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We saunter back to the hotel, drop off our skis and boots, and head for a local restaurant that was mentioned in the famil pack. Toby’s eyebrows shoot up at the prices on the menu and I have to remind him that everything is expensive here.
‘So, when did you learn to ski?’ he asks, after we’ve placed our orders.
‘As a child,’ I reply. ‘My parents were well-off, so I had a typically privileged upbringing. Boarding school from the age of eight, ski holidays every February half-term, decamp to the south of France, or Tuscany, or some other clichéd destination every summer. Don’t get me wrong; I may sound jaded, but at the time I loved it, and it definitely gave me my desire to travel. I think I realised in my teens that there was so much more of the world I wanted to see outside the pristine hotels and villas my parents took me to.’
‘Boarding school at eight?’ Toby repeats in amazement. ‘That’s so young. I could never do that to a child.’
‘I wouldn’t do it either, but my parents thought it was normal in the UK. I cried myself to sleep every night for the first three weeks. I was also picked on because of my American accent, which made it harder. I was utterly miserable at the start, but things did get better, and I was quite enjoying it by the time I left to go to secondary school at thirteen.’
‘You’re American? I would never have guessed.’
‘My parents are American, and I was born there. I’ve lived in the UK since I was small, though, and I’m a British citizen now. We have family in the US that we visit every few years, but I don’t feel any affinity to the place. In my head I’m British.’
‘You certainly don’t have any hint of an accent.’
‘Well, as I said, I was bullied for it at school, so I quickly learned to speak like everyone else to fit in. According to my friend Charley, I still revert to American when I’m talking to my parents. I have to say that I don’t notice.’
‘And your secondary school, did you board there as well?’
‘Oh yes, but that was fine. I was used to it by then, and I was popular, which helped. When you don’t have your parents around, you learn to be self-reliant at a young age. I realised that nobody else was going to stand up for me, that I had to believe in my own worth and stand my own ground. It was formative, for me anyway. Some of the other girls definitely weren’t suited to it, and we had our fair share of dramas over the years.’
‘What sort of dramas?’
‘Eating disorders, mainly. At one point there was a secret club of around five girls in my house who used to sneak off after each meal to throw up together. There was a huge scandal when they were inevitably caught, and various people were brought in to give us talks on the importance of eating healthily. All these posters went up about how to spot the signs of anorexia or bulimia, and we were offered counselling if we needed it.’
‘Sounds brutal,’ Toby remarks.
‘It was, in a way. I don’t regret it though. Like I said, it taught me to believe in myself, and not to put up with bullshit.’
Our food arrives, and there’s a brief silence while we start to eat. We’ve both ordered thetartifletteand it’s delicious.
‘So, you don’t hate your parents for putting you through it?’ Toby asks, after a few mouthfuls.
‘Interesting question. I think my relationship with them is different than it would be if I’d stayed at home and gone to a day school. I love them, but I don’t feel the need to run my life choices past them and get their approval, if that makes sense. As I’ve mentioned before, my dad isn’t wild about my job; Mum never worked and they never expected me to, either. I was expected to find a nice, rich man, marry him and have babies.’
‘I don’t see you fitting very well into the “kept woman” mould,’ Toby says, with a laugh.
‘What do you mean by that?’ I ask, slightly affronted.
‘Nothing bad, it’s just that it sounds like quite a submissive role, and I think we can both agree that submissive isn’t a word that could be used to describe you.’
‘I think I’d be bored if I didn’t have a job, and I don’t think I could respect a man who expected me to give up my independence,’ I agree, after a pause to consider. ‘If I’m brutally honest, I don’t think I’ve met a man yet that I really respected, even my dad. He’s a good man, but he lives for his work. I think Mum’s been quite lonely over the years. I couldn’t accept that kind of relationship.’
‘Your Prince Charming is going to have to be the full package, isn’t he? No feet of clay allowed.’
‘Hah, after the number of frogs I’ve had to kiss, I’m starting to doubt he exists! Come on, eat up. We’ve got a spa to check out this afternoon.’
The rest of the meal is largely silent. I’m surprised how much I’ve told Toby about myself. I’m normally very cautious about what I share, and I have to know someone really well before I open up, but Toby is a good listener, and there’s something honest and trustworthy about him that I like.
9
JANUARY
‘What about you?’ I ask Toby. We’ve both had massages in the spa, and we’re now wrapped in our dressing gowns, lying by the indoor pool, which is deserted apart from us.
‘What about me what?’ he replies.
‘I’ve told you my story. What’s yours?’
