Christmas in the Snow (31 page)

They stepped back out into the snow, both casting around the elegant entrance with new eyes. A goat farmer? A care home? Ha! Isobel’s shoulders were stiff, but Allegra had to bite back a
smile as they walked briskly towards the street. Finally, her own ambition was understood. For the first time in her life, finally
she
made sense.

‘We need a drink,’ Allegra said, catching up with Isobel. She had been walking a half-stride ahead the whole way up the side street.

‘No. I just want to go home.’

‘Even more reason why we need a drink. Come on. There’s a pub just over there,’ she said, pointing to the Brown Cow and bullishly leading Isobel by the arm.

It was falling dark now. Their back-to-back ‘meetings’ had eaten through the afternoon, and the snow glowed with a blue tint as the sky lit up in an ultraviolet haze.

They pushed through the doors and Allegra quickly ordered some
génépy
as Isobel grabbed a leather sofa by the windows overlooking the street.

‘Well . . . cheers,’ Allegra said, holding up her glass.

Isobel stared at her moodily. ‘What on earth is there to celebrate?’

‘We’re not celebrating. We’re just having a drink. It’s what people do, isn’t it?’ Allegra said, quickly taking a sip.

Isobel scowled. ‘You are totally celebrating.’

Allegra sighed. ‘Well, it’s not every day you meet your only grandfather. You can’t deny it’s . . . exciting.’

‘Oh, I can and I will!’ Isobel said huffily. ‘How dare he say all those things about Granny when she isn’t here to defend herself!’

‘But he didn’t say anything bad about her. In fact, I thought he was very measured. It sounds like he was a wreck after Valentina died and he obviously genuinely believed Mum was
better off with her – whatever it may have cost
him
.’

‘Oh, come on, Legs! You honestly buy that?’

‘Why wouldn’t I?’ Allegra protested. ‘Iz, the simple fact is, Granny
did
take off with her sister’s child and she kept that fact a secret all her life.
Now, I know she loved Mum as much as we do, but her silence is damning, however you look at it. I think Lars’s account of things is very . . . generous under the circumstances.’

‘You’re just riding high because he clearly preferred you. You look like Valentina, and I look like Granny, and if you ask me, it seems his affections for them have transferred to
us.’

‘
That
is ridiculous. I am simply trying to find some sort of positive from all of this. We can’t change what happened. It’s nothing to do with either one of us. But,
Iz’ – she twisted position on the chair so that their legs were angled together – ‘we’ve met Mum’s dad! Imagine telling her that. Imagine telling her that
he’s still alive.’

‘Yeah,’ Isobel said crossly. ‘Just imagine telling her that. Barry would have a stroke coping with the fallout.’

‘That’s not fair.’

‘No. None of this is. We’ve spent all afternoon being bombarded with one bombshell after another and I feel like someone’s just beaten me up.’ She slumped further down
the seat. ‘I knew it was a bad idea.’

Allegra dropped her head back on the sofa, feeling her temporary euphoria ebb away. It was too exhausting staying positive. Besides, Isobel was right – telling their mother about Lars came
with as many, if not more risks attached as telling her about Valentina. She threw her arm over her head and closed her eyes, wishing they hadn’t come here, wishing they were back in the
apartment and she was running a hot, foamy bath.

Isobel glanced across at her, biting her lip anxiously. ‘Gah, I’m sorry, Legs! Ignore me. I’m being a bitch!’ Isobel winced, remorsefully laying her head on her
sister’s shoulder. ‘I’m not as resilient as you. I never cope well with change.’

‘No, you’re right.’ Allegra sighed after a while. ‘I’m the one getting carried away with fantasy scenarios that can never happen. I guess I’m just so
desperate for something to go right for a change . . . It’s been a bad couple of weeks, that’s all.’

Isobel rested her chin on Allegra’s shoulder, looking up at her guiltily. ‘Come on, let’s have another drink. We should get wasted.’

Allegra looked at her sister from the corner of her eye. ‘That’s always your answer.’

‘I know – because it works,’ Isobel said with a wink, getting up and heading towards the bar.

Allegra watched her go, hoping it was true what they said about hair of the dog. She’d never tried it herself – ordinarily she never did ‘drunk’, much less two nights on
the trot – but she was thirty-one years old and this was a new first for her.

