‘Please don’t tell me we can’t get out?’ Cristy implored.
‘Not sure we should risk it,’ he told her, turning back. ‘In my car, maybe, but not in yours. It’s already looking pretty deep.’
Maggi said, ‘It comes down like that around here – so fast that sometimes you feel you’ve only blinked and the whole world has turned white.’
Cristy was nonplussed. She felt an irrational urge to escape but was afraid of making a fool of herself. And yet, did she really want to go? She was comfortable here, was actually enjoying his company, which was possibly even more unsettling in its way.
‘There’s no heating on in the pods,’ Maggi told Meier. ‘It’ll take all night for them to warm up, so they’ll have to stay here in the house. I’ll go and dig out some sleepover packs. We keep them for emergencies like this,’ she informed Cristy. ‘You should find everything you need, but if there’s anything we’ve missed, just say and we’ll work it out.’
Cristy wondered for one insane moment if Meier actually controlled the weather and this was all part of a plot to keep them here. She said to the newcomer, ‘Are you sure we can’t get through? If we left now, maybe we could make it to the main road. They’ll be gritting that, won’t they?’
Meier said, ‘You can take one of the four-by-fours, but you will need to return it in the morning, so maybe it is betterif you stay here? You are very welcome, and I am sure our five loaves and two fishes can be extended to include more hungry mouths.’
Cristy blinked.
‘Another “miracle” easily explained,’ he said. ‘Perhaps for another time. Tonight, I believe Susanna is serving her excellent homemade leek and potato soup, and some of our very own Welsh cheddar.’
Cristy looked at Connor, half-hoping he’d thought of another way to get off this mountain.
‘I should call Jodi,’ he said, ‘put her in the picture.’
Meier got to his feet. ‘You’ll need the WiFi code – there’s no mobile reception here, especially not in this weather.’
Feeling ludicrously lost, Cristy watched Meier leave through a door she’d only just noticed. She tried to think who she should call to let them know she wouldn’t be back tonight. Aiden had returned to his father; Hayley didn’t even know where she was, and David presumably didn’t much care.
Nevertheless, when Meier offered her the code, she tapped it into her phone. She didn’t want him to think she had no one to contact, and because he seemed to be watching her, she began a lengthy email to Clove and Jacks, letting them know that she and Connor were snowed in.
She went on to say:
Today has been interesting. He’s an unusual man, very personable, hospitable – I could mention his looks, but I won’t. So far, he’s spoken frankly, occasionally emotionally, and he definitely comes across well, if a little secretive. Wouldn’t say he’s a typical cult leader, if there is such a thing, but even if there were, how would I know? We might have come at the wrong time of year for culty practices. If you’re laughing at that, I’m serious. They might not happen in winter, butthis could be a good venue for ‘group activities’ in summer. Luckily, everyone has kept their clothes on so far. Hoping it stays that way, and not just because of the cold.
She paused, considering admitting it was hard not to imagine him with his off, but she decided against it. Given her current state of hormonal chaos, it was quite possible her sense of humour was as skewed as her emotions, so that sort of joke could be a really bad choice.
She ended with:
Worried about how long we might be stuck here. C x
PS He doesn’t believe in miracles.
She’d already pressed send before realizing how obscure the last comment would be for Clove and Jacks. In fact, she couldn’t think now why she’d added it.
‘… is that OK with you, Cristy?’ Meier was asking.
‘Yes,’ she said quickly. ‘Of course. I mean … Sorry, what am I agreeing to?’
Clearly amused, he said, ‘I just offered to show you to your room. I’ll come back for Connor when he’s finished his call.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
After following Meier through the door he’d used a few minutes ago, Cristy found herself in a large, square inner hall that was clearly a kind of sitting-cum-games room with sofas and a tallboy, a table-tennis table propped up against one wall and a carved oak staircase climbing another.
‘Through there,’ he said, pointing towards a small passageway on the far side of the hall, ‘is the library and music room where—’
Recalling their first visit, she said, ‘We heard someone playing the piano the last time we were here. It was beautiful. Debussy, I think. Was that you?’
He smiled, seeming to find the assumption surprising. ‘I’m sure it would have been Johan,’ he told her. ‘He is very accomplished.’
Recognizing the name from Jacks’s trawl of old uni friends, she said, ‘Johan Bauer, by any chance?’
