Fire and Ice

by Nell Harding

  Abruptly he pushed back his chair, but Rashmi laughed and grabbed his wrists. “But first you have to stay for your palak paneer before you fly off to rescue your true love. You mustn’t start adventures with an empty stomach, and the cook here is fabulous. Besides, I’d hate for people to think I’d been stood up. It makes me feel like I’m losing my touch.”

  His smile was genuine as he raised his water glass to hers in a toast. “To true love, then.”

  “Always happy endings,” she responded with a trilling laugh. “And now you must tell me who she is, this mystery woman who has managed to melt your icy heart. I’m thinking to write my own script for my next film and I’m looking for good romantic material. And you mustn’t refuse me,” she said warningly as he opened his mouth to object. “I’m a star. We like to get our own way.” She pushed out her lower lip in a pout.

  “Very well, then,” he said, throwing up his hands in surrender. “If I tell you, you’d better start eating or it will get cold. I suppose you could say it’s a Cinderella story.”

  Rashmi spooned some mango pickle onto a samosa and bit in with relish. “A good love story always gives me a healthy appetite,” she said, wiping her mouth. “But I only like stories with happy endings.”

  “Then I’ll have to make sure that this one has one,” Sebastien promised her with a sudden wide grin. “That sounds like a great plan to me. But I warn you, I’m not about to burst out singing.”

  “That’s ok with me,” Rashmi said off-handedly. “You can dance instead.”

  Sebastien regarded her fondly. “You really remind me of somebody,” he told her. “Somebody special.”

  “I am somebody special,” she told him archly, regaining a bit of her starlet aplomb. “But it means that she’s definitely worth winning back, isn’t it?”

  “I can’t argue with that logic,” Sebastien acknowledged. “Least of all because I would offend you.” And because she was right.

  Kate looked around her room one last time to make sure that she hadn’t forgotten anything. There had still been no word from the Pichards and it was time to retreat with whatever grace she could muster, accepting her disgrace and not expecting anybody to bother speaking to her. At least they hadn’t called the police.

  She reread the note she had prepared and propped it on the dining room table. She would have loved a chance to explain to Sebastien in person, to let him know that she had intended to tell him and that it had never been a plot to use him for a story. To tell him that she loved him and had never felt safer or more at home than that night in his arms. But these were words to whisper in person, not to write as she slinked away with her tail between her legs.

  Instead she had written a simple apology to the entire family, thanking them for their warm welcome and saying how sorry she was for the misunderstanding that had arisen. She chose not to be more explicit because she was unsure exactly what Sebastien had told his family. Perhaps he had let them believe it was simply a lover’s quarrel, to save his pride, indirectly saving her reputation as well. In any case, it was up to him how he wanted to explain her abrupt departure.

  She locked the chalet behind her and dropped the key in the letterbox at the end of the snowy drive. Her duffel bag bit into her shoulder as she lugged it down the street toward Mimi’s flat.

  Afternoon was drawing to a close with the purple-blue light on the snow that would forever bring her back to the moment on the step when she had first seen Sebastien. She remembered her nervousness and anticipation at the time, and then the simple joy that had slowly grown in her as she adjusted to her new life. She thought of all the hope and potential she had begun to feel which was now all washed away, eroding her self-confidence at the same time.

  This time she was running away without a fixed destination. But she had enough money for a ticket back to London where she could borrow a friend’s flat for the next few weeks while she looked for a temporary job in the restaurants or call centres until she found something more permanent.

  As she made her way down the road her gaze lingered on the twilight silhouettes of the now-familiar peaks that had marked her horizons for the past two months. She had grown to love this craggy valley the way she had grown to love her cold boss, seeing the softness under the rugged edges. She would miss both in a way she had never missed London or Mickey. For a brief period, she had felt as if she really belonged.

  Emily was waiting for her, enveloping her in a huge bear hug as she opened the door. “I’ve been thinking about you all day,” she told her as Kate put down her bag and shrugged out of her coat.

