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‘Full breakfast, with orange juice and coffee. Two eggs, both poached, and brown toast with butter,’ Luca added, snapping the menu shut.
‘Quite the appetite,’ I said.
‘No body-shaming please,’ Luca replied, flexing his muscles in my direction.
I laughed. ‘None intended. And please, it’s my treat today, after the wine and Champagne last night.’
‘Certainly not.’ Luca looked horrified. ‘You are here as my guest.’
Damn. I should have ordered the smoked salmon.
A flurry of waiters appeared and did a synchronised serving dance, placing two baskets of tiny pastries down as if a mirror separated them, followed by fresh toast, a fruit platter, water, juice and our coffees. I was mesmerised by their graceful efficiency, working at pace like a pit-stop team in their pristine, white tuxedos. I smiled and murmured, ‘thank you’ as they nodded, disappearing as quickly as they’d arrived.
‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ Luca said, leaning in.
‘That this looks delicious?’ I replied, my mouth watering.
‘No, that you and Liv could learn a thing or two from those guys,’ he chuckled.
‘Hilarious – I bet they get paid a lot more than we do,’ I said, picking up an apple and custard pastry and trying to decide if I could get away with putting the whole thing in my mouth. It didn’t seem very ladylike if this was a date. These blurry lines were very confusing. I decided to cut it up with a knife and fork to be on the safe side. Luca watched me with a bemused smile as he rested his leg against mine under the table.
‘So why are you having breakfast at lunchtime?’ I asked.
‘I missed it first thing,’ Luca said, buttering a slice of toast then drizzling it with zigzags of honey before taking a satisfying bite. ‘Breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince and dinner like a pauper.’
‘I’m not sure lobster and fillet steak are on the menu for paupers these days,’ I replied, watching him wolf down a second piece of toast, followed by a banana. ‘Dinner like a sumo wrestler, more like.’
‘I have to keep my strength up,’ he said. ‘Skiing takes a lot of energy, as you know. How are you feeling after your visit toTaverne à Champagne?’
‘Great! It was such a treat – thank you for taking me up there. I’d never have known it existed otherwise,’ I said, putting a cleanly-cut square of pastry in my mouth.
‘I was wondering if you might like to go with me to something else?’ he said, eyeing me as I chewed.
‘Sounds ominous,’ I replied. ‘What is it?’
‘I know it’s last minute, but I’ve got this spa voucher that I need to use by the end of next week and… I wondered if you might like to come with me?’
‘Do we have to ski there?’ I asked, cautiously.
‘No skiing, just spa-ing,’ he said.
‘Well that sounds much more my kind of thing,’ I said, feeling excited. There was no question that this was a romantic gesture. Did he think we were seeing each other? I wasn’t sure how the French did things. Or if I was even interested. I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea.
‘Excellent. A week tomorrow then,’ Luca said with a smile, as a large plate of eggs and bacon was placed in front of him.
It was hard work, but someone had to do it and I couldn’t very well say no to the boss. This year really wasNew Year, New Me. All the way from here on in.
Twenty-One
9th January
The helicopter whirred loudly as Luca and I arrived on top of La Vallée. Charlie had collected us from the chalet and we’d been escorted to the Helipad by the hotel concierge, who Luca rewarded with a discreetly delivered 50 franc note. I’d had no idea this place even existed; it was mind-blowing. I’d dressed up as much as I could, with my new jacket and Liv’s red boarding pants. Mum and Dad had sent me some cash for Christmas, so I’d treated myself to a ridiculously large pair of Chanel sunglasses which were also helping with the vibe. Bit by bit, I was transitioning from London Holly to Verbier Holly, jumping from the grubby pages of theMetrotoVogue: Winter Edition.
It was a perfect winter’s day: bright-blue skies, not a cloud in sight and the sun was already up and shining. The air was cold and fresh as I took a deep breath and surveyed the situation. Hot French man, private helicopter ride, off to a spa for the day, no work and no worries. Life was good.
‘Wonderful to see you again, Mr Blanchet, welcome on board. And to you too, er…’ The pilot shook Luca’s hand and turned to me with a pause.
‘Holly,’ I said, shaking his hand a little too heartily. ‘Holly Roberts.’
