‘This place is off the hook,’ Lily said, breaking into a smile. ‘I can’t believe I actually took the plunge and did this.’
‘I know! It’s so out of character, all this bravery.’ Imogen smiled back, so that Lily knew she was only teasing. ‘We’ll have you skiing down a black run before you know it.’
Lily shuddered. ‘No way! The skiing thing is a whole other challenge. That might be too far.’
Imogen broke into a gleeful grin. ‘We’ll get you down a mountain, I’m sure of it.’
Lily said nothing and tried to squash down her inner panic. She wasn’t great with heights and she had never understood it, even when Jamie had talked incessantly about it. God. Jamie, Jamie, Jamie. Why did all roads lead to Jamie? Even in Chamonix.
‘OK. We’re here.’
Lily paused and gazed up at the hotel. It was an old building which looked as though it had been recently renovated. Like a large house, it had seven floors and it was white with pretty blue shutters that matched the roof. There was a smart swimming pool area at the front of the hotel which gave it a modern air and dove-grey loungers and parasols were dotted around the tranquil blue pool.
Lily followed Imogen into a quaint but sleek reception area, which had squashy grey sofas with splashes of scarlet in the cushions and rugs. Wood panelling covered the walls, which gave the hotel that traditional, alpine ‘ski’ vibe.
‘It’s lovely,’ Lily said.
‘Wait until you see the rooms,’ Imogen told her. ‘All wood panelling and high beams and some of the bathrooms are so fancy. Glass doors, marble tiles and purple up-lighting. Not the servants’ quarters, natch.’
‘Natch. That’s OK. I only like blue up-lighting in my bathrooms.’
‘Lucky. Ooh.’ Imogen nudged Lily. ‘It’s Celine. She’s coming over to say hello.’
Lily turned to meet Celine, intrigued to put a face to the voice she had spoken to on the phone.
‘Bonjour,’ Celine said, extending a hand. ‘Lovely to meet you, Lily.’
Again, the charming, accented version of her name. Lily studied Celine as she answered perfunctory questions about her journey. Celine was a slim woman, verging on skinny, with pronounced cheekbones, blond, curly hair and a large gap between her two front teeth. Her skin was tanned and weather-beaten, with a scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She was wearing a pair of turquoise salopettes and a white polo neck with what looked like hiking boots. Ugly footwear, but Celine was soignée, elegant and well-groomed, in every other sense.
‘So Imogen will show you to your room,’ Celine was saying as she checked her watch. She had a nervous, fidgety manner, as though she was powered by nerves and adrenalin. And probably caffeine. ‘And then perhaps after you’ve settled and showered, you’ll join us for dinner?’
‘Sounds great.’ Nodding at Celine, Lily followed Imogen to the lift. ‘She seems nice.’
‘She is. A bit neurotic maybe? And ski-obsessed,’ Imogen added as she punched the number six inside the small, mirrored lift. ‘But then, they all are. Honestly, Lily. They live, breathe and eat skiing. The whole family is the same. Wait until you meet Pierre! He can’t talk about anything else. Marc is the same. And Elodie… well.’ Imogen’s expression darkened. ‘I’ll tell you about Elodie another time. This is us. Surprise! I moved so I could share with you.’
Lily entered the room and flopped onto the pristine white sheets of the nearest bed, her feet ending up on the red and white throw that was neatly folded at the end. Letting out a huge sigh of relief, she lay back and stared up at the wooden beams of the ceiling. She was actually in Chamonix! She had moved out of her London flat and she was here, all these miles away, in a hotel in the middle of the Alps. It was exciting. And terrifying.
Lily sat up as Imogen starting unpacking for her. And she wasn’t simply hurling things into drawers, she was neatly placing Lily’s clothes in empty drawers and shelves. She had left a section of the wardrobe aside for any smart clothes Lily had brought with her. Lily hadn’t brought that many as she wasn’t sure of the etiquette. Also, Imogen had assured her that it was very ‘cas’ in the evenings and smart trousers were more or less all she needed. Lily had thrown in a couple of winter dresses just in case because she hated being unprepared.
The room was on the small side, with twin beds, each with their own tiny bedside table and matching lamp, but Imogen assured her that this was normal in a ski chalet-style hotel. There were wooden shelves and luckily, a largish wardrobe for them to share, along with a huge mirror with a set of antlers above it hung over a miniscule desk and chair. Somehow, though, it worked and it was a seriously cute little room.
