Page 23 of The Chalet Girl

Three glasses of wine and two plates of dinner later, Cat threw her napkin on the table and made a declaration.

‘Let’s head to Down Mexico Way, the guys will be starting.’

At a small corner halfway between the train station and the church, the sound of Eagles covers spilled out onto the street. A man came outside to light a cigarette. Tiago greeted him with a firm handshake and the two started talking in Spanish or Portuguese, Emme couldn’t work out which.

‘Is there live music every Saturday night?’ Emme asked, as Cat held the door open for her.

‘There’s live musiceverynight.’ Cat said proudly. ‘This is my friend Will’s band. He’s British.’ She said it as if that meant Emme might know him.

‘Oh, cool.’

Cat and Emme had to pass the band and a small dancefloor to get to the bar and the seating area, and the place was already half full. The singer raised a hand to Cat between chords on his guitar and Cat waved back, and leaned over to kiss the keyboard player once on each cheek, then punched the drummer on the arm from his tiny spot squeezed in between the edge of the stage and the bar. The venue looked like it didn’t know quite what it was. Ithad a Mexican name but nothing about the interior looked Mexican. It was all mirrored walls and elegant tables. A group of men were sharing a bottle of Dom Perignon at the bar. A bunch of tourists, still in their ski clothes, were downing pints raucously. A group of young people in their early twenties were playing drinking games. The clientele seemed pretty male-heavy, which Emme found odd.

‘You grab that table before those guys do and I’ll get us a drink. What you having?’ Cat asked cheerily.

Emme really didn’t care, she just needed another drink. As she suggested wine, she took a remaining table and was relieved to spot a group of middle-aged women sitting with their husbands at a table near the back of the bar. The women wore rollnecks and pearls, their helmet hair from the day replaced by coiffed bobs.

She settled into the plush banquette behind a round table, took off her garish coat and looked up. Cat was stopping to chat to everyone she encountered on the short distance to the bar. A happy happenstance to have befriended her, Emme thought, as she looked at Cat’s warm and animated expression. She’d hit the jackpot with this one.

Tiago slid in next to Emme.

‘Sorry, just chatting to my brother,’ he said in a thick accent.

‘Oh your brother lives here too?’

‘No man, all the Portuguese here are my family.’

He gave a sweet smile.

‘Ah that’s lovely.’

‘Well, we have to look out for each other, huh.’

He nodded over to the group of men drinking champagne by the band. Their uniform wasn’t skiwear or cargos,it was neat shirts and V-neck jumpers. Some of them wore their cashmere slung over their shoulders. And then Emme saw him. The man from the balcony. Tall and captivating with collar-length hair that ruffled around his face, he was unmissable. From the conversation he was leading, Emme could tell he commanded any room he was in. He had a rugged masculinity and an irresistible aura about him, which annoyed the hell out of Emme. She thought about the hard-on in his boxers as he chatted with his comrades, just as the band struck up the opening chords of ‘Sex on Fire’ by Kings of Leon.

Emme could not take her eyes off him. His tanned jaw. His dazzling smile. That cock.

What a dog.

Cat came back with a bottle and three glasses.

‘Pedí vino,’ she said, and Tiago nodded but furrowed his brow. ‘You don’t want it,cariño?’ she asked.

‘Nope, I fancy a beer…’

‘Sorry I took so long,’ Cat apologised. ‘My buddy Carla works behind the bar…’

‘No problem, I was just enjoying the view… You must know everyone in this place!’

‘Kristalldorf is averysmall town, and everyone is coming back for the season at the moment, so there’s loads of people to catch up with. I’m in the minority of workers who stay year-round.’

Cat filled two of the glasses and placed the bottle down firmly.

‘So who is everyone?’ Emme asked, although there was only one person she wanted to know about. She was intrigued by the man who looked like an Argentinian poloplayer but had a South African accent when he was appeasing his girlfriend. It was as if his gravitational pull was so intense she could not take her eyes off him. Surely Cat knew the guy. Did everyone feel like this about him, she wondered? Two womendefinitelydid, judging from this morning.

Cat pointed in the wrong direction for Emme’s liking.

‘They’re instructors. Ski and snowboard. They come from all over…’