‘Late lunch?’ he asked, looking at the baguettes sticking out of her pockets.

‘I’m starved,’ she nodded. ‘We’ve not stopped.’

‘You’re really after him, huh?’

She looked back at him. Mikey Schultz – Matty had done a brief biog on him for their files: twenty-five years old, two times X Games gold medallist, American Olympic team. He had sandy brown hair, freckles, a California smile. ‘We’re just trying to be comprehensive. We’re not coming at it with any particular angle,’ she lied. ‘We’ll gather the data, so to speak, see what it tells us.’

He leaned on the safety bar, looking down at the dramatic landscape below them. They were crossing a crevasse, deep rocky chasms overlayered with thick, bulbous skins of ice that glowed blue in the sunlight. ‘I don’t know the guy all that well, and I don’t reckon I’m gonna either, but there’s not much love for him that I can see; I know you can’t be getting good stuff. So why’s he letting you do this?’

‘He’s not. His sponsor is.’

Mikey’s mouth opened in understanding. ‘Ri-i-i-ght,’ he said slowly. ‘He signed up with Mr Moneybags . . . So that’s the pound of flesh, huh?’ He gave an amused exhale. ‘Oh man.’ He shook his head, chuckling softly. ‘Can’t you give the poor guy a heads up and tell him to go home? That film you’re making is gonna be a shitshow.’

‘Is it? Maybe you’re just trying to get me to strong-arm off your competition for you?’

Mikey threw his head back and laughed. He had a good, easy smile. ‘No. He doesn’t bother me.’

‘You’re not threatened by him? You really don’t think he could challenge you? He matched you stroke for stroke in Kaprun. I was there. I saw it.’

‘Oh technically, sure. He’ll be up there. But on the podium?’ He shook his head.

‘Because . . .?’

‘Because he’s not got it here.’ He gave a single thump to his chest, above his heart. ‘Those are just shapes he’s making out there. He’s not got the love. He doesn’t feel it. He belongs in the water.’

‘What if I told you he was a boarder before he was a surfer? He was born in New Zealand, lived by the mountains.’

Mikey shrugged. ‘Love is love though, right? You can’t help what you love, or why. You just do. Don’t matter which one he did first.’ He looked at her skis. ‘You ever tried riding?’

She knew that the boarders looked upon the skiers with, if not open scorn, at least pity. Johnny had told her they were known to the riders as ‘plankers’. ‘No. I’m perfectly happy with skiing. I know my limits. Thanks.’