A Winter Affair (3 page)

‘It has.' The outside and the hall was much as she remembered but there was a different feeling to the place. Looking over Lawrence's shoulder, she saw the room behind him had been enlarged and was smartly decorated and gone were the mishmash of pictures and old but comfortable chairs and sofas. She remembered the fun and laughter when Desmond and Maddy were here. When every day had been magic, surrounded by mountains, and skiing and warm, informal supper parties with games and music among friends and family, but then it was a home and now, she must realize, it was a business.

Perhaps guessing her thoughts, Lawrence shrugged with a small, regretful smile as if to say, that's how it was, life moves on.

She felt way out of her comfort zone. Lawrence, she guessed, had thoughts only for his business; he'd give her no time to settle in, take things slowly.

Her fears were confirmed when halfway down the stairs to the lower floor, he turned back, ‘I've invited some friends for dinner tonight, so if you can have everything ready for 8. He disappeared from sight before she could protest.

Theo led the way upstairs to the first floor, carrying her case. The last time Eloise had been up here, she remembered, the landing had been a jumble of people's possessions lurching out of their bedrooms. The doors to their rooms often left open as they scrambled to get ready for ski school or the slopes before the crowds descended, or into the bathroom before anyone else hogged it. Now, with no one here, it was an empty space, with all the doors closed, and a solitary beautiful blue and pale green rug lay in the centre of the landing.

On the wall in front of her, by the staircase leading to the upper floor, hung a collection of stunning photographs of sculptures made by nature, drifts of snow blown into shapes by the wind, under a bright or stormy sky.

‘These are awesome,' she said to Theo, lingering by them.

‘Yes, they're Lawrence's,' he said, ‘one of his passions.' He laughed, and she wondered how many other passions he had and what they were.

She followed Theo up the staircase tucked into the corner, which she remembered led to the attics under the eaves, and she supposed that was where she was going to sleep. The space had been crammed with all sorts of things when she'd last been here: odd bits of furniture, forgotten toys, old framed photographs, heavy leather ski boots long replaced by the lighter plastic ones. Was she to bed down among all these things? Crammed in among once loved possessions now forgotten, she almost joked to Theo, but he was gesturing towards another door.

‘There's a shower room there, we don't tell the guests or they keep using it. We have three bathrooms on the first floor and a tiny shower and loo on the ground, but if everyone's in a hurry to get out, some get annoyed at having to wait so they sneak up here.'

‘There weren't so many bathrooms the last time I was here,' Eloise said, remembering the scramble to get dressed, washed and out.

‘I know, but when we turned this into a business we had to put them in, people hate sharing bathrooms now, even with their own family. Some of the best chalets are all en suite but we can't fit them in without spoiling Jacaranda's shape by building on another wing, not yet anyway.' Theo grinned, opening one of the attic doors. ‘Here you are, used to be full of stuff, but we've cleared it out, hope it's OK. My room is there.' He pointed across the way and she could see a muddle of clothes through the half-open door. ‘I'll try not to wake you if I come in late,' he added with a grin.

‘Thanks,' she smiled, thinking of Kit and Lizzie who often made more noise trying to sneak into the house than just coming in normally.

She went into the room, curious to see what past treasures might have been left as her roommates, but everything had long gone, she couldn't recognize it now. They used to try and hide up here when they played sardines. Then you could barely get one person concealed in the room among the junk, let alone any more who discovered the hiding space. She was surprised that the room was quite large with its old-fashioned double bed and its carved wooden headboard painted dark green with a posy of alpine flowers in the centre. She hoped the mattress was younger.

Theo guessed her thoughts for he said, ‘Lawrence bought the bed in a sale, it's an original one, but don't worry the mattress is new.'

‘That's a relief,' she said, dropping her coat and handbag on the cream bedcover.

An ancient built-in cupboard took up much of one wall and a faded but comfy-looking armchair and a desk in the corner lined the other. Peering out of the small window, she saw the peaks of the mountains in the distance and the roofs of other chalets scattered over the steep slope beneath them down to the village.