A commotion outside travelled to her ear and she rolled her head to the side to look out of the window. A herd of people – lots of whom were children and all of whom were dressed in full
kit with skis over their shoulders – were following after a Father Christmas figure who was walking with a brisk, distinctly athletic gait and had clearly been padded out with pillows. He too
had skis over one shoulder, and over the other, a filled hessian sack.

She glanced at her watch. Seven thirty. The last lifts had closed three hours ago . . .

Her eyes widened. ‘Oh, Iz! Stop!’

Isobel turned round, clearly mid-flow with the barman, as Allegra wove her way past the other drinkers towards her, both their jackets in her hands.

‘Iz, there’s night skiing on Klein Matterhorn,’ Allegra grinned as she pushed her arms through her ski jacket and handed Isobel hers. ‘Come on! They’ve got a Father
Christmas leading everyone down. We always said we’d do it, but we never have.’

‘But . . .’ Isobel looked at the barman, who was holding a bottle mid-air. ‘Hold that thought! We’ll be back later.’

And with a laugh, the two of them burst through the doors like a gale.

Blue snow, purple shadows, a sky cut from jet paper that had been pierced with pinpricks as silvery light from faraway worlds shone through the holes. As the glittering lights
of the town receded behind them, somewhere in the darkness, owls hunted in the silence, the gondola’s bubble-shaped shadow passing over tightly tucked blankets of virgin snow, the larches and
conifers looking sugar-sifted, their fronds drooping like moustaches.

At the top, the scene wasn’t so unadulterated. There were at least a hundred people up there, half of them under ten and jostling to have their photo taken with Father Christmas while
their parents enjoyed a quick glass of
Glüwein
before their night ski. A St Bernard was lying on a rug, too, placidly keeping his muzzle to the ground as children leaned against him
and tried to rattle the beer barrel on his collar.

Allegra and Isobel gave them all a wide berth. Isobel wasn’t ‘on duty’ tonight and she instantly began shaking her arms out and doing side bends to warm up.

They took the first run slowly, slicing through the crisp night air with relaxed ease to find their ski legs again and judge the effect of the
génépy
on them. But on the
second and third, they started to speed up, Isobel making Allegra laugh as she did all the tricks she’d mastered so easily as a child – skiing crouched down on her ankles, skiing
backwards, making a jump out of every bump, positioning her poles like antlers on her helmet . . .

Allegra felt free again, up here – free from the split loyalties between her new family and old, which was beginning to threaten to divide her and Iz; free from the anxiety about when
Pierre would make his next move.

‘D’you know, I think we might squeeze in two more runs before they close the lifts. You’re a lot faster than you used to be.’ Isobel joshed her lightly as they relaxed
momentarily in the bubble on the way back up.

‘Gee, thanks. High praise indeed.’ Allegra rolled her eyes, just as the doors slid open and they got up again, pulling their skis from the racks. ‘Did it ever occur to you that
I could take you now? We’re not kids any more. I’ve skied more times than you’ve made Ferds hot dinners.’

‘That’s actually not saying much,’ Isobel laughed. ‘I only weaned him a few months ago.’

Allegra laughed too, clipping her skis on and pulling her goggles down off her helmet.

It had quietened down now that Father Christmas had led the children back onto the slope, and even the St Bernard was on his way back to his kennel in town. The temperatures were plummeting
beneath the clear skies and the snow was quickly becoming icy.

‘Come on, then. Let’s race.’ Allegra arched an eyebrow at her sister.

‘Yeah?’

‘Why not? It’s good visibility, and the runs are almost empty. It’s as good a time as any.’

‘You’re just saying that because you’ve had a bit of Dutch courage,’ Isobel grinned. ‘Go on, then. Do you want a head start?’

‘Bitch,’ Allegra couldn’t help but laugh as they positioned themselves level. ‘You ready?’

‘Born ready.’

They pushed off, both coiled tight with competitive energy as they carved the snow with elongated S-bends, neither one wanting to lose time to turns, to take off the pace. Isobel was bent
forward in a racing position, her body low, poles horizontal, but Allegra had been right – years of regular skiing had brought her almost level pegging with her naturally gifted sister, and
as the angle of the slope steepened and they headed into the trees, she began to pull ahead.

