Outside it was chaos and much more difficult to find Jonathan Maynard. She couldn’t see him anywhere. But she did spot the photographer she’d met once before, and they had a brief discussion about the sort of photos Ian was after. It didn’t take long. The man knew what he was doing better than Lydia, so she left him to it.
She checked her watch. Ten o’clock exactly, the time she’d arranged to have a preliminary interview with Jonathan Maynard before the event. Ian had corresponded with him to set it all up. She looked left and was bustled out of the way by someone carrying skis they then leaned up against the wall. Everyone out here was doing that funny ski-walk with their boots on, heels digging in the ground first and then toes clumping down afterwards. She was glad she’d worn her snow boots. Her feet were proper toasty and it was way easier to move around.
The chatter was at fever pitch with the event due to kick off in half an hour, so she didn’t have long to find her interview subject, but then a voice behind her rescued her from wondering whether she’d ever get a proper story at all, whether she’d have to admit to Ian that her first external assignment was a total flop. She knew she’d be able to do a write-up regardless of who she talked to, but there was nothing like talking to the man himself, the man who’d instigated the whole event and who would hopefully give her some nice juicy quotes.
‘You must be Lydia.’ He removed his glove and extended a hand. He had the remains of goggle marks around his eyes and she suspected he’d picked up a decent tan over in Europe, where he’d been skiing beneath the bright sunshine on the slopes all day.
Lydia took her hand from her pocket and met his, which was lovely and warm. Almost like a hand warmer, she thought, but then focused on why she was here. ‘It’s nice to meet you. I’m Lydia Walters fromLet’s Get Going!travels.’
‘It’s lovely to meet you, Lydia Walters. But may I say, your hands are bloody freezing?’
She burst out laughing at the formal introduction followed by the candid remark and when she realised he still had a hold of her hand she withdrew hers pretty swiftly, stumbling over her words. ‘Er…yeah…I forgot my gloves.’
‘It’s a ski slope. Youneverforget gloves. Come on…’ He tipped his head in the direction of the doors leading back inside and then grabbed a pair of skis leaning up against the wall. ‘These need a slight adjustment so we’ll get you some gloves.’
She followed him inside, her hand already in her bag to pull out a notepad.
He put the skis onto the bench where he explained to the dude – floppy hair with blond tips a bit like a jester’s hat – what needed doing and then turned to Lydia. ‘Put the notepad away, we’ll just have a general chat now and then we’ll do a proper interview after the event.’
She did as she was told and scurried after him again to another part of the room where people seemed to be handing over salopettes and jackets. He sure moved fast. If this was his pace on foot she felt pretty sure he’d be a speed demon on the slopes. Maybe not this slope given it was short, but out there in Europe or wherever else he hung out when he wasn’t in the UK.
He grabbed the attention of the blonde behind the counter who seemed more than happy to chat but was slightly perturbed when she realised Lydia was with him. The look she gave Jonathan was warm, but the one she gave Lydia was more like it had come from one of those trusty snow cannons.
Lydia’s lips twisted in a little smile, more so when Jonathan looked at her and winked. He was obviously used to getting his way with girls like this who fell at his feet. She’d heard he was a bit of a charmer but it beat interviewing someone with no personality or someone so boring you wished you had a litre of Red Bull to keep you awake. She’d had a few of those in her time.
‘I’ll need a pair of small gloves please,’ Jonathan told the girl, who melted beneath his gaze, but stiffened when she handed the gloves to Lydia.
Back outside Jonathan rested his skis up against the wall again and they talked about the event. It was a skiathon fundraiser that he’d organised. Forty-five people were taking part, a mixture of adults and children, all competent skiers, and for two hours they would clock up as many ski runs as they could. They’d been sponsored by family and friends, and in some instances, by companies.
‘You’ll be exhausted,’ Lydia said, already relishing the warmth of her gloves. She wanted to break the silence and the way he was grinning at her. She thought of Theo. If he could see her now with Jonathan’s intense gaze barely leaving hers, he’d probably laugh. He’d never been a particularly jealous boyfriend. Even when they’d been to Majorca and one of the waiters had had a thing for Lydia, paying her so much attention his boss had mentioned it and made sure Lydia wasn’t uncomfortable. Theo had just laughed and said he liked it that men saw how beautiful she was, but she’d laughed and pulled a face, and the next night and every one after they’d gone to different restaurants.
