Guilty Pleasures (48 page)

‘Come on, darling,’ said Roger, ‘we’ll get this sorted. I’ll get the money for the Ricardo deal. Perhaps we can sell this place. That will be a start.’

Moving silently in her cashmere socks, Cassandra moved down two more stairs, cocking her head and holding her breath.

‘I’m not selling Les Fleurs to raise the money,’ hissed Rebecca. ‘People would kill for a place in Gstaad. It’s the only decent thing we’ve got. Forget the Ricardo deal. Something better will come along. And it better bloody had. We have a second-rate house and a 2-year-old BMW. Do you realize how embarrassing it is for me getting it valet parked? I’m sick of living like the wife of middle management.’

‘Ricardo’s business
is
the something better, darling. I want to make some serious money for us both. I want us to have a better life. One day soon you can have whatever house or car you want. We’ll get her out of the picture. There’s more than one way to skin a cat.’

Rebecca laughed mirthlessly.

‘Or a bitch.’

They moved back inside their room and closed the French windows. Cassandra pulled her robe tighter around her body and hurried back up the stairs to the warmth of her room, knowing exactly what they were talking about.

Christmas Day passed quietly. Lunch was subdued after which Emma retreated to her room. By Boxing Day morning, she was desperate to get out of the chalet. Christmas had turned into a nightmare. Gstaad was still Gstaad of course, super-chic and chocolate-box pretty, but with all this pressure, Emma couldn’t even enjoy the view. She was aching to get up onto the slopes where she could be alone and clear her head. When she came down into the living room, she found Tom watching the television in track-suit bottoms, his feet clad in massive fluffy slippers, a Christmas
gift from Cassandra which he suspected was a dig at his layabout status.

‘I’m going up to Les Diablerets,’ said Emma. ‘Do you want to come?’

‘Nah,’ he shook his head, sending crumbs from the croissant he was eating showering onto his sweater. ‘It’s Boxing Day, Em. A holiday – you’ve got to take these things seriously.’

‘This is a holiday for me – getting away from it all. And everyone.’

Tom pulled a sympathetic face.

‘Well, don’t wear yourself out too much. I’m taking you down to Greengos or Hush tonight. Your treat.’

Emma giggled. ‘Why not? Maybe I can bag myself a Eurotrash prince.’

The drive to Les Diablerets only took twenty minutes. The roads had been salted so there was no need for chains on the tyres. Emma loved being out in snow, and as she left the car and headed for the lifts, the air was so crisp the inside of her nose tingled. Les Diablerets wasn’t as smart or chic as Gstaad. There were no Hermès boutiques or world-class hotels, no tourists in fur coats and moon boots. She could never understand the snobbery and posturing attached to ski resorts: skiing was all about surrounding yourself with natural beauty and pitting your own body against the elements; it was not about the social scene. Consequently, Emma loved skiing on her own, going deep into the powder off-piste, feeling the wind in her hair, spray on her goggles, her thighs like pistons aching to stop. It was the same well-hidden streak in Emma that made her love cave-diving, a recklessness tempered by reason: she would take herself to the edge of her abilities, no more. This was why Emma had arranged for a guide to show her the best skiing, but steer her away from the real dangers.

Johann was tall and lithe, a proud German-speaking Swiss mountain guide who knew every run, slope and crevasse in a thirty-mile radius. He was also devilishly handsome, observed Emma, taking in his chiselled, if wind-chapped, features.

‘There is some fresh powder today,’ said Johann. ‘Avalanches are a possibility.’

Emma nodded; she had already seen the reports. Avalanche alert was on level 3 today: a threat but not dangerously so. Wasting no time on small talk, they stamped into their skis and Johann took
off, Emma hard on his heels. Immediately, Emma’s world shrank to the stretch of snow directly in front of her skis. The roar of air in her ears, the exhilaration of the speed, the concentration as Johann led her in a series of sharp turns, it all blew everything else from her head. At first Johann skied at a fair pace, occasionally glancing behind to gauge her ability, but within minutes he was carving through the snow at full speed, confident Emma could handle everything he threw at her. She was grinning as he scythed to a halt at the edge of a cliff. In front of them across a gorge, Emma could see the jagged edges of even higher mountains, white velvet slopes broken with grey exposed walls of sheer rock. The air felt crystal clear and Emma felt her body and mind respond: she felt sharp and clear, unburdened by business worries or petty feuds.

‘You ski well,’ said Johann.

‘Thanks,’ said Emma, feeling her cheeks blush. ‘I’ve got a good guide.’

She stood drinking in the fabulous view for a moment more, trying not to notice Johann’s blue eyes fixed on her. The fitted white salopettes and bright blue jacket may have covered Emma’s slim, athletic body, but not even the fleece headband covering her ears and the large goggles could hide the striking angles of her face.

