Alice-Miranda in the Alps (5 page)

Delphine nodded. ‘Children are so … intriguing.'

‘Come, come, everyone, let us get some drinks and canapés. I am starving. It has been a long time since afternoon tea.' Otto patted his stomach and led the way to an area that had been cordoned off for the event.

‘Yes, children, follow Herr Fanger,' Frau Doerflinger said. ‘I have asked the chef to prepare some delicious treats for you.'

‘Probably poisoned apples,' Millie mumbled.

Hugh looked at the girl. ‘What was that, Millie?'

‘Nothing,' she fibbed.

‘I will be back to join you very soon,' Delphine promised. With that, the woman turned on her heel and glided out of the hall.

‘I don't think we should have gone that way. Frau Doerflinger had every right to be upset,' Alice-Miranda said, feeling guilty.

Millie shook her head. ‘I don't like her. She's mean and she's up to something.'

‘We don't know that,' Alice-Miranda said, biting her lip. But she had to admit that there was something about Delphine Doerflinger that didn't quite add up.

The young woman lazily flicked through the pages of a magazine and slurped on a soda. Her greasy hair was scraped into a messy ponytail and her fingernails bore the remnants of blue polish.

The bell above the door jingled and a man strode in. He glanced around at the peeling paint and mismatched furniture, then gingerly walked up to the reception desk.

Without removing the straw from her mouth, the woman looked up. ‘Are you checking in?'
she asked. She sucked the dregs from the bottle, then belched.

He nodded, a grim smile set on his face. ‘Yes, thank you.'

‘You're not from around here, are you?' the girl said. He didn't look like their usual clientele of backpackers and young skiers. This man was much older, though still handsome. He had a shock of silver hair and wore a black cashmere coat. ‘Do you want me to call Fanger's Palace or somewhere a bit more upmarket?' she offered.

The man shook his head. ‘No, no, this is fine,' he insisted. ‘The booking should be under the name Florian.'

‘Florian …?'

‘Oh, von … no, um, Epple,' he said. ‘Florian Epple.'

‘Are you sure?' the receptionist asked.

‘Yes, my name is Florian Epple,' he said firmly.

The woman flicked through the guest register. ‘Here it is,' she said, scribbling something down next to the booking. She placed a key on the desk. ‘I think this is for your room, but if you get up there and find that it doesn't work just come back and I will look again.'

‘Thank you.' Florian glanced at the number on the key.
Thirteen.
Of course it was, he thought to himself.

‘That will be two hundred and fifty francs,' the woman said.

Florian swallowed. ‘Are you sure it's as much as that?' he asked.

The receptionist nodded. ‘High season. You should see what they charge over at Fanger's. I heard from a friend of a friend who works there that some rooms are thousands of francs a night. It would want to be good for that much money.'

Florian took out his wallet and peered inside. He'd have to pay cash as his credit card had already been declined at the train station.

‘By the way, your toilet is blocked, so you'll have to use the communal bathroom down the hall,' the woman added. ‘Sorry about that, but the plumber only visits once a week and it clogged up a couple of nights ago.'

Florian was tempted to head back to the station and take the first train home. And what then, pray? he chastised himself. There had been some difficult times before, from which they had emerged relatively unscathed, but this he could not understand.

Florian's stomach grumbled. ‘I don't suppose you have room service?' he asked, then wondered why he had even bothered. This was the last place he'd choose to eat something from.

‘No, but there's a convenience store just across the road where you can get some takeaway,' the girl replied.

Florian nodded and picked up his small leather suitcase. ‘Could you tell me how to get to my room?' he asked.

‘It's on the third floor,' she said, looking up. ‘The lift is just through there, but you'll have to take the stairs because –'

‘The lift man only comes once a week,' Florian finished.

The receptionist grinned. ‘
Ja
, sorry about that.'

‘Daddy, isn't that the Baron?' Alice-Miranda asked as her family and friends strolled along the snowy street. She pointed at a man climbing the steps to a building across the road. He was holding a small takeaway pizza box.

‘The Baron from Zermatt?' Millie asked.

Hugh immediately looked over. ‘Florian!' he called, waving to the man.

Just as he did a bus rounded the corner. The driver blasted the horn and screeched to a halt as another car swerved into the roundabout. For a few seconds the bus completely blocked their view. By the time it moved, the man was gone.

‘Yes,' Alice-Miranda said to Millie, ‘but I must have been imagining things.'

‘No, I thought it looked like him too,' her father said. ‘And it's quite possible he and Giselle have come over for the racing.'

