Chapter Ten
‘Excellent Henrik, thank you,’ Vivian said.
They didn’t get many complaints, the Anna Maria was the newest and coolest hotel in town, although some high rollers could be prickly. Viktor Kivvi brought friends in for dinner a few weeks ago, and it felt more like an inquisition than a relaxed social.
‘You know no one eats ceviche for dinner in Peru, it’s a lunch thing,’ he’d said, looking at the evening menu with disdain.
‘I don’t want sourdough, can I get a basket of granary bread? In rolls.’
‘Oh, you stock the Du Kok wine now? I heard it’s supermarket standard.’
Viktor’s business associates laughed.
‘No sir, it’s exceptional,’ Vivian replied. ‘Mr Du Kok’s master vintner recommended this one himself when he visited. Said it was the best bottle they’d ever produced.’
Viktor Kivvi didn’t like being corrected.
‘Well, he would say that, wouldn’t he?’ he jibed, a little patronisingly, as he thumbed the wine list and ordered a French Bordeaux.
The man knew nothing about hospitality, but Vivian had greeted him and his guests personally and smiled when he made each and every dig.
The old families of Kristalldorf, the Sommars, the Herwegs or the Kochs, wouldn’t have behaved like that in her restaurant. There was rivalry of course, but also respect among the founding families, those families who made Kristalldorf what it was: the most deluxe ski resort in the world.
Tonight there had been no big-name visitors to speak of, said Henrik. Mostly runners carb-loading ahead of the mountain marathon on Sunday, and that suited everyone fine. Runners didn’t ask for much, except pasta, rice and a good night’s sleep.
Everything was in order. Everything was in check.
So why did Vivian feel so out of sorts as she went into her office behind the reception area and switched on the table lamp?
In the glow of the light she tried to look at the laundry expenses: housekeeping was coming in way too costly at the moment, and she tried to decipher how to trim the bills without cutting on quality.
Was it the surprise visit from her brother that niggled in the pit of her stomach?
She was usually over the moon to see Lysander.
To hear about New York. To hear how her nephew was getting on.
Perhaps it was the ease with which her father had switched Kiki as his plus one for Lysander, when he wouldn’t do that for her or Anastasia.
But Lysander lived in New York and Vivian and Anastasia lived in the same mansion as their father, so of course he wanted to spend more time with his faraway son.
Was it Caspian’s lack of attendance at his father’s birthday?
He could be so selfish like Anastasia. Was it the sense that her father was holding something back?
Was there something wrong? Perhaps it was that he was now seventy, and she wondered how many years they had left together.
Then she realised, as she thought through all her options, that the sense of doom was down to her new boyfriend.
Last night in bed she had invited him to join the family for Walter’s birthday dinner.
He hadn’t said yes. But he hadn’t said no either, before plunging into her for another round of intense and magical sex.
Had that been evasive? Was he even her boyfriend anyway?
They still hadn’t put a label on it, which frustrated her as much as labels seemed to frustrate him.
Vivian called him. No answer. He never answered. She always had to leave a missed call for him to call her back.
‘Schei?e,’ she said, as she stared at her phone.
Why was he keeping her at arms’ length when he had confessed that he was falling; when she had told him that she was going to tell her father?
Perhaps she should get out now, before she fell too deep.
But she already knew it was too late. He was too damn hot and she was too damn hooked.