“Yes, we’ll be taking to the air for a good part of the journey. The ship hops between waterways,” Bayard explained, some of his natural enthusiasm returning. “We’ll lift higher now and travel overland till tomorrow. You’ll see the Alps by moonlightif you look out your porthole before you go to sleep. It’s quite spectacular.”
“I should document that,” Wren said, already making notes.
“I could... show you the best viewing spot?” Jasper offered hesitantly. “For the Alps. If you want. For your article.”
Wren glanced up, and her expression softened a bit. “That would be helpful. Thank you, Jasper.”
The young man looked like he might faint from happiness.
As the group began to disperse toward their cabins, Minerva lingered at the railing with Zephyr. Ahead of them, Bayard limped toward the interior, Fred tucked under his arm.
Exandra had already disappeared into the ship’s depths.
“There’s a story there with those two, isn’t there?” Minerva commented.
“Several stories,” Zephyr agreed. “And I suspect that it’s still being written. Should be an interesting chapter!” He wagged his eyebrows.
The ship rose higher, and the lights of Geneva fell away below them. Above, the stars blazed in the winter sky. Ahead, somewhere in the darkness, the Alps waited.
FROMAGE THE BEGINNING
Morning light painted the Swiss Alps in shades of rose and gold asThe Celestine Queensettled down onto a small, frozen mountain lake, its hull barely kissing the ice. Minerva stood at the railing with her coat buttoned against the crisp air, watching drifts of snow blow across the lake’s surface like ghostly dancers.
“Fromagerie Sommet is somewhere up there.” Zephyr pointed toward a cluster of buildings nestled into the mountainside. “Bayard says it’s been in the same family for seven generations.”
“How will we get up there?” Minerva asked.
“Acutally, I think I hear our ride arriving now.” Zephyr held a hand to his ear. Minerva heard the hoofbeats, too. Three wooden wagons, painted with simple floral motifs, were headed their way, pulled by large, handsome brown horses with bells on their padded harnesses. One of the drivers waved as they pulled the wagons up alongside the banks of the lake.
“I’d better bring a sweater.” Minerva reached for her favorite cardigan, a soft blue cashmere wool with mother of pearlbuttons and secret pockets. The embroidered acorns around the collar always reminded her of the literary squirrels back home in Primrose Court. She wondered what they were reading in their book club this week.
Fifteen minutes later,they piled into the waiting wagons, lined with warm blankets and with complimentary thermoses full of hot mulled cider to be enjoyed on the short trip up the mountainside. Minerva noticed Exandra emerging last from the cruise ship. Her hair was coiled efficiently at the nape of her neck beneath a close-fitting knit beanie cap. She wore practical hiking boots, thick leggings, and a black, high-tech down parka with the Society logo on the back. She cut an impressive figure. The mountains reflected off her mirrored aviator sunglasses as she scanned the perimeter, assessing the risks and cataloguing the terrain.
Bayard saw her, too. They nodded at each other and then he quickly looked away, his grip tightening on his walking stick as he climbed into the sled with Minerva and Zephyr.
The mountainside Swiss town looked like something from a storybook, with traditional Alpine architecture, carved wooden balconies, and flower boxes that would be overflowing with geraniums in the summertime. But as they drew closer, Minerva noticed more modern touches: solar panels disguised as roof tiles, gleaming mechanized windows that probably had magical climate controls, and outside the fromagerie, what looked like a brand-new loading dock.
Bayard sat at the front of the wagon, Fred’s carrier in his lap, pointing out features to the assembled passengers. “The Sommet family has been making Gruyère since 1847, but the current generation has introduced some welcome innovations while still maintaining the traditional methods that make their cheese exceptional.”
Jasper sat beside Wren, a notebook full of facts balanced on his knee. “Did you know that authentic Gruyère can only be made in certain regions of Switzerland? It’s a protected designation of origin, which means?—”
“I did know that, actually,” Wren said gently, her camera already out and capturing the golden morning light on the mountains. “But thank you.”
Jasper’s face fell.
“But did you know that Gruyère cheese is high in calcium, K2, vitamin B12, and essential Omega fatty oils?” Jasper ticked off some of the health benefits of the cheese. “It’s good for heart health, skin health, nerve health…”
“Plus it tastes delicious.” Bayard patted Jasper’s arm in a hopeful bid to slow down his blathering prattle. “I think that’s what most of us will be focused on today.”
“It’s impressive that you’ve researched so thoroughly.” Wren smiled, glancing at him. “Most hospitality students wouldn’t have bothered.”
His expression brightened. “Really? I just wanted to make sure I could answer questions if anyone asked. Not that you would need to ask me. You probably know so much more than I do. You don’t need me to?—”
“Jasper.” She smiled. “Breathe.”
He took a visible breath, then laughed at himself. “Right. Breathing. I can do that.”
Zephyr caught Minerva’s eye and they shared a knowing look. Crushes were so delightfully awkward.
