Chapter 12
12
‘Bellissimi! You are beautiful!’
It turned out the climber, who had introduced herself as Cristina, was an avid amateur photographer – and Sophie had a penchant for torture that Andreas had never suspected. She must realise the pang of emotion that shot through him as she faced him in front of the cross.
His life flashed before his eyes: the jubilation of summiting an eight-thousander; the apple farm where he’d grown up, always looking up and away from the valley; pain and bitter cold that was somehow addictive; Sophie’s face. Sophie’s face .
There’d been a stage in his life when he’d seen her every time he closed his eyes.
Now, he was looking at her again – slightly rumpled, the way he liked her best. Her top lip was finely drawn, narrow and expressive. Verdammt, he shouldn’t be looking at her lips while they acted out a bizarre non-wedding in preparation for another non-wedding.
‘You hold hands for a wedding, yes? Try that!’
Hoping it would all be over soon, Andreas snatched Sophie’s hands from her sides, gripping them more tightly than he’d intended. How he’d come to stand in front of this cross, facing Sophie while his heart drummed a driving rhythm in his chest, he still couldn’t fathom. It wasn’t a church altar, but it felt every bit like a wedding – which was why his throat had closed and he wanted to crawl out of his skin with discomfort.
‘I definitely want to be married like this!’ Cristina gushed as she peered at the screen, lining up a new shot, pausing only to wink at her partner. ‘A little closer together I think. It’s more natural. And don’t stare at your feet! So many more beautiful things to look at!’
Andreas followed both instructions at the same time, his gaze colliding with Sophie’s just as they found themselves standing as close as they’d been that night in Weymouth when he’d nearly kissed her. She wasn’t smiling. Her eyes were wary, but that only sharpened the impression that this moment meant something.
He gulped, the sound loud in his own ears. He’d just taken a drink from his canteen, but now his mouth was dry as he wondered what she’d look like if she were truly standing up here facing the man she loved – someone who deserved her and would treasure her properly. He wondered if she’d looked happy with Rory and clenched his jaw at the thought that she might have been at one time.
Then he wondered what she would have looked like if he’d just said yes eight years ago, if he’d stood in much the same way in a chapel somewhere back home, taken her hand for real and showered her in promises.
The clarity of the image shook him, as well as the way he could picture raising his hands to her head, gently holding her still while he kissed her and kissed her.
He was light-headed, as though they were at altitude rather than the measly 870m this summit actually was. He had to put some distance between them before he removed all distance entirely.
Sophie’s sudden laugh – breathy and a little wobbly – snapped him back into the present. ‘Your scowl makes this look like a ritual human sacrifice. Only, I don’t know whether you’re sacrificing yourself or getting ready to toss me over the side.’
His hands tightened on hers reflexively as he made a frustrated groan. ‘I’m not thinking about tossing you over the side,’ he growled, pulling on her hands for emphasis and accidentally dragging her closer. Endorphins rushed in his brain in anticipation.
‘You may kiss the bride!’ Cristina announced with a chuckle. ‘It’s going to be a beautiful wedding.’
To Andreas’s horror, he thought for a moment that she really meant a wedding between him and Sophie and the rollercoaster in his chest started off again. All this talk of weddings was making him lose his mind. Sophie’s cheeks went pink in an instant and Andreas stepped back hastily. But he tripped on a stone and teetered alarmingly close to the cliff edge.
With a cry, she fumbled for him, her hands swiping over his chest as she gripped his shirt in two fists and hauled him to safety. She could probably feel his heart bouncing against his ribs, but she’d assume it was because he’d lost his balance. He squeezed her hand with his.
‘Thanks. I’m okay.’
She let go with a grimace. ‘I hope that’s not a sign of what’s to come.’
‘I’m sure it’s just a sign of what would happen if I were ever a groom.’
‘Marriage would kill you, huh?’ she said with a withering look. ‘Maybe I need an “I survived” T-shirt.’ She patted him condescendingly on the chest and he wanted to snag her hand and keep it there – and land a good one on Rory Brent’s nose.
Instead, he turned away, perching on a stone to wait while she snapped a few shots of the two climbers in front of the cross – smiling like normal people, instead of pretending to be a bridal couple.
He had old photos of him and Sophie that looked like that: colourful helmets and wide smiles, a smudge of dust on her cheek, occasionally with Sophie poking out her tongue because she’d been embarrassed by the image of herself on the phone screen. As he watched her wipe sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, bringing her water bottle to her lips, he suspected she wouldn’t be embarrassed like that any more.
‘We should keep moving,’ he said. Ignoring the curious gazes of the climbers, he gave them a firm wave and hefted his pack before swinging himself down the rocky trail they’d climbed half an hour – and a lifetime – ago. They needed to descend quickly if they were going to make the second summit before the weather turned.
