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Back The Chalet Save as PDF
Chapters (75)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise for The Chalet
  3. Dedication
  4. PART ONE
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. PART TWO
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. PART THREE
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. Epilogue
  71. Acknowledgements
  72. Keep Reading …
  73. Prologue
  74. About the Author
  75. About the Publisher

Obviously, there was no telling Will that – he was smitten, God knows why. She was pretty enough, I guess, but nothing that special, if you ask me. Which, of course, he didn’t.

I realize I didn’t cover myself in glory in my, shall we say, dealings with her during that trip. I guess now, after all this #MeToo business which I haven’t managed to escape even in Thailand, people might say that I’d forced myself on her. Assaulted her. Raped her even?

But no. It wasn’t like that. Not at all. I saw straight through her act of innocence afterwards in her and Will’s room, acting like she hadn’t wanted it. She had. She’d made it clearer and clearer the whole of that afternoon. And I know her type anyway. She’d have dropped Will in an instant if someone who’d looked like he might be a better bet for providing her with a big house in the countryside and a huge diamond ring she could show off to her friends had come along.

But I don’t want to think about her today. Louisa. That was her name – so she claimed. I bet it was Louise really. She’s probably married with two kids by now and still desperately trying to fit in like she was during that holiday. I bet she’s with someone like Will, or even like me – of the two of us, I was always going to have the better job and earn more.

I eat my breakfast of surprisingly good Croix Rouge croissant and coffee sitting on my camp bed, staring at the irate men and women haranguing the poor reps for more information.

It’s different for me than for most of the people in this hall, obviously. There’s a large part of me still hoping that the information will be that the roads are remaining closed, we’re all going to be put on coaches and taken back to the airport, told sorry for the inconvenience but we’re not going to get through to the mountains this time.

I have made my peace with what happened. It might have been my idea to go skiing that afternoon, but beyond that, what happened out on that mountain was not my fault. And I’m not going to let something that happened twenty years ago ruin my life. Whatever it takes.

41

BEFORE

Just before I was due to do my A-levels, I quit school. I was bored of it and my marks had dived by then anyway as I did less and less homework and eventually started bunking off to spend more time on my research. Mama was clever and went to Oxford, and where did that get her? To end up miserable for most of her short life and then dead at the bottom of a car park a few years later. No, no point. Not for me.