  “About what?” Kate asked dryly. “About starting to charge me for your services of post-relationship crisis centre as we start round two?”

  Emily ignored her comments and continued briskly. “Your ticket is still refundable up to the last minute, so I really think you should cancel it now and finish the season here in Verbier, staying with me. Yves is looking for somebody part-time in the ski shop and you could still have time to job-hunt on line. You’d be so much better off with me to distract you than alone in a borrowed flat in the London rain.”

  Kate shook her head firmly. “No, Mimi, I really can’t stay. Verbier has too many memories for me now. And what if I bumped into one of the Pichards?”

  “Then you could explain the truth to them and Sebastien would forgive you,” Mimi urged. “He obviously was in love with you or he wouldn’t have taken off like that. You might not even be fired.”

  “So I should hang out in an empty chalet, jumping out of my skin every time the phone rings or a car passes? Waiting for somebody who will never show up? I’d go mad, Mimi. I have to get away from here.”

  Emily looked worried. “You’ll get all depressed again back in London,” she warned. “This is not a time to be alone.”

  Kate’s eyebrows drew together in determination. “Yes, it is,” she contradicted her friend. “It’s exactly what I need so I can see the reality of my situation and think clearly and get on with starting my life again.”

  Her voice faltered on the last sentence but she managed to remain dry-eyed. She had shed enough tears over a hopeless situation that was really all of her own making. Self-pity was going to get her nowhere. It was time to be sensible for once, not sensitive.

  “What if I get you really drunk tonight?” Emily persisted. “And make you either change your mind or miss your flight tomorrow?”

  Kate smiled faintly. “Not a chance. I’m glad to sleep here tonight and we just might have to drink that bottle of red I see on the table, but even if you sneak out early to work I’ll be coming by your shop in the morning to hand you your keys and catch my train. The show must go on.”

  “The show is here, Kate,” Emily said insistently. “I saw the way he looked at you when he gate-crashed the Sound of Music. And I saw you after you two finally kissed. There’s something real there and you just have to clear up the misunderstanding. Whatever happened to the girl who always said “love conquers all”?”

  “She grew up,” Kate said flatly. “She realised that Walt Disney musicals form a weak basis for adult life. Musicals are not the answer. In the very short term, however, red wine just might be.”

  “It’s a band-aid, not a cure,” Emily said with a little grin, heading toward the counter for a corkscrew. “But a sensible course of action in the present circumstances. But don’t give up on musicals, Kate. As you always claim, there’s a song for every occasion, a chance to be a romantic heroine even when things fall apart. How about “I Dreamed A Dream”?”

  “She ends up dead,” Kate said brusquely, bending down to search in her duffel bag.

  Mimi watched her curiously. “What are you rummaging around for? If you’re going to need a box of tissues or a crying towel, I have plenty of both.”

  Kate looked up from her duffel bag, holding aloft a travel alarm. “I’m taking no chances and setting my alarm now. I don’t quite trust you about tomorrow.”

  Mimi was already pouring them
each a glass. “Look, it’s just a name,” she repeated stubbornly. “The rest is real. Don’t give up on that.”

  “I lied to him,” Kate said bluntly. “He is probably furious and hurt, like I was with Mickey, and nothing I could tell him now would make him believe me. Trust me, I know how awful it is when the person you are with turns out to be somebody else entirely.”

  Emily handed her a generous portion of wine and poured herself the same. “It’s not the same situation as with the rat,” she said firmly. “You’ve been yourself as far as personality goes. And it isn’t as if you’ve gone and told any tales about him. He must have figured that out by now.”

  Kate had been back through all the columns she had written since her arrival in Verbier. If he had wanted to, Sebastien could certainly have found them to see everything she had published about Switzerland. He must know that she hadn’t said a word about the Pichards at all, and still he didn’t try to contact her. The damage was permanent.

