‘I get the feeling they know all about my hot tub comment,’ he said, once the girls had left.
Tania toyed with the pot of condiments. ‘You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes, aren’t you?’ She grinned at him. ‘They wheedled it out of me. I only met Madeleine this week. Let’s just say she has a knack for getting to the bottom of things.’
‘Is that proving to be a good or a bad thing?’
‘Oh, I’m thinking it’s a good thing.’ After all, if it hadn’t been for Madeleine, she wouldn’t be sitting in L’Avalanche with him. And the longer she spent in his company, the more convinced she became that it wasn’t a waste of their time.
‘Do you want anything else to drink?’ he said. ‘Or should we think about making a move?’
Tania groaned. ‘Can’t we stay a bit longer?’
‘I would happily stay put all day. But I’m a bit concerned about how the weather’s turning. Plus, there’s a hot tub with our names written all over it. I wouldn’t want to disappoint Madeleine.’
‘How selfless of you,’ she said. It was true to say that the thought of Gull in the hot tub created a network of searing pathways of heat in her body. That just as she had enjoyed her illicit peek at him when he’d applied ice to his knee, she was sure that seeing some more of him, barely clothed and hazy through the steam rising from the water, wouldn’t disappoint.
If they did go back to the lodge to take advantage of having the place to themselves, she wondered how it would play out. Whether it would live up to the fantasy he seemed to have created in his own head. Or her own one, which had been forming since they’d kissed in the light of the stars. Her cheeks flared with colour, the tip of her tongue running an unconscious path to moisten her lips.
‘I do my best to think of the needs of others,’ he said, his fingers touching and then tightening against the curve of her thigh.
She closed her eyes and drew in an extended breath. ‘How are you making me feel like this?’ she said, the words escaping almost silently as she breathed out.
‘Sorry, what did you say?’
‘Nothing. Perhaps you’re right.’
‘About what?’ The lopsided smile was back.
‘Not the hot tub. You’re obsessed. No, we should probably make a move. Try to get a few more runs in. Especially if the weather is deteriorating.’
The bluebird skies from earlier that morning had started clouding over on their way to the restaurant, turning everything varying shades of dull grey. Choosing to sit indoors at L’Avalanche had seemed the sensible choice, and as they emerged from the windowless lower-level seating area and headed for the doors, it became clear just how much the weather had closed in.
Snow was falling in thick, fluffy lumps, blanketing everything, and soundproofing the world. It was impossible to tell one pair of skis from another, every set in the rack stood like a long-forgotten artefact coated in the dust and cobwebs of centuries. They brushed snow from skis situated in roughly the place where their pairs had stood, eventually locating their own and slotting them onto boots before they too became hidden by the rapidly accumulating powder.
Tania turned to Gull, snow already topping his shoulders. ‘Shall we head straight to the lodge?’
Gull nodded. The weather had decided their fate. The tops of the mountains had disappeared into brown clouds, making the prospect of taking any lifts to higher runs unappealing.
The ski back to the lodge was slower than under usual circumstances and eerily silent. Through her goggles, the world looked yellow and lumpy, with even the most obvious of landmarks distorted by the sudden dump of snow. Fresh powder snow was what every seasoned skier loved– there was nothing better than making the first set of lines through pristine virgin snow– but in this instance the heavy, wet snow was being banked into unpredictable shapes by the sheer number of skiers heading off the hill.
Inexperienced skiers were finding conditions challenging, the sudden change of speed from the standard snow cover to a bank of newly laid snow taking many by surprise. Tania wondered how Madeleine had fared, hoping the others were safely back at base, or perhaps already in the subterranean complex of shops in Près du Ciel centre.
She stopped to help fallers, one of the unwritten codes of the mountain, and Gull did the same, making their own descent considerably more laborious. Even the wait for the final chairlift they needed to take to get into the correct valley to reach Snow Pine Lodge was muted. No shouts and grins, no excited skiers turning to see how far in their wake they’d left friends, no rapid discussion about where to go next. The focus was not unlike that she’d experienced waiting for the bubble to get onto the glacier, but for the opposite reason.
The queue was long, the wait cold and dull. The flipside of the excitement of the previous days. She shivered– this time with cold, and when Gull put his arm around her, looping his gloved hand beneath her shoulder blade to pull her close, she didn’t object.
Eventually, they reached the front of the queue, taking the two spaces on the magic carpet closest to the lift operators. This afternoon their attention rested solely on tipping seats down for the next group of passengers, in between times shifting rapidly accumulating snow from the workings of the lift. No time for idle chatter or smoking Gauloises today.
Conditions worsened all the way back, the snow piling down so fast it became almost impossible to see the hand she held out in front of her face. Tania felt genuine relief when she located the post indicating the cut-through to the lodge. It was no more than a vertical resting place for yet more snow but, knowing this part of the resort so well, she had no trouble using the trees as a guide. Neither of them spoke until Gull lifted their skis into the locker and they’d brushed the worst of the snow from jackets and clonked their boots free of ice. Standing under the porch, Tania punched in the code and, once inside, pushed the door closed with a decisive click.
‘Wow,’ Gull said. ‘That was extreme.’
Tania looked around. Three sets of boots already adorned the arms of the boot warmer; helmets and goggles lined the shelf above the coat pegs. Underneath the boots the flooring was wet, but they were no longer dripping. They’d been hanging there for a while. All credit to Madeleine, she thought, her shoulders relaxing a notch. She had been carrying an unconscious layer of worry, she recognised, that something untoward could have happened to her friends on their way back.
Another glance told her their snow boots were gone, a quick turnaround to get down to Près du Ciel centre by the look of things. Or, if her impression of Madeleine was on point, a quick exit to leave the lodge empty for her and Gull. The thought made her smile. She’d never been conscious of another woman actively supporting her where men were concerned– she’d never felt as if she needed support. After all, she’d never wanted anything more complicated than the obvious from a man, and they were usually more than happy to oblige in that respect. There hadn’t been any need to delve much deeper.
‘Will they close the lifts early, do you think?’ Gull said.
She sat and unclipped her boots, easing her feet out and gesturing for him to do the same before she hung hers on empty arms on the rack. ‘Probably,’ she said. ‘By the looks of things most people were heading down anyway. Do you want to let your brother know where you are?’