‘It's fine, thank you.' She turned to Theo, who having dumped her case on the bed now hovered in the doorway. ‘I'll be down in a moment, I'll unpack later.' Perhaps she wouldn't unpack completely in case Lawrence, who, at first glance, she felt, did not take prisoners, decided to send her home once he realized she was not the master chef his father had led him to believe.

‘See you in a minute then, I have to take you to the shops when Lawrence has told you what he wants,' Theo said, increasing her anxiety. He grinned and left her and she heard him running down stairs. She liked Theo, he reminded her of her own children, full of life and so eager to please. She stared out of the window thinking of them, wishing they were here, her confidence, so brittle since Harvey had upped and left her, waning even more. But it was no good, she had a job to do and she must go down and speak with Lawrence.

Should she take some of the cookbooks she'd brought with her to suggest menus or would that appear too amateur? How did
real
chefs behave?

She caught sight of the savage beauty of the mountains like a snapshot in the small window – she was here and she had to get on with it.

She had a quick wash and brush up and, taking one of her files containing home recipes, she went down to the next floor, taking a moment or two more to admire Lawrence's photographs before going on down to the ground floor.

She paused when she reached the hall. The door to the living room was open so she went in. to see it properly. She remembered there had been two rooms here before, but now it had been knocked into one she had to agree it created a sumptuous space with the huge window framing a stunning view. The room opened out to a veranda, which ran the length of it, so there was space to sit out, even eat out, in the summer, with a breathtaking view over the valley. The living room had a large wood fire and comfortable sofas and chairs, with well-stocked bookcases and lamps on small tables. On one side, by the huge window, was a dining table and chairs, enough to seat ten.

But Lawrence was waiting, no doubt impatiently, for her and she mustn't start out on a bad note. She put her memories of the times she was last here on hold and went down the stairs to the basement floor. Theo was nowhere to be seen, but one of the doors was open and she could see Lawrence sitting at a desk, so she went in.

He was on the phone, he glanced up and gestured to a chair by the window and she pulled it round to face him and sat down. This side of the chalet had been dug out so there was plenty of daylight and it seemed not to have changed much since she was last here. She remembered there used to be a snooker table somewhere down here beside the washing machines, wine cellar and some storage space.

She was rather miffed that Lawrence was continuing with his telephone call when he expected her to find a menu for tonight, go down to the village to do the shopping and cook it all within a matter of hours.

‘Lovely, Aurelia,' he purred, ‘they sound delicious; I'll let you know how we get on. See you very soon.' He rang off finally.

Aurelia. She remembered Theo telling her on the way up here about Aurelia who had a business that produced ready-made dishes. She was, by the sound of Lawrence's voice and the gleam in his eyes, someone he had a close relationship with. Perhaps she was hoping to provide more of her dishes, and even much more besides. Was Aurelia standing by ready to snatch her place if Eloise failed? Though why hadn't he used her in the first place and saved himself the price of a plane ticket?

Lawrence smiled at her, a kind sort of smile often bestowed on lesser mortals, who, through no fault of their own, were deemed to be inferior beings. Eloise remembered meeting him with Desmond years ago, before she was married. He was far better looking and more together than the other boys she knew, though then she'd thought him arrogant, but obviously other girls did not for he always seemed to have a stunning woman about his person.

She studied him covetously. No doubt having glowing skin and an agile body from spending so much time on the slopes enhanced his good looks.

‘I'm so relieved you've been able to come, Eloise,' he said, barely looking up from the papers on his desk. ‘Christmas is the most difficult and the most important time of the year to have a good chef and we had a disaster here.' He faced her now, frowning as if warning her not to cause any disasters herself.

‘I'm sure Desmond filled you in with the details, so we needn't go into them again. All the best chefs are booked up, have been for months for Christmas, but he says you are just what we want, so…'

‘I feel I should say,' Eloise interrupted him, butterflies fluttering a war dance inside her, ‘that I only did a short cordon bleu course, a Foundation course just after I left school.'

