The Bannerman Solution (The Bannerman Series) (65 page)

Most breathtaking of all was the ride to the summit.
The gondola was a two-stage lift that began just yards
from the train station and ended less than ten minutes
later five thousand feet above the village of Klosters. To
the north she could see the low black clouds of the
promised snow advancing rapidly behind darting strips
of cirrus. In all other directions she could see nothing but wild, snow-covered mountains marching toward
horizons nearly sixty miles away. Looking down, she strained to pick out their chalet in a village now shrunk
to postcard size. She gasped and pointed as she sud
denly noticed a hang glider soaring two thousand feet
below them, riding the wind like a giant red seagull.
Roads and the single-track railway had become thin
black lines as if painted on with eyeliner.

“How are your legs?” Paul asked as the gondola
docked. He was gazing toward a still higher peak in the
direction of Davos.

”A touch knock-kneed,” she looked up at him ea
gerly, “but I always thought if I wrapped them around
one guy often enough
…”
'

A woman standing near them made a choking
sound, then turned and translated for her companion,
who laughed aloud. Paul's color rose. He made a gestu
re
meant to deny that he and Susan were together. But a
grin split his face and remained until they followed the
crowd onto the snowfield and prepared to step into
their skis.

“One sport at a time, okay?” he said, still with a trace
of the blush that she enjoyed having caused. He spread
his arms, one pointing toward the higher peak, the
other in the opposite direction far up the
valley floor. “From there to there,” he said, “you're looking at the
longest single piste in the Alps. It's about eight miles,
ending four towns away at a village called
Kublis. Think you can handle it?”

“Ah . . . for our first run?”

“I guess you're right.''
He looked to the north. “If
you have trouble keeping up, we might be in heavy snow by the time we're halfway down.”

“Me being just a girl and all.”

“I didn't mean. . . .”

“Lead the way, hotshot.”

He hesitated. She pushed off ahead of him.

She realized within ten minutes that no trail map, no
aerial photograph, could have prepared her for the
scope of these mountains. Far above the tree line, a
network of T-bars took them across vast snowfields to
the distant peak Paul had pointed out to her. They
paused at the highest point for a final tightening of their
boots. The entire
world seemed below them. The val
leys and towns were no longer in sight. The clouds were
getting closer. Paul looked to the north, his expression
now doubtful. “Maybe that long run isn't such a hot
idea,” he said. “There won't be many people on it.”

“That way?” She pointed with her pole to a steep mogul run. Her pulse was already racing.

“That way,” he sighed. “After you.”

Almost at once, she began to regret her rashness.
The first mogul run had the tops of her thighs burning. A snowfield with a gentler pitch gave some relief, but
ahead she could see a series of long, fast chutes where
other skiers tucked low for added speed. One, a woman,
lost her nerve or her balance. She fell backward. Her momentum carried her onward, sprawling, bouncing,
sliding for what must have been two hundred yards. She
stopped at last, not badly hurt, but with her skis and
poles scattered far behind her.

“We can bypass the chutes,” Paul told her. He ges
tured toward a blue trail that wound to their right.

“This way's fine.” She chewed her lip.

“We have plenty of time. Don't push yourself if you
don't feel ready.”

“Let's go.”

Hitting the chute, she sucked in a breath and held it. Tuck low, lower, she told h
e
rself.
Skis apart, elbows in.
Legs supple, take the shocks, lean into it. Oh my God.
She was doing it. She saw Paul now, wearing the parka
she had picked out for him a hundred years ago, his weight giving him more speed, passing her. He was
slowing now at the
t
op of the chute, braking, waiting for
her. She dug in her edges, spraying snow up to his waist
.

“Nice going,” he was grinning broadly, pleased with
her. “You ever skied that fast before?”

“I hardly even drive that fast,” she gasped.

“That's just about true. Want to know how fast you
were going?”

“There's still another chute?”

“Two more.”

“Better tell me later.”

The others were easier. Just as fast, but her confi
dence was building. Then, a much more gentle stretch
over winding trails that must have been three miles
long. Beautiful. Wonderful. Her legs were screaming now but they'd reached the tree line. Must be halfway down at least.

Paul led the way most of the time but he wasn't
pressing. He'd pause, stop and wait at a turn in the trail,
then Susan would bring her skis together and boom on
past him. She knew she was being foolish. She'd pay for it tomorrow. But she was not about to be the first to ease
off.

They'd entered the low clouds and the first flakes of
snow. Paul was calling from behind, asking her to wait.
He pointed down through the trees at what seemed to
be a restaurant. A dozen skiers were sitting on its deck.
Paul stopped at her side, breathing hard, looking ex
hausted. She had a sense that he was acting.

“How about taking a break,” he said. “I can't keep
up this pace.”

He was barely perspiring while she was soaked
th
rough. She realized that he was being gallant. “If you
like
.”
was what she said.
Bless you
, was what she
thought.

The restaurant, called a schwendi, was unlike any
Susan had even seen, in that it was not near any lift. It
could only be reached by skiers taking this trail or by hikers during the summer. Just ahead, a small knot of
skiers paused on a bluff overlooking the schwendi as if
preparing for their final approach. The faces on the
deck below all seemed to be turned up toward them.

“Watch.” He touched her arm and gestured toward
the other skiers. “You'll see why they stop here first. It's
the only place on the mountain where they're skiing in
front of an audience.”

What it was, he explained, was a sort of ritual. The skiers, most of them as tired as Susan, had been strug
gling down the mountain. With the schwendi in sight, and with all those eyes upon them, almost all would brace themselves for an approach in perfect form. It's the only time all day, Paul told her, that most of them
try to parallel
ski. For those already down and sipping a
beer or hot wine, it provided an informal entertain
ment.

She watched them go. Some did well. Others crossed
their skis and tumbled, their humiliation almost palpa
ble. Susan didn't laugh; she could feel her own body
stiffening and her confidence draining. She took a
breath and pushed off.

Within seconds, Susan had cause to hate Paul for his
lesson
in
human nature. She hadn't fallen since they
started. She fell twice in full view of the schwendi's deck. Her second fall drew applause.

“Paul, darling,” she smiled her father's smile as they
stepped out of their skis at the restaurant's entrance,
“I'm going to get you for that if it's the last thing I ever
do.”

She felt better after a bowl of goulash washed down
with a beer. Susan, not herself exempt from the laws of hu
m
an
nature,
joined the applause for some of the more
spectacular tumbles of the skiers that followed, until the thickening snow obscured all but the nearest skiers, and
Paul suggested that they'd better move on.

The orange trail markers were by now barely visible.
They were skiing almost blindly and yet, if Paul hadn't
been pressing before, he was pressing now. When at last
they reached a clearing in the pines and could see the
town of Kublis taking shape, she was immensely re
lieved but no less exhilarated. In another ten minutes
they had reached the Kublis train station. It was all she
could do not to lie down on the platform.

“Hang in there,” Paul told her, checking the train schedule, “we'll be home in half an hour.”

“Tell me again about your advanced age,” she said darkly. “Tell me again how hard it is to keep up with
me.”

“Tree skiing is dangerous,” he said innocently. “I
like to get it over with.”

Her expression went blank. “That certainly makes
sense.”

He looked away. “I know we pushed too hard. But
we might not get another chance for a few days. Tomor
row you can get a massage at one of the health clubs.
You'll be good as new.”