‘It’s quiet today,’ she said to fill the silence.

‘Holiday time. People come less for skiing and more for drinking,’ he smiled, then flipped his goggles down and plunged down the slope. Emma shot down straight after him, adrenalin rushing around her body. She felt free. This was when she felt truly alive, not staring at a spreadsheet or hammering out deals, but here, barrelling down a sheer face at 100 kilometres an hour. She was a natural skier, having learnt on these very slopes at Saul’s invitation throughout her childhood, and every time she took to the snow, she wished she could spend her whole life out here, surrounded by crisp white nothingness. Out here, she felt at home.

All too soon, the sun began to sink, the light was fading fast and the ink-blue sky was slashed with ribbons of gold and pink. Johann brought them back round to their starting point. As she stepped out of her skis, Emma considered it a day very well spent. The conditions and scenery had been perfect, plus Johann had made her feel good – capable and attractive. She pulled her goggles off and hung them over her arm.

‘Can I tempt you to a glass of Gluhwein?’ asked Johann.

Emma pointed to the car. ‘Driving, I’m afraid.’

‘Then perhaps a
chocolat chaud?’

She almost licked her lips at the thought of it, imagining Johann’s strong hands wrapped around the mug.

‘I’m afraid my family have plans for supper,’ she shrugged.

‘Perhaps you will come up to Les Diablerets tomorrow, then? Here is my telephone number,’ he said, handing her a card. ‘Any time, day or night.’

‘I might just do that,’ she smiled.

‘Auf wiedersehen.’

She attached her skis to the roof of the car and took off her thick padded jacket to drive more comfortably. She pulled out and Johann lifted a hand to wave.
Why am I such an idiot?
she thought angrily.
Why am I running back to a family who are trying to pull me down, when I could have …

‘Damn,’ she cursed herself. Maybe Rob Holland was right, maybe she didn’t know how to relax and have fun. She grimaced. That thought only reminded her of the day at the recording studios and her foot pressed down on the accelerator angrily. There were a few farms and chalets along the side of the road and although Boxing Day was a popular day for tourists flying in to the French Alps for the run up to New Year, there was hardly any traffic and once she was out of Les Diablerets it was almost pitch black. Emma thought of the folklore that Saul had once told her about the area. How the name Les Diablerets means ‘abode of the devil’ and how legend had it that lost souls drifted around the mountainsides at night carrying their lanterns. Slowly she became aware of headlights closing in behind her. The snow had started to fall again, so Emma hung back, waiting for the vehicle to overtake her. Instead, it came closer and closer until she could no longer see its lights. Then she jolted forward as the car behind touched her bumper.

‘What the hell?’ whispered Emma, tightening her grip on the steering wheel.

The vehicle behind bumped her again, this time with more force. As her mind searched for a rational explanation, she glanced down to check her headlights were on:
maybe he hasn’t seen me here.
Suddenly Emma’s head whipped forward as her car was slammed from behind. Her heart lurched; there was no mistaking the stranger’s intent, and in front of her the snow was coming down
quite heavily now. She looked into the mirror, trying to make out the driver, but there was another shuddering crash and her car veered dangerously onto the gravel siding, as her bumper glanced off the crash barriers.

‘Who are you?’ screamed Emma. ‘What do you want?’

But the dazzling lights behind gave her all the answers she needed. Whoever they were, they were trying to push her over the edge. They were trying to
kill
her. Desperately, Emma stamped her foot down on the accelerator, and pulled away from the car behind, her hands shaking on the wheel as she fought to keep her car steady round a bend. And then she saw it in her headlights: two hundred yards up ahead, the sturdy crash barrier disappeared, to be replaced by a flimsy wooden fence. That meant the drop was less severe, less
fatal
– surely? As she gunned the engine, the chasing vehicle caught up and crashed into Emma’s car so hard that her head cracked against the steering wheel. Her car was suddenly wrenched over to the right and thrown into a skid; the rear end whipped round and caught the last section of the steel crash barrier. Emma jumped on the brakes with both feet; her car veered off the road and slammed into the rough timber fence, chunks of wood and metal flew at the windscreen like missiles. The car slid along at a crazy angle, the fence holding its weight for the moment; only a few slats of wood preventing it from rolling down the mountain. Emma knew she had to move. She unclipped her seatbelt and pushed all her weight against the door. It flew open and she used the momentum to throw herself up and out of the car, landing facedown into the gravel at the side of the road, tearing her hands and elbows as she did so. She rolled over just in time to see the fence finally splinter and the car plunge away into the dark. There was nothing but a rushing sound for a few long seconds and then a crash, followed by a
crump
and a white glow as the engine ignited. Emma scrambled away from the edge, clawing her way across the dark road and into the snow bank on the other side. The cold air stung her bruised and torn body. She lay back as she watched the car burst into flames. And then she felt nothing.

