She had the list of this week's guests clutched so tightly
in her hand her knuckles had turned white.
'Hey, Luce, what's the problem?' demanded Fiona, another
member of the elite chalet staff as she snuck out of the
chalet Fiona's usual good half-hour early. 'You look like
you got some troublesome guests coming to stay.'
'No particular problem,' Lucy Tennant replied distractedly
over Fiona's hearty laugh, glancing deep into the flames of
the aromatic pine log fire Lucy had lit earlier. Was it only
minutes before she had been feeling on top of the world?
Shouldn't she still be feeling elated? She had just opened a
letter explaining she had been voted top chalet girl both by
her colleagues and by her employers and it was the first
time she'd won anything, let alone an acknowledgement that
meant so much to her. But along with that letter had come
this list itemising the preferences of that week's guests,
and for some reason, having read it, her confidence had
shrunk to the size of a pea.
Tom Spencer-Dayly: no special requests. Sheridan Dalgleath:
Porridge made with salt, plenty of single malt to drink and
any beef served must be
Aberdeen Angus.
William Montefiori: Only fresh pasta, never dried, please.
Theo Constantine: Good champagne—lots of it.
One other: It was the world of white that yawned after the
fateful words One other that had got to her. For
some reason it had sent a shiver down her spine. There was
also an addendum to let Lucy know that two bodyguards would
be travelling with the party, one of whom, Omar Farouk,
would be housed on the top floor, while the second, Abu
Bakr, would take the small bedroom opposite the ski room.
The clients must be people with serious connections, Lucy
reasoned, hence the unusual level of security and her
apprehension. She had to remind herself that she'd seen it
all before. Each week head office sent her the same standard
form detailing the needs and expectations of the new
arrivals and she always felt a little anxious, wanting not
just to meet expectations, but to exceed them.
But she had never felt as uneasy as this before, Lucy
realised, checking each line again. The list was quite
straightforward. Which should have been enough to stop the
shivers running up and down her spine, but wasn't.
To calm her nerves she reasoned things through. This was one
of the most expensive rental chalets in one of the most
expensive ski resorts in the world. She was hardly a
stranger to wealthy people, their needs, or the entourages
that travelled with them. In fact, compared to most, this
group appeared small and quite reasonable in their demands.
Experience suggested a group of men would be mad keen to be
on the slopes every daylight hour so she'd hardly see them,
other than at mealtimes. Their main requirement would be
lots of good food, plenty of hot water and clean towels and
a never-ending supply of liquid refreshment when they got
back to the chalet. With brothers of her own, it wasn't long
before she was starting to feel a lot more confident.
They would almost certainly be public-school educated, Lucy
mused, studying the names again. So one man preferred to
remain anonymous—there could be any number of reasons
why that should be and none of them her business.
Stroking back a wisp of honey-coloured hair, she realised it
was the note scrawled in ink on the bottom of the page that
set alarm bells ringing: 'If anyone can cope with this
group, Lucy, we know, you can—' Translated loosely,
that said she was less likely to make a fuss if the clients
were more demanding and difficult than usual, because Lucy
Tennant was not only a highly qualified cordon bleu chef,
but a quiet girl, a good girl, a girl who took pride in her
job managing the company's most prestigious chalet, someone
who worked diligently without complaint. Her line manager
knew this. So why did she get the feeling there was
something he wasn't telling her?
She shook herself round. Time was moving on. With Fiona's
social life making heavy demands on Fiona's working hours,
there was always plenty of work at the chalet for Lucy. But
the crystal-clear alpine light was streaming in, tempting
her outside…
Pushing back the quaint, carved chair, she went to draw the
cherry-red gingham curtains a little way across the ecru
lace to stare out wistfully. It seemed such a shame to close
out the perfect mountain day, but if she didn't she'd never
get to work.
Work had always been enough for her—and working here,
where she could almost taste the freedom of the mountains,
the silence, the space, the intoxicating air.
