I glance at my watch: one o’clock. Where is Will? Never mind. I took ages longer getting down the slope yesterday than I thought I would. It’s probably just something like that. Or perhaps a chairlift stopped. I order a second vin chaud and have another look at the menu.

The door of the restaurant flies open, there’s a gust of cold air and Adam crashes in. He looks around wildly, spots me, and plonks himself down at the opposite side of the table. I feel a twinge of unease. Where is Will? Is he injured or something?

‘Louisa,’ he pants, obviously out of breath. ‘So sorry to keep you waiting. Have you ordered yet? How was your lesson?’

‘It was great thanks, Adam, but where’s Will? Is he OK?’

He whips off his hat, turns and lifts his hand at the waitress in that officious, entitled way that only people from his privileged background can do. She comes scurrying over, of course.

‘God, I’m dying for a beer. Absolutely RACED down here. So sorry to be late. Une bière, s’il vous plaît?’ he says to the waitress, who nods and scuttles off. ‘Sorry that was very rude of me – I didn’t check if you were sorted. Did you want anything?’

I lift my vin chaud. ‘No, it’s OK, I’ve got a drink. Where’s Will?’

‘He sent me to apologize. We were over in the next valley and he broke a binding. Stupid arse is always trying to do these jumps which he can’t do properly. Anyway, he landed badly as usual, his skis came off and one of them wouldn’t go back on. So he had to walk down, and because we hired them over here he won’t be able to exchange them for another pair over there – or at least, not without a huge amount of hassle, finding a shop in the same chain and the like, plus it was going to take ages even for him to walk down on that side, so he asked me to come and tell you and say sorry and be your lunch date today instead. I hope I’m not too poor a substitute.’

I listen to him with growing anger. Is that really what happened, or has Will sent Adam with an excuse so he can get out of having to ski with me this afternoon? I was so excited about showing him my new-found skills and now it’s not going to happen.

When Adam’s beer arrives, he downs it in one and slams the glass on the table. ‘Damn! So thirsty. Are you hungry? Can I have a look at your menu?’

I hand over the menu and he scans it. ‘Do you want to share a pierrade?’