by Nell Harding
“I hope my French is good enough to follow it,” Kate said without thinking.
Simon had the good grace not to laugh as he corrected her gently. “It’s in Italian, if that helps.”
Kate felt foolish and flustered, but was reassured by the touch of Sebastien’s hand on her shoulder as he opened the car door for her.
Kate took a final look around her before climbing in. Her memory registered the yellow of the city lights glittering against the huge windows, the high facades on the old building, the impossibly light feeling of the watch on her wrist and of the sheer dress against her skin. She wanted to remember every detail of tonight.
As she ducked her head to swing into the cab she looked down at her little Italian shoes and smiled to herself. Tonight’s song was definitely “I Could Have Danced All Night” and the evening was only beginning.
Chapter Seventeen
Later that evening the three of them walked down the steps of the Geneva’s Grand Theatre into the cold night. Across the road, soft lights lined the footpath through the park of the old bastion, under sphinx-topped marble columns. Apart from waiting taxis there was little traffic at this time of the night in the old city, completing Kate’s impression that she had travelled back in time to a grander period.
Reality intruded into the dreamlike quality of the evening in the form of a chilly wind, but Kate felt immune to it all. With her new jacket pulled tightly against her chest and Sebastien standing close beside her, she was warmed by an inner glow.
Simon kissed Kate on both cheeks and gave Sebastien a friendly pat on the arm. “This is where you two finally get a chance to be alone together,” he said with a wry smile. “I’ve already been your accompaniment through a lovely dinner and Michelle’s first opera and I think it’s high time that I leave you in peace and head home. I’ve managed to monopolise two of your evenings already now.”
“You haven’t monopolised tonight at all,” Sebastien protested, giving his good arm a gentle cuff. “Unless you manage to break something now or fall in the lake. Then you might be getting more than your fair share of attention.”
“It was a lovely evening, Simon,” Kate told him thankfully. “La Traviata is a superb musical.”
Simon started to walk away and then stopped, remembering something. “I’d forgotten, I wanted to take a picture of you two in your finery. You both clean up alright, you know.”
He fished his telephone out of his pocket with his good hand and shoed them toward the nearest streetlamp. “Work with me here, folks,” he coaxed them as he tried to frame the shot. “A little closer, that’s it...”
A little closer would be impossible without becoming indecent, Kate thought to herself with a smile as Sebastien threw an arm around her waist and drew her tightly against him. Little physical warmth actually passed through the thickness of their two winter coats, but the pressure of his strong hand grasping her possessively against him made the heat rise.
“A stunning likeness,” Simon said in self-congratulatory tones as he examined the image.
“I’d love to have a copy,” Kate said, looking with pleasure at the photo on his tiny screen and thinking of her own attempts to capture the evening on film. Her dress was hidden by the long coat but her hair had miraculously managed to stay in place and she loved the idea of having a picture of Sebastien. “Will I see you in the morning?”
“My flight is at eleven and Nick and Caro are coming over for breakfast, so I’ll see you then if you’re up,” Simon responded, tucking his mobile away. “If I’m not too knackered, I’ll print out a copy for you tonight on Seb’s printer. In any case, I’ll email a digital copy via Seb. If I don’t see you in the morning, it was a real pleasure to meet you.”
“Oh, the pleasure was mine to be sure, kind sir,” she responded, laying her Irish brogue on thickly.
“I assure you, I’m the winner in this case,” Simon told her with a wink. “It’s been a long, long time since Sebastien had such charming company. Makes a nice change for me not to have to stare at his scowling mug all through dinner.”
Simon had made the same sort of comment during their supper in a chic little restaurant before the theatre. Sebastien had excused himself to make a phone call, leaving Kate and Simon alone, and he had told her simply that she was “good for Sebastien.”
“Since his divorce, he hasn’t been the same,” he had confided in her. “Not just because he threw himself so hard into his work and had no time left to play. He also became darker, broodier, colder. Suspicious of women almost. When you’re around he comes back to life, becomes fun and happy again.”
Kate felt an irrational pleasure at Simon’s assumption that they were an established couple. He made it seem so natural that it seemed almost inevitable rather than some sort of exaggerated charade. Unless tonight was a real date, not just the continuation of a luge party at Simon’s insistence.
Of course it was still a charade, she reminded herself. Until Sebastien knew and accepted Kate’s real identity, she could hardly consider this real. And yet the attraction between them was definitely genuine and she tried hard to convince herself that a slight discrepancy in names meant nothing. She would tell him soon. Tonight. But not quite yet. This moment was too perfect to risk spoiling.
Both Sebastien and Kate were silent as Simon strode away down the sidewalk. After an entire evening spent in Simon’s boisterous company, Kate suddenly felt shy at finding herself alone with Sebastien.
It was a moment she had both been waiting for impatiently and slightly dreading, nervous about what really was going on between them. In Simon’s presence, there had been a relaxed camaraderie as if the three of them were all old friends, not a boss and his employee who barely knew each other and found themselves in ambiguous circumstances. It was impossible not to feel at ease with Simon, who kept conversations light and entertaining.
