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‘Hmphh,’ I pressed my lips together, breathing deeply.
‘IT’S 11 A.M.!’ Liv shouted, shaking me violently and opening the curtains wide. ‘You’ve got to get up, they’re on their way.’
What fresh hell was this? Where was I? Who were on their way? And then I remembered. My eyes flew open, and I shot out of bed, head still spinning from all the Jäger.
‘Am I late?’ I said, heart racing. I quickly sprayed my underarms with deodorant and started stripping off my pyjamas.
‘You’ve got time to have a shower, but be quick,’ Liv said, ‘they’ll be here in half an hour.’ My eyes adjusted to the light, and I could see she was up, showered and looking like an air stewardess in a navy power suit. Hair in a French plait and a face full of make-up with wafts of spearmint and jasmine. The woman before me was a far cry from the Liv doing tequila headstands in The Loft Bar at 2 a.m. this morning.
Oh fuckety, fuck, fuck, fuck. I ran into the shower and sprayed myself in the face to try and wake up. My mouth tasted of bad decisions and my body ached. My arms especially. Had I been hanging from a bar like a monkey? Or doing one-armed press-ups? How had this happened? I sprayed my face again and the water went up my nose. I. Had. To. Pull. Myself. Together. I dried off, gave my hair a quick blast with the hairdryer and Liv appeared with an espresso and two paracetamols.
‘You’re an angel,’ I said, washing the pills down with the coffee.
‘Get your uniform on and I’ll see you up there,’ Liv said, ‘Xavier has the canapés in the oven, and I’ll polish the Champagne flutes. It’s just a few nibbles and a risotto for now as they’ll want to get straight out on the slopes.’
The clocked ticked 11.15 a.m. as I threw my bra, knickers, and brand-new stockings on. I’d stashed my uniform in the wardrobe the night before, so I had everything prepped and fresh. I shimmied on the navy dress, with my boots, brushed my hair and gave my fringe a quick curl. The uniform was a bit lacier than I’d have liked for work, but I had no choice. I had to wear it. 11.22 a.m.
‘Holly!’ Liv shouted down the stairs. ‘They’re outside.’
I took a deep breath, popped a double chewing gum and ran upstairs, past the kitchen where Xavier was piping cream cheese onto a plateful of bubbling mushroom puffs, finishing each one off with a caviar sprinkle. I stepped into the hallway as the front door opened.
‘Welcome back, Genevieve,’ Liv trilled, as a beautiful, swan-like woman walked in wearing a white jumpsuit and beamed at us both in delight. She was tall and elegant, and her swishy brown hair was blow-dried to perfection, brushed away from her face by oversized Prada sunglasses.
‘Hi Liv,’ she said, double air-kissing her and handing over her Chanel bag and gloves.
‘What are you wearing?’ Liv side-mouthed at me, frowning.
‘And you must be Holly?’ Genevieve said, looking me up and down. ‘Did you bring your own uniform?’
‘Er… no?’ I said, panicking. ‘Is this the wrong one? I got it out of the laundry room?’
‘It is my nightdress,non?’ she said, staring at the lacy frills, the corners of her mouth twitching. Oh my fucking God. Please no. My whole body went hot as I was saved by the door slamming open, a handsome French man attached to the leg that had kicked it. Presumably Luca. A real-life Gaston, with chocolate-brown eyes to match his sister’s and brown hair shaved close to his head. He was already dressed like a skiing Ninja in matching navy trousers and jacket. Carrying two large bags into the chalet, which he immediately dropped on the floor, unzipping the larger one to reveal a set of traversing skis.
‘Luca! Welcome, welcome,’ Liv said. ‘This is Holly, who will be working with Xavier in the kitchen and serving dinner in the evenings. As well as overseeing the wine, of course,’ she said, presenting me to him.
‘Lovely to meet you,’ he said. ‘Wine sounds good. Champagne sounds even better.’
‘She’s just getting it now,’ Liv said, pushing me in the direction of the bar.
I got my brain into gear and deftly opened a bottle of Champagne, untwizzling the metal tie and ripping off the foil at breakneck speed. I splashed Chambord into the flutes Liv had polished and topped them up with Champagne, adding a blueberry and raspberry to each glass. Xavier appeared in the foyer with a platter of deliciousness and Liv was talking and laughing with Genevieve and Luca while I had a private meltdown about the fact I was somehow wearing Genevieve’snightdress. If I could just serve the champers without any further comments on it, I could sidle my way downstairs and quickly change. I swiftly took a tray with two glasses of Champagne over to my two new bosses.
‘Kir Royale?’ I offered the tray to Genevieve and then to Luca.
‘Merci,’ Genevieve said, with a small smile.
Xavier looked at me strangely. Oh Christ. It wasn’t that bad, was it? The dress was knee length with a lacy frill and a crossover back, but I’d worn a vest top underneath. I mean. I get it. It could totally be a nightdress. Clearly it was a nightdress. Arghhhh. But it had been hanging up in the laundry just as Xavier had said. How was I to know it wasn’t a French chalet uniform? I tucked my hair behind my ear and backed away from the love-in.
‘I’m just going to er…’ I waffled, as they ignored me, legging it back downstairs to double check the laundry room. It was warm and dry and smelt of lavender. Piles of green and blue towels were folded into perfect squares and bedsheets hung from the ceiling, enjoying the heat. If I was wearing Genevieve’s nightie, then where the bloody-fuck was my uniform? I had a nosy round and eventually found what looked like an old school pinafore hanging on the hot pipe next to the boiler. Noooo? Surely not? I slunk the nightie off while simultaneously pulling the pinafore off its hanger to throw on.
‘Are you OK, Holly?’ Xavier asked, appearing in the doorway. I screamed and held the pinafore up to hide my upper thigh and under-boob, as he turned away and hid his face with his hands.
‘Sorry, I didn’t expect you to be…’
‘I’m getting changed.’
‘Probably for the best,’ he said, shutting the door and walking off. I quickly pulled the pinny on and fastened the bowtie, adding a bright-white apron with a Chalet Blanchet logo front and centre. Much more professional. I headed back into the kitchen to Xavier, to double check I wasn’t now wearing Luca’s dead grandmother’s Sunday best, poking my head around the kitchen door to make sure the coast was clear.
‘Is it safe to come in?’ I asked, tentatively.