  “It’s just such crap timing,” she told Mimi, taking a sip of her wine. “Don’t even think about singing “Send In The Clowns,”, but it’s true that it’s brutal to lose my timing at this point after all my stage experience. Whereas his timing is impeccable.”

  “I should hope so, if he makes Swiss watches,” Emily said smoothly, managing to coax a reluctant smile from her friend.

  “This is why you could play Wilde and I could only ever play Rogers and Hammerstein,” Kate said with a trace of her old self-mockery. “This turned out to be a drama, not a musical after all. So not my scene.”

  Emily regarded her fondly. “You could have played dramas if you wanted, you know,” she informed her.

  Kate made a face. “Not that well, apparently. Look how I messed this one up. Time to pick up my toys and go home.”

  “You have no idea how much I’ll miss you if you go,” Emily complained, handing a generous serving of wine to her friend. “So tell me what it would take to make you change your mind and I’ll drink to it.”

  Kate raised her glass in response. “A miracle, Mimi. It would take a miracle.” A miracle such as the man of her dreams knocking on the door and sweeping her off her feet. And she no longer believed in miracles.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  When Kate arrived at Emily’s boutique the next day the shop was busy with a group of young women trying on all sorts of clothing. Kate stood outside in the cold morning sunshine, watching her friend through the glass. She had given herself an extra half-hour to say her goodbyes to Emily without rushing. She would miss their daily talks and the closeness of living down the street from each other. It had felt a bit like back in their university days, adding to the sense of potential she had felt for a while here.

  There were plenty of things she would miss, she thought glumly, looking around her as the morning unfolded in Verbier. Skiers rushed by toward the lifts; locals strolled by doing their errands and the snowy peaks spread all around them.

  She tried not to think of the pair of dark eyes she would miss most of all, their guardedness suddenly breaking into a boyish twinkle, a conspiratorial wink or a dizzying depth when he looked straight into her. She would miss the nervous anticipation she had felt on Wednesdays, waiting for his call, or the butterflies in her stomach whenever he approached the chalet.

  The squeal of a car braking suddenly snapped her out of her reverie. She didn’t have time to daydream or feel sorry for herself this morning or she’d miss her flight. She could wallow in nostalgia once she was seated safely on the train to the airport in Geneva. She pushed open the door of the boutique and stepped inside.

  Mimi left her clients with a pile of trendy sweaters and walked slowly toward Kate. “So you’re really leaving,” she said forlornly. “I was really hoping you’d change your mind. Didn’t we have a laugh over dinner last night? When you probably thought you’d never laugh again.”

  “I can’t stay drunk for the rest of my life, Mimi,” Kate told her with a baleful look. It had been fun to put her misery behind her for an evening but she was paying for it with a bit of a headache this morning. But her resolution to move on had not faltered.

  “Some highly functioning people do,” Mimi said thoughtfully. “It seems to be compatible with acting, for example. Maybe you could end up on stage.”

  “I’ve had enough of acting to last me the rest of my life,” Kate said vehemently. “Whatever I do next, it won’t be pretending to be somebody else.”

  “That’s a shame,” said a low voice from the shop entrance. “You’d make such an excellent spy.”

  Sebastien Pichard stood in the doorway, his strong frame silhouetted against the bright snow outside. “There’s quite a market for corporate spies, if you don’t feel like playing Jane Bond.”

  Kate grabbed onto one of the clothing racks to steady herself as her knees threatened to give out. Mimi looked from one to the other, wide-eyed, before suddenly hurrying back to throw lavish attention on her clients.

  Sebastien ignored her, his dark eyes never leaving Kate’s face as he advanced slowly toward her. “What’s the matter, have we forgotten our lines? I thought you were quite a master of improvisation.”

  Kate couldn’t speak. She couldn’t quite grasp that this was Sebastien approaching, the man she had been dreaming of and longing to see. All the explanations she had imagined giving him if she ever had the chance, all the heartfelt declarations of love had vanished from her mind. Instead she gaped at him like a stunned goldfish.