The first thing Emma saw when she opened her eyes again was the sterile white of the hospital ceiling. Slowly her vision adjusted and she became aware of a shape standing by her bed.

‘Rob?’

‘Hey,’ he said in a quiet voice, a sad smile on his lips. ‘Welcome back.’

‘Why are you here?’ she croaked. ‘How did you … what’s going on … ?’

Emma closed her eyes again, struggling to make sense of it all, her confusion almost as acute as the throbbing pain coming from every part of her body.

Lifting her head with effort, she saw a coat over the back of the chair and a large bunch of lilies in a vase on the table.

‘Have I been unconscious?’

Rob nodded. ‘Since yesterday.’

‘But why are you here?’

He looked down and gave her a smile.

‘I called to say Happy Christmas. Your mother had your mobile phone and told me there’d been an accident.’

Emma’s head ached.

‘I don’t understand. You came from Chilcot?’

‘No, I was in Courchevel; the drive isn’t too bad. Just being a good neighbour – brought you some grapes,’ he joked.

She managed a weak smile.

‘I feel dreadful.’

‘You don’t look too hot, either.’

Emma actually laughed at this, instantly regretting it as pain stabbed at her ribs.

‘You know how to charm the ladies, Rob Holland,’ she winced. ‘Every one except me, anyway. So tell me: what’s the damage? It feels bad.’

Rob paused a beat before replying and by the expression on his face she knew that it was serious. Their eyes locked and Emma felt a flutter in her chest.

‘I think it could have been a lot worse,’ he said quietly. ‘Broken wrist, ribs, lots of cuts and bruises. The main thing worrying the docs is that you’ve been unconscious for so long. But it’s good to have you back again now, slugger.’

Emma smiled again and Rob straightened up.

‘Listen, I think your mum is in the hospital somewhere getting a drink,’ said Rob. ‘I’m going to find her – and a doctor. Don’t you go anywhere, OK?’

She reached out her hand to touch his.

‘Don’t. Just stay with me a minute.’

Looking at Rob, she realized all her anger towards him had gone. They weren’t a couple but the connection was still there. She felt safe with him. He squeezed her fingers and with his other hand stroked her gently on the cheek.

‘Do you remember what happened?’

She gave the slightest of nods.

‘Someone ran me off the road,’ she whispered.

She saw Rob frown.

‘No, honey. You were in a car accident.’

She shook her head.

‘Someone tried to run me off the road deliberately.
’

‘Look, I think I’d better get a doctor,’ he said, standing up.

‘Please Rob.’

A tear slipped down her cheek.

‘Someone tried to kill me, Rob. You’ve got to believe me. My family want me dead.’

She saw his face change from surprise to concern.

‘You’ve had severe concussion, Em. You were in an accident.’ He lowered his voice and glanced around. ‘Honey, your family doesn’t want you dead. They’ve all been at the hospital for the last twenty-four hours worried sick about you.’

She gave a tiny shake of the head. It was exactly what she
would expect from them: Roger and Cassandra with their crocodile tears.

‘Have the police examined the accident scene yet?’ she asked, her voice rising. ‘Have they seen the tyre tracks of another car trying to push me off the road? Paint scrapes on the rear bumper? What have they
said?’

Rob touched her shoulder.

‘Easy, Em, I don’t know. I’ve only really spoken to your mom and Roger.’

Tears were flowing down the sides of her face now.

‘Rob, listen to me,’ she said, struggling to control her voice. ‘I saw the car behind me, a black car. It came up close behind me, smashed into the bumper, again and again.’ Her eyes closed as she recalled the whole horrific scene. ‘I couldn’t see who was driving, but they tried to run me off the road.’

Rob was holding her hand tightly and he could feel it becoming clammy.

‘Why would someone want to kill you?’ he asked softly.

She looked at him, her heart full of longing for him and fear for herself.

‘For the company.’

He puffed out his cheeks and let out a long breath.

‘Em, don’t think like that. It’s not good for you.’

‘I need you to believe in me.’

‘I do, of course I do, but…’

He turned around. Roger, Virginia and a doctor were standing at the door.

‘Thank God you’re OK,’ said Roger, bulldozing his way into the room.

Emma squeezed Rob’s hand as the doctor approached the bed and reached for his notes.

‘You had a very lucky escape,’ said the Swiss doctor rubbing his square jaw as he consulted the notes by the bed.

Emma looked at Rob, then at Roger.

‘I know,’ she said.