‘Exhausted, but in a good way.’ As a rule Lydia had never liked a man who winked, until Theo, and it had become their thing, something that made her smile and feel all warm inside. So when Jonathan did it now, it felt weird, but not wrong. Perhaps it reminded her of happier times, she wasn’t sure, but Jonathan’s voice rescued her from analysing her response too deeply. ‘We’ll talk more later,’ he said. ‘I’d better get ready. And if I were you, I’d run up to the balcony now, and grab your spot.’
‘Thanks for the tip.’ Even though the cold air whipped around them, she didn’t miss the subtle waft of aftershave and wondered if it was the smell of his shampoo, the scent of his clothes or his freshly shaven face.
She did as he’d suggested and he was right. She nabbed a spot on the balcony overlooking the event and it was the last spare spot for a while. She watched Jonathan down below, easy to see now she knew he was wearing a burnt-orange ski jacket and marl-grey salopettes with lighter grey stripes. He wore a grey helmet with an orange stripe across the back and Lydia grinned, wondering if that was his ‘go-faster’ stripe like boy racers had on their cars.
The announcer’s voice came over the loudspeaker to say that the event was about to commence. A loud cheer went up from everyone all around and the participants lined up, ready for the off. It was a great atmosphere, and bundled up in all their gear Lydia didn’t hear one person moan about the cold. She stood and watched skiers being dragged up the side of the slope on long poles with button seats that you put between your legs and rested your bum on, she puffed white clouds from her mouth against the cold and felt silly when she looked to her right and realised the kid next to her was copying. She smiled and returned to sensible Lydia, the journalist here to do her job.
With music in the background to pump up participants and anyone watching, skiers started at the top and glided down, some fast, some cautious. There were a few tumbles, a lot of laughs, a lot of powder being kicked up at the end when the more confident members came to a dramatic stop at the end of the run. Lydia left halfway through to savour the warmth of the restaurant, which was a hive of activity. She could smell jacket potatoes, a rich chilli cooking, soups snaking their bouquet into the air, the tantalising aroma of coffee beans mixed with the scent of chocolate. She scribbled down more notes about the event itself, her feelings as a spectator, observations you’d only get from being there. She needed to bring her readers to the event through her writing and the little details were often the most important: how it felt listening to the music, what this would mean to the charity, the all-encompassing ambience.
She went outside again for the final twenty minutes of the event and noticed the exhaustion of some of the skiers. A few of the novices were lingering longer at the bottom of the slope between runs now, not leaping quite so eagerly onto the ski lift to go again. But for the most part people were still in good spirits, the commentator certainly hadn’t tired of his own voice and was still managing to be heard above everything else that was going on. She watched Jonathan Maynard in his distinctive orange coat standing out from the crowd as he parallel skied, side to side, all the way down from the top. Relaxed, upright and confident, she couldn’t imagine him ever struggling with the snowplough or falling flat on his face trying to change direction, because he zigzagged his way down and stopped serenely at the end laughing and chatting with others as they raced to the chair lift. Up they went, again and again, until the final whistle blew and raucous cheers erupted to celebrate a job well done.
Some of the crowd dispersed from the balcony, others were fixated on the slope. Her gloves had kept her warm and when she retreated inside, Lydia placed them in the returns tub and made her way upstairs to the restaurant. Her press pass earned her the offer of something to eat and she took a burger with relish that she could eat before she chatted with Jonathan again. She found a corner as the room filled out with rosy-cheeked skiers glad to be in the warmth, and the hustle and bustle of excited kids with parents and talk of how many runs they’d made. As she ate her burger she made more notes between bites, and Googled a bit about the charity. She felt satisfied with everything she had so far. All she needed now were a few quotes and she could write the article, match the photographs to the write-up and that would be it. Job done.
‘How’s the burger?’ It was the man himself, just as she crammed the rest of the bun into her mouth.
She nodded, embarrassed. It was at least two bites’ worth but she’d shoved it all in so she could dig out her purse and get a hot chocolate. Purse in hand, she finally swallowed. ‘It was good. I was just about to buy a hot chocolate. Would you like one?’
‘Allow me. I’ve just ordered a coffee so I’ll get both drinks and then we can chat some more.’
Lydia didn’t watch him saunter off to the bar because she knew what he looked like now he’d taken his jacket off. He wore salopettes and a fitted black T-shirt that showed off arms almost as tanned as her own skin was naturally all year round. His face held an air of mischief but his eyes were focused and serious whenever he looked at you, and the buzz cut did nothing to detract from his appeal.
She felt guilty. Theo was lying in a hospital bed and here she was enjoying the pleasure of another man’s company.
When he brought the hot chocolate over, she refocused.
‘I didn’t know whether you wanted cream or marshmallows,’ he told her, ‘so I got you both.’
