Chapter 18
Lucia
The rolling mountains are breathtaking and I find myself mesmerized the further we travel. Foggy grey drapes the mountains, portending storms, but amongst the natural beauty, there’s no ominous foreboding. After all, how can majestic mountains, lush greenery, and charming alpine villages elicit any emotion other than awe? The road winds its way through picturesque valleys, offering glimpses of cascading waterfalls and snow-capped peaks.
Trips away from Geneva have primarily centered on the places accessible by train on day trips. Travel is expensive.
Is that why I agreed to come? A chance to explore and see more of the world? Is that why I’m continuing this…whatever this is?
“What’re you thinking about?”
I’ve been watching the road signs, and it’s obvious we’re leaving Switzerland.
“Where are we going?”
“You don’t like surprises, do you?”
Judging from his boyish grin, he quite enjoys the act of surprising.
“You like to be in control.”
He reaches for my hand, weaves his fingers through mine, and lifts my finger to his mouth, and playfully bites. The more distance he puts between us and Geneva, the more playful he becomes. I know something about leaving one’s home behind. I’d thought he moved on to explore the world, that perhaps he discovered people and places he preferred. But perhaps, like me, he escaped a troubled world too. If so, why return?
His focus returns to the road, as it should, because we are flying.
“How much further?”
“Settle down.” He squeezes my hand. “Enjoy the journey.”
The soaring peaks of the Alps come into view, dominated by Mont Blanc, standing regal and snow-capped against the sky. Pine forests cloak the lower slopes, their dark green needles contrasting sharply with the pure white of the glaciers draping the higher elevations.
In the changing light, the mountains exhibit a mesmerizing palette, from the granite grays and earthy browns of rock faces to the alpenglow pinks and fiery oranges painting the snowfields as the sun dips lower in the sky.
I snap several photos with my mobile.
Even with the snow clouds rolling in, the view is spectacular from his luxury vehicle. If it didn’t feel obnoxious, I’d take photos of the inside of his Range Rover to send to Khalani, too. If only there were a way to capture the leather smell permeating what must be a new vehicle.
“Are you sending those photos to someone?”
I hit send, and say, “My friend, Khalani. She’s the one I mentioned who moved back to the United States.”
“Do you have plans to visit her?”
“Do you have any idea how much a plane ticket—” I halt because, what am I saying? Someone like Tristan doesn’t care about the cost of travel.
“One day we’ll go.” He’s still holding my hand, and presses his lips to my knuckles. “Where in the states is she?”
“In New Jersey. Close to New York. She can see the city skyline from her apartment.”
“Have you been to New York City?”
My mouth opens and closes, and I pull myself together. “No. I’ve never been to the states.”
“We’ll definitely go.”
He says it like there’s going to be plenty of tomorrows, but there won’t be. His mother would never allow it. No matter what he says, or believes. No, we’re from two different worlds. Someone like Tristan can choose to ignore reality without repercussions. I’ve lived a different life. I’ll enjoy this weekend, and whatever time we have, but I won’t lose track of reality.
Based on the road signs, it appears we’re headed to Chamonix, a famous ski area. He mentioned we might watch snow fall. He wouldn’t expect…
“You know, I can’t ski, right?”
“Seriously? You’ve lived in Switzerland for almost a decade and you haven’t learned how to ski?”
Plenty of people don’t know how to ski. The expense alone would keep me off the slopes.
“Don’t worry, wide eyes, no one is skiing this weekend. The slopes aren’t open.”
“Oh.”
“It’s early November. I would take you to the Four Seasons, as it’s one of my favorite spots. But they aren’t open right now. We’re hitting the area at a less popular time.”
“When does ski season start?”
“Depends on the snow.” He shrugs. “I suppose ages ago places might have opened in November. That’s a bygone era. December is about as early as you’ll find, and the skiing is dicey.”
He drives like he knows this area. Or at least, he’s not as enamored as I am with the landscape.
“Are you an expert skier?”
He looks at me like that’s an absurd question. He’s an expert at everything he does. “Do you want to learn how to ski?”
His question throws me. It’s not an option.
“Maybe one weekend we’ll come out and I’ll show you.” He answers as if I answered him, but I said nothing. “They have slopes here for every level.”
The ridiculousness of his statement has me staring out the window and focusing on the here and now. The scenery, the vehicle, a night away. A fantasy to be relished and savored.
A vision of Mrs. Wagner’s disgust mars the scenery. The feeling this morning was one of wilting under her scrutiny. I couldn’t get away fast enough. And while I concur with Tristan’s logic that she won’t seek to get me fired out of fear of how it will look for her and her son, I don’t wish to endure her again.
“I suppose one advantage of going away is we won’t run into anyone we know.” I side eye him, wanting confirmation I’m spot on and he’s of a similar mindset.