  By now Sebastien stood in front of her, looming over her almost menacingly. Still her mind remained blank as she stared at him. He was looking scruffy, as if he hadn’t slept in a while, but as sexy as ever. Sexier, Kate realised with a jolt, as he practically hummed with an explosive energy.

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me who you were?” he demanded angrily, looking down at her with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

  “Why did you disappear like that without giving me the chance to explain?” Kate shot back instinctively, surprising herself with her own sudden fury. In her daydreams she had been prepared to throw herself at him and beg forgiveness, but instead she felt her red-headed temper awakening in response to his, fuelled by days of tension, frustration and lack of sleep.

  “The chance to explain?” he repeated incredulously. “You had weeks to explain yourself, and certainly ample opportunity.” The last phrase was spat out with such force that Kate couldn’t mistake his meaning.

  “I was going to!” Kate retorted hotly. “If you hadn’t sneaked away like a thief in the night-“

  “A thief?” Sebastien bellowed, showing what Kate considered to be a very un-Swiss disregard for what others in the shop might think. “I was in my own house! I wasn’t the one lying my way into a job and a family, playing everybody like fools in a big con game, betraying their trust.”

  “Trust?” Kate spat back. “If you trusted me, why didn’t you stay to ask me my side? Why did you automatically assume the worst?”

  “Because you lied to me!” he roared. “That’s why I didn’t trust you. Because I had to find out who you really were from a bloody newspaper column.”

  “It’s just a column,” Kate said pleadingly. Her flash of temper was suddenly extinguished, replaced by an overwhelming desire to throw herself into the arms of the man in front of her and kiss him passionately, to make him believe her, to make him see how much she cared. Instead she spoke softly, as if a loud noise could shatter the fragile bit of hope that had started to grow in her. “A silly little column. They’re just sketches of Switzerland, nothing even remotely personal. I never sold you out.”

  “And why didn’t you just tell me?” The anger was gone from his voice as well. In its place was a genuine-sounding need to understand. “Didn’t you trust me enough?”

  “I needed the job,” Kate answered simply. “I was in a bind and the real Michelle Clark broke her leg, so I grabbed the opportunity. Maybe it was wrong, but it wasn’t malicious. My writing has nothing to do wit
h this, really, but I didn’t think you’d trust me if you knew I worked for a paper.”

  “And after?” Sebastien was staring at her intently, searchingly. “You still didn’t think you could tell me?”

  Kate looked up into those dark eyes and then looked away. “I meant to. I wanted to. But I kept putting it off because I was afraid.”

  “Afraid I’d fire you once I found out?” he prompted.

  Afraid he wouldn’t love her, she wanted to say. Instead she found herself pointing out “Well, that’s what happened in the end, isn’t it?”

  “I didn’t fire you, you quit,” he growled, reaching in his pocket to pull out the letter she had left on the table and shaking it in her direction. “Without a word of explanation. If I hadn’t spotted you on the sidewalk, you wouldn’t even have said goodbye.” He nodded toward the luggage at her feet.

  Kate stared at him in bewilderment. “I guess I assumed that you’d fired me when you took off to India and told Simon not to give me the photo. I figured you wouldn’t really want an imposter working for your family, and that you’d never want to see me again.”

  His tone became businesslike again. “Those are two separate issues. I think it’s reasonable to say that working for Pichard watches seems a bit inappropriate for you now. We can’t really have somebody from the newspapers working for us as our in-house spy, now can we? Although I’d have to say you’re a natural at that. And a better actress than you give yourself credit for.”

  “So I am fired.” Kate was confused.

  “No, but I accept your resignation. Which is a pity, because you really were a natural at the hosting game with your Irish charm.”

  “You are too, you know,” she told him bluntly. “You never needed me.”

  He took one step closer so that he towered over her. “Didn’t I?” he asked softly, so that only she could hear him.