A Twist in the Tale (22 page)

“If you insist.
Don’t forget, I’m older and less experienced
than you,” I reminded him.

I checked my
skis quickly because I knew I had to start off in front of him.

“But you know
the B-course backwards,” he retorted.
“ I’ve
never
even seen it before.”

“I’ll agree to
a race, but only if you’ll consider a wager,” I replied.

For the first
time I could see I had caught his interest. “How much?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing
so
vulgar as money,” I said.

“The winner
gets to tell Caroline the truth.”

“The truth?” he
said, looking puzzled.

“Yes,” I
replied, and shot off down the hill before he could respond. I got a good start
as I skied in and out of the red flags, but looking back over my shoulder I
could see he had recovered quickly and was already chasing hard after me. I
realised
that it was vital for me to stay in front of him
for the first third of the course, but I could already feel him cutting down my
lead.

After half a
mile of swerving and driving he shouted, “You’ll have to go a lot faster than
that if you hope to beat me.” His arrogant boast only pushed me to stay ahead
but I kept the lead only because of my advantage of knowing every twist and
turn during that first mile. Once I was sure that I would reach the vital newly
marked route before he could I began to relax. After all, I had practiced over
the next two hundred
metres
fifty times a day for the
last ten days, but I was only too aware that this time was the only one that
mattered.

I glanced over
my shoulder to see he was now about thirty
metres
behind me. I began to slow slightly as we approached the prepared ice patch,
hoping he wouldn’t notice or would think I’d lost my nerve. I held back even
more when I reached the top of the patch until I could almost feel the sound of
his breathing. Then, quite suddenly, the moment before I would have hit the ice
I ploughed my skis and came to a complete halt in the mound of snow I had built
the previous night. Travers sailed past me at about forty miles an hour, and
seconds later flew high into the air over the ravine with a scream I will never
forget. I couldn’t get myself to look over the edge as I knew he must have
broken every bone in his body the moment he hit the snow some hundred feet
below.

I carefully
leveled the mound of snow that had saved my life and then clambered back up the
mountain as fast as I could go, gather-
ing
the thirty
flags that had heralded my false route. Then I skied from side to side
replacing them in their correct positions on the B-slope, some one hundred
metres
above my carefully prepared ice patch. Once each one
was back in place I skied on down the hill, feeling like an Olympic champion.
When I reached the base of the slope I pulled up my hood to cover my head and
didn’t remove my snow goggles. I unstrapped my skis and walked casually towards
the hotel. I re-entered the building by the rear door and was back in bed by
seven forty.

I tried to
control my breathing but it was some time before my pulse had returned to
normal. Caroline woke a few minutes later, turned over and put her arms round
me.

“Ugh,” she
said, “you’re frozen. Have you been sleeping without the covers on?”

I laughed. “You
must have pulled them off during the night.”

“Go and have a
hot bath.”

After I had had
a quick bath we made love and I dressed a second time, double-checking that I
had left no clues of my early flight before going down to breakfast.

As Caroline was
pouring my second cup of coffee, I heard the ambulance siren at first coming
from the town and then later returning.

“Hope it wasn’t
a bad accident,” my wife said, as she continued to pour her coffee.

“What?” I said,
a little too loudly, glancing up from the previous day’s Times.

“The siren, silly.
There must have been an accident on the
mountain. Probably Travers,” she said.

“Travers?” I
said, even more loudly.

“Patrick
Travers. I saw him at the bar last night. I didn’t mention it to you because I
know you don’t care for him.”

“But why Travers?”
I asked nervously.

“Doesn’t he
always claim he’s the first on the slope every morning? Even beats the
instructors up to the top.”

“Does he?” I
said.

“You must
remember. We were going up for the first time the day we met him when he was
already on his third run.”

“Was he?”

“You are being
dim this morning, Edward.

Did you get out
of bed the wrong side?” she asked, laughing.

I didn’t reply.

“Well, I only
hope it is Travers,” Caroline added, sipping her coffee. “I never did like the
man.”

“Why not?”
I asked, somewhat taken aback.

“He once made a
pass at me,” she said casually.

I stared across
at her, unable to speak.

“Aren’t you
going to ask what happened?’’

“I’m so stunned
I don’t know what to say,” I replied.

“He was all
over me at the gallery that night and then invited me out to lunch after we had
dinner with him. I told him to get lost,” Caroline said. She touched me gently
on the hand. “I’ve never mentioned it to you before because I thought it might
have been the reason he returned the Vuillard, and that only made me feel guilty.”

“But it’s me
who should feel guilty,” I said, fumbling with a piece of toast.

“Oh, no,
darling, you’re not guilty of anything. In any case, if I ever decided to be
un-faithful it wouldn’t be with a lounge lizard like that. Good heavens no.
Diana had already warned me what to expect from him.

Not my style at
all.”

I sat there
thinking of Travers on his way to a morgue, or even worse, still buried under
the snow, knowing there was nothing I could do about it.

“You know, I
think the time really has come for you to tackle the A-slope,” Caroline said as
we finished breakfast. “Your skiing has improved beyond words.”

“Yes,” I
replied, more than a little preoccupied. I hardly spoke another word as we made
our way together to the foot of the mountain.

“Are you all
right, darling?” Caroline asked as we travelled up side by side on the lift.

“Fine,” I said,
unable to look down into the ravine as we reached the highest point. Was
Travers still down there, or already in the morgue?

“Stop looking
like a frightened child. After all the work you’ve put in this week you’re more
than ready to join me,” she said reassuringly.

I smiled
weakly. When we reached the top, I jumped off the ski lift just a moment too
early, and knew immediately I took my second step that I had sprained an ankle.