And the loneliness…
Working here was fantastic, Lucy thought fiercely, blotting
out the rest. A pang of loneliness was inevitable in a chic
French town where everyone seemed to be part of a couple.
She'd always known she would be on the outside looking in.
It was a small price to pay to be part of so much energy and
fun. Shy, plump and plain was never going to be a recipe for
non-stop action in a community where glamorous, confident
people revelled in using their bodies to the full—and
not just for skiing. But she could cook for them and she
could make a chalet cosy and welcoming, which had always
been reward enough.
And one day my prince will come, Lucy mused wryly, fingering
the tiny silver shoe she wore for luck around her
neck—though whether he'd notice her amongst so many
beautiful, sleek, toned bodies seemed highly unlikely.
'See ya—'
The front door slammed and moments later she saw Fiona
throwing her arms around the neck of her latest conquest.
Lucy pulled back from the window, knowing the snow scene and
towering mountains with spears of brilliant light shooting
through their jagged granite peaks were just a magical
starting point. What she really valued was the good-natured
camaraderie of her colleagues and the guests who gave her
real purpose in life. Everything she lacked at home in the
bosom of a relentlessly book-bound family living in the
centre of a smoky, noisy city was here in this part-tamed
wilderness of unimaginable icy splendour.
She loved books too, Lucy reflected, dipping down to look
inside the fridge, but she liked to put what she read into
practice, to experience things in reality. That was why she
was here in a picturesque corner of an alpine village with a
stream gurgling happily outside the pitched-roof wooden
chalet, feeling reassured by the sight of the delicious
local cheeses, along with the milk and cream she had sourced
from the neighbouring farms. She still found it hard to
believe that little Lucy, as her brothers still insisted on
calling her, could negotiate the best of terms with local
artisan producers, or that she held such a position of
responsibility as a chalet chef for the ski season with the
top company in Val d'Isere.
But she had paid her dues, Lucy remembered wryly, logging
the items she would need to order for the week ahead before
closing the door. She had come to France from a top
restaurant in England where she had worked her way up from
the bottom to the point where she received praise, as well
as that all important reference, or lettre de
recommendation, from Monsieur Roulet himself. Catering
for demanding clients would never be easy, but she loved the
challenge of the work as well as the opportunity it had
given her to break free from her brothers' shadow.
Lucy's six brothers all excelled in areas her mother and
father valued far more than cooking and it saddened Lucy to
know she had never found a way to please her parents. Her
self-respect had taken a real hit on the day her mother had
alarmingly confided that they didn't know what to do with a
girl—especially one who cooked. Her mother had said
this as if a passion for cooking were somehow degrading for
a woman, and when she had added in her airy, distracted way
that it was better for Lucy to stay close to home and cook
for her family where there was no chance of getting herself
into trouble, Lucy had known it was time to leave.
Get herself into trouble? Some hope!
Lucy's wry smile returned. Her mother would no doubt applaud
the irony that led men to treat Lucy as though she were
their kid sister. At least she had escaped from other
people's expectations of her, and thanks to her own
endeavours, had the chance to discover who she was. She knew
she wanted to make a difference in life and if that meant
giving people pleasure with her cooking then she asked for
nothing more.
Her breakout moment from home had been the first time in her
life she'd done anything unexpected. She had been prepared
to wash dishes for however long it took until she could
persuade Monsieur Roulet to take her on, and had been amazed
when the ferocious chef had granted her one of his
sought-after training places, and even more surprised when
her training had finished and he'd said she should see
something of the world and that he would personally
recommend her. Not wanting to disappoint the man who had
launched her career, she had come up with an audacious plan
to cater a dinner party for the director of one the world's
most celebrated chalet companies. It was such a novel
approach the woman had accepted and the rest was history.
Lucy had returned home that night in triumph, and had sat
patiently through the usual heated academic discussion
taking place around a dinner table littered with dirty
plates. Each time a break had come in the conversation she
had tried to explain her exciting news, but her mother had
hushed her and turned back to the boys, so Lucy's
opportunity to share her happiness had never come. She still
wasn't sure anyone had noticed her heaving her suitcase out
of the house.
