Chapter Thirty-Four
By the end of Emme’s first week in Kristalldorf, she was becoming familiar with the kids’ routine and getting used to her new role, yet tired enough that Bill returning from the city for the weekend felt like having a little respite.
Lexy had told Emme that she might not be called upon as much at weekends while the family caught up, although she had offered to take the children to a screening of The Polar Express at The Grand Hotel Sommar and Harry had almost seemed to like her when she said he could have sweet and salty popcorn mixed together.
She’d made a friend in Cassie after they went for a coffee after drop-off and another on Sunday morning, and they had graduated to friendly WhatsApps.
And she had deliberately not walked past Tristan Du Kok’s balcony again.
On Sunday night, after everyone had gone to bed, Emme googled Tristan Du Kok but found nothing, apart from a few Instagram and LinkedIn profiles of men who clearly weren’t him and a page about Du Kok Estate wines, with a contact number in Stellenbosch but no photo of the man himself.
Work had been so busy for everyone now that the season was getting started that Emme hadn’t had a chance to socialise with either Cat or Tiago since that first weekend.
But on the Wednesday of Emme’s second week in Kristalldorf, when Lumi and Mika Kivvi had decided to eat out at the local pizzeria, Cat messaged Emme to ask if she fancied impromptu drinks.
‘Mind if I pop out for an hour or two?’ Emme asked Lexy, as she sat looking at her laptop. Lexy stopped to think, and concluded that as she didn’t want to go out and the children were already asleep, that would be fine.
‘Of course!’ she said, as if it had come naturally to her.
‘Thanks,’ Emme replied, feeling weird having to ask permission to go out at twenty-eight when she had lived mostly by herself, in a flat she owned, since she was twenty-two, but such was the job she had sought out.
Emme grabbed her coat and put on a slick of make-up, just in case. Then headed to Down Mexico Way to meet Cat.
‘Are they here every night?’ she asked, as they walked past The Cheeky Blinders and slunk into a booth on the edge of the dancefloor, opposite the band.
‘They rotate with a few other bands, Deja Groove and the Clone Tones – a few solo guitar players/singers. Will sometimes does solo nights. But they all play the same four or five venues. There’s music every night of the season.’
The season. Emme wondered what Kristalldorf might be like in summer.
‘What are you having? It’s my round … I think.’
The last time they were out, in the basement club with Tiago and the band, Cat had got a round in just before she took a call and took off.
Emme was relieved to remove her hideous coat: underneath it she was wearing a royal blue jersey top with pouffed ruched sleeves, light denim jeans, and patent black platform brogues. It was the smartest outfit she’d packed.
‘G a sarcastic one from Cat. He looked back and nodded.
Emme took a sip and placed her glass down thoughtfully.
‘What do you mean, “messed up”?’ she asked.
‘You don’t know?’
Emme stared at Cat with an ‘obviously I don’t’ look on her face.
‘About Tristan’s dad?’
Emme shook her head as she observed Tristan and his group. There were three men and one woman, all dressed for business, not après-ski, and they seemed to hang on Tristan’s every word.
‘Charles Joubert – Tristan’s dad – caused loads of mayhem, even before he arrived in town. He won a hotel from Walter Steinherr at the blackjack table in Monte Carlo – you know Vitreum? The most incredible hotel in town? On the hill?’
Emme had seen a hotel, shimmering and seemingly unreachable above town.
‘Then he came to town to gloat and take over the hotel, with Tristan. Seven or eight years ago …’
Eight, Emme remembered from the mountain. Cat continued.
‘They spent a few months ski touring. Pissing people off in town. Walter tried to buy Vitreum back, it was obvious Joubert knew nothing about hospitality. Made him a real nice offer, but he insisted on running that hotel, and running it badly.’
‘Then one day, Charles Joubert went missing. Tristan was the last person to see him, over by the Teufelsgletscher. He says he heard him fall down a ravine, but he didn’t see it. It was all over the news.’
‘Shit!’ Now the mournful glaze in his eyes made sense.
‘I mean, people go missing in the mountains. There are avalanches, or skiers get lost and show up days later. But when someone is worth five billion dollars and they’re out skiing on the ravine with their son, and they disappear without a trace …’
Cat seemed to relish the sharing of this story, but something about it felt uncomfortable to Emme as she watched Tristan deep in conversation. This was his dad Cat was talking about.
‘Tristan “cooperated” with the police,’ she said making air quotes. ‘Showing search and rescue where he last saw him. Getting his own team of ski tourers out there. But nothing. No trace except for Daddy’s jacket, hanging on a rock.’
‘Shit.’
‘Tristan did a good job getting Vitreum back on track, but when a court declared his dad dead three years later, Tristan decided to sell it – to Alexey Stognev, not Walter Steinherr – and start importing his mother’s wine over here.’
‘Did they ever find a body?’
‘Nope. But the rate global warming is going, I reckon he’ll show up. As the glacier retreats, more than ski poles are being discovered. I reckon that’s why Tristan’s hanging around. It’s not like he needs the money from wine sales.’
‘Oh no. Poor guy.’
‘Poor guy? Poor little rich guy. Some say he pushed Daddy into the ravine – he was a bum until then, like Caspian Steinherr, surfing and skiing his way around the world, trying to pretend they weren’t who they were. But, you know, that rumour seems a bit crude.’
‘Shit …’
‘Tristan Joubert changed his name because of the press intrusion – to the name of his mother’s family wine empire – probably worth another five billion. Watch your back, Mama!’
Emme scowled.
‘That’s horrid Cat!’
‘I’m just kidding. He’s made good on it. He sells a shitload of bottles. He made Du Kok Estate one of the most prestigious brands here – and look at the wines we have on our doorstep! The French and Italians don’t like him much. His mother visits once a year.’
Emme shook her head.
‘Wow, five billion dollars …’ she thought about Tristan’s apartment building.
Pretty expensive, she imagined, but not billionaire fancy, like the Anna Maria or the fairy-tale mansion opposite it on the other side of the river.
Maybe Tristan the surfer bum was still there; maybe he liked to slum it a little.
Maybe he wanted to hide his wealth – or how he came about it.
‘Seriously. He’s sexy, but he knows it. And he is toxic. Avoid him like the plague, nena.’
‘Anastasia Steinherr already knows all this then, I guess …’ Emme mused.
Cat’s champagne went down the wrong way and she coughed into her glass.
‘Are you OK?’ Emme asked, patting Cat on the back.
Cat put her drink down and tried to regain her composure.
‘Anastasia? You know her?’
‘Yes, I saw her, half naked, running out onto Tristan’s balcony when another woman turned up. Then pashing with him before climbing off.’
Cat frowned.
‘You did? When?’
‘Like, the Saturday before last. It was my first day here. Anastasia Steinherr, looks like Cindy C, right? I saw her in the Steinherrhof a few days later, being a bit of a bitch if you ask me.’
‘Right …’
The colour drained from Cat’s face as she shook her head.
‘You said Tristan was dating a Steinherr sister?’ Emme was confused.
At that moment the tall blonde with the rosebud breasts, the blonde from the balcony, the blonde from the sun-drenched café terrace, walked into the bar and straight towards Tristan, kissing him warmly on the lips before greeting his associates.
Now Emme felt ashen-faced as a surge of envy rose through her body, as she watched Tristan put his palm on the small of the woman’s back.
‘That’s the Steinherr sister I thought he was dating,’ Cat said, with an anger that took Emme by surprise. ‘That’s his girlfriend Vivian.’