‘You ski much better now,’ he commented as they skied across the flat towards the ski lifts.
‘Practice,’ she said, still a little breathless.
‘You’ll be Swiss soon,’ he teased. ‘Would you like a beer?’
‘That would be great. What about Kristian?’
Bernhardt shrugged. ‘He’ll find us. There is a nice bar if we get this ski lift, and then there is a run over towards the west.’
‘OK, lead on.’
They took the chair lift together.
‘Having a good time?’ he asked, smiling at her.
‘Yes, it’s good to be outside and away from the paint fumes.’
‘How long do you think you will run the café for?’
‘I don’t know,’ replied Mina honestly, a little surprised by the question.
‘What about your career? Back in England.’
‘Time for a new one. I realise now that I wasn’t that happy.’
‘But will this be enough? Do you want to stay in a tiny village forever? You lived in a big city, with a good job.’
Mina bristled at the implication of what he was saying, but realised that in his precise, formal way, it must have seemed strange.
‘I came here to try and sort out my life. Yes, I had a good job, a flat of my own, and nearly a fiancé. But when he didn’t want to marry me, it made me see things differently. My job wasn’t making me happy, my flat was just a place to live, and I didn’t know what was really important to me.’
‘And now you do?’ Scepticism laced his voice, and it forced her to think hard about the answer.
‘Yes,’ she said firmly, realising that this was everything she’d been trying to find a way towards with that bloody book. ‘I want to cook. To experiment. To create recipes. Learn how to make chocolate. Sell chocolate. To feed people. To look after them. It might not look much, but it makes me happy. I’ve been happier here than I have in my whole working life.’
‘You have?’
She beamed at him, the knowledge lighting her up inside. ‘Yes.’
Bernhardt gave her a thoughtful nod, followed by a slow smile. ‘Then, that is good.’
She smiled. She could almost see him mentally casting her off. She couldn’t resist teasing him. ‘So, not the woman for you?’
He had the grace to blush. ‘Compatibility is important, no?’
‘It is, and we’re not.’ Never were, thought Mina, but all the same patted his hand. Keeping friends was far preferable to creating enemies. Part of her wished she could have liked him more. Bernhardt was the sort of man she should have been looking for. A balance to her. Someone who would sort her out, stop her making rash decisions like deciding to open a chocolate café in the middle of nowhere in another country. She laughed at herself – and that wasn’t the sort of person she wanted at all.
The ski chair dipped and Bernhardt raised the bar readying himself for the off, which he did with enviably smooth control. Mina still found disembarking chair lifts a hit or miss affair. Thankfully today she managed it with some dignity.
‘This way,’ called Bernhardt, already champing at the bit to be off. Before she could catch up with him he’d already disappeared from view. She followed and reached the start of the run, looking down at the steep, narrow path through an outcrop of rocks on one side and a long drop away to the valley far below on the other. No margin for error, she thought, a shiver of fear clutching the base of her spine.
With a swallow and a deep breath, she gingerly inched forward. Eeek, that looked steep. Really, really steep. None of the previous runs she’d ever done had been anything like as challenging as this. She might be impulsive and always ready to try things, but she also had a healthy sense of self-preservation.
But there was only one way down and Bernhardt, already a bright blue speck, was about to disappear from sight. Grasping her poles, she edged forward, her skis already in snowplough position. Behind her she heard voices and then a group of six appeared. With excited shouts and whoops they hurled themselves over the edge, one of them bumping into her with his arm. Although it only knocked her a tiny bit off balance, it was enough to startle her and she drew her skis together, and before she could stop herself she’d begun moving down the slope. In an undignified scramble she gathered her poles and tried to stay upright. By some miracle she managed, but her skis were in control, not her. She leaned back instead of forwards, which made things worse, and quickly righted herself. Her skis were picking up speed far quicker than she could have imagined. Don’t panic, she told herself. Don’t panic. But she was going too fast now. The wind whipped in her face and it took all her concentration to steer along the narrow path and not look towards the drop on her right. One of her skis scraped over a rock, sending her careering off course, making her heart pound in fear.Stay upright, Mina. Stay upright.She tucked her poles close to her sides, bent her knees, and tried to keep her balance as she hurtled downwards, everything in her peripheral vision a blur of white. Inside her roll-neck top, she felt the sweat breaking out as she tried to focus.
As the track widened ahead, she tried to push her legs out to snowplough but was going at such a speed she was terrified she was going to end up doing the splits. A small whimper of fear escaped and she clamped her mouth shut, her mind desperately trying to think. Attempting a turn here would be impossible, there wasn’t enough room, and if she tried to ski parallel across the slope, she’d either end up in the rocks or career off the run to tumble down the steep mountain side. All she could do was stay upright and pray like crazy that the run would end soon but glancing ahead that didn’t look very likely. Every jolt and bump of her skis made her pulse jerk and her heart jump in her chest. Her hands cramped, gripping the poles so tightly as she fought the temptation to try and slow herself down with them.
At last the run came into an open section although it curved sharply away to the right and then over a swell and down even more steeply. Her stomach churned and she sucked in a terrified breath.Now or never…She remembered everything she’d been taught about turning.Turn your feet, but not your body. Feet not body. Feet not body. Face forwards.She kept chickening out. Then she did it. Screwing her eyes tight shut probably wasn’t the smartest move. One of her skis scraped over something hard, the edge catching. She flew rather than fell, her legs tangling with the skis, and she hit the snow with a resounding wallop that thudded through her ski helmet. Her body carried on scudding down the slope and she scrabbled for purchase, feeling a sharp pain in her knee as her ski caught. Like a grappling iron it thankfully anchored her momentarily, until her boot unclipped from the ski and she came to a merciful, crumpled halt.