Enough reminiscing! She'd lose the job she loved if she
didn't get moving! Fiona leaving early meant there were
still beds to be made and floors to be swept and washed, but
at least the food was ready. In fact, if it weren't for Mr
One Other making her heart judder with apprehension she'd
have a happy day ahead of her, doing all the things she
liked best.
Razi scrunched the letter in his fist. It had been couriered
to the helicopter taking him from Geneva to Val d'Isere and
made him want to grab the old guard in Isla de Sinnebar by
the collective throat and tell them, No way!
But that would mean cancelling this trip.
He barely noticed the sensational landscape of ice-capped
peaks. Promised in marriage to a cousin he had never met? He
realised his throne was the real prize—and not just
the throne of Isla de Sinnebar. From his kingdom it was a
short stride across the channel to the mainland and Ra'id's
throne. But if anyone thought they could turn him against
his brother—
His anger turned to cold fury as he ripped open the package
that accompanied the letter. In his hand was a photograph.
He studied the image of a beautiful young girl. She was his
distant cousin Leila, apparently. Leila's long black hair
was lush, but her eyes were sad. She was as beautiful as any
girl he'd ever seen, but he felt nothing for her. It was
like looking at a beautiful painting and registering the
perfection of its composition without wanting to hang it on
his wall.
'Poor Leila,' he murmured, feeling some sympathy for a girl
who clearly understood she was being used as a bargaining
counter by her unscrupulous relatives.
Wrapping up the picture in its silken cover, he stuffed it
into the net at the side of his seat. He would not be
trapped into marriage by parent, child, or a council of
elders. When he married, it would be to a girl of his
choice; a girl so cool, so keenly intelligent and
effortlessly sophisticated, she would make a Hollywood movie
star look clumsy.
Disaster! She'd spilled everything! Canapés littered
the floor. The floor was awash with champagne. One man was
mopping his jeans, while Mr One Other stared at her, frowning.
Even her training under the strictest of chefs could never
have prepared her for her first encounter with the
mysterious One Other. Tall, bronzed and serious about
working out, he was a formidable force in the room and in
the space of a condemning glance had reduced her to a
dithering wreck.
Everything ruined in the blink of an eye. She would be
sacked for this. Lucy's eyes welled with tears at the
thought. She had planned so carefully, getting up at four to
prepare the chalet and start cooking for the new guests.
She had left nothing to chance. There was a log fire blazing
in the hearth, and fresh flowers she had arranged herself to
bring the delicate fragrance of the French countryside into
a chalet so clean you could eat the cordon bleu feast she
had created off the lovingly polished oak floors. The menu
she had devised encompassed every delicacy she could think
of to tempt the palates of sophisticated men. Those men were
currently lounging on the sofa, their faces registering
varying degrees of surprise at her ineptitude, while the man
in the shadows, the man who had compelled her attention from
the moment she left the kitchen, gave off an impression of
biting reproof. Her lovingly prepared tray of canapés
was upturned in a puddle of vintage champagne and she had
not only knocked the tray off the table when her gaze had
locked with his, but had sprayed the designer jeans of a man
whom, apart from the striking good looks he shared with his
companions, she had barely noticed at all. Her attention had
been wholly focused on the stranger staring at her now, and
in holding that stare she had caught the toe of her shoe
beneath the rug and had blundered forward.
How could a man standing in shade give off so much light?
How could green eyes burn so fiercely? How could a man
framed by four astonishingly good-looking friends eclipse
them completely?
Breaking eye contact with him, she determinedly shook
herself back to the task in hand. She had worked hard for
this job and had no intention of losing it in the space of
one compelling stare. 'My apologies, gentlemen—if you
will allow me to, I will quickly repair the damage—'
Then He stepped forward, blotting out the light.
'Don't you think we should complete the introductions first?'