Free Fire and Ice by Nell Harding Page A

felt at lying to him. As long as there was
nothing personal between them, it was no worse than exaggerating a bit on a
resumé to get a job she knew she was capable of doing well.  
    The radio played softly in the
background as she wandered through the chalet with a warm mug of tea in her
hand. Despite her reaction to Sebastien last weekend, she was starting to feel
more balanced in general. Her article for the week was already sent and she was
beginning to feel at home in Verbier.
    As she became more caught up in
her life in Switzerland, Kate found herself thinking less and less of her life
in London. Emily had introduced her to other chalet girls and they had all gone
skiing together during the week and had made plans to try ski-hiking up to the
Grand St. Bernard monastery soon.
    To her own surprise, Kate barely
thought about Mickey any more. And simply by remembering Axelle, she was also
learning to block her mind from thinking too much about Sebastien.
    She completed her tour of the
chalet. Satisfied that everything was ready, she returned to the living room,
picked up a book and curled up on the couch. As long as she remembered not to
let things become personal, she could happily be Michelle Clark for a winter.
     
     
     “So you are the famous Michelle!”
Madame Pichard beamed at Kate, taking her face in both hands. “Such a lovely
face, such beautiful hair! I knew there must be a reason that Seba stopped
complaining about having to come up to Verbier. He might even enjoy playing
host if you play hostess next to him.”
    Kate blushed crimson, feeling her
cheeks burning against Teresa’s cool hands. Sebastien’s mother was a petite,
vibrant woman who still commanded a presence when she entered a room. Her black
hair was streaked with grey, piled elegantly on her head. She shared the same
dark eyes as her son, but hers were warm and full of life.
    They were twinkling merrily as she
released Kate’s face. “No need to blush, my dear. Of course my son would notice
you. He told me that you have a magic touch for making people at ease.”
    “I think that was the wine, actually,”
Kate deflected smoothly, uncomfortable to find herself the centre of attention.
    Teresa merely laughed, taking her
hands to pull her toward the kitchen. “Come, let us get to know each other,”
she urged, with an Italian-sounding accent.
    Kate let herself be led away from
the others. She had already greeted the rest of the Pichard clan who were still
milling in the entrance hallway. The grandfather, Jurg, was an energetic man in
his nineties and deaf as a post but still very vocal. His son, Hans-Peter, was
as vibrant as his wife with a merry twinkle in his eye. And the infamous Stefan
was every bit as good-looking as she had been told, although his smooth, easy
charm put her on guard.
    As for Sebastien, he was as darkly
mysterious and icy as on their first encounter. He had sent her a searching
look with his dark eyes when they arrived, which she had pretended not to see,
and now he seemed as anxious as she did to avoid any direct conversation.
    For some reason Kate had felt
intimidated to meet Sebastien’s parents, but Teresa put her at ease immediately.
It was impossible not to like this charming woman who radiated positivity the
way that Sebastien did not.
    “You aren’t Italian, are you?” she
found herself asking curiously as they settled into the kitchen.
    Teresa gave a tinkling laugh. “No,
I am Swiss, but from Ticino, the Italian-speaking part. You know, together this
family represents most of Switzerland. Jurg and Hans-Peter are originally from
the German part and the boys have grown up in the French part, although we sent
them to English-speaking school and we made a habit of speaking English
together at meal-times. We wanted them to be ready for the future, you see. Now
we just need to get a cat from the Rumantsch part, just to show that all these
differences can live together.”
    Something about this woman made
Kate want