He traces his finger down my stomach. ‘OK. Not Snowy. A name that means snow. Or winter or something. What about calling her Winter? You get kids called Summer. Is Winter a good name for a girl?’ He reaches over me for my iPad and starts browsing. I feel a lurch of alarm.
‘I thought you said you didn’t touch my iPad?’ I ask.
‘I didn’t the other day,’ he says distractedly, ‘I’m just looking for wintery names now, and mine is downstairs. Here – Neve – that’s nice. Noelle – hmm, not sure. Alaska. Christmas. Crystal. Maybe not.’
I snatch my iPad back, pretending I am looking at the names but really I don’t want him holding it. ‘Maybe we could call her Elsa, like in Frozen,’ I suggest, trying to shut this conversation down. ‘Anyway, how do you know it would be a girl?’
He snuggles his face into my shoulder. ‘I don’t. I just hope it would be so that she would be like you.’
I stroke his hair and at that moment, I almost feel sorry for him.
20
January 2020, La Madière, France
Hugo
Whatever Millie said about hoping that all her meals were equally as good as each other, you can see she’s gone all out for dinner this evening with her boss here. We have oysters for canapés, three-cheese soufflé starters, some kind of bird within a bird within a bird like you might imagine Henry VIII eating at a banquet when he wants to impress foreign kings, and then a very light homemade ice cream thing topped with elaborate spun sugar creations.
I sometimes wish I could bring Olivia on these trips. I’m hopeless at schmoozing. I wonder if that’s partly why the business isn’t doing so well at the moment – being able to do small talk seems so much more important now than it used to be. I could really do with some of the Snow Snow chalets in my stable, and also I need Simon to feel like I’m the kind of person he wants to do business with. So there’s a lot at stake, but I know I’m rubbish when it comes to this aspect of the business and it makes me uncomfortable. And much as I love Ria, I can’t always trust her to behave herself like Olivia would. Ria seems to be behaving especially obstreperously this week. She always likes a drink and to be sociable, but she doesn’t usually get so wasted. She’s not her usual self at the moment and I don’t understand why.
On top of that, this evening is not being made any easier by the fact that chalet-owner Cameron is a total arse. He isn’t what I was expecting at all. In all honesty, I thought he’d be a bit like me – public-school-educated, maybe someone who’d inherited the family business and built it up over the years, or made some money in the City or something like that and then decided to invest in ski chalets.
But no, it turns out he built up the company from scratch. Not that there’s anything wrong with that – clearly, it’s something to be admired – but does he need to wang on about it so much? On and on with his self-congratulatory spiel about how hard he’s worked and how well he’s done, along with how much he knows about the industry, about the mountains, and about pretty much everything else as far as I can tell.
I realize I haven’t heard a word Cameron’s said for the last few minutes, partly because Millie is being especially attentive about topping up everyone’s glasses this evening, but mainly because he is such a bore.
‘… So I knew from the start that what I wanted to offer was properly luxurious chalets, not those mass market ones aimed at people who like to pretend they’re richer than they really are,’ he is postulating. ‘I started off with one chalet – broke my balls to get the finance to rent it for the season and did pretty much everything myself, from airport transfers to cleaning and cooking. The punters lap up that kind personal service, nothing being too much trouble, so that’s what I’ve tried to build on. It’s difficult to find the right staff – no one is as dedicated to it as me, obviously, but there you go, that’s how it is as a business owner. Fortunately there are good people out there if you have a rigorous interview process and pay a decent wage as I do, and I certainly got lucky with Millie here.’
Millie fills his glass and smiles tightly.
‘I hope she’s been looking after you well,’ Cameron adds.
‘She’s fabulous! I wouldn’t mind one like her at home myself!’ Simon leers. I cringe. Cass fiddles with something on her plate, her face going crimson as she pretends not to be bothered by Simon’s comment. Simon needs someone like Olivia to keep him in line. Remarks like that will land him in trouble if he’s not careful.
‘How many chalets do you have now, Cameron?’ I ask, remembering what Ria said about Cass feeling insecure and wanting to move the conversation on and away from Millie.
‘Five in La Madière – this is where I started and it’s still my favourite resort – and a total of twenty chalets across the Alps. All high-end and luxurious, but very different in style. Some modern, some retro, some huge, some tiny – or “intimate” as we say in the biz – but all offering top levels of service.’
‘Well we’re certainly enjoying our week here,’ I say. ‘It was my wife Ria who suggested we come here – I believe she’s organized events in some of your chalets before?’
‘Yup,’ Ria slurs, holding her glass out for Millie to top up, despite the fact she’s clearly had more than enough already. ‘Events. Some reeeaaallly nice events.’
I shoot her a disdainful look, but she is leaning in towards Matt and whispering something in his ear. After how she was upstairs, before dinner, when I’d felt closer to her than I had for a very long time, I thought things might be starting to change. I thought she might at least make an effort, given that Cameron is here and he could be important to the business. But no, here she is getting embarrassingly drunk and flirting with the rep. My face feels hot and I have a sudden need to be outside. I stand up too quickly, bumping the table and at least four glasses tip over, red wine spilling on to the pristine white tablecloth.
‘Shit! I mean, argh, I’m so sorry.’ I right the glasses as Millie dashes over with kitchen roll and cloths and starts dabbing at the mess.
‘It’s no problem, don’t worry at all,’ she says. ‘If everyone’s finished, it might be easiest if I simply clear things away? Perhaps you’d like some more wine or digestifs in the living room?’
‘That’s my girl, Millie,’ Cameron says. ‘Hugo,’ he claps me on the shoulder as he passes, before lifting one of the remaining glasses of wine and downing it, ‘it’s no big deal. Don’t worry about it for a second. That’s what the rich fuckers who come here are paying for – being able to make a mess and have someone else clear it up.’
I try to give Millie a sympathetic look, but she is already busily tidying and dabbing. I’m not the best at social situations but even I am appalled by Cameron.
While everyone moves from the table to the living room, I go to the front door and step outside for some air, but have to come back in straight away as the wind is now even stronger than it was earlier and it’s snowing pretty much horizontally. I go back into the living room where everyone is sprawled out on the fur-throw-covered sofas. Simon is telling some long-winded and no doubt filthy joke to Cameron, and Cass is looking embarrassed. Ria is sitting way closer to Matt than I’d like. She’s knocking back yet another massive glass of wine even though, for all she knows, she may be pregnant.