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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

A few rounds later, Hugo, who is quite clearly furious with me for not adequately playing the part of the corporate wife, says he’s going to bed and Millie also takes her leave. By now my hand has reached Matt’s crotch and I can feel he’s hard. I wish Simon would go to bed but he’s pouring himself another glass of wine and wants to move on to Fuzzy Duck.

Suddenly tiredness overwhelms me in the way it sometimes does when I’m too drunk. I retrieve my hand, stand up and say: ‘I can’t drink any more. I’m off to bed. Night all.’

Matt looks at me aghast – obviously thought his luck was in. Maybe it is. Maybe another night.

I stumble up the stairs into our room, expecting it to be in darkness, but Hugo is sitting up in bed, jaw clenched, pretending to read. He puts his book down and stares at me.

‘How dare you embarrass me like that,’ he hisses.

I wave my hand at him and lurch into the bathroom. ‘’S fine. Simon loved it. And you’re here to impress Simon, as am I, apparently. If anything, I’ve done you a favour.’ I lean in towards the mirror and beam at myself. ‘He thinks I’m great.’

‘Well, I don’t,’ Hugo says, prissily, now at the bathroom door in his Hugo Boss boxer shorts instead of the horrible old Y-fronts he used to wear. One of the many minor adjustments I’ve persuaded him into since we got married. ‘And the way you were flirting with Matt too – God! What did I do to deserve that?’

I look at him blearily. ‘Nothing, darling,’ I say, I can’t be bothered with being told off by Hugo. But I know the best way to end this, and as I’m so drunk the idea doesn’t seem too unbearable. I wobble over to him and put my hand down his boxers. He makes a pathetic attempt to pull away huffily, but I know he can never resist me. Thankfully, it doesn’t take too long.

5

December 1998, La Madière, France

‘We’re going to have to phone it in,’ Andy says. ‘Make it official.’

I feel sick. ‘Don’t you think it’s too soon? Maybe they made their own way down and are chugging vin chaud in a bar as we speak?’ I suggest.

There’s a pause. ‘D’you think?’

Argh. ‘I don’t know!’ I shout. ‘Either way, we’re in serious trouble.’

I know we’re both thinking the same thing. If we call out search and rescue and it turns out the men are fine, we’ve still lost two clients in bad weather. Word gets round about that kind of thing very quickly and no one will ever book us again. And if the clients aren’t in the bar, if they’re really lost, then …