Chapter Twelve
‘What’s the longest you’ve ever been cut off up here?
’ asked Lucy as she sliced tomatoes for a salad.
It felt strange to be behind the scenes in the kitchen; she hadn’t ventured into the murky area behind a bar since she’d worked in various pubs and bars as a student in Liverpool.
All of those had been absolute hovels that ran the gauntlet of the Food Standards Agency daily, so she was gratified to see that this one was spotlessly clean and there were no signs of mouse droppings or rusty meat cleavers.
‘A week,’ said Monica, peeling the lid off a tub of what looked like chopped sausages.
The buffet menu this evening seemed to be heavily based around processed meat, cheese, mayonnaise and cold potatoes; on top of the pizza she’d eaten at lunchtime, it was reasonable to assume that Lucy’s natural tendency to stay slim was about to be tested.
Although maybe at some point they’d be able to roll her down the mountain, like a human snowball.
‘But that was just very bad weather,’ continued Monica.
‘Rather than an avalanche. We have enough supplies for a long time, we are prepared for things like this. But we would prefer customers.’ Chantal sighed dramatically behind them as she unloaded the industrial dishwasher, and Lucy wondered what it must be like for a woman in her twenties to live up here with her parents.
Presumably she had time off to ski, and spent her free time hanging out with friends in the village.
Lucy watched her tuck a curly tendril of hair behind her ear as she chewed the corner of her lip, and wondered whether Nate had noticed her.
He’d have to be blind not to, she was gorgeous.
‘We had a week of gigs booked for hotels in the village from tomorrow,’ said Andrea gravely, as she whisked some kind of creamy vinaigrette dressing. ‘This is very bad for us.’
Lucy looked up at Andrea and Monica, feeling guilty that she hadn’t considered the impact of their lost income. She’d been so caught up in her own drama, it hadn’t even crossed her mind that it might cause all kinds of problems for everyone else.
‘Does it happen a lot? Closing the village and asking everyone to leave?’ That news had filtered through via various phone calls after their meeting, and caused a further frisson of worry in the Guntherhütte.
Monica shook her head. ‘I’ve been here for fifteen years,’ she said. ‘Only twice before.’
‘Do you ever have times when there isn’t any snow?’ asked Lucy.
Monica shrugged and began layering slices of cheese into a fan shape on a plate. ‘Sometimes it isn’t so snowy in the village this early in the season, but there is always snow on the glacier. We are open all year round; it is always busy here.’
‘Your friend is very handsome,’ said Andrea, apparently opting to change the subject before they got into a heavy discussion about the impact of climate change in the Alps.
They were a similar age, Lucy guessed, but Andrea’s delicate features and long hair piled up into a knot so it didn’t shed into the food made her look younger, like a fragile doll.
Lucy noticed that Chantal stopped what she was doing and listened, even though she kept her back to them.
‘He’s a work colleague,’ said Lucy quickly. ‘He’s not really a friend.’
‘You have been playing games and drinking wine all afternoon,’ said Monica with a knowing smile. ‘This is a good beginning for something more than a friendship, I think.’
‘It’s not like that,’ muttered Lucy, ignoring her muddled thoughts about how, exactly, she would like things to be between her and Nate in the future. ‘I think he has a girlfriend, so us being stuck here together is a bit complicated.’
‘And what about you?’ asked Monica. ‘Do you have a husband? Or a boyfriend?’
‘Or a girlfriend,’ added Andrea quickly, throwing Lucy an apologetic glance that clearly communicated different generation, sorry.
‘I don’t have a boyfriend,’ said Lucy. ‘Well, technically I have two, but I’m not sure either qualifies as a boyfriend.’ Oops, she thought. Apparently I’m oversharing. Definitely still drunk.
Monica raised her eyebrows and smiled, as Chantal’s curiosity got the better of her and she abandoned the dishwasher to join the group at the counter. ‘OK, this sounds cool. Tell us more,’ she said.
Lucy looked at them, wondering how candid to be now she’d done some in vino veritas blabbing. It wasn’t like she ran a sex dungeon, but still. She could do without being stuck on a mountain with three women who thought she was an STD-riddled whore.
‘I guess I have two guys that are . . . a sexual arrangement. Separately, not together,’ she clarified quickly. ‘But I’m not in a proper relationship with either.’
‘How interesting,’ said Andrea, and Lucy was relieved to see that she looked genuinely intrigued rather than scandalised. ‘So, how does the saying go? No strings attached?’
‘Exactly,’ said Lucy. ‘It’s a deal that works for all of us.’
