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‘Lovely,’ Pippa smiled as I walked over to Xavier and whispered in his ear.
‘That’s my ex-George. The one I was going to marry.’
‘I figured,’ he whispered back. ‘Let’s have a bit of fun with him. Show him what he’s missing.’ I had no idea what Xavier was playing at but it was too late to back out now.
‘We can share their table, George,’ Pippa snipped. ‘I’m NOT joining that queue.’
‘It’s no problem,’ Xavier beamed.
‘We’d love to, thanks,’ Pippa switched to a smile, while George carried on scrolling.
The Maître d’ bustled on ahead. ‘This way, please. Anything for Monsieur Lavedrine. Here we are, a table of four.’ George stood hovering, not sure whether to sit down, but the Maître d’ was insistent, and it was starting to cause a scene.
‘My friend Maxim is the head chef here, so they’ve sorted us a table,’ Xavier explained with a kind smile. ‘It saves you guys queuing and will give you all a chance to catch up.’
‘Sit, sit, sit,’ insisted the Maître d’ as George and I looked at each other in awkward horror. He sat down with Pippa, opposite Xavier and me. What the fucking-fuck was going on? I’d unexpectedly slipped into the twilight zone. We ordered drinks, and a mountain of bread and olives appeared on the table while we chose our food.
‘Shall we share a raclette?’ Xavier asked the table, taking charge. ‘I would highly recommend the five-cheese option if you’re up for it? By all accounts, it is excellent.’
‘If it’s cheese, bread and potatoes, then count me in,’ I said, snapping my menu shut.
‘J’adore raclette,’ Pippa said, eyes shining in Xavier’s direction. George harumphed his agreement as the waiter wrote everything down with a flourish.
‘So where do you live?’ Pippa asked, popping a stuffed olive in her mouth.
‘Chalet Blanchet. It’s a ski-in at the end of Blue Eight,’ I said, ‘not far from the church.’
‘It’s been in the family for years,’ Xavier added, giving me a nudge under the table.
‘We have a family chalet in Val d’Isère, but I fancied a change this time, you know?’ Pippa replied. ‘Maybe we can do a chalet swap next time?’
She laughed and clinked her glass with Xavier, as George watched the exchange with a frozen smile.
‘He’s amazing,’ I whispered, nodding over at Xavier, ‘and his body is to die for,’ I added conspiratorially, knowing George was conscious of his love handles.
‘Good to know,’ he said. ‘And you’re skiing now too? I thought you hated the cold?’
‘I hardly ever get cold out here. There’s no such thing as bad weather, George, just bad clothes,’ I said. ‘Yes, I’ve been learning to ski with Xavier and my Australian friend, Liv.’
‘Is she in the Australian Olympics team?’ piped up Pip. ‘I heard they were out here training?’
‘Are they? Er… I’m not sure she’s on the official team,’ I said.
‘Olympic Team? Who’s that?’ Xavier asked as the raclette arrived and saved me.
‘Regardez-vous, the five-cheese raclette with brie, camembert, chevre and gruyere.’ The Maître d’ placed the large metal grill on the table with a tiny pan for each of us and a platter of cheeses to choose from. Bowls of boiled potatoes, coleslaw, tomatoes, sliced red onion and sweetcorn all served with warm French bread and salted butter.
‘And what is it that you do, Xavier?’ George asked pointedly.
‘I’m a chef,’ he replied.
‘Ooh, very fancy,’ Pippa laughed.
‘It can be,’ he said with a smile. ‘Holly and I work together.’
‘Where did you train?’ Pippa asked.
‘Cordon Bleu,’ Xavier replied, ‘and then under the head chef at Le Cinq.’
