As Mina helped Amelie clean up the kitchen, make the dinner, and assemble the cake, she realised how at home she felt. It was as if she and Amelie had worked alongside each other forever. There was a lot of work for one person. Amelie must have been up since at least six to have put out breakfast which was a help-yourself buffet of muesli and a typical continental breakfast of cheese, sliced meat, and bread, which had looked home-made to Mina.
‘Don’t you have any help?’ she suddenly asked.
‘Only to serve the food on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays, when we’re full.’ said Amelie. ‘You wouldn’t believe how many people catch the early train on Monday and go straight to work. Giselle and Franzi come in for a couple of hours in the mornings to make beds and clean the rooms, and in the evenings to serve dinner. They live in the village and are still at school. Gorgeous girls. But I do all the cooking.’ She sighed. ‘It’s quite tiring. By Thursday evening I’m ready for bed straight after dinner. I love looking after everyone, and I’m afraid I’m too much of a perfectionist to let anyone else take over. Besides, I’m still getting things off the ground. Winter is OK but the summer… I still need to establish myself. I can’t really afford to take anyone else on yet.’
‘Well, I’m more than happy to help. I’ve really enjoyed this morning. I’ve missed cooking like this.’
Rather than eat on her own in the kitchen, Mina took her lunch up to her room so that she could enjoy the view while she ate. She wasn’t meeting Luke until one-thirty, and with an hour to kill, she decided she might as well read a bit more of her book. Flicking through, she found her page again and tried to remember what the heck it had said. She remembered a moment of illumination on the train. That was it. She was halfway across the bridge – not knowing what shedidwant in life, but with an idea of what shedidn’t. So what did the book suggest she do about it?
Divide a page into two and on one side, make a list of all the things you instinctively know you don’t want in life, no matter how big or small, but group them according to importance.
Mina frowned. That sounded quite easy in principle; she knew she didn’t want to live in Outer Mongolia, eat raw fish every day, or become a supermodel. There were dozens of things she didn’t want to do, and she couldn’t see how that was supposed to help her. Luckily the book had a series of prompts.
Think about your living arrangements. Do you still want to be where you are now in a six months, a year, five years?
Think about where you are in a relationship. Where do you see it going in the next six months, a year, five years?
Think about your job. Where do you want to be in six months, a year, five years?
Mina sucked on the end of her pen and gazed out of the window. People on skis in brightly coloured jackets whizzed along the trails with co-ordinated swishes of their poles, one behind the other like small, neat locomotives. In the far distance, on the other side of the valley, specks of people on an ant-like missions traversed the slopes. She wanted to be out there, doing fun stuff, not this navel-gazing. But she was supposed to be ‘sorting herself out’. The words had become a sort of mantra in her head.
For the first time, it occurred to her that she’d been settling for a long time, just existing without really giving things much thought. What had happened to the high hopes and aspirations she’d had when she’d first started her job – her food crusade – where she’d introduce people to new flavours, different ingredients, and interesting dishes from around the world? She cringed. It didn’t fit with the image she had of herself at all. She liked to think of herself as being outgoing, adventurous, positive, and forward-thinking. Ouch! The reality wasn’t looking so great. What she’d really been doing was treading water in parts of her life.
With a sigh, she stared disconsolately at the blank page. A couple of weeks ago she’d have confidently told anyone she had all the answers: move in with Simon to a bigger place, get engaged, and apply for the next promotion at Freshfoods. Now she realised that none of those things had really excited her, or would have moved her life on to anything particularly different. She was a complete fraud, and the realisation hit her hard. There was a whole world out there.
She tossed the notebook aside, pushed open the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony, immediately blinking in the bright sunshine. Outdoors – that was where she wanted to be right now, instead of brooding over stupid self-help books which weren’t helping at all. The damn book had just made her feel crap about her—
The snowball hit her right in the shoulder, sending a spray of ice crystals across her face and leaving her spluttering. She leaned over the balcony to find Luke laughing up at her and already patting a second snowball in his hands.
Without stopping to think, she ducked down to the drift in the corner of the balcony, scooped an armful of snow, and threw it down over him. The fine powder rained down like flour onto his upturned face.
‘Gotcha!’ she cried, pleased she’d hit her target.
‘What are you doing up there, like Juliet?’
‘Wishing I was outside.’
‘Well, come on then, if you’re free now. The day’s a-wasting. I’ll meet you in the boot room and we can get you kitted out. Be down in five otherwise I’m going without you.’
‘I didn’t say I was definitely coming,’ she protested with a grin.
‘But you know you want to. Look at this.’ He threw out one arm to indicate the snow-covered landscape and shot her one of those disarming grins, of which he seemed to have a complete arsenal, before tramping through the snow towards the front door. And just like that the decision seemed so simple.
She dashed back inside, stripped off her jeans, and pulled on her thermals and a pair of black ski trousers over the top. After a quick detour to the bathroom, she grabbed a thick pair of socks, a fleece top and gloves, and jammed a pale blue cashmere hat on her head before racing down to the boot room.
‘What kept you?’ teased Luke, his eyes crinkling into his usual smile.
‘That was a world record,’ she said with mock outrage, still panting slightly from taking all three flights of stairs at a fast jog. She’d even managed a quick coat of mascara, which was probably still wet.
He looked at his watch. ‘Five minutes and three seconds.’
‘Oh, come on,’ said Mina, whose competitive spirit was well and truly piqued.
‘Just this once, I’ll allow those three seconds. What shoe-size are you?’
It didn’t take long for Luke to sort her out with the neat black ankle boots that reminded her of ice skates without the blade, and in less than fifteen minutes she was zipping up her ski jacket and carrying a set of skis and poles, very different from yesterday’s, down the steps of the hotel.
‘It’s just a short walk to the track,’ explained Luke.