‘We don’t have a wood burning stove in this room, more’s the pity,’ Imogen said, hanging Lily’s clothes in the wardrobe. ‘Those rooms are so beautiful, but we’d have to be paying guests to stay in one of those. We can do this properly later. I don’t want us to be late for dinner.’
‘There’s a balcony!’ Lily exclaimed, rushing across a mock-cow skin rug to open the sliding doors. Stepping out, she observed a low coffee-style table with two very comfortable if tiny chairs. Adorable. She leant on the balcony, taking in the magnificent view of the mountains rising majestically above them.
‘I know, I know. Wow,’ Imogen said, rolling her eyes cheekily as she joined her. ‘I’m joking. It’s gorgeous, isn’t it? I’ve been so happy here. I genuinely can’t imagine going home. Not for a long time. You wait, Lils. You’ll fall in love with this place soon. I know you will.’
‘Maybe.’ Lily inhaled the cold, clean air. Jamie – and Ivy, for that matter – felt a million miles away right now. Which, with the greatest respect, was exactly how Lily wanted it.
‘Right. Shower, change and we’ll go down for dinner,’ Imogen told her. ‘I’m going to re-do my make-up, put on the Bardot top that makes my boobs look gigantic and I’m good to go.’
‘I need to text my mum and tell her I’ve arrived safely,’ Lily called, dashing to the shower. ‘And I don’t know what to wear or what makes my boobs look big or any of that…’
‘Leave it to me,’ Imogen told her. ‘I’ve just viewed your entire wardrobe. Be ready in ten and I promise I’ll make your tits look good.’
Chapter Six
‘And here we have tartiflette.’ The hotel chef, who Imogen informed her was called Sylvan, placed the dish on the table with a flourish. ‘Let me serve you… Thursdays we all eat together as there are no guests here.’
Lily smiled. She knew this; this was why she had booked her flight on a Thursday, but she said nothing, so as not to take the wind out of Slyvan’s sails.
‘Tartiflette is a simple dish,’ Sylvan informed Lily, loitering by her side of the table, ‘using Reblochon cheese, the very best of the French cheeses, in my opinion. It is a typical Savoyard cheese, with lardons, white wine, garlic and shallots. I boil the potatoes for ten minutes in very salty water until tender and I fry the lardons and the garlic, then de-glaze the pan with good, white wine… French, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Lily murmured, overwhelmed by all the information.
Sylvan wasn’t done. ‘And then I put all the potatoes in, how you say, layers. Then I add the thick cream… I don’t know what you call this in English…’
‘We call that double cream,’ Lily told him, wondering why Sylvan was going to so much trouble to tell her all the details about tartiflette. Short, bald and with a dark goatee, Sylvan wasn’t remotely her type. And Lily hoped to God she wasn’t his. He was a great chef; there was no doubt about that. His soupe à l’oignon starter had been a rich, sumptuous dish of joy, with thick strands of onion steeped in a boozy broth, topped with a garlicky baguette dripping with grated gruyere cheese. It had been filling, luxurious and decadent. Which was no mean feat for a soup starter.
Dickhead, Imogen mouthed across the table, jabbing an indiscreet finger in Sylvan’s direction. She gave Lily a huge grin.
Lily supressed a laugh and did her best to not loo
k ill-mannered in front of Sylvan.
‘It is then baked in the oven so the Reblochon cheese melts and the top gets… I think you say crisp?’ Sylvan said, holding his hands up in way that suggested he thought he was being charming.
‘OK, Sylvan, I think she’s heard enough,’ a handsome guy cut in. It was accurate, but rather rude. He held his hand out and somehow managed to make the gesture haughty. ‘Hi, I’m Marc Devereux. Pierre’s son.’
Massive dickhead, Imogen mouthed helpfully across the table.
‘Hi Marc, I’m Lily,’ she said, trying to keep a straight face.
‘Yes, I know,’ he said in clipped tones. ‘My mother hired you a week or so ago. Sports masseuse. I know everything that goes on in this hotel. I practically run it, if you must know.’
