Chalet Girls. Lorraine Wilson

like he‘s in tune with the mountain. As though he‘s dancing in time to a mountain heartbeat no one else can hear but him.

      I expected his skill but didn‘t anticipate anything so beautiful or so moving. It stirs me deep down, opening up a visceral yearning.

      Could I ever move that gracefully? My grandmother was the one who taught me to dream big. Before she died she told me to go out into the world and take all the opportunities she never had. She never left the Scottish Highlands to travel and she always regretted it. I know she loved Granddad but he was traditional and controlling. She made me promise never to tie myself to a man who tried to crush my dreams. I‘ll always be grateful to her for giving me the courage to defy Mum and Dad and come to Verbier.

      When the film ends the crowd erupts in enthusiastic applause. I ease back into my chair, disappointed it‘s over. Only now do I finally breathe out properly. I‘d no idea I was even holding my breath.

      My skin prickles again and I sense an intent stare from the person sitting beside me, demanding my attention. I bite my lip. It could be someone I know. I wasn‘t really looking when I sat down, I was too busy nabbing the seat. It would be rude not to acknowledge them. Reluctantly I turn and my eyebrows shoot up.

      ‘Oh my God.’ I‘m staring directly back at the subject of the film, at Sebastien Laroche himself. His eyes flicker with amusement.

      ‘I‘ve been called a lot of things in my life but never God.’ He grins, a hint of wickedness in the curve of his mouth. ‘I‘m not sure I‘m cut out to be a deity. Too badly behaved.’

      His English is heavily accented with his native French accent but he speaks with a confidence that tells me he doesn‘t give a damn.

      Heat floods my cheeks and I don‘t know where to look. Why did I have to sound so naïve and starstruck? Along with the prickling embarrassment, I‘m aware of something more – a stirring deep inside me. A quickening and an awakening. The look in his eyes when he says ‚badly behaved‘ makes my stomach flip over. I have to say something, right now. I swallow hard.

      ‘Um, that was amazing.’ I gesture towards the screen, admiration finally breaking through my embarrassment.

      ‘I was watching you while the film played. You get it.’ He places a heavy emphasis on the word ‚it‘ and, before I realise what he‘s doing, he takes my hand and places it over his heart. ‘You get it right here.’

      I feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat through his cotton cashmere crewneck, it pulses against my palm. I can feel hard muscle beneath the soft, silky fabric. My cheeks burn even hotter.

      ‘Er, yes, I think so.’ I blink and kick myself for umming and erring. This has got to be the most bizarre conversation I‘ve ever had. Yet, as embarrassed as I am, I don‘t want it to end.

      Ever.

      ‘I saw it in your eyes; you were up there, with me.’ His intense gaze is fixed on me, as though I‘m the only person in the room. I always thought that was a cliché, but it‘s how it really feels. Surely he must be aware there are lots of people waiting to speak to him? I‘m sure everyone must be staring at us, but I can‘t break eye contact with Sebastien. He‘s even more mesmerising and twice as charismatic in real life as he was on screen.

      ‘Do you have a name?’ His lips quirk. I try not to fixate on them but it‘s difficult not to imagine what it would be like to be kissed by him.

      ‘Yes …’ I‘m flustered. He still has my hand against his chest and is acting as though the way he‘s behaving is perfectly normal. ‘I‘m Lucy.’

      ‘Lucy,’ he tries out my name, his accent making it sound musical. He smiles. ‘You can call me Seb. Now I‘m afraid you‘ll have to excuse me. I have to go and make nice with the very generous people who give me money to do what I love. Will I see you at the after-party?’

      He lets go of my hand and I instantly wish he hadn‘t broken the connection between us.

      ‘I don‘t think I‘m invited.’ I bite my lip, torn between desire and the urge to scurry back into my shell.

      ‘Pffft.’ He shrugs, a quintessentially French gesture of dismissal. ‘Consider yourself invited. Say you are my guest. Then we can talk some more.’

      ‘I‘m not sure …’ I‘m wasting my breath, as he‘s dropped my hand and turned and is already in deep conversation with two men in expensive suits.

      Okay then. I remember to breathe and slip out of my seat, heart thumping, as I make my way out of the tent, gaze lowered to the ground.

      That was … surreal. I‘m going to assume I had some kind of meltdown or fell asleep and daydreamed that encounter. There‘s no way I‘m going to some after-party. Parties are hellish enough when you know people, but making small talk with lots of strangers? It‘s not going to happen. The only place I‘m going is back to my bunk at Chalet Repos.

       Chapter 2

      From: [email protected]

      To: [email protected]

      Re: The Lodge Hotel

      Sophie darling, didn’t you get my other messages? I really need you to get back to me ASAP so we can start planning the wedding.

      I know you said there’s no hurry but I don’t think you realise how far in advance wedding venues get booked up. Rita from the WI has a daughter who works at the Lodge Hotel – they’ve had a cancellation for the second Saturday in May next year but we have to act quickly if we want that date.

      I’m so looking forward to planning you a wonderful wedding, darling. I can’t wait.

      Anyway, I must go. There’s a pile of ironing to be done and your dad’s calling for his coffee. We both know how grumpy he gets when he’s caffeine-deprived so I’d better get on.

      Give our best to Luc.

      Love,

      Mum

      SOPHIE

      I thrust my phone to the bottom of my bag, wishing it were as easy to squash down my anxiety. Emails can be ignored, for a little while, at least. Emotional procrastination is more difficult and worse for your health. I can feel a stress headache pulsing at my temples but force a smile to my lips and make an effort to tune back into the conversation.

      ‘Wow. This chalet is freakin’ amazing. Can we go and see the basement spa now? Pretty please?’ Tash practically bounces on the spot, her childlike glee at odds with her immaculate and elaborate make-up.

      ‘Absolutely, but no stripping off.’ Holly catches my eye and grins. We both know there’s no containing Tash when she’s in one of her exuberant moods.

      ‘Spoil sport,’ Tash pouts.

      ‘Well, not until after midnight anyway.’ Holly concedes. ‘The other guests should be mostly drunk by then. But, given it’s Sophie’s engagement party, maybe you should check with her before you do anything, erm, too outrageous.

      My engagement party.

      The words cause another worm of anxiety to squirm in my stomach.

      ‘Please, like I’ve ever been able to stop Tash stripping off.’ I shrug. ‘But we’re celebrating Amelia’s engagement tonight too and I’m not sure she’d be happy about it.’

      Amelia got engaged a while before me, but when planning the party Holly realised she hadn’t done anything for Amelia and was worried she’d take offence. Holly was probably right, but I actually don’t mind in the slightest. I’ve got no problem with sharing the party with Amelia and, if anyone else wants to take some of the limelight off me, they’re very welcome to it.

      ‘Who’s stripping