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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.
‘Dunno. She did seem suspiciously blasé, but I can’t see how she could have known who we were. It doesn’t matter though, we certainly didn’t get any special treatment, did we!’
In comparison to La Residence, our apartment in Les Suites de Bellevue feels massive. We both sigh with relief when we spot that the bathroom is properly self-contained. The main room contains the sitting area, a small dining table and a kitchenette, with doors off to the bedroom and bathroom. The sofa converts into a bed and Toby gallantly offers to sleep on it to give me back a bit of privacy, but it doesn’t look terribly comfortable when we pull it out, so in the end we agree to continue sharing the bed. I’m so relieved not to have to shower in front of him any more that sleeping next to him doesn’t feel like a problem at all. He’s a tidy sleeper, he doesn’t steal the duvet or encroach onto my side of the bed, and he only snores occasionally and very lightly, so it’s no hardship to share a bed with him.
The next day is our last full day. Toby is determined to see if he can master parallel turns in the ski school, and I spend some time checking the map against my notes before catching the ski lift, to make sure that I’ve covered a good cross-section of the available runs. In the afternoon I persuade him to tackle a blue run with me, which he professes to enjoy, even though his speed on skis hasn’t improved much, so it takes an age to complete it. I’ve made a start on the write-up, and Toby and I have agreed which pictures he’ll submit to go with the finished article. Despite his protestations about not being much of a writer, he’s also managed to provide me with his impressions of both the resort and the ski school on an email, which I’m planning to include in a ‘he thought… she thought’ format. I’m confident that Mark will like the article when I submit it to him. Overall, apart from the bathroom issue, I think the trip has been a great success.
As we’ve covered all the bars and restaurants that were requested in the famil packs, we decide to head back to our favourites for the final evening.
‘So, how has this trip been for you?’ I ask Toby, once we’re settled at a table with our drinks.
He takes his time considering my question, but I’m used to this now, so don’t feel so impatient as I wait for him to respond.
‘It’s been interesting. I’ve enjoyed it,’ he states, eventually.
‘Would you be happy to do it again? I don’t know what Mark has in store, but I think the trip to the Bellavista is definitely on the cards.’
‘Yes. I couldn’t do it too often, as it would interfere with my proper work, but as an occasional thing it would be fine. What about you?’
‘I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t had my reservations before the trip, especially as I’m used to doing this on my own, but you’re surprisingly easy to get along with, Toby Roberts. I reckon I could put up with you again.’
‘Oh, stop,’ he replies, his eyes twinkling with amusement. ‘The begging is just embarrassing!’
* * *
On the long transfer back to Geneva for our flight home the next day, I exchange a few messages with Charley. It seems things with Amelia are starting to settle down, although she still screams a lot, and she sends me a couple of pictures of her. To my untrained eye she doesn’t look particularly beautiful. She’s got that slightly myopic, bewildered look that all newborn babies seem to have and, try as I might, I can’t see any particular resemblance to either Charley or Ed in her facial features. Nevertheless, I make all the right cooing noises, and we agree that I’ll pop in to meet her the following day. I notice that Toby seems tense and is checking his phone every couple of minutes.
‘What’s up?’ I ask him.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You keep checking your phone. Is anything wrong?’
‘No, it’s completion day on the studio. I’m waiting for the email from the solicitor to say that it’s all gone through and I can collect the keys tomorrow. I’ve spent so long saving up for this, I can’t quite believe it’s really happening.’
Just then his phone pings and he can’t unlock it fast enough. After reading the message he turns to me and gives a little fist-pump.
‘It’s gone through then?’
