One by One(38)

Rik on the other hand seems to have shrunk. He looks bewildered, punch-drunk, like a man who’s lost everything which, in a sense, I suppose he has. With Topher in charge, that billion-dollar buyout is melting away, leaving him with… what? Shares in a company he tried to sell out from under the founder? A position under a leader he doesn’t trust? I can’t see him surviving much longer in his post when they get back to the UK, best friend or no best friend. Topher doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who would forgive or forget the kind of coup Rik and Eva were attempting to pull.

What’s more impressive is that Carl and Miranda, who might easily have switched loyalties when they saw which way the wind was blowing, have instead both rallied around Rik. Do they really believe Snoop is doomed without Eva at the helm? Either way, they are not siding with Topher, that much is plain. Instead they sit either side of Rik, like chess pieces guarding their king.

But it feels like the match is over. They have lost their queen. For once more there is a space at the table, an empty place. Not Topher’s this time, but Eva’s, her empty chair a constant painful reminder of what has happened, not letting anyone forget, even for a second.



* * *



The chalet is still relatively warm in spite of the power cut and the temperature drop outside. Its thermal insulation and triple glazing means that the heat from earlier in the day is still enough to make the bedrooms bearable, while the two log burners downstairs keep the living room and dining room toasty.

Nevertheless, I distribute extra blankets and duvets before bed, limping from door to door with a torch clamped under my elbow, clutching armfuls of the spare bedding we keep for emergencies, along with thermos flasks of hot chocolate.

I’m about to knock on the second-to-last door when Danny, trailing behind me with a stack of blankets, says, “Erin, mate—” with a warning note in his voice.

And I stop. It’s Eva’s door.

And somehow that one simple thing catches me like a blow to the stomach, a reminder of the reality of what has happened here. An avalanche. A death. Will Perce-Neige ever recover from these twin disasters? It’s hard to imagine people reading news like this in their Sunday paper and then turning to book a holiday, but then, St. Antoine isn’t the first alpine resort to experience tragedy in the form of an avalanche. It happens almost every year, in fact there was another, similar fall just up the road earlier in the season.

“Mate?” Danny says, and I realize I have stopped stock-still, lost in thought.

“Sorry,” I say stupidly. “I—I wasn’t keeping track—I—”

“You all right?” Danny asks uneasily. “You should be sitting down, I’m not happy about you walking on that ankle.”

“I’m fine,” I say shortly. The truth is that my ankle is hurting. A lot. Danny’s probably right, and I shouldn’t be putting weight on it. But I can’t bear to sit alone and silent in the darkness of the staff quarters, feeling it throb, thinking about what’s happened and what’s going to happen. I’m better off working; somehow the endless tasks keep my thoughts at bay. Plus, more practically, guest interaction isn’t Danny’s strong suit. They’ve forgiven him for his tactlessness in the wake of the avalanche, at least I hope they have, but our roles are firmly back in place now. We’re here to be polite, good hosts, even in these circumstances. Perhaps especially in these circumstances. It feels like everything is crumbling—and our ordained roles are the only thing we have left to hang on to. Danny and I must remain in charge. If we don’t keep that authority, if we let Topher take over—well, I don’t like to think about how the situation could play out.

There’s just one door left. Topher’s. And I hitch my armful of blankets a little higher before I knock.

He’s drunk, I can tell that when the door opens. He’s wearing a robe, open to the waist in spite of the cold, and holding a bottle. And he’s not alone. With the overhead light out, I can’t see who’s inside, but I’ve got a horrible feeling it might be little Ani, who didn’t open her door when I knocked a few minutes ago. I want to tell her the answer to her distress over Eva doesn’t lie in Topher’s bed—but I can’t. It’s none of my business. She’s the same age as me, she’s a guest, not a friend, and I have no right to tell her what to do, even if I think she’s making a fairly huge mistake.

“Ellen,” he slurs. “Why hello. What brings you to my room at this late hour? It’s a bit late to be tucking people in.”

“Extra blankets,” I say with my best cheerful smile. “Just in case the temperature drops overnight. Can’t have you all freezing to death on my watch.”

“I’ll tell you a secret…” Topher leans in, confidentially, his robe gaping to show a smattering of dark blond chest hair. “The best survival kit is a naked woman.”

Oh, ffs.

I can feel my smile thin.

“Well, I’m afraid the service doesn’t extend to that.”

“I’ve already got that part sorted,” he says, but he reaches out for the blankets I’m holding, swaying slightly as he does.

I’m about to turn and leave when he says, out of the blue, “Don’t I know you?”

“I don’t think so,” I say firmly.