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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

Of course, after the training we were moved to our staff accommodation – mine little more than a narrow bed in a windowless cupboard at the top of the chalet I was to work in. I kept my head down, worked hard, and didn’t socialize much. The job involved long hours and some of the clients were total wankers, but I loved the cooking and even most of the cleaning so, on the whole, it was pretty OK. Like playing house – something I had never had the chance to do before. Most importantly, the work was mindless and it gave me plenty of time to think. To plot, to plan, and wonder how I could best make life difficult for the person who had helped to ruin my life.

But then something unexpected happened.

45

January 2020, La Madière, France

Ria

The strength of the wind takes my breath away as I slam the chalet door behind me and step out into the blizzard. I’m wearing my ridiculously expensive furry snow boots and Moncler ski jacket, but I instantly regret not putting my salopettes on. Millie has been coming in and out all day, so it must be possible to get around, I tell myself. But the path from the chalet is uncleared and there are huge drifts of snow, many of which are taller than me.

‘It’s not safe!’ Hugo had been shouting when I stormed out. Maybe he’s right. But either way, I need to make this call and I can’t do it in the chalet with him or anyone else potentially listening.

I stumble into the first café I come across which is open, imagining I’ll be almost the only one in there, thinking no one will venture out of their cosy chalets in this weather, but to my surprise, it’s packed. The fire’s on, music is blaring, people are drinking, laughing, and chatting as if nothing has happened. As if nothing’s changed. I suppose for them, it hasn’t. A body in the snow – beyond ‘poor guy’ and perhaps a silent prayer of thanks that it wasn’t them or anyone they know, he’s now old news, as far as they’re concerned.

But for me, it’s all come flooding back. Like it was yesterday. And now that the dead man’s brother is on the way out, it’s all going to be over. He’s bound to recognize us. He’ll have questions. He’ll want to know what happened – go over the details. And I don’t know how much more I can lie about it. Not to his face. Not when his brother’s body has been lying in the snow all this time.