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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

‘No news?’ I ask. Millie smiles sympathetically and shakes her head.

‘Not yet,’ she says.

‘I don’t understand where she could have gone,’ Simon says hoarsely, banging his fist against the glass. ‘If anything’s happened to her, I’ll never forgive myself.’

7

December 1998, La Madière, France

I take the chairlift back up again. The wind is now blowing even harder and it is absolutely freezing. The lift keeps stopping, no doubt as the few fools who are still out braving this weather fall over as they fight to get off and stay upright at the top with the wind buffeting them. If the wind gets any stronger, they’ll probably have to close these upper lifts. Which means I might only have one more go at checking the run before … I must find them this time, I think. I must. It’s so hard to see in this weather. They’ve got to be there somewhere.

As the lift gets to the top, my radio crackles. My hands are so frozen that I struggle to pull my gloves off and unzip my breast pocket. Is it Andy? ‘Hello?’ I shout. The lift station looms into view through the mist and I wrestle against the wind to force the safety bar up. ‘Hello?’ I shout again into the radio as the wind catches the bar and throws it back down, bumping my arm and jolting the radio from my frozen fingers.

‘Fuck!’ I shout as I watch the radio fall, quickly enveloped by the mist. I throw the bar up and slide off the lift onto the snow.

Now what? Were they back at the chalet or not? Was that even Andy on the radio? I’ll have one more check of the slope and then I’ll have to head back to the office, check in with Andy and see if they’ve been found.

I ski as slowly as I ever have, traversing wide, unable to see beyond about a metre in front of me, calling all the time. ‘Hello? Anyone there?’ It’s deserted. Anyone with any sense has gone back to their cosy chalets and apartments by now.

I get to the bottom; there’s no sign. Feeling like I might be sick, I head back to the office.

If Andy hasn’t found them, we’re going to have to make a decision. Although chances are, if they really are in trouble, anything we do will already be too late.

8

January 2018, London

Hugo

I’d always thought that someone like Ria would be totally out of my league.

I’m not exactly ugly or anything, I’m more what you’d call nondescript. No one remembers me. Even my mum struggles to pick me out in old school photos.