Alice-Miranda skipped along beside her father with Millie. They crossed the street and reached the building they had seen the man enter.

‘It's a guesthouse,' Millie said, spotting the two stars on its signage.

‘Do you think Uncle Florian could be staying here?' Alice-Miranda asked, taking in the flaking paintwork on the door and cracked window beside it.

‘Anything's possible, I suppose,' Hugh replied, though he had his doubts. It wasn't the sort of accommodation the Baron and his wife would normally frequent.

‘You could ask,' Millie suggested.

‘Good idea,' Hugh said. He turned to Cecelia, who was walking behind them and chatting to Pippa. ‘Darling, why don't you all go on to the restaurant?' he said. ‘I'll be there in a minute.'

‘What are you up to?' the woman asked.

‘Alice-Miranda and I thought we spotted the Baron, so I just want to check,' Hugh explained.

Cecelia smiled. ‘Oh, that would be a lovely coincidence. We'll see you in a minute, then.'

‘We'll come too, Daddy.' Alice-Miranda grabbed Millie's hand and the pair followed Hugh inside.

The reception area was sparsely furnished, almost bare apart from a bicycle and a rack of ski boots off to the left.

Millie pinched her nose. ‘Pooh!'

Hugh looked at the boots. ‘I quite agree, Millie. It isn't ideal to have a drying rack in the lobby.'

A young woman emerged from the back room, carrying a steaming mug. ‘Hello, are you checking in?' she asked.

‘No, I just wanted to inquire about a friend of ours that might be staying here,' Hugh said.

The woman took a sip from the mug and opened up the guest register. ‘Sure, what's the name?'

‘Baron von Zwicky,' Hugh said.

The girl almost spat out her drink. ‘As in a real baron?'

‘Yes,' Hugh replied, smiling patiently.

‘I don't think so but I'll check for you.' She ran her finger down the list of names and then shrugged. ‘No barons. There are no dukes or kings, either, for that matter.'

‘Sorry to have troubled you,' Hugh said, clearly disappointed. ‘Come on, girls, we should get going.'

They turned to leave and were hit with another wave of the pungent odour of sweaty feet. Millie turned back to the woman, unable to hold her tongue any longer. ‘You should really find a better place for those boots,' she said. ‘They stink.'

The receptionist nodded. ‘I know, but someone locked the door to the drying room downstairs and I can't find the spare key.' She held up a handful of keychains with keys of all shapes and sizes.

‘Wouldn't it be a good idea to sort them out?' Millie asked.

‘
Ja
, I just don't have time.' The woman flipped open the pages of a magazine and sat down on the stool.

Millie frowned. ‘I'd have thought sorting out the smelly boots would be more important than reading that rubbish.'

The woman shook her head. ‘It's not rubbish, and you never know who might be in St Moritz. Lawrence Ridley was here a few years ago but I didn't get to meet him because he was constantly surrounded by pesky photographers.'

‘That always happens,' Alice-Miranda said, taking her friend by the arm. ‘Come on, Millie.'

Hugh waited by the door, hoping neither of the girls elaborated on Lawrence.

‘Goodbye.' Alice-Miranda waved, but the woman's eyes were glued to the magazine.

‘Well, I still think you should get rid of those boots,' Millie huffed, walking to the door. ‘First impressions count, you know, and I wouldn't want to stay here.'

The receptionist looked up. ‘Me either.'

Millie stepped out onto the street, shaking her head. ‘There's
no
way I'd want her working for me.'

‘I couldn't agree more, Millie,' Hugh said with a chuckle.

‘You have to ask yourself: what's wrong with the kids of today?' Millie tsked.

Alice-Miranda and Hugh laughed.

‘What?' Millie said, looking at them.

‘
You
are a kid of today, Millie.' Alice-Miranda grinned.

‘Oh, yeah.' Millie smiled back. ‘But hopefully not like her.'

‘You can come and work for me anytime, Millie.' Hugh wrapped an arm around each girl and led the way down the street.

‘I might just take you up on that one day,' Millie replied, ‘after I open my rescue stables and write a bestselling book.'

Hugh smiled, holding open the door of the restaurant a few shops down. ‘Just say the word. Anyway, I don't know about you two but I can feel a pepperoni pizza coming on.'

‘Me too,' Millie said.

‘Me three,' Alice-Miranda agreed as they walked inside.