‘Do they have other women too?’ asked Chantal, her eyes wide.
‘I don’t know,’ said Lucy. ‘It’s none of my business.
’ Why am I telling them this? thought Lucy.
She’d never been one for sharing girly confidences; Jonno was the only person she told her secrets to.
Nobody else at LUNA knew about Anthony or Marco, and she made a conscious effort to give off a vibe that discouraged people from asking about her personal life.
But this felt like exceptional circumstances, somehow, and it wasn’t like she was ever going to see these women again. What did it matter?
‘That sounds very . . . what’s the word?’ said Monica, her brow furrowed with concern. ‘Sterile? Is that the right word in English?’
‘Mmm,’ said Lucy, relieved that Monica’s reservations seemed motherly, rather than horrified.
‘Don’t you ever want to fall in love?’ asked Andrea, tilting her head at Lucy with a sad pout.
Lucy laughed and shook her head. ‘No. I prefer it this way. Van Gogh once said “the more you love, the more you suffer”.’
‘Wasn’t Van Gogh totally mad?’ asked Chantal.
‘He cut off his ear,’ said Andrea. ‘Which is definitely crazy. I think he was a tortured artist.’
‘I’m definitely not mad,’ said Lucy. ‘I just . . . like to keep things simple, I guess.’
Monica shook her head as she washed her hands at the sink. ‘That’s a little sad, I think. You are very beautiful and seem like a kind person. But it is none of my business, of course.’
‘Look, I’m not dead inside or anything,’ said Lucy, still slightly confused as to why she was baring her soul to three complete strangers over cheese slices and Van Gogh quotes.
Then she remembered all the times strange women had told her their deepest secrets over the sinks in pub toilets, and realised the culprit was always booze.
‘I have a great life, good friends, I love my job. It works better for me this way.’ She shoved aside the sardonic voice in her head pointing out that she had a life that rarely ventured beyond Bristol, and a social life that was mostly spent alone, in the pub with Jonno, or in bed with Anthony or Marco. Hardly a rollercoaster of adventures.
‘Then that is all that matters,’ said Andrea, leaning towards Lucy and dropping her voice to a stage whisper. ‘Do you prefer one of them more than the other?’
‘They have different qualities,’ said Lucy, laughing. ‘That’s all you need to know.’
‘For now,’ said Monica, giving Andrea a wink.
‘How long have you and Gunther been married?’ asked Lucy, keen to shift the spotlight elsewhere.
‘Thirty-five years,’ said Monica. ‘Gunther was the brother of my best friend, I have known him since I was a child. We got married when I was nineteen, and worked together on a farm thirty kilometres from here. We bought this place when Chantal was eleven. She has two older brothers who have families of their own, but they both live in Zurich.’
‘I’m not married,’ said Chantal. ‘I don’t even have a boyfriend.’ Her tone was slightly accusatory, like working for the family business was akin to joining the local convent.
‘Do you ever meet nice men here?’ asked Lucy, imagining the parade of Swiss bankers who must stomp through the Guntherhütte on winter weekends, waving their gold credit cards.
Or men like Kristoff, with perfect teeth and casual ambitions to evict the incumbent family and build an executive gin palace. Probably best not to mention that.
‘No,’ said Chantal bleakly. ‘Sometimes a man comes in and I wonder if he will be the one who will take me away, but it never happens.’ Lucy wondered if she’d had that thought about Nate, and whether he was prepared to be the object of her Cinderella fantasies for the next twenty-four hours.
‘This is not such a terrible life,’ said Monica. ‘You have grown up in these mountains with your family.’
‘And now I would like to have someone in my life who is not my family,’ said Chantal grumpily. ‘That does not seem so unreasonable.’
‘We always wanted you to carry on the family business,’ said Monica.
‘Not on my own,’ huffed Chantal.
‘Felix and I have been married for ten years,’ said Andrea, a little louder than strictly necessary. ‘He was a friend of my father’s.’
‘Was?’ asked Lucy.
‘He married my papa’s only daughter and took me away from our home town to sing music in bars,’ said Andrea, and Lucy could feel the pain even though she was smiling. ‘They are not friends any more.’
‘Do you enjoy singing in bars?’ asked Lucy.
‘Yes,’ said Andrea. ‘I always wanted to be a singer. But I would like to sing other things, sometimes. Felix only likes the Bee Gees.’
‘Wait, what?’ said Lucy, momentarily horrified. ‘You only sing the Bee Gees?’
‘Yes. Felix has been a fan all his life.’
‘He takes the idea of being a tribute band very literally,’ added Monica, her mouth pursed in disapproval.