Page 48 of Counting Down To You

“Ski in, ski out, darling,” Betty says with a wise nod.

“Right, yes.” My brain is still trying to catch up. I’ve not heard of a hut that serves remote dinners. “Absolutely,” I say, feigning a confidence I don’t feel. “I can definitely look into it. When were you hoping to have dinner there?”

“Our last night, we were thinking,” Louisa says, with a questioning head tilt at Betty.

Betty nods. “A proper send-off. And that gives you a few days to sort it all out.”

I’m thinking that a few days might be a stretch to hire a famous chef—or convince Marco to abandon his kitchen for a night for a fancy dinner for three—plus book out a place that is “iconic” and apparently one of a kind.

“And is it that you wanted to stay over or…?”

“Oh no, darling,” says Louisa. “We like our rooms here, and I think this is the kind of place you eat, not the kind of place you stay over, if you know what we mean.”

I have absolutely no idea what they mean. “I’ll look into it,” I say again.

“You’re a dream. I’ll let the man know. Adrian, wasn’t it, Bet?”

“Adrian Webber,” Betty agrees.

Fantastic. So that’s three of my VIPs wanting a fancy dinner in a place I’ve never heard of.

“I can’t promise anything—” I begin, but I get waved off by Louisa.

“You’re all miracle workers here. I know you’ll figure it out.”

With that statement, their lunch arrives—a fancy salad for Betty, artichoke risotto for Louisa—and I know I’m dismissed. I leave the restaurant feeling slightly shellshocked as I head back to the front desk. It occurs to me only once I get there that I’ve come for Lucie’s help—quite the turnaround.

Lucie takes one look at me and sighs. But it is not sighing at me, rather sighing with me. “Don’t tell me—it is the paragliding?”

“They want me to organize a fancy dinner in this place you can only ski in or out of, and all I know about it is that it’s a hut and also the type of place that you eat and don’t stay over, if you know what I mean.”

“No,” Lucie says bluntly. “I have no idea what that means.”

“No, me neither. Not posh enough?”

“If it’s the place I’m thinking of,” Lucie says slowly, “it’s plenty posh. And you’d be better off convincing them they do want to stay over—it’ll be a whole lot easier.”

“You know where it is?” I’m aware my voice is a little desperate. I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a GRM. Well, at least I can cross it off the list of dream jobs, I suppose.

“Yes, and don’t panic.” Lucie starts clicking on her keyboard. “I’ll dig out some contacts. We can work out who’s booked in, if there is any movement on that front. We have a good relationship with everyone in town. Usually, the deal is that you organize your own chef or they can help source one—though a week is not a lot of time.” She drums her fingernails—painted red—on the desk. “I’ll call Hamish.” I have no idea who Hamish is, but I nod gratefully. “You call the owner—I’ll give you the number. Although, actually, work out if they owe us any favors before you call. And it might be worth finding out if there really is a famous husband. Being famous—even famous by association—will definitely help on this timeline.”

I can’t help admiring Lucie in action like this—she seems enthused by this challenge rather than anxiety-ridden.

“Also,” Lucie continues, “you’ll be expected to go with them and host, I’d imagine. So good thing you are coming skiing with me later, because you’re going to need all the practice you can get.” I grimace. I really do not feel equipped to go somewhere you can only get to by skiing, but I decide that is a problem for another day.

“Thanks, Lucie.”

Lucie tilts her head up. “Oh, I am not just doing this out of the goodness of my heart. I have always wanted to go there. I was going to try and go with Mia—you know, my friend.” Said in a way that lets me know this is the friend Leo messed around. “But obviously that didn’t work out. So if I’m helping you, then I’m coming too, okay? We’ll host together.”

I blow out a breath. “Please, please do.”

Lucie grins. Lucie’s grins, I decide, are almost as iconic as her sighs. Which may or may not be as iconic as this place.

“You’re a bloody lifesaver,” I say, and I mean it. “Thank you.”

Once again, Lucie waves off any thanks. “This is what we do.”

And although I’m more than a little relieved to have Lucie on my side, helping me with this, the little piece of paper is still there, burning a hole in my pocket.