The Little Swiss Ski Chalet

  The Little Swiss Ski Chalet

  Julie Caplin

  One More Chapter

  a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

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  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2021

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  Copyright © Julie Caplin 2021

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  Cover design by Lucy Bennett © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2021

  Cover images © Shutterstock.com

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  Julie Caplin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

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  A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

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  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

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  Source ISBN: 9780008431235

  Ebook Edition © January 2021 ISBN: 9780008431228

  Version: 2020-11-09

  Contents

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Part II

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Part III

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Acknowledgments

  Recipe: Basler Kirschenbrottorte

  Thank you for reading…

  You will also love…

  About the Author

  Also by Julie Caplin

  One More Chapter...

  About the Publisher

  For my sister, Lynda, the chalk to my cheese, funny, kind and amazingly resilient, who deserves to be nothing but happy.

  Part One

  Chapter One

  This was going to be a night to remember, Mina decided as she perched rather precariously on a chair and draped the little piñata fairy lights over the top of the archway from the kitchen into the dining area. They were the perfect finishing touch.

  ‘Looking good,’ said her sister, Hannah, appearing in the doorway clutching a bulging carrier bag.

  ‘You’re back.’ Mina jumped down from the chair with a thump, belatedly remembering the neighbours below, and clapped her hands together, excitement getting the better of her. ‘Did you get a bottle? I can’t believe I forgot that. I mean, seriously, a Mexican evening without tequila! Actually, maybe I should have asked you to get two.’

  ‘One bottle will be fine. Everyone will bring booze and you’ve got a crate of Corona. I don’t think anyone’s going to be thirsty.’

  ‘You’re a star. What would I do without you?’ She hugged her sister.

  ‘I think you’d probably manage,’ said Hannah, extricating herself. ‘There’s enough food for everyone to take home and live off for the whole weekend.’

  Mina gave her a cheerful grin. ‘It’s going to be great.’ She couldn’t wait to see everyone surrounding the table, the places set with her vintage china collected over the years from charity shops, her guests replete with food and alcohol, chatting in the candlelight. She’d been cooking all day and for most of the previous evening but it was going to be worth it. An anniversary celebration. One whole year with Simon. Quite a record for her, and she had to admit she was enjoying the calm and stability he brought into her life. He was the yin to her yang, or whatever the saying was. Actually it was probably the other way round, not that she had a clue about Chinese philosophy. What she did know was that she’d invited eight friends, including Hannah, for dinner tonight. It would be a tight squeeze but everyone was used to that when they came here. In the last year she’d held a Parisienne party (extremely chic), a Danish hygge gathering (very cosy), a gin cocktail speakeasy night (brilliant 1920s costumes, including Simon’s fabulous Trilby that cost a bomb), and a Thai banquet (spicy, fresh, and utterly delicious).

  Tonight’s table with its brightly-striped Mexican serape-style tablecloth was laid with jewel-coloured raffia mats, plastic sombrero napkin rings, and a row of candles in rustic metal votives running down the centre. She’d even bought some cactus-shaped plastic ice cubes for the water jug.

  ‘Your parties are always great, but you don’t half give yourself a lot of work. I’d have just bought a couple of Old El Paso sauces and some salsa and guacamole from M&S.’

  ‘That’s not proper Mexican food!’ Mina’s eyes widened in mock outrage. ‘I’m doing authentic street food. Come.’ Mina darted into the kitchen beckoning furiously. ‘You’ve got to try this.’ She was already holding the spoon out.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Hannah, her eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion.

  ‘Try it…’

  Her sister took a tentative mouthful. ‘Oh wow.’ She blinked rapidly. ‘That’s got a kick. But,’ Hannah went back for a second lick, ‘yum.’

  ‘Chocolate sauce made with chilli from Ecuador. It’s to have with the churros for dessert. Isn’t it just divine?’ Mina dipped her finger and took a quick taste, her eyes closing in sheer bliss. It was lovely. It had taken her a while to track this particular artisan-made brand down, and it was worth every last penny of the extortionate price she’d paid. Although she’d been equally tempted by the caramel salted dark chocolate from Madagascar and the rum flavour from Trinidad and Tobago. There were just so many gorgeous chocolates to choose from these days.

  ‘Different. I wish I could cook like you.’

  Mina laughed.

  ‘Then you wouldn’t have your big fancy job and a gorgeous apartment to live in,’ said Mina, looking around at her small cramped kitchen – not that she envied her sister at all, but one day she would like a decent-sized kitchen with an open-plan diner where she could entertain without having to leave her guests every five minutes. She’d even planned the layout in her head.

  When she and Simon moved in together they could combine forces and buy a better place, perhaps even a house. Despite their different personalities, both of them loved food and entertaining – it was one of the reasons they worked so well as a couple. ‘What do you want me to do?’ asked Hannah, looking around.

  ‘If you could grate cheese for me, for the nachos, and make sure it’s the cheddar and not my special Alpine cheese.’

  ‘What’s that for? Or shouldn’t I ask? Is it a Mexican speciality that no one knows about?’

  Mina laughed. ‘No, we’ve been talking about developing a fondue recipe at work, so I thought I’d get some sneaky practice in at home. It really needs the right cheese. Amelie has been emailing
me traditional Swiss recipes.’

  ‘Ah, that’s nice. How is she?’

  Amelie was Mina’s godmother, who had been at school with their mother, in a boarding school in France. Poor Hannah had missed out as their parents had not got around to christening her, although Amelie had, in her typically generous fashion, adopted her as an honorary goddaughter and always sent her birthday and Christmas presents.

  ‘Good. You know she moved out of Basel and bought that little ski lodge place, which does sound gorgeous. She keeps inviting me to go and visit, and I feel a bit bad that I haven’t – but it’s not like hopping on a plane to the city. Where she is now is in the middle of nowhere. It’s a three-hour train journey from Zurich or Geneva.’

  ‘Not exactly a quick weekend break, then. Now what do you want me to do?’

  ‘When you’ve grated the cheese, you could help me do the margarita glasses.’

  ‘