He glanced back at Sophie’s progress and found her stepping gingerly down, a long way behind him. She’d done well so far. She was level-headed and sure-footed. He’d noticed her flagging just before the summit, but she’d been able to push through, as he’d known she would.
‘Use your left hand on the rock,’ he called up to her. ‘There’s a foothold below you – a bit further. That’s it.’
She seemed a little shaky when they reached the safety of the saddle and the forest path.
‘You did well,’ he said gruffly.
She just eyed him with a frustrated noise he’d heard a lot from her and she mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, ‘Drill sergeant,’ under her breath.
* * *
‘This is your definition of the weather rolling in?’
Sophie leaned casually against the sturdy wooden railing of the lookout and lifted her nose in the air. She was teasing him, but Andreas couldn’t bring himself to care when she looked so content, sunshine in her untidy hair.
The billowing clouds of the morning had burned off completely. Instead of the forecast rain, Lake Garda was sweltering in unseasonably warm spring weather.
‘I’m here to keep you safe, not predict the weather,’ he said. ‘Give me your phone.’
She handed him the device and he lined up a photo of her with the backdrop of the Monte Baldo massif and water stretching south to the horizon. Handing the phone back, he joined her by the railing, his forearm next to hers.
‘What do you think?’
‘There’s a lot more space up here than at Monte Castello di Gaino. The view is more spectacular too.’
‘We’re quite a lot higher in altitude. Do I sense a “but”?’
‘It seems a little silly, but the summit cross was nicer at the first one. And it’s kind of weird that there are two crosses up here. Where’s the actual summit?’
‘It’s not silly. You’re a purist. If you’re not standing on the actual highest point, then it doesn’t count.’
‘You do understand,’ she accused him gently, apparently too relaxed to spar in earnest. ‘There’s symbolism in a summit.’
‘I still don’t think you need to get married up here.’
‘Because you prefer the symbolism of getting married at the bottom of the lake with weights attached?’
The tension of the day snapped over him and he laughed, dropping his head, his shoulders shaking. ‘Is that one of the packages on offer?’
‘Fuck, I hope not,’ she said through pursed lips.
He grinned at her again. ‘I only have to get you to 1,200m for you to start swearing?’
‘I only have to say “fuck” to make you smile?’ she shot back.
‘I smile all the time,’ he insisted.
It was her turn to laugh. ‘You have the biggest scowl on your face right now. And we’re not even up to the bit where you have to play the groom.’
‘You’re not going to make me do that again, are you?’
‘Unfortunately, you are the only person I have to work with right now. You’re my “Andreas for size”.’
‘I’d rather be Andreas for size than the groom.’
‘I know. I’m sorry,’ she said, patting his arm. ‘I get that it’s awkward for you.’
It was awkward how his brain had gone straight to kissing her – awkward how he still felt as though they weren’t standing close enough, as though part of him had forgotten they’d broken up years ago.
‘Do you think they’d like this lookout for the ceremony?’ he asked.
‘Maybe. But we should grab some shots of the crosses and then I’m dying for a swim and a pizza, in that order.’
‘I like your thinking. I might join you, for both.’ He followed her along the rocky path down to the spur that boasted a small metal cross and a white Madonna.
‘As long as you keep your clothes on this time, Hinterdorfer,’ she called over her shoulder.
His steps petered out as he was struck by memories, by warmth at the realisation that she’d shared all of those moments and filed them away as he had. ‘I don’t remember you complaining.’
‘I will certainly complain if you scandalise the families at the beach in Marniga.’
‘Don’t worry. I like freedom but I’m not an exhibitionist. I only swim naked with people who’ve seen it all before.’ He winked at her as he passed, taking up his position in front of the cross, hands behind his back, so she could snap her photo before they tramped back to the car.
She fell asleep on the way back to Marniga, after fighting it for a good ten minutes. He’d pushed her today and he wasn’t sure if he felt guilty about it, especially now the rain hadn’t materialised. She’d been much brighter on the way down from the second peak than the first, but he wouldn’t point that out to her. If she needed to grumble during the lows, when her muscles screamed and her motivation dipped, then she was welcome to do it. He knew she could push through it. He remembered…
Too much. He remembered far too much about the woman snuffling softly in the passenger seat.
Shaking her gently awake when he reached the car park, that ache in his ribs started up again when she sluggishly opened her eyes.
‘Oh, shit, I fell asleep.’
‘Still swearing at sea level?’
She scowled at him.
‘Blame me if you have to, but out you come. Avanti! Hopp hopp! It’s time to go swimming.’
‘Don’t you “avanti” me! I’m coming!’