Primula Bond - The Unbreakable Trilogy

‘The two of us in your luxury retreat? Fur rugs and deep dark forests! What’s not to like?’ I stand up stiffly. I make sure he gets a good eyeful of my burning, red striped butt before the dress drops softly over my legs. ‘Maybe we can get in some skiing while we’re there if I can bend ze knees?’

‘There’s no snow so close to the lake,’ he replies sharply, kicking at a log coming loose from the fire.

‘Listen, Levi, whatever’s eating you is not my fault!’ I step over and lift my hand as if to strike him. He catches it in midair. ‘Perhaps you should go to Lake Lugano on your own.’

‘You’re my lucky charm, Serena. You’re coming with me.’ We really are like weighing scales. The crosser I get, the calmer he becomes. He frames my face with his warm hand, tipping it up to his. ‘Anyhow, Dickson has your passport. He’ll fly us over tomorrow and open up the house. If that suits?’

‘Your wish is my command. But there’s just one problem.’ I pick at the silver chain. ‘The sleeping arrangements. There’s this “he” who fancies himself as a shrink. I thought he was a Halloween spectre when I first saw him, but it turns out he’s real.’

He smiles slowly, holding my hands now. ‘Go on.’

‘He’s my Pygmalion.’ I go on, keeping my voice low. ‘He’s very rich and he’s sculpted me into a successful snapper. He’s a bit mean and moody sometimes but he has these amazing fingers and dark flashing eyes, and this annoyingly mesmeric mouth.’

He puts his finger on mine to hush me and I nibble it in between my lips. Gustav pulls me closer as I suck the tip. Further down his sexy hardness is pressing urgently through his jeans, nudging at my dress. I hook my thigh around his for a moment. That tango stance again. I push his finger out of my mouth.

‘He’s touched me intimately, you know, with this very finger. But you see, doctor, that’s where I get really confused. Offended, actually. Because he still doesn’t fancy me enough to go any further. He gets hard. I’ve felt his erection. I’ve even sucked him off. But still he rejects me.’

He smiles quietly and unclips the chain.

‘Oh, Miss Folkes. I told you in the beginning. Poco a poco .’

‘There’s nothing little about you, Levi. Oh, just loosen up and come to bed with me!’

‘Patience, princess.’ He marches me to the door. ‘This is the famine before the feast.’

‘You can trust me.’ I wind my fingers through my hair flirtatiously. ‘I’ll be gentle with you!’

He laughs softly and takes something from behind the big vase full of winter roses on the mantelpiece. It’s a mini disc from a camcorder. He waggles it in his fingers. ‘I’ve seen what you’re like when you’re on fire, my lovely. You’re every boy’s wet dream.’

‘Give that to me!’ I yelp, failing dismally to snatch it as he dangles it high above my head.

‘Not on your life. This is another bargaining tool. Or maybe I’ll save it for private screenings. You see? It’s not you, as they say. It’s me. I can’t be trusted.’

I stomp sulkily into the hall, praying he’ll follow me and reassure me. But he doesn’t.

‘I’ll get that film off you.’ I turn at the bottom of the stairs, sweep into a sarcastic curtsey like the principal ballerina before the curtain falls over Swan Lake . ‘And I’ll have you in my bed before the week is out, Signor Levi, by fair means or foul. Just you wait.’

The car leaves the quaint squares and pretty lanes lined with chic shops where elegant inhabitants glide about their well-heeled business. I peer through the rear window like a condemned woman as we head inland. Lugano looks right up my street. I could love a town that calls itself a city, one with palm trees, Riva boats and jazz festivals in the summer, and skiing, cable cars and lakeside restaurants in the winter.

‘The guide book says dolce far niente is one of the mottos of Lugano, did you know? All of Italy thinks like that, actually. I think it means “so sweet doing nothing”.’

‘For lucky buggers on holiday, maybe. And technically we’re still in Switzerland.’

The mountain-fringed lake drops away behind us, glittering with wintry sunlight.

‘Why can’t we linger a little longer? What’s the rush?’

‘Boss said to bring you straight here, Miss.’

The car labours doggedly up a narrow road squeezed on either side by colossal boulders. It turns under a high brick archway smothered in ivy, bumps over the cobblestones into the middle of a deserted yard, and stops. For a moment there is no sound but the ticking of the engine and the sharp whistle of the wind.

Dickson shifts round heavily, his broad shoulders and back making the leather seats creak.

‘The chalet’s still locked up and it’ll be freezing up there. I have to get into town for some supplies.’

‘Charming welcome. If I’d known nobody would be here I’d have asked you to leave me in Lugano to have a look around. At least I’d have some other human beings for company!’

I glare past the empty yard to the backdrop of navy blue mountains. I’d feel differently if Gustav was here with me. The city looks enchanting enough but those projections of rock dragging their bony knuckles against the heavy sky seem menacing rather than majestic. They promise avalanches to be buried in and ravines down which to plummet. Grist to the mill of experienced, show-off skiers like Gustav no doubt, but alien to dreamers like me growing up in the soft rain and undulating fields of Devon.

Sure, the cliffs beneath my childhood home had their own sea-battered grandeur. They had an uncanny siren call, too, luring hikers to venture too close to the edge. Polly and I used to dare each other to take that extra step across the smooth, layered outcrops overhanging the waves. We’d stub our fags out on the grey rocks and decide that mica schist, the name of their geological formation, would be a grand name for the girl band we were going to form.

‘Well, I’ve delivered you safely. Now I need to get on.’ Dickson’s gruff voice butts in.

‘Just wait, Dickson. It’s bad enough that we didn’t travel together, but why hasn’t Mr Levi bothered to meet me?’

‘Oh, he took the funicular straight up to San Salvatore peak soon as we arrived at Agno airport last night. He’ll be on one of his climbing escapades I daresay, and checking out the weather. Typical of him to do in winter what everyone else does in the summer.’ Dickson tugs back his driving glove to look at his watch. ‘Not that he’s been anywhere near here since – not for at least five years.’

He gets out of the car and opens my door. I step out and am nearly knocked backwards by the bitter cold.

Thank God Crystal kitted me out with all these layers of custom-built thermals, topped off with this Dr Zhivago -style hat and cosy quilted ski jacket. Before Gustav fled to City airport like a thief in the night, he obviously instructed her to supply me with everything I’d need to follow him to the Alps. He knows full well that all I have to my name are my caramel tweed jacket, scarves, some jeans, jumpers and T-shirts, and my beret. Oh, and all the clothes I purloined from Polly’s flat, which are designed for fashionistas to trip between taxi and catwalk rather than piste and peak.

I was so sleepy when Crystal tip-tapped into my bedroom this morning and switched on all the lights that she ended up attending to my toilette as well, dressing me like a lady’s maid.

‘Spit, spot, Serena, you have a plane to catch.’

Her back was to the window and with the cold white light behind her I couldn’t see her face clearly. Only the outline of her ramrod stiff back and today’s beehive hairdo. As she wasn’t moving or averting her eyes, I went ahead and slipped my negligee off.