Exhilaration from the familiar feeling of winning began to course through Allegra’s veins as her sister’s lean profile disappeared behind her. She had never once beaten her on the
snow. Not ever. Not in ski-school competitions when the battle for gold was invariably between the two of them, and not when Isobel had tagged onto her university ski trip and promptly ensnared all
the boys with her Heidi-esque cool-girl plaits and tricks wizardry in the snow park, which even they couldn’t match.

She was fully ahead now, a clear distance between them, so that Isobel’s progress was too far behind to be heard. ‘Hey, Iz! Eat my snow!’ she whooped, waving one pole in the
air jubilantly as she eased into a few languid turns, showing off her advantage.

There was no reply.

‘Iz?’ she called behind her again.

Nothing.

Swooping to a sharp stop, she looked back up the slope with pink-cheeked breathlessness. ‘Hey—’ she began, her smile fading as she stared up the empty white expanse, unsettled
only by her tracks.

‘Iz? Iz!’ She twisted, turning one way then the other, trying to find her sister in the trees that bordered the piste, but the globes that lit the run couldn’t permeate the
thick vegetation and nothing but silence came back to her. Her breath started coming quickly as panic rose.

Think, Allegra, think, she told herself, quelling the urge to scream. Her sister wasn’t on the piste – that much she could see. So then she had to have gone into the trees. She must
have found what she thought was a quicker line down. She was an expert off-pister. She could probably weave through the trees quicker than Allegra could bomb down a bashed run. She was probably at
the bottom already!

Allegra looked downhill. She was maybe six minutes away from the foot.

On the other hand . . .

She looked up again. What if she’d fallen?

Checking her watch, she saw there was only four minutes till they closed the gondola for the night. At least if she stayed on the run, she could find her.

Slowly, she began sidestepping up the slope. It was steep – roughly fifty degrees, she estimated – but if she could make out her and Isobel’s tracks before they’d
diverged, she could follow her sister’s route down.

Even moving as quickly as she could, she made slow progress, struggling to get an edge into the icy snow and slipping down five metres for every ten she gained.

‘Iz!’ she shouted, over and over, her breath coming hard, when over the ridge she suddenly saw a couple of figures coming down the run.

‘Stop!’ she shouted, waving her poles to get their attention. They both saw her, but misunderstood and the first one skied on to draw level with her. ‘No! Stay there!
Stop!’ she screamed louder, pushing her hands in front of her to stop the other one from continuing down. ‘Stay there!’

The skier now beside her held his hand up too and his friend further up came to an abrupt stop, sending a shower of snow onto the nearby trees.

‘Oh God, thank you for stopping!’ she cried, leaning on her poles, her thighs burning. ‘It’s my sister. She—’

‘
Allegra?
’ The skier pushed back his goggles and she found herself staring at the astonished face of Zhou Yong.

For once, she was glad to see him. ‘Oh, thank God!’

He reached an arm out in concern. ‘What’s happened?’

‘It’s . . . it’s my sister. She’s disappeared. We were racing down here and I went in front, but when I called back, there was no reply. So I turned round and . . .
she’d just gone.’

‘Has she got her mobile on her?’

‘Mobile!’ she said with a gasp. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Rummaging in her pocket with fumbling, clumsy hands, she pulled her phone out and quickly dialled the
number.

It rang . . . and rang.

‘She’s not picking up,’ she said with frightened eyes.

‘It’s OK. Let’s just think. She must have gone in the trees, right?’

‘That’s what I thought. She’s a brilliant skier. She’d be able to cut through them really quickly. And she’d do anything to beat me.’

‘But you don’t know which side she took?’

Allegra shook her head.

‘That’s OK. That’s fine,’ Zhou said, soothingly, clearly trying to keep her calm.

‘What’s going on?’ the other skier called down to them.

Allegra heard the accent and knew who it was, although any reasonable process of elimination would have brought that conclusion too.

Zhou got out his phone and called Sam instead of shouting back. ‘It’s Allegra’s sister . . . Yeah. She thinks she’s gone into the trees, but she’s not picking up
her phone . . . Yeah, OK.’

He disconnected. ‘Sam’s going to take the left side. He says it meets up with the piste about a hundred metres down. We’re to go down to the bottom together and meet him there,
check she’s not already waiting for you.’