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‘And now you just cook at one of the chalets?’ George tried again.
‘He’s not just a cook, George,’ Pippa said, looking embarrassed. ‘Cordon Bleu is the best culinary school in the world and Le Cinq is the best Michelin star restaurant in Paris. Daddy’s been on the waiting list for ages. Xavier must be a huge talent if he worked there.’
‘Something like that,’ Xavier smiled, letting his answer hang for a beat before returning the question. ‘And your job?’
‘I head up PR for one of the MPs at Westminster council,’ George mumbled.
‘Very cool,’ Xavier said with a nod.
‘How is everything going with work and… er… home?’ I asked, grilling a piece of raclette to drizzle onto my carb-fest of a dinner. So far, it was a potato sandwich with some salad on the side.
‘Not bad,’ George said, ‘I moved into the house as you suggested, for security reasons. No point paying the mortgage and leaving it empty.’
‘It’s absolutely gorgeous,’ Pippa said, with a smile, ‘so smart and clean.’
‘Are you living there as well then?’ I asked and she nodded. George went very quiet.
‘Sorry, have I said the wrong thing?’ Pippa said, putting her arm around George and smiling brightly. The man who should have been my husband. The house that should have been my home. 24 Orchard Close had been destined to be Chez Geolly and was now seemingly Chez Gippa. I’d been so stupid thinking he was holding onto the house because he was holding onto us, when he’d already moved Pippa in and was actually holding onto her.
‘Pippa and I have only just started seeing each other,’ George said quietly, ‘in case you’re thinking she had anything to do with…’
‘About six months now, isn’t it?’ Pippa shot back. Xavier’s eyes flew from Pippa to George and then finally to me, as he realised what that meant. He gave me a pained look which I returned with a fraction of an eyebrow.
‘We met six months ago, yes, but…’ George started.
‘And what a night that was!’ Pippa said with a snort. ‘Not sure I’ll ever look at a cucumber in the same way, if you know what I mean.’ She gave Xavier a double eyebrow-raise and laughed. I was torn between eating a forkful of cheesy potato and forking George in the eye. The food had it by a gnat’s whisker. I quickly did the maths. George and I were still together six months ago. July. A month before we moved out of the flat and two months before George said, ‘I don’t’.
My mind was whirring. ‘Moved in quite fast then?’ I said, feeling empty as I remembered everything George and I had planned for that house together. Eight years of imagining our future.
‘I could say the same about you two,’ George retorted, as Xavier reached over and stroked my cheek, sending a shiver down my back.
‘Holly and I are very much in love, yes,’ he said, pulling me into him. Thank God he was playing along. ‘It felt right for us to be together, didn’t it, my love?’
I looked at him staring at me intently and felt my heart catch.
‘It did,’ I smiled and held my breath as he leant in and kissed me, his warm lips firm and sensual. His arm around my shoulder, softly stroking my wrist, giving me goosebumps. George and Pippa sat silently opposite, George glaring furiously.
‘Maybe we should change the subject though,non?’ Xavier said, raising his glass and putting his hand on mine. ‘A toast to old friends and new,’ he said, as we all clinked glasses. I eyeballed George equally furiously. I’d speak to him about Pippa’s timeline when we were alone. No point ruining a good potato sandwich.
‘Excusez-moi? Un autre bouteille de Semillon, s’il vous plaît,’ I said to the waiter as he scurried past.
‘You’re using your French then?’ George said, clearly impressed.
‘Un petit pois,’ I said. Joking in French went over George’s head, but Xavier smiled.
‘I speak fluent French as well, George,’ Pippa said.
‘I know you do but I didn’t realise Holly’s French was still so good,’ he said, tearing off a big hunk of bread and slathering it with butter.
‘You only ever know someone as well as they want you to,’ Xavier said, clear-eyed, holding his stare.
George looked at me thoughtfully, adding bubbling brie and onions to his plate.
‘Mesdames et Messieurs.Le Rouge will transform for après ski in half an hour. If you have not been here before then you are in for a treat. Le Rouge is where the party happens in Verbier so get your dancing shoes on, or if you prefer a quiet end to the day, we will bring you your bill and you can escape before the chaos begins.’
‘Are you a party person, Pippa?’ I asked, hoping she wouldn’t mention the cucumber again.
‘Yeahhhh!’ she said, downing the rest of her Semillon.