And all through the opera there had been the spectacle itself that demanded all of their senses and attention. Kate had found the whole experience overwhelming, the music, costumes and lighting and simply being one of the glittering people watching. Of course she had been conscious of Sebastien beside her, his hand resting on her arm, his leg brushing lightly against hers, but he remained in the wings, allowing the performance to take centre stage.
Kate had been grateful not to be too distracted to permit a complete immersion in the world of opera. The awareness of the man beside her was just the finishing touch of a perfect evening, the thrill of his masculine presence looming in the corner of her eye when she caught his profile, the angle of his jaw, his eyes looking forward and yet somehow encompassing her.
As the final stragglers of the theatre crowd dispersed Kate realised that the last time she had been alone with Sebastien was in the chalet kitchen on her girls’ night in. She felt her heart starting to race nervously and was considering a continuation of the evening’s bantering tone to relax the tension when she felt a pair of dark eyes boring into her.
Sebastien also seemed to feel the sudden change in atmosphere because he spoke stiffly. “I would love to suggest that we head back to my flat for a nightcap, but I’m afraid that we’d find Simon still in the lounge and I think it’s time we have a moment for ourselves. Would you care for a drink? There’s a cosy little bar just down the street from here.”
Kate nodded in agreement. A drink might help to ease both of their nerves and finally give them a chance to talk away from his guests, to see how much was real and how much was just show. She also didn’t want this evening to end and was happy to get to wear her dress a little longer.
Sebastien took her arm formally as he guided her across the road and into the narrow streets of the old city. “It isn’t far,” he assured her, looking down at her elegant but freezing footwear.
Kate barely noticed the discomfort, distracted by wondering why he was now treating her with the polite manners he used for guests instead of the closer contact he had been quick to create during the photograph.
/> Fortunately for her toes, the welcoming glow of pub windows shone just a few doors down. Sebastien held the door open and a waft of warm air and chattering voices poured out to greet them. Inside, a cheerful group of men discussed sports loudly by the bar but the rest of the room was half-empty. He took her elbow and steered her between the tables to a small corner near the window.
He pulled out her chair and stood behind her, helping with her coat. Perhaps it was automatic for him, she thought, simply good manners, or maybe he was treating her like a lady to match the fancy occasion. Or perhaps he was distancing himself again, she couldn’t help but think.
He busied himself with removing his own coat and hanging both on a rack near the door, signalling to a waiter in passing. The whole time Kate sat waiting, feeling her anxiety grow and trying to prepare herself for whatever it was he was steeling himself to tell her. That the sledding night had been a mistake? That he’d been attracted to her but it was a bad idea because of his family, because he was her boss, because there was someone else, because he was too busy with work...
Finally he returned to the table and dropped heavily into his chair, undoing the top few buttons on his shirt and pulling it open as if it were constricting him. “I took the liberty of ordering red wine for both of us,” he informed her, running his hand distractedly through his hair and leaving it tousled again.
Kate couldn’t help staring at his now slightly-disreputable look. The man somehow managed to look sexier every time she saw him.
He seemed to have been waiting for a response, because he continued, “Unless you’d like something else. I can still change the order.”
Kate shook her head dumbly. Red wine was a good choice. It had a soothing effect on her, mellowing her more than other alcohols which tended to excite her and make her talk too much. Although right now that didn’t seem to be a problem, as she couldn’t seem to find her tongue.
Across the table Sebastien half-closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, regarding her like a cat getting comfortable. “Alors, Michelle. No guests to entertain, no friends around. Just you and I. So do I get to see a bit of the real Michelle finally?”
That could be tricky when the real Michelle is a fake, Kate couldn’t help thinking with a dry smile.
“And why does that make you laugh, Michelle?” The cat-like eyes opened a crack wider.
Kate toyed with her opera programme, frantically trying to think what to say. This was the perfect moment to come clean and explain everything but her mind went blank when she tried to find the right words to begin.
She was saved momentarily by the arrival of the waitress with two glasses of wine. Kate reached for hers, raised it in a silent toast to Sebastien and took a large mouthful.
“You do not normally strike me as the shy type, Michelle,” Sebastien prodded, raising his glass and taking a more modest sip before setting it back down on the table between them. He leaned forward on his elbows, closing in on her.
“What’s there to know, really?” Kate asked with a laugh that bordered on hysterical. “I work as a chalet hostess and I love musicals and chocolate. And long walks, actually. I love walking.”
“You love walking,” he repeated, pronouncing each word as if it were acid. “Thank you for that insight into your character.”
Kate looked at him in embarrassed dismay, realising how childish her response had been. She stared wide-eyed and then burst out laughing and he joined in. The laughter helped her to release the tension that had been building in her ever since the opera had ended.
“Come, Michelle,” he continued, showing himself to be not as easily diverted as she had hoped. “We finally have a moment to enjoy ourselves out of the limelight. Although I suppose you must enjoy the limelight since you love the stage.”
Kate shook her head. “It isn’t the limelight,” she said slowly, thinking. “It really is just the singing for me.”
He studied her closely. “So why not just sing in the shower then? All the singing and no audience.”