His accent was clipped and clear and his command of the English language was impeccable. He had chiselled cheekbones that he had clearly inherited from his mother, with a sleek cap of dark hair rather than the blond curls.
‘On the nose,’ Lily said, thinking perhaps Imogen was right. Marc might just be a massive dickhead.
‘On the nose?’ Marc looked confused.
‘It’s an expression,’ Lily explained. ‘It means… you’re absolutely right. Or, precisely.’
‘I see.’ Marc looked unimpressed. ‘I am not sure that is something I need to add to my repertoire.’
‘I shouldn’t think so,’ Lily said, taking a huge slug of white wine. ‘I’m sure your repertoire is exemplary.’
Marc inclined his head appreciatively, clearly missing her cheeky sarcasm. ‘Ah, there is my father. Papa. This is Lily, la nouvelle masseuse.’
‘Bonsoir, bonsoir,’ Pierre said, immediately reminding Lily of Dave. Maybe Pierre would start doing a funny robot dance.
Or maybe not, she revised, studying him more closely. Pierre was tall with dark hair and had obviously had a major hand in Marc’s appearance. He was handsome in a similar, snooty, self-important kind of way. Like Celine earlier, who was now nowhere to be seen, Pierre wore black ski salopettes as though they were entirely appropriate dinner wear, teamed with a grey polo neck. He had a skier’s tan, with faint sunglasses marks around the eyes and a slightly peeling nose. Lily had no doubt the tan ended at the neck and wrists. Not that she had the slightest interest in anything under Pierre’s polo neck.
‘Aah, tartiflette,’ Pierre said, taking a seat near Lily. ‘Sylvan, you have surpassed yourself.’ He helped himself to a large portion, displaying an appetite that didn’t match his svelte physique. Presumably it was all the skiing.
‘But of course.’ Sylvan inclined his head and left the table to return to the kitchen.
Lily hid a smile. Why were they all so pleased with themselves?
Also dickhead, Imogen mouthed innocently by way of an explanation.
Lily giggled. She couldn’t help it. All the white wine and Imogen was being such a bitch.
‘So, Lily,’ Pierre started. ‘Welcome to Boutique Hotel Devereux.’
‘Thank you,’ she replied, raising her glass in his direction because she wasn’t sure what else to do. She should probably eat some of Sylvan’s tartiflette, but all the travel and the fatigue was catching up with her. She didn’t want to end up being sick again, especially not in front of all these new people.
‘You arrived on the right day,’ Pierre told her. ‘The guests are eating in the village tonight, but tomorrow, everything is back to normal and we work!’
Lily accepted another glass of wine.
Pierre got to his feet unexpectedly. ‘Everyone, please welcome Lily to our team at Boutique Hotel Devereux!’
Lily wasn’t sure why Pierre kept saying the ‘boutique’ bit when he mentioned the hotel, but perhaps it was important to him.
‘Welcome!’ everyone around the table chorused.
‘Welcome,’ Celine added, joining them. She had a beautiful young woman with her. Lily surmised from Imogen’s rather naughty low-down after her shower that this was Elodie, Marc’s younger sister. Elodie had Celine’s blond hair, but she must spend an awfully long time straightening it because it was like a golden sheet hanging around her shoulders. Her face was angular, with full lips and wide, slanting eyes. She looked like a predatory Siamese cat, her eyes moving around the table as though she was searching for someone.
Lily met Imogen’s eyes across the table and, seeing Imogen’s mouth opening, shook her head ferociously. If Elodie was also a massive dickhead, it was probably best left unsaid at this point. Because Lily was going to burst into noisy guffaws and make a show of herself if Imogen carried on.
‘Let me introduce you to everyone,’ Pierre was saying. He went around the four tables in the room, throwing names at Lily. She heard Kate, Amelia, Ollie, George, Joe… and a whole host of other names that she instantly forgot. She decided she would try to put the names to the faces later if they went out for a drink after dinner, as Imogen had suggested.
Drinking far too much wine, Lily managed some tartiflette and pretended to eat some of the vanilla-soaked crème caramel Sylvan produced. She also got the detailed, blow-by-blow account of the recipe, apparently just for her benefit.
‘Right. Let’s escape,’ Imogen said once they had cleared the table and helped Sylvan tidy the kitchen. Lily noticed that the Devereuxs, apart from Elodie, melted away at this point, but that was fair enough. It was their ‘Boutique’ hotel, after all. Elodie hung back, chatting to the staff and seemed to be part of the gang.