“That’s always an advantage.” He releases my hand and presses to skip the song playing. I don’t recognize the track, but it resembled screeching more than music. “You know, what I said back at your place, that you don’t need to worry about my mother, it’s true. Your job is safe.”
“We’re breaking company policy. If anyone found out, it wouldn’t be good.”
“No one will find out.” He shifts in his seat. “You hear most of the rumors, right?”
“What rumors?”
“Rumors exist within every company. You knew, for example, that the William Salo chap was cheating on his wife.”
“Actually, no, I didn’t know that. I had heard nothing about that until after the incident.”
“Right.” He chews on the corner of his lip. “Well, I suppose some rumors are so ancient you wouldn’t have heard them either. And I’m going to share something with you, but you can’t go telling people.”
“You can trust me. I won’t say anything.” Without Khalani, there are few people I gossip with these days, anyway. The last year has felt like a monumental shift, and I’m the last expat from our group of friends standing, so to speak.
“My mother and father met at work. Did you know that?”
“Your mother was an assistant?”
“Oh, no. I think she was more what would be a director level today. My grandfather told me it had been quite the scandal.”
“Why would he tell you that?”
“Oh, my parents were giving me grief over some choice I made when I was off at school. He was retired and so he was the one who made the trek to visit me when they had visitations and such. Or he’d take me away on holiday.” Tristan’s eyes soften when he talks about his grandfather. Portraits of his grandfather hang in three different places within the building. There’s a family resemblance, but it’s not instantly noticeable. You have to study his facial features to find the similarity in the shape of the eyes and the jawline.
“You loved him.”
“My grandfather?” He wears a soft smile as he nods. “Absolutely. The best of men.” He swallows and returns from wherever he drifted. “But I suppose that’s also why I don’t care so much for the non fraternization policies companies embrace these days. It’s all rubbish. Especially within Lumina. I wouldn’t be here if the owner of the company and his report had followed policy. And I can’t tell you how many people I’ve met over the years who either met their significant other at work or whose parents met at work. So you see, my mother would never turn us in. I can’t imagine she agrees with the policy either. She doesn’t even work at Lumina.”
“She’s there a lot.”
“It’s hard for her to let go. And she’s there because she’s trying to pave the way for me. She has a dream I’ll take over the reins.”
That’s exactly what Mr. Peltz and Graeme had been theorizing…and Peltz feared. Graeme hadn’t cared, but why would he? He doesn’t have ambitions of climbing to the helm.
“Is that what you want? To run the company one day?”
“No.” The way he looks at me, there’s a mix of humor laced with honesty. He’s the sexiest, most handsome man I’ve ever known. When I first saw him, he seemed untouchable. But he’s not. He’s real. Privileged and out of touch, but sincere.
“If that’s not your goal, why come on board? Why return to a city you don’t love?”
“There comes a time when duty calls.” He straightens and scratches his jaw. “And, you know, restrictions on trust funds tighten.”
Ah, Graeme had been right. He’s coming on board because he has to. He’s being forced to grow up.
“What about you?”
“Oh, my trust fund is not the reason I work.”
He snorts at the ridiculousness of my statement. I grin.
“No, tell me. What sent a young girl to Portugal, then to university in Great Britain, and to Switzerland? Wander lust?”
I think of my father and brother languishing in prison. My mother’s sobs when my father had apprehended in the middle of the night. She’d worried that my brother and I would follow in his path. She used every bit of money she had to send me to Portugal once Aline and Gerald agreed to let me live with them. My brother was older and angry. He didn’t want to flee. Three years later and he too was imprisoned.
My mother could have joined me in Portugal. But she refused to give up hope that one day my father and brother would be released. I was nine when I last saw her, and I’ve seen photos, but my memories are fading.
“Lucia? Did something happen to you?”
“What?” I blink as an oncoming car’s headlights blur my vision. “No. Nothing happened to me. My father supported the opposition party and he and my mother didn’t think it was safe for me to stay. So they sent me to live with her cousin in Portugal.”
“That must have been tough.”
“It was supposed to be temporary, or at least that’s what they told me.”
“Do you want to return?”
“There’s nothing to return to. My mother passed away last year.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Missing my mother had been my normal. Her death had been difficult because the hope of seeing her, the promise of seeing her, dissolved.
“And your father?”
The last thing I want is to admit to Tristan that my father and brother are in prison. They were arrested for smuggling drugs, but I don’t believe it’s true. And even if it is true, I don’t blame them. My father lost his job. I was a child, but I sensed the situation was dire. It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. Over a quarter of the country is in prison. But to someone like Tristan, I would still be the daughter of a criminal. And worse, a drug dealer.
I don’t actually answer him, but he must read an answer in my expression. He squeezes my hand and says, “I’m sorry,” right as the car turns off the road. I stopped paying attention to our surroundings when the landscape transitioned to headlights blurring the nightscape. He points to a stunning chalet lit with landscape lighting tucked into the hillside, and says, “Here we are.”