T Williams - What Happens in the Alps...

‘Me, too, Matt.’ And she meant it. It was a wonderful coincidence that they had both chosen this time to relocate to the mountains. The past two years had been so terribly lonely for Annie. It was going to be so very good to have an old friend at her side. And a very handsome old friend at that. Which reminded her. ‘Just remember you promised you’d keep your hands off Paolina.’

That evening, Annie had promised to take Janet out for dinner. She offered Janet her choice of restaurants and was surprised to hear that she wanted a pizza. As they drove down to Santorso, Janet explained that she so rarely had pizza these days, she was only too happy. Secretly, Annie wondered whether it was just because she knew that Annie’s finances were stretched and she wanted to keep the cost of the meal down.

Annie took her to her local pizzeria where Signora Toniolo and her husband greeted her as an old friend. As they ate their pizzas, they chatted and Annie got a surprise.

‘I wasn’t sure if I should tell you, but Matt phoned us a long time ago, asking about you.’

Annie looked up from her Margherita . ‘Asking about me?’

Janet nodded. ‘It wasn’t that long after Steve’s death and he wanted to know how you were coping. He was asking if you were still living in Turin, still working and all right for money.’

‘Matt was asking you about me?’ Annie put her fork down and took a sip of red wine. ‘I wonder why he didn’t contact me direct.’

‘I suppose he was afraid he might disturb you or something. Of course, we couldn’t tell him very much as we hadn’t seen you either.’ Annie nodded. After Steve’s death she had more or less gone into voluntary purdah for months, unwilling to meet people, not wanting to face the inevitable expressions of concern and condolence. Janet went on. ‘All I could say to him was that you’re a tough cookie and I was sure you’d be okay.’ Janet caught Annie’s eye. ‘And I was right.’

Annie sat and thought for a while before answering. ‘I suppose you are right. I am okay, now. But I’m not sure how tough I am. The last two years have been the worst of my life. There were times when I just didn’t know how to go on.’

‘I can imagine. We were devastated when we heard the news. But you’ve got over it and you’re getting on with your life.’

‘I couldn’t just carry on moping. But, Matt? That was sweet of him.’

‘Matt’s a good man. And he likes you a lot.’

‘My sister said the same thing. It’s just a pity he’s such a bastard with women.’

‘He’s getting older, just like the rest of us. He’ll change, I’m sure.’

Annie shook her head. ‘I very much doubt it.’

Chapter 3

That night it started snowing again, this time seriously, and it didn’t stop for forty-eight hours. By the time Friday came along, the whole town was underneath a thick layer of the white stuff and strangely quiet, everyday noises muffled by the snow. But, among the inhabitants of Santorso, things were buzzing. Signora Toniolo in the bar told Annie first and then Paolina confirmed it; the ski lifts had started working all around the valley. The skiing season had begun and it was still just the beginning of December.

By eleven o’clock, Annie had done everything that needed doing at the school and she couldn’t wait to take advantage of her wonderful new ski pass. Leaving Paolina in charge, she pulled on her skiing clothes, strapped her skis to the roof of her little Panda and set off for Montalto.

The snowploughs had been working hard and, with the aid of her winter tyres, she found it quite easy to drive right up the winding road to Montalto through the pine trees and grassy meadows, now buried under a thick layer of snow. She parked close to the big chairlift, carefully avoiding leaving the car under any of the trees, all of which were laden with snow. She and Steve had made that mistake years ago with their old cinquecento. When they returned, they found it nearly buried in a huge pile of snow that had then frozen. It had taken them almost an hour to hack their way into the car and then reverse out again.

It was almost lunchtime by now, but it was still bitterly cold. The sun was just beginning to burn off the low cloud, but it would be an hour or two before the temperature rose above freezing. Her visit to the slopes didn’t start too auspiciously. As she stepped out of the car onto the frozen ground, her feet slid out from underneath her and she almost did the splits, ending up on her bottom on the very cold ground. She pulled herself to her feet, her breath forming clouds in front of her in the frozen air, dusted herself off and reflected that it was just as well her sister hadn’t been there to witness that little scene. She made her way gingerly around to the back and sat down on the rear bumper to put on her ski boots. As she did so, she noted that there was no queue for the main lift. Tomorrow, Saturday, once skiers from Turin and Milan had made their way up the motorway, it would be busier, but for the moment she felt as if she had the place to herself.

Once she had tightened her ski boots and fastened her jacket, she pulled on her hat and released her skis from the rack on the roof of her faithful old car. Then, finally, she was able to put her gloves on and she began to feel life returning to her frozen fingers. Feeling rather grand, she flashed her new ski pass and took the chairlift up to the first station. Below her, the pistes had been cleared, but there were very few people on the slopes. After years of riding in chairlifts, she was no longer scared stiff. Although she knew that in all probability she might be killed if she fell off one of these lifts, she wasn’t anything like as scared as when she was hundreds and hundreds of feet off the ground in a cable car. It was a question of degree. She was just grateful that Montalto didn’t have any cable cars.

Evidently, she was going to be one of the first skiers of the season. That, too, was exciting. As she skied off the lift at the top and stopped to adjust her goggles and gloves, she found she was humming to herself. She hadn’t done that for a very long time. It felt good, really good. She stood there for a few moments, staring out across the snow-covered mountains, and she felt the familiar stinging in her eyes, but this time, she didn’t cry and she didn’t stop humming. She ran a gloved hand across her face, pulled her goggles into place, and set off.

An hour later, after a few fast downhill runs, she had warmed up and decided to ski down a particularly difficult black run; a steep mogul field of dips and bumps, bordered on both sides by thick forest. It was tough, technical skiing and she was concentrating hard. As she reached the left-hand side of the piste, within touching distance of the thick canopy of conifers, she threw herself into a sharp turn back in the opposite direction, her knees flexing hard under the compression. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw another skier flash past, bouncing over the bumps, hopelessly out of control. At the same time, a movement further down the slope caused her to jam in the edges of her skis and stop dead, her hand over her mouth in silent horror.

A big black dog came running out of the trees, right in the path of the other skier. The man was powerless to take evasive action and the two figures converged with an awful inevitability. She clearly heard a cry and a yelp as the skier smashed into the dog, sending both of them flying into the air. The dog landed several metres further down the slope, its body limp and lifeless like a rag doll. The man bounced, rolled, and finally ended up on his face, perilously close to the trees, one ski still attached, the other stuck upright in the soft snow at the side of the piste. As Annie looked on, he stirred, sat up and then, without making any effort to help the injured dog, pulled himself to his feet, clipped on his missing ski, and set off down the hill once more.