‘Not Cedric,’ Emme said. ‘Milla.’
‘Oh, Milla’s great,’ Tristan said appreciatively, and Emme couldn’t help but bristle. Was he sleeping with her too?
‘Who are your friends?’ Cat asked, Emme feeling relief to shift the focus from her pitiful skiing ability.
‘Oh I’m showing some wine buyers around town, on a sampling trip. Easier and more central to fly them here than to Cape Town.’
‘Nice,’ Cat said.
‘You girls should come on over, say hi,’ Tristan said before turning on his heel. ‘Better get back to them.’ He saluted and walked away.
‘“You girls”?!’ Cat mimicked. ‘Please! How offensive.’ She turned to Emme, waiting for her to concur, but she looked flustered and flushed, which made Cat double-take.
‘Seriously, “girl”, forget about him.’
‘What?’
They watched the barman settle two bottles of Dom Perignon and a round of glasses on Tristan’s table, before Tristan nodded for him to deliver a third to Emme and Cat.
‘He is a notorious playboy, actually a fuckboy. A messed-up one at that.’
The barman approached with a tray.
‘Bottle from TDK for you two,’ he said, with a wry smile.
‘Oh, we couldn’t possibly,’ said Emme.
‘Thanks,’ Cat cut in, already pouring it. ‘Come on,cin cin!’ she said enthusiastically, corralling her into raising their glasses to Tristan: a shy smile from Emme; a sarcastic one from Cat. He looked back and nodded.
Emme took a sip and placed her glass down thoughtfully.
‘What do you mean, “messed up”?’ she asked.
‘You don’t know?’
Emme stared at Cat with an ‘obviously I don’t’ look on her face.
‘About Tristan’s dad?’
Emme shook her head as she observed Tristan and his group. There were three men and one woman, all dressed for business, not après-ski, and they seemed to hang on Tristan’s every word.
‘Charles Joubert– Tristan’s dad– caused loads of mayhem, even before he arrived in town. He won a hotel from Walter Steinherr at the blackjack table in MonteCarlo– you know Vitreum? The most incredible hotel in town? On the hill?’
Emme had seen a hotel, shimmering and seemingly unreachable above town.
‘Then he came to town to gloat and take over the hotel, with Tristan. Seven or eight years ago…’
Eight,Emme remembered from the mountain. Cat continued.
‘They spent a few months ski touring. Pissing people off in town. Walter tried to buy Vitreum back, it was obvious Joubert knew nothing about hospitality. Made him a real nice offer, but he insisted on running that hotel, and running it badly.’
‘Then one day, Charles Joubert went missing. Tristan was the last person to see him, over by the Teufelsgletscher. He says he heard him fall down a ravine, but he didn’t see it. It was all over the news.’
‘Shit!’ Now the mournful glaze in his eyes made sense.
‘I mean, people go missing in the mountains. There are avalanches, or skiers get lost and show up days later. But when someone is worth five billion dollars and they’re out skiing on the ravine with their son, and they disappear without a trace…’
Cat seemed to relish the sharing of this story, but something about it felt uncomfortable to Emme as she watched Tristan deep in conversation. This was his dad Cat was talking about.