I received no
sympathy from Caroline. She was convinced I was putting it on in order to avoid
attempting the advanced run. She swept past me and sped on down the mountain
while I returned in ignominy via the lift.

When I reached
the bottom I glanced towards the engineer but he didn’t give me a second look.
I hobbled over to the First Aid post and checked in. Caroline joined me a few
minutes later.

I explained to
her that the duty orderly thought it might be a fracture and it had been suggested
I report to the hospital immediately.

Caroline
frowned, removed her skis and went off to find a taxi to take us to the
hospital. It wasn’t a
longjourney
but it was one the
taxi driver evidently had done many times before from the way he took the slip-
pery
bends.

“I ought to be
able to dine out on this for about a year,” Caroline promised me as we entered
the double doors of the hospital.

“Would you be
kind enough to wait outside, madam?” asked a male orderly as I was ushered into
the X-ray room.

“Yes, but will
I ever see my poor husband again?” she mocked as the door was closed in front
of her.

-I entered a
room full of sophisticated machinery presided over by an expensively dressed
doctor. I told him what I thought was wrong with me and he lifted the offending
foot gently up on to an X-ray machine.

Moments later
he was studying the large negative.

“There’s no
fracture there,” he assured me, pointing to the bone. “But if you are still in
any pain it might be wise for me to bind the ankle up tightly.” The doctor then
pinned my X-ray next to five others hanging from a rail.

“Am I the sixth
person already today?” I asked, looking up at the row of X-rays.

“No, no,” he
said, laughing. “The other five are all the same man. I think he must have
tried to fly over the ravine, the fool.”

“Over the ravine?”

“Yes, showing
off, I suspect,” he said as he began to bind my ankle. “We get one every year
but this poor fellow broke both his legs and an arm, and will have a nasty scar
on his face to remind him of his stupidity.
Lucky to be alive
in my opinion.”

“Lucky to be alive?”
I repeated weakly.

“Yes, but only because he didn’t know what he was doing.
My
fourteen-year-old skis over that ravine and can land like a seagull on water.
He, on the other hand,” the doctor pointed to the X-rays, “won’t be skiing
again this holiday. In fact, he won’t be walking for at least six months.”

“Really?”
I said.

“And as for
you,” he added, after he finished binding me up, “just rest the ankle in ice
every three hours and change the bandage once a day. You should be back on the
slopes again in a couple of days, three at the most.”

“We’re flying
back this evening,” I told him as I gingerly got to my feet.

“Good timing,”
he said, smiling.

I hobbled
happily out of the X-ray room to find Caroline head down in
Elle
.

“You look
pleased with yourself,” she said, looking up.

“I am. It turns
out to be nothing worse than two broken legs, a broken arm and a scar on the
face.”

“How stupid of
me,” said Caroline, “I thought it was a simple
sprain.
”

“Not me,” I
told her. “Travers- the accident this morning, you remember?
The
ambulance.
Still, they assure me he’ll live,” I added.

“Pity,” she
said, linking her arm through mine. “After all the trouble you took, I was
rather hoping you’d succeed.”

T
HAT isn’t the version I heard,” said Philip.

One of the club
members seated at the bar glanced round at the sound of raised voices, but when
he saw who was involved only smiled and continued his conversation.

The
Haslemere
Golf Club was fairly crowded that Saturday
morning. And just before lunch it was often difficult to find a seat in the
spacious clubhouse.

Two of the
members had already ordered their second round and settled themselves in the
alcove overlooking the first hole long before the room began to fill up. Philip
Masters and Michael Gilmour had finished their Saturday morning game earlier
than usual and now seemed engrossed in conversation.

“And what did
you hear?” asked Michael Gilmour quietly, but in a voice that carried.

“That you weren’t
altogether blameless in the matter.”

“I most
certainly was,” said Michael. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m not
suggesting anything,” said Philip.

“But don’t
forget, you can’t fool me. I employed you myself once and I’ve known you for
far too long to accept everything you say at face value.”

“I wasn’t
trying to fool anyone,” said Michael. “It’s common knowledge that I lost my
job. I’ve never suggested otherwise.”

“Agreed.
But what isn’t common knowledge is how you lost
your job and why you haven’t been able to find a new one.”

“I haven’t been
able to find a new one for the simple reason jobs aren’t that easy to come by
at the moment. And by the way, it’s not my fault you’re a success story and a
bloody millionaire.”

“And it’s not
my fault that you’re penniless and always out of work. The truth is that jobs
are easy enough to come by for someone who can supply references from his last
employer.”

“Just what are
you hinting at?” said Michael.

“I’m not
hinting at anything.”

Several members
had stopped taking part in the conversation in front of them as they tried to
listen to the one going on behind them.

“What I am
saying,” Philip continued, “is that no one will employ you for the simple
reason that you can’t find anyone who will supply you with a reference – and
everybody knows it.”

Everybody
didn’t know it, which explained why most people in the room were now trying to
find out.

“I was made
redundant,” insisted Michael.

“In your case
redundant was just a
euphem
-ism for sacked. No one
pretended otherwise at the time.”

“I was made
redundant,” repeated Michael, “for the simple reason that the company profits
turned out to be a little disappointing this year.”

“A little disappointing?
That’s rich. They were
non-existent.”

“Simply because we lost one or two of our major accounts to
rivals.”

“
Rivals
who, I’m informed, were only too happy to pay for a
little inside information.”

By now most
members of the club had cut short their own conversations as they leaned,
twisted, turned and bent in an effort to capture every word coming from the two
men seated in the window alcove of the club room.

“The loss of
those accounts was fully explained in the report to shareholders at this year’s
AGM,” said Michael.