Whoa, look at that course!' Lucas exclaimed as the children trudged up the hill to the top of the Cresta Run. The idea of hurtling headfirst down an icy track on little more than a plastic tea tray and some metal runners sent shivers of excitement down the boy's spine.

Dolly looked at the frozen runway and shuddered.

‘I wish we could do it,' Lucas said, gazing at the track longingly.

Jacinta gripped the boy's arm. ‘I'm very glad that you can't. It looks deadly.'

‘It says here,' Millie said, reading the brochure, ‘that women
were
allowed to ride the Cresta until nineteen twenty-nine, when a vote was taken to exclude them, and the general membership hasn't sought to change the rules since. That's so unfair.'

‘Why?' Sloane asked, raising an eyebrow. ‘Do you want to have a go?'

Millie looked down at the track just as a rider flew up over the edge, his arms and legs flailing out of control. He grabbed at the piles of loose straw that were strewn all over the ground to slow down crashing riders, before somersaulting headfirst into a row of foam barriers. ‘Mm, I think I'd prefer to have a nosebleed in a shark tank,' she conceded with a grimace. ‘It might be safer.'

Pippa McLoughlin-McTavish chuckled. ‘I don't know about that.'

The man stood up and dusted himself off, then grabbed his sled and began to trek back up the mountain.

Jacinta shook her head in disbelief. ‘He's crazy.'

‘So, what do you think, kids? Should Hamish and I give it a whirl?' Hugh said, giving Alice-Miranda a wink.

She winked back. ‘Go on, Daddy. You'll be brilliant.'

Millie considered her father. Hamish was a big man, not overweight but tall and solid. ‘Don't be ridiculous, Daddy,' she scoffed. ‘It would be like driving a Mini Minor to the top of the track, releasing the brakes and hoping for the best.'

‘I'm not that big, Mill!' Hamish said, slightly wounded.

Cecelia Highton-Smith gulped. ‘You're not serious, are you? The last thing we need is for the two of you to be laid up with broken bones for the next three months.'

‘Exactly,' Pippa echoed.

Alice-Miranda looked towards the starting area, where a giant banner hung over the track. Several officials wearing headsets were standing nearby and there was a man about to start. ‘Is that Cyril?' she said, squinting into the sun.

‘Oh my word!' Shilly exclaimed.

Cecelia gasped. ‘What on earth is he doing?' she said, clutching her husband's arm.

Hugh shrugged helplessly. ‘He's on leave, so he can do whatever he wants.' He hadn't realised Cyril would indulge in anything more than a spot of skiing when he'd given the fellow the week off.

The children and adults raced towards him. As they arrived at the start of the course Cyril was receiving his final instructions.

‘Don't forget to use your boots to slow down. If you do go off the edge, you'll want to try to land as far away from the skeleton as possible. Remember, those things can kill you,' one of the officials warned him.

‘Why would you want to land away from your skeleton?' Jacinta said, perplexed.

Millie giggled. ‘That's what they call the sled.'

‘Oh.' Jacinta grimaced all the same.

‘Cyril!' Cecelia called out, waving both her arms.

The man looked up and grinned. ‘Hello there. I thought you'd be hitting the slopes this morning.'

‘We will after lunch but we were all curious about this thing,' Hugh replied.

‘What are you doing, man?' Dolly demanded, her voice tight. Cyril seemed awfully relaxed about the whole thing, which put her even more on edge.

‘Don't worry, Dolly. I've done it before,' Cyril assured her.

Cecelia turned to her husband. ‘Did you know about this?'

Hugh shook his head. ‘Afraid not, but we might as well cheer him on.'

‘You should watch from the clubhouse,' Cyril suggested. ‘You'll have a great view of the whole course from the balcony. I'll wait until you get there.'

‘You be careful, Cyril,' Shilly warned. ‘Last time I checked, none of us was licensed to fly that jet except for you.'

The family and friends made their way down to the white building, where they were ushered upstairs to a wide veranda which afforded a stunning view. They positioned themselves along the balustrade, looking down at the glistening snake-like track that curved its way for just over a kilometre down the mountainside.

Cyril gave them a thumbs up, then swayed back and forth several times before hurling himself onto the small sled. He fidgeted about for a few seconds and then straightened out his body. The sled clattered down the track. The group lost sight of him as he hit the first corner, only to reappear at the top of the ice, whizzing around the bend.

Hugh glanced at the giant stopwatch on the commentary box above them. ‘My goodness, he's quick.'

‘Go, Cyril!' Alice-Miranda shouted, and Millie joined in, cheering him on. Soon the entire group was calling the pilot's name.