Lawrence's frown grew deeper; lines folding in round his eyes. ‘But you must have cooked since then,' his voice held a hint of desperation.

‘Yes, I cooked for my family and friends, but I chose to work in picture restoration instead of…' she was about to say slaving over a hot stove all day, but changed it to, ‘well I thought cooking both for a job and for my family was too much. I like to cook, believe in feeding my family well, but that's different to doing it professionally.' She was tying herself in knots in her effort to explain. She didn't want to let him down and yet she felt she had to fess up now that she had never even cooked
one
dish professionally.

Lawrence sighed, ‘I don't want a picture restorer,' he said darkly, ‘I suppose my father was trying to be helpful, but it looks like he's dumped me… both of us in it. Look, Eloise, we have some very tricky clients coming for Christmas. They were determined to come to Verbier but left it too late to have one of the modern, luxurious chalets further down in the village, so we start off with them not wanting to be here anyway and if the food…' he tailed off.

The tone of his voice infuriated her. ‘Just because I chose not to cook professionally doesn't mean I can't cook,' she said firmly. ‘I've given dinner parties, fed my family and no one's died of food poisoning. I can do the same here, but I'm not the sort of chef you see on
MasterChef
. You know, sort of work of art on a plate with lots of clever little bits and pieces scattered about, covered with some complicated
jus
that probably took longer to cook than the rest of it.'

A ghost of a smile hovered on Lawrence's lips. ‘No, I don't expect that, but you'll have to produce good food, these guests are used to dining in the top restaurants in the world and can't be fobbed off with shepherd's pie and chips.' He eyed the phone slightly desperately, no doubt itching to contact this Aurelia person and beg her to come round with her upmarket takeaways. But Eloise, who had minutes before yearned for home, safe and cosy with her box sets, wine and chocolate, was now desperate to stay here, surrounded by the massive beauty of the mountains, the snow sparkling in the sun, the air so crisp you could cut it. Though perhaps she'd see none of it, be confined – like Cinderella – to the kitchen, without a moment off. But she wanted to give it a go.

‘I understand,' Eloise said with more confidence than she felt. ‘Tell me what meals I'm to cook and I'll make out a few menus and you can decide, and sometimes,' she remembered some of Harvey's business colleagues she'd entertained for dinner over the years, ‘people who dine out in top restaurants all the time just want something more simple – well cooked food made with good ingredients.'

‘I suppose I must give you a chance.' Lawrence reluctantly turned away from the phone. ‘You'll be expected to cook breakfast – the guests usually like porridge as it gives them energy for a day's skiing, eggs and bacon, toast, and coffee. Strong coffee, none of that pale brown liquid that some people pass off as coffee. Then a cake or home-made biscuits to serve with drinks before dinner and a proper three-course evening meal.
I
will organize the wines,' he said fiercely as if that surely was something she was incapable of.

‘Harvey… my ex-husband…' just saying his name hurt, ‘we both did a Christie's wine course, so I know a bit about wine,' she said, determined to show him she was quite capable of choosing the right wines for a meal.

Lawrence looked dubious, ‘You seem to have done a lot of courses, but none of these are professional, and we're talking
professional
here, Eloise. The people who come to this chalet expect the best; we rarely have families who are happy with anything warm and filling to eat. They can't afford the weekly rate.'

‘Understood.' She didn't think she'd like the sorts of rich people who came here at all.

Lawrence must have guessed her feelings from her expression for he said, ‘You're not here to like the guests but to cook for them. They arrive tomorrow evening for the week, then leave before Christmas. I want to see the menus for dinner and for the next week. You can cook us a sample dinner tonight; I've invited some friends to come round. Make a shopping list and Theo will take you to the shops shortly and tell you which ones we use, but you can take one of the jeeps and go yourself after that.' She remembered she'd seen a couple of sand-coloured jeeps parked outside.