‘I have been,’ Tristan answered blithely.
‘Jesus!’ Emme exclaimed.
Lexy will kill me, she thought. Then she remembered where she recognised Cedric from. He’d been one of the very drunken party of ski and snowboard instructors in the bar on Saturday night, drinking beer from his boot. No wonder he looked peaky. ‘That was one hangover…’
Tristan shook his head and put a finger to his lips.
‘Yeah, maybe it’s best you don’t let on to Lexy,’ he said.
‘Why do you care?’ Emme asked.
‘Cedric is a buddy.’
Emme didn’t think the guys in cashmere jumpers mingled with the instructors drinking shots off an old wooden ski.
‘And I was just checking out the conditions for heli-skiingbut it’s too windy, so when I saw he was in a state, I sent him home and said I’d finish his lesson.’
Emme scowled.
‘We’ve had a great time haven’t we kids?’
‘Yay!’ they both cheered.
Tristan unclipped his ski helmet, took it off and ruffled his collar-length hair.
‘Do you know this man?!’ Emme asked the children sternly.
‘Yes he’s a friend of Mummy and Daddy,’ Harry replied.
‘Great,’ Emme said flatly. At least that was something.
‘Old family friends. Lexy’s family, the Brighams, used to holiday with us in Botswana.’
‘Nice,’ she said acerbically.
She looked at Tristan, desperately annoyed, desperately trying to conceal her racing heart. Tristan rummaged in his pocket and picked out two five-franc coins. ‘Kids, why don’t you go buy a hot chocolate each and Emme and I will come follow you in a second.’
The way he saidEmme, with his deep South African accent and warm smile, felt like liquid amber, with a sting. How did he know her name?
The kids, she concluded. The kids had yelled her name.
‘Yes!’ they cheered, their eyes lighting up. Harry took the two coins and they propped their skis and poles up against a triangular wooden stand and trudged off inside. Tristan looked at Emme, his golden-brown eyes piercing. She flushed red. She felt completely inadequate and utterly exposed. She took off her rented helmet and put her mittens inside it as if it were a basket.
‘Cedric could have called me,’ Emme lamented.
‘Seriously, he was puking all over the place. He couldn’t even think straight, let alone wait for you. He reckons it’s alcohol poisoning– I say ski instructors can’t handle their booze.’
Emme rolled her eyes.
‘You said you were one…’
‘Exactly.Was. I did a couple of seasons in Aspen when I was a kid, but I know too much about fine wine to guzzle drinks from a ski boot.’
Oh please.
‘I’m Tristan by the way.’
Tristan dug his pole into the snow, took off his gloves and extended a hand. It hung between them, before Emme placed hers in his, large, warm and confident. She remembered where those hands had been and pictured them on the blonde woman’s waist.