“Oh, I do that too,” she assured him with a grin. “But making a musical is such fun, the orchestra, the costumes, pleasing the audience, everybody singing together. I guess it’s about being part of the cast, more than about the audience. You are part of a team, really.” The idea brought back memories of the pleasure she had felt in the moments of complicity with Sebastien, their little act for the guests.
He toyed with the stem of his wine glass. “So have you thought of making a career of it? Unless you plan to be a chalet host forever.”
“No and no,” Kate responded firmly. “That is, this is a one-off” – she caught herself just in time – “my one last season as chalet girl. Just to give me time to decide what I want to do next.”
“And how did such a musically-talented young woman such as yourself end up in the chalet girl circle? Or did you study chalet-girling at uni? You probably don’t realise this, but it remains the only job you can find in Switzerland where they won’t ask you for papers proving that you’ve taken some sort of special training. I suppose that will come next.”
“Ah, but I have had special training,” Kate corrected him with a smirk. “Lots of siblings. I grew up in chaos and madness where just having breakfast involved event management. I was a dead ringer for the job.”
He smiled his wide smile that made his dark eyes crinkle at the corners, giving the darkness an inviting depth. “And how did you even hear of the chalet girl job? I always thought it was Switzerland’s best-kept secret after the roesti restaurant in le Sepey.”
“You’ll have to take me there one time,” Kate blurted out impulsively and then regretted it immediately, not wanting to sound desperate for another date and scrambling to come up with a plausible reason for Michelle Clark’s career choice. She decided on the classic vague response tactic. “I sort of fell into it, really, desperation being the mother of invention.”
“The desperate desire to be a chalet girl?” Sebastien prompted. “Desperately fleeing the UK after a scandal with the royal family?”
“Looking for a change of scene,” she said, draining her glass and waiting while he refilled it before deciding on a bit of honesty to pave the way. “Running away from a bit of bad luck.”
“Unlucky in love or unlucky in work?” he insisted, reminding her again of the Spanish Inquisition.
“Both,” she replied simply, looking down at her hands before raising her chin defiantly. “But it turned out to be the best thing for me. It was time for a change.”
“And so what will the next step be?” he asked, refilling his own glass as well. “Will we be seeing your smiling face on the stage? Will you leave musicals behind and head to the opera now that you’ve seen the light?”
Kate smiled broadly. “Those lights were pretty blinding tonight. And no, it won’t be the musicals. I’m not that good and besides, I think it’s often a mistake to try to turn your passion into a money-making venture. It can add stresses and pressures that take the fun out of it for good.”
Sebastien studied the burgundy glow of his glass as he held it in front of the low candle on the table before taking a sip. “That’s very true,” he said at last, with a sigh.
“Don’t you love your job then?” Kate asked with genuine curiosity. “You seem so intent on it, there must be some true enjoyment in it.”
“Yes, I enjoy most of it. The management, the decisions and changes and corporate social responsibility, trying to move in new directions behind the scenes – I’ve always liked that part. But the hosting every weekend, the hobnobbing and courting society, being the face of Pichard watches – it isn’t my scene at all. It spoils my enjoyment of my winter weekends.”
Kate knew that he didn’t mean anything personally, but somehow it hurt to hear him say that he wasn’t enjoying their common efforts to amuse his guests. She had hoped that he was finding that teamwork as pleasurable as she did. “So you’d rather be holed up in a board room or hiding away behind your computer o
n weekends than taking them to Verbier. And if you had a night off?”
“I suppose the past couple of years I’ve often worked through the weekend,” he admitted ruefully. “But I still like to go out for a beer with a couple of friends now and then, or have a fondue, something low-key. The truth is I’m just as happy with an assiette valaisanne – you know, those plates of cheeses and dried meats and breads – as with one of those fancy dinners in a posh restaurant, or the clubs and casinos. I guess I’ve had more than enough of that whole scene.” He shrugged his shoulders dismissively.
“And tonight?” Kate asked softly. “The dinner and the opera? Another social chore?” She felt her joy becoming brittle, ready to shatter into tiny, irreparable shards.
“Tonight was for pleasure, not for work,” he said firmly, studying her face. Then he leaned across the table and unclasped her hair, releasing it to fall in its usual wild mane around her face. “You look fabulous tonight, Michelle,” he told her, leaning back in his chair and looking at her steadily. “But I think this is the true you.”
A pang of guilt completely took away the pleasure that his touch and comment would have given her. She realised that they were having their first real conversation, and yet it was all based on deceit. She tried to deflect him, to reduce her guilt. “For all you know, I could be a princess who dresses like this all the time and just plays chalet girl for a bit of slumming. Haven’t you seen “Roman Holiday”?”
Sebastien raised his eyebrows to express surprise. “I’m amazed and relieved that you’ve at least seen one real film that isn’t a musical,” he said teasingly, but then returned to the subject. Once again Kate was struck by how determined he could be, and how impossible to divert.
“I saw you like this first,” he informed her, looking at her flowing hair. “You were just getting off the bus and meeting your friend in Verbier. I was hoping that I’d cross paths with you and you showed up on my doorstep. And you were exactly what I’d expected.”