Five Ladies Go Skiing: A feel-good novel of friendship and love. Karen Aldous

But I couldn’t admit that to him. Neither could I admit it to my friends. I would feel terribly disloyal to Anthony and he wouldn’t want anyone to interfere in our marriage.

      I supposed I should confront him with it. It couldn’t continue. At least I had a husband alive to confront. Poor Ginny didn’t even have Mike’s shoulder to cry on when she was made redundant. Opening up about her redundancy earlier was a major step forward for her. Usually she’d just tell you what she was doing, rarely how she was feeling. You would think people coped better as they got older, but it seemed new challenges would spring up and surprise you. Anthony and ice were currently mine!

      Reaching La Poste, lagging a little behind the girls, I was ready to scream and would have hugged that Stefano guy, if he had stayed still long enough, for getting us the wine so fast. That first glass lasted me all of two seconds. I handed the girls theirs and refilled mine.

      Lou gave a roar as I put the bottle on the small table and spun round. ‘Steady on, ol’ girl,’ she said. ‘Is Anthony OK?’

      ‘Yes, fine, darling,’ I lied. Clearly she knew who I was talking to. ‘How’s Terry?’

      ‘Ditto, when I left anyway. Glad to be rid of me I think. Ha!’ she sniggered. Kim sidled up to us as Lou continued. ‘No, he’s got his returns he’s focusing on this week and a meeting with the architects. No doubt he’ll look at the weather and organise a round or two of golf.’

      I smiled. ‘Good. At least he’s keeping busy.’ I glanced at Kim, noticing the beautiful colour of her pink lipstick and how it suited her. ‘How was Will when you left?’

      ‘Oh, ace! Thanks.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘In fact, I don’t know why I’m saying that. He was ironing before he dropped me to the airport, which is a rare sight.’

      Lou almost choked on her wine. ‘Good on him. And you, sweetie. You’ve got him well trained. Terry wouldn’t know an ironing board if it hit him in the face.’

      Laughing, Kim shook her head. ‘Aww no, he’s working this week, so staying organised I expect. Our cleaner normally does it but she’s on holidays. What about Ant?’

      ‘I was just saying to Lou, he’s fine. A bit lost but he has his sudoku and his Netflix. Seems to enjoy watching series to reading books at the moment.’

      ‘I think men prefer TV,’ Lou replied, playing with long navy beads. ‘I can’t remember the last time Terry read a book.’

      Kim sipped more wine. ‘If they’re anything like Will nowadays, they just want to get home and switch off from work. They forget our feet are tired too.’

      ‘Luckily for me, Anthony insists on treating me like a princess still, keeping me fed and watered all day while I write,’ I stated with an air of satisfaction.

      ‘Sounds a dream!’ Kim swooned wiping her brow with her hand. ‘I wish Will would retire, hon.’

      I forced a smile. Oh, I was such a fraud. It wasn’t particularly comforting to hear my friends’ husbands were happy working when I knew Anthony was idle and bored. I was betraying myself. Maybe he was a bit hasty giving up his business so soon. Retirement doesn’t suit everybody. Why couldn’t I just tell my friends the truth?

      I breathed a sigh of relief seeing Stefano return to us.

      ‘I now have table, ladies,’ he said swiping off beads of sweat from his forehead.

       Ginny

      I couldn’t stop smiling as we waded behind Stefano through the sea of tables back to the front corner of the restaurant on the one round table. The energy from the room and its diners was bubbling through me. And if this was what après-ski was all about, I would return without the skis.

      As soon as we were seated, Stefano took our drink order, which was a cool bottle of bubbly in keeping with the mood.

      ‘Can we see the menu?’ I asked, licking my lips at the delicious thought of fondue or tartiflette, which been on my mind all day.

      ‘Ladies,’ Stefano said in his broken Italian. ‘I will do for you, the best menu for the best price.’

      We Flowers turned to one another with a shrug and a giggle. ‘OK, when in Switzerland …’ I said scanning my friends for any disapproval. ‘We have two pescatarians though,’ I told him, knowing Cathy and Angie would balk if they saw an ounce of animal flesh on their plates.

      ‘Is OK, fish?’ asked the enthusiastic grey-haired Stefano.

      Angie and Cathy nodded. ‘Yes.’

      ‘Is good.’ He waved and was gone.

      Minutes later, an older waiter who introduced himself as Jean-Bernard placed a bucket with the bottle of Champagne sunk into ice.

      Stefano was close behind with flutes. ‘Ladies, it is my pleasure to invite you to see kitchen and chef.’

      We jumped up, thrilled and honoured to be asked, and waded to the back of the room again following behind Stefano. We passed the little table and the bar, and then through a doorway of streaming chains. On entering, I was amazed at the space. It was filled with stainless steel benches, large sinks, ovens, gas-burning stoves being attended by young men in lengthy white aprons and chef hats; then I spotted a rosy-cheeked, portly-bellied man in the same attire but also wearing a hearty broad grin.

      Stefano walked us over to meet Francesco, his Italian chef. Poor man – like Stefano he was beaded in sweat as he shook all our hands. Stefano reported their story. Thirty-seven years ago, he and Francesco came from the same mountain village in northern Italy, fired with passion for food, seeking a good opportunity. With his savings, Stefano bought the hotel with the restaurant and separate bar beneath and together they formed their business and raised families here. Pride shone in their faces as they introduced their staff and the food being prepared and we thanked each of them for the wonderful welcoming tour.

      ‘What a lovely story,’ Kim said as we got back to our table and edged around the round bench back to our places.

      ‘They certainly know how to make you feel welcome,’ I said as a waiter poured our bubbly into flutes, and as soon as they all were all filled, I raised my flute. ‘And you, my beautiful Flowers, have certainly put heart and soul into this trip, making me feel so cherished. So, a thank you from the bottom of my heart, and a toast to you all for being such amazing friends. Santé!’ I chinked all their flutes.

      ‘Santé,’ they echoed, with beaming smiles, before thirstily swallowing it down.

      Angie leaned across and kissed my cheek. ‘And, our pleasure from the bottom of our hearts; everyone’s effort has been tremendous.’

      A flutter I hadn’t felt for ages flapped in my belly and I was keen to keep up this joyous momentum. ‘And, whilst we’re all together, and not to put a downer on this evening, because I feel it should be more of a celebration …’ I felt all eyes on me, but it was important. ‘I’d like to do a memorial lunch for Mike on Monday.’