‘Let’s go to Amnesia!’ a guy with dark hair shouted, to which everyone agreed.
On Imogen’s insistence, Lily had worn some flattish, lace-up Timberland boots that went with her jeans and cropped black jumper combo because apparently no one wore boots with heels or anything too dressy. And judging by the way everyone else was dressed, this was true – jumpers and flat boots were de rigeur in Chamonix. They all trudged through the marginal scattering of crunchy snow to get to the Amnesia bar and Lily looked around, enjoying the sight of families and couples eating and drinking inside the glow of nearby restaurants and bars. People were still in full ski wear, furry headbands included in some cases, as though they had just skied down the mountain moments before and alighted onto the snow-encrusted pavement of the town, skis and poles in tow.
Chamonix looked magical. It was lit up with giant, sparkly snowflakes that were strewn across the streets above their heads. Pretty Christmas decorations could be seen everywhere: in shop windows, in restaurants and even in the squares, where there were giant, illuminated teddy bears and sleighs. Lily let out a sigh of pleasure. She was so glad to be here and away from the heartache of home. And it felt so Christmassy here already!
‘This – is Amnesia!’ Imogen announced as they ducked through a door into a brightly-lit modern bar. There was a dance area with a low ceiling, teaming with people dancing and laughing. The bar had giant bottles of champagne and vodka lined up on it. There were seated areas with uncomfortable-looking white cubes to perch on and a ski gang headed to one of them.
‘Welcome to Chamonix.’
Lily turned to find Elodie at her elbow. Elodie pressed a vodka cranberry into Lily’s hand.
‘Thank you. Elodie, isn’t it?’ Lily sipped the drink. She hated vodka-cranberry, but she didn’t want to be rude.
‘So what brings you here? Awful parents? Terrible job? Broken heart?’ Elodie regarded Lily haughtily over the top of her glass.
Lily gulped her vodka down. Wow. Was she that predictable? Elodie’s English was as superb as the rest of her family, Lily noted. She had a stronger accent, but her vocabulary was impressive.
‘People tend to turn up here for one or all of those reasons,’ Elodie said, her voice lacking warmth or emotion. She flipped her hair over her shoulder. ‘So I just wondered which applied to you.’ It was a clinical statement, which made its motivation obscure.
‘I see.’ Lily forced a smile onto her face. ‘Well. My parents are amazing… mum and step-dad, actually.’ She didn’t want to
think about her dad. Not now, not ever. ‘My job was boring rather than terrible. Broken heart… er… tick, I guess.’
‘Thought so!’ Elodie looked triumphant. She smiled smugly, still managing to look beautiful. ‘I said you had that look about you. Like you had been… how do you say it in English? Dumped?’
Lily decided she didn’t like Elodie very much. ‘I wasn’t actually dumped,’ she said, not sure why she felt the need to defend herself. ‘It was more that I was interested in this guy and he ended up dating my sister and…’
‘Oh, well, whatever!’ Elodie waved a dismissive hand, clearly not interested in the actual details. She appeared to merely be proving a point to herself. ‘I’m telling you it’s the same thing over and over here. Shall I introduce you to everyone again? You looked like you didn’t take any of them in earlier.’
Elodie was going to get vodka-cranberry in her face in a minute. Although Lily realised she couldn’t actually throw a drink in Elodie’s face because she was a Devereux. Lily urgently looked around for Imogen, but she was being chatted up by the dark-haired guy who’d suggested the bar.
Elodie finished listing everyone’s name’s in a monotone, talking down to Lily as if she wasn’t capable of taking it all in. ‘The only person missing is Luc,’ Elodie was saying. ‘He’s one of the ski instructors, but he’s very busy and very attractive, so I’m not sure how much time you’ll be spending with him. Me and Luc are… we are very close,’ she said suggestively. ‘He was a terrible playboy when I first met him.’ Elodie gave Lily a pointed smile. ‘Not so much now.’
‘Right.’ Bored senseless and tired of being pleasant to someone who was treating her as if she was a complete and utter moron, Lily got up. ‘Thanks for that, Elodie. Very informative.’
Christmas in Chamonix Page 6