuse bouche soup, a spoonful or two of the soufflé starter, then a mouthful of magret de canard and dauphinoise potatoes. Lunch was enormous and I’m struggling to force anything down. I’m sure the wine is excellent (both red and white, a different one with each course) but I can’t even finish a glass. The pre-dessert mint sorbet is the only dish I manage to eat in its entirety – it’s refreshing and soothing. I don’t even touch dessert, a sickly-looking, oozing slab of something chocolatey. Then there are petits-fours – I ask for a mint tea instead of coffee and refuse a digestif.

  Dinner starts out as a fairly subdued affair; I’m guessing in deference to my situation. But as more wine is drunk, tongues and inhibitions loosen and now the room feels rowdy. Simon’s voice booms above all the others and he and Cameron are unashamedly trying to outdo each other with tales of extravagance, showing off about how much money each of them has. Hugo chips in occasionally. Cass (not Cath, I remember now) and her nanny chat quietly between themselves. I don’t have the energy to say anything but nod and smile when someone makes a comment which seems to be aimed at me.

  Millie is clearing away the dirty dishes and suggesting we move to the lounge area. I push my chair back and force myself to my feet.

  Cass touches my arm. ‘Adam? Are you OK? You look really pale.’

  My head is spinning. I can barely see straight.

  ‘I’m not feeling too good,’ I mumble thickly. ‘I think I’ll head for bed, if you’ll excuse me.’

  Behind me as I stumble up the stairs as I hear the others mumbling things along the lines of ‘poor bugger’ and ‘must have been a hard day’.

  I fling open the door of my room, stagger into my bathroom, and vomit up my entire dinner.

  58

  December 1998, La Madière, France

  Adam

  ‘Ow!!’ Will wails, like the girl he is. ‘That hurt!’ He pushes himself back up on to his feet and rubs his head. He’s now covered in snow. The wind is still roaring around us and even though it can’t be later than about four o’clock or so, the sky is so dark it looks like it’s almost night.

  Will glares at me, still rubbing his head. ‘Look, Adam, this is getting us nowhere,’ he snaps. ‘We’ve lost our guides, you’ve lost your ski. We’re going to have to do something, as the phrase goes, before one of us dies, which in this case, could quite literally happen.’

  I clap my hands against my arms, trying to warm up. It really is getting cold now. ‘Right then, arse-face – what would you suggest?’

  Will makes a big show of turning himself around, picking up each of his skis in an exaggerated way in turn so that he flicks snow all over me. Even as he is all muffled up I see him smirk. I reach down, pick up a huge lump of snow and hurl it at him.

  ‘For fuck’s sake!’ Will explodes. ‘This is hardly the time or place for snowball fights, is it, you moron! Like I said before,’ he says, speaking slowly as if addressing a particularly stupid child, ‘as you have lost your ski, I will have to go down and get help.’

  ‘No. You’re not leaving me here on my own,’ I insist. ‘We’ll wait – the guides know where we are – someone will come eventually.’

  Will sighs and looks upwards. There is a pause as we both listen to the wind raging, snow stinging our faces. ‘Look, Adam. I know it’s not ideal, but I think it’s the best plan. The guides don’t necessarily know exactly where we are – we certainly don’t know where we are. We’re not on a patrolled piste. For all we know, when you fell we might have come off the path we were meant to take. I’m not saying it’s your fault—’

  ‘Well it pretty much sounds to me like you are,’ I interrupt.

  ‘Whatever. We probably shouldn’t have come out in these conditions. But it’s too late to change that now, so we’re going to have to be sensible.’ His v
oice softens. ‘I know it will be scary to be here on your own but I think that, given—’

  ‘I’m not scared, you pompous twat!’ I shout. How fucking dare he patronize me like that?

  Will sighs. ‘Right. Good. Well, in that case, there’s no problem, is there? I’ll go and get help, you stay here, not being scared at all, and before you know it we’ll be back in the chalet with the girls.’

  The fucker. I’m not having this. ‘Yeah. With the girls. Nell and Louisa. Because Louisa only has eyes for you, hey?’ I say, snidely.

  ‘For God’s sake, Adam, leave it, will you?’ Will snaps. ‘I’m freezing cold, I can barely feel my face, I’m only in this situation because of you to start with, it’s down to you being such a shit skier and falling over that you’ve lost your ski and that we’re not already down in the warm instead of still stuck on this fucking mountain. I can do without your usual jibes about how you could have had any of my girlfriends you wanted, any of them, any time. Just because you snogged that girl I was kind of seeing when I was thirteen or whatever doesn’t make you God’s gift.’

  He starts fiddling with his poles, putting his hands carefully through the straps the way we were taught in ski school about a thousand years ago and adjusting his various scarves. Why is he wearing so many anyway? What a twat.

  Suddenly I really don’t want to be left alone here. He is not going to do this to me.

  ‘That Louisa,’ I say, to stall him. ‘I think you could do way better than her.’

  He rams his poles violently down into the snow and continues faffing around with his wrist straps. ‘Fuck off, Adam. I’m going now, I don’t care what you say. You’d better hope that I actually get round to telling anyone you need help, which I have to say, right now, I’m sorely tempted not to bother doing.’

  How fucking dare he talk to me like that? ‘Right goer Louisa is,’ I add. ‘What do you think we were doing all yesterday afternoon while you were sorting out your broken ski?’