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Chapter 11
Our dinner in the restaurant at La Residence is a good-natured affair. It’s much less fussy than the Mirabelle’s, and that suits us both. There’s still a little bit of self-consciousness when we get changed for bed, but at least I no longer feel the need to wear the irritating pyjama bottoms until Toby’s asleep. The top is pretty long, so I’m not flashing my knickers when I walk around the room and, given what we’ve seen of each other now, I don’t think showing my knickers to Toby is going to worry him unduly anyway.
In the morning we take turns in the shower. I can’t help observing him surreptitiously as he washes. The light frosting on the cubicle glass really doesn’t disguise very much, and I can make his form out very clearly as he washes himself. He really is well-proportioned, if compact. If he were straight and taller, he’d be very much up my street. When my turn comes, I watch him from within the shower cubicle to see if I can catch him looking at me, but he turns away and opens his laptop. The shower cubicle is very small, so I’ve had to leave my towel on the floor outside. I keep an eye on him as I step out and dry myself, but he’s obviously absorbed in what he’s doing, and he doesn’t even glance round.
After breakfast, I drop him at the ski school and continue my exploration of the ski runs. Thankfully, there’s no sign of Aldo and I have a very pleasant morning. I arrive around ten minutes before the end of Toby’s lesson and take a few pictures of him as he slowly snowploughs down the slope. I can see he’s starting to get the hang of turns too, and he doesn’t fall over once, unlike a couple of his classmates. The instructor declares him ready to practise on his own, as long as he stays on the nursery runs, so we spend a happy afternoon pottering up and down together. I can see his confidence growing, although his turns are very tentative.
“There is a point during every turn,” he explains, when I ask about it, “where you’re facing directly down the slope. I don’t like that bit.”
“As long as you know how to slow it down and stop if you feel uncomfortable, you’ll be fine,” I tell him. “Are you enjoying it more now?”
I have to wait until he’s completed his latest turn before he answers. “I’m starting to enjoy it more, although I’m still not sure it’s going to be my new favourite thing to do.”
After a couple of hours on the slope, we head back to the hotel to work, and then head out to a bar that’s recommended in the famil pack. It’s busy, but I spot a few free tables towards the back and we start to thread our way towards them. We haven’t got very far before I notice a horribly familiar figure leaning on the bar, talking to a distinctly unimpressed-looking young woman.
“Hold my hand and look like you adore me,” I command Toby, grabbing his hand.
“What’s got into you?” he asks, as I pull him close.
“Ten o’clock. Slimy bloke talking to the redhead.”
Toby’s gaze follows my instruction. “What about him?”
“Aldo.”
As if on cue, Aldo turns his head and spots us. I can feel his eyes following us as we make our way to one of the spare tables and sit down opposite each other. Toby lets go of my hand, but the noise level in the bar means that we have to lean our heads close to hear each other, so I’m sure the illusion of a loved-up couple is still convincing. A waiter appears, seemingly from nowhere, and we place our orders.
“She must be half his age,” Toby observes. “What is he, late forties?”
“She doesn’t look very keen, does she?” I reply.
At that moment Aldo reaches out, tucks a lock of hair behind the girl’s ear and whispers something into it. Her eyes widen in shock and then she delivers a hefty slap to his cheek, before throwing what’s left of his drink in his face and pointedly turning away from him to talk to another young woman on her other side. Thankfully for him, most of the people in the bar are too engrossed in their own conversations to notice, but we can’t help laughing. We watch as Aldo wipes his face with a napkin and starts scanning the room, obviously looking for his next victim.
“His technique obviously isn’t improving. I almost feel sorry for him,” I say. “I wonder when the last time he actually had any success was?”
At that moment, a very brassy-looking blonde, with absurdly plumped up lips and suspiciously large and perky breasts, comes into the bar. She’s wearing a silver-coloured jumpsuit that leaves very little to the imagination, particularly as she’s positioned the zip deliberately low, maximising the amount of cleavage on show. I guess she’s still just about in her twenties, but she reminds me a little of a clown; despite the gaudy costume jewellery and heavy make-up, there’s a world-weary sadness in her eyes. Aldo’s eyes, on the other hand, are out on stalks.
“Uh-oh,” I say. “New target identified.”
Sure enough, Aldo sidles up to her and engages her in conversation as soon as she sits down. To our surprise, however, she lets him buy her a drink, and it’s not long before she seems to be flirting with him just as hard as he is with her. After just one drink they leave together.
“Well, his luck seems to have changed. Maybe she likes his rather pornographic chat-up lines,” I observe.
“Unless her attraction to him has a price tag attached to it,” Toby counters.
“Prostitute, you mean?”
“Well, I’m no expert on these things, but to leave with him after just one drink seems a little suspicious to me.”
“That’s surprisingly judgemental, coming from you. She could be his daughter, for all we know.”
“I don’t think so. Not the way his eyes were locked onto her cleavage.”
“Fair point. Now that the entertainment has gone, shall we finish up and go to get something to eat?” I ask.
Although Toby and I manage much better with our night-time and morning bathroom rituals, we’re both palpably relieved to check out of La Residence the next day. The receptionist doesn’t bat an eyelid when I present her with the voucher, and happily agrees to store our bags until the afternoon.
“Do you think she clocked who we were?” Toby asks as we head towards the ski school.
