The Sanatorium(7)

The journey was protracted because of the snow, but she still can’t escape the fact that they’re a long way from civilization. Apart from the hotel, all she can see is a mass of trees, snow, the shadowy bulk of the mountains looming over them.

“Elin? Are you coming?” Will starts walking, bumping their cases across the snow toward the entrance of the hotel.

She nods, hand locked tight around the strap of her bag. Standing there in front of the hotel, she can feel the strangest thing—a disturbance in the air, a curious restlessness that has nothing to do with the falling snow.

Elin looks around. The driveway and the car park beyond are empty.

No one’s there.

Everyone from the funicular has gone inside.

It’s the building, she thinks, absorbing the vast white structure. The more she looks, the more she senses a tension.

An anomaly.

She hadn’t noticed it in the brochure Isaac sent. But then, she thinks, those photos were taken from a distance, highlighting the scenic backdrop; the snow-covered peaks, the forest of white-frosted firs.

The images hadn’t focused on the building itself, how savage it looks.

There’s no doubting its past—what it used to be. There’s something brutally clinical about the architecture, the air of the institution in the stark lines, the relentless rectangular planes and faces, the modernist flat roofs. Glass is everywhere, dizzying, whole walls of it, allowing you to see right in.

Yet, Elin thinks, stepping forward, something’s at odds with that clinical feel, details not visible in the brochure—carved balustrades and balconies, the beautiful stretch of wooden veranda on the ground floor.

This is the anomaly, she thinks, the tension she’s picked up on. This juxtaposition . . . it’s chilling. Institution butting up against beauty.

Probably deliberate, she thinks, when they designed the building; the intricate decor an attempt to conceal the fact that this was not a place where someone came for fun.

This was a place where people struggled with illness, a place where people died.

It makes sense now, her brother celebrating his engagement here.

This place, like Isaac, is all about fa?ades.

Covering up what really lies beneath.





5





Shit,” Adele mutters, wiggling her key in the lock. Why wouldn’t it turn? It’s always like this when she’s in a hurry . . .

The door to the changing room swings open, a rush of cool air. Adele flinches, drops her keys.

“You okay?”

A flicker of relief. She knows that voice: Mat, a white-blond Swede, one of many foreign staff whom the hotel employs. He works behind the bar. Overconfident. Pale green eyes that first rake over you, then look right through you.

“Fine.” She crouches, scoops up the key fob. “I’m in a rush, that’s all. It’s Gabriel’s week with his dad. He takes him to his place tonight. I wanted to be back to say good-bye.” Finally managing to open the locker, she pulls out her bag and coat.

“They’ve just announced the funicular’s down.” Mat jams his key into his locker. “Won’t be running until morning.”

Adele looks through the window. The storm is raging now, wind howling as it batters the side of the hotel.

“What about the buses?”

“Still running, but they’ll be busy.”

He’s right. Biting down on her lip, Adele checks her watch.

She’s meant to be in the valley in an hour. If she hurries, she might make it.

Adele says good-bye, and lets herself out the side door. She pauses, shivering, stunned by the force of the wind. It’s strong, blowing icy pellets of snow into her face and eyes. Her cheeks are burning from the cold.

Pulling her scarf up around her nose, Adele walks out onto the small track leading to the front of the hotel.

With every step, her feet sink into the snow. It immediately starts seeping through the thin leather of her boots. Idiot. She should have worn her proper snow boots. Her feet will be soaked in minutes.

Carefully avoiding the bigger mounds of drifting snow, she keeps walking. A few feet on, she feels her phone vibrate in her pocket. She stops, pulls it out. It’s a message from Stephane: Leaving work now. See you soon.

Work.

The word stirs up a familiar, bitter resentment. Adele hates herself for it.

She knows it’s no good dwelling on what might have been—the climb up the career ladder, the accompanying salary, the travel, but she can’t help it.

However she tries to position it in her mind, make justifications, it’s blatantly clear that it’s she who has made the sacrifices, not Stephane. He didn’t have to give up his plans when Gabriel was born, his place at college. He graduated with top honors and got a job right away at a multinational in Vevey working in brand management. Stephane was highly rated, doing well. Earning even better.

His girlfriend works for the same company, pulling in an equally impressive salary, Adele can tell. Lise isn’t flashy, but the subtly expensive grooming and innate confidence speak for themselves.

This, she can just about cope with—it’s a petty, silly envy, nothing more, but it’s the potential effect on Gabriel that bothers her. Adele knows it won’t be long before Gabriel starts noticing the differences between his parents’ jobs.