‘He's going too fast,' said an older chap standing beside Alice-Miranda. ‘He'll never make it around Shuttlecock.'

‘What's that?' Alice-Miranda asked, suddenly concerned.

‘It's where most amateur riders crash out,' the man replied. ‘At least he'll get to join the club.'

Millie looked at him. ‘What club?'

‘Everyone who crashes at that corner joins the Shuttlecock Club,' the man said impatiently, craning his neck to see if he could spot the human missile.

All of a sudden the whooshing of the sled stopped.

‘Look! There he is!' Lucas pointed at the figure in the air.

The crowd gasped.

Shilly covered her eyes. ‘I can't watch.'

‘Stupid man,' Dolly muttered, wringing her hands.

Time seemed to expand in the seconds that followed as the spectators watched the events unfold in slow motion. Cyril hurtled through the air and disappeared into a cloud of snow.

‘Is he all right?' Shilly asked, still hiding behind her hands.

The group looked towards the commentator's box above them.

‘Medics,' the loudspeaker blared. ‘Could we get the medics to Shuttlecock immediately?'

Shilly placed her hands across her chest. ‘Good heavens.'

‘He's going to be fine,' Cecelia told the group, hoping it were true.

‘Can we get to him?' Mrs Oliver asked the man who had foretold Cyril's fate.

‘Leave it to the professionals,' the fellow replied calmly. ‘They've got all the equipment down there, and if he has to be taken to hospital they'll have a snowmobile ready. Believe me, he's not the first to come off there and he won't be the last.'

‘Hospital!' Shilly gasped. ‘He shouldn't have been on that course in the first place. Why are men so … so … stubborn?'

No one spoke a word as all eyes were focused on the middle section of the track.

‘He's moving,' the announcer said, looking through his binoculars. ‘Although, that shoulder seems to be at a very strange angle. They're loading him onto the snowmobile and …'

‘Come on!' Shilly shouted up at the commentator. ‘Don't give us half the story, man!'

‘He's raised his good arm and he's giving the thumbs up,' the man blurted.

There was a huge cheer from the small crowd.

Dolly and Shilly hugged one another, and Cecelia allowed herself to breathe again. ‘Thank heavens for that,' she said to her husband. ‘So are you still keen to have a go?'

Hugh looked at her sheepishly. ‘Maybe not today.'

‘He was never going to do it, Mummy,' Alice-Miranda said. ‘He was only teasing.'

Cecelia smiled and squeezed her daughter's shoulder. ‘When it comes to your father, I can never be too sure.'

The mosquito motor of the snowmobile buzzed as the vehicle carried Cyril to the top of the track. The family rushed down from the balcony and up the course to meet them. The wailing of an ambulance siren sounded in the distance.

‘Good Lord, Cyril, you were flying,' Hugh said with a grin. ‘Pity you stacked it.'

‘Looks like that's the end of my Cresta ambitions,' the man said wryly.

‘You were awesome,' Lucas said. ‘Did you know you were on track to beat the record?'

‘Seriously?' Cyril looked at the lad.

Sep nodded. ‘We couldn't believe how fast you were going.'

‘Neither could I. I lost my footing not long after the start and then I just couldn't get it again. Thank heavens for that corner or I think you might have been scraping me off the barrier at the end,' Cyril joked, then winced as two medics began to examine his injuries.

‘We're going to have to pop that shoulder back in,' one of them said.

‘And you'll need to go to hospital so they can check if you have a concussion,' the other added. She directed Cyril to watch her pointer finger as she moved it from side to side.

‘I'll go with him,' Hugh said, watching the medics ready the snowmobile.

‘No, sir, leave it to me. I'll look after him,' Dolly said, bustling forward. ‘You go and enjoy your afternoon on the slopes.'

‘I'll come with you,' Shilly offered.

Dolly shook her head. ‘He doesn't need both of us. I'll make sure he's okay, then head straight back to the hotel.'

‘Excuse me, how far away is the hospital?' Cecelia asked the track marshal.

‘Only a few minutes,' the man replied. ‘Faster if they put the siren on.'

‘And is it far from Fanger's Palace Hotel?'

‘Not even a minute,' the man said.

‘Thank you.' Cecelia smiled at him. ‘Well, at least Cyril doesn't have to be taken down the mountain.'

Dolly headed over to the waiting ambulance and climbed into the back with Cyril. He had been given some strong medication to relieve the pain and was now telling Dolly a long story about how he used to race billycarts with his brother as a boy.