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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

‘You’ve got it wrong,’ I utter. ‘Will was infertile. Would never have been able to have children naturally.’ My chest is heaving and I can barely breathe. ‘Please, Millie, get me some help. I’m begging you.’

There is silence for a few seconds, when all I can hear is my own laboured breathing.

‘What?’ she says cautiously. ‘He wasn’t infertile. How could he be?’

‘Cancer,’ I breathe. ‘When he was a child. Made him sterile. He probably hadn’t told your mum.’

‘But then …’

Oh God. This happened. It happened. I need to tell her. Make her stop this. ‘I must be your father,’ I manage to force out. ‘Me and your mum – we had a thing. That holiday. While Will was out skiing one afternoon. Please, Millie, I …’

She claps her hand over her mouth. ‘But she hated you. The last time I saw her, before she died. She said it was all your fault that my dad – Will – died. She called you a cunt. It was the only time I heard her use that word.’

My body convulses again. ‘I’ll tell you everything, Millie, please …’

‘You’re not my father!’ she yells. I can see tears running down her face. ‘I don’t want a man like you as my father! You’re lying!’ She puts her hands over her ears, closes her eyes, and starts shouting. ‘No, no, no! Stop saying that! You’re not my dad! You killed my dad!’

‘Please call an ambulance …’ I whisper, and then there is nothing.

63

January 2020, La Madière, France

Millie

It’s the day of my dad’s funeral.

Adam is in hospital. He’s unconscious. They’re saying he might pull through, but knowing exactly how many mushrooms he ate and when, I’m pretty sure he won’t.

Considering how long ago Dad died and his lack of living family, there is quite a good turnout for the service. Matt is here. And Didier. Cameron isn’t. He is no doubt busy dealing with the fallout from a man being fatally poisoned in one of his chalets. It’s hardly good PR, is it? I sent a few anonymous emails to some newspapers last night to make sure everyone knew about it. I wouldn’t want an incident like this to get swept under the carpet. I’m helpful like that.

I’ve been questioned by the police of course, and will be questioned again, but I’m not worried. I’m just a silly little chalet girl after all – not a mushroom expert. I can’t be blamed if I was supplied bad mushrooms. I doubt Cameron can be either, but the publicity certainly won’t do him or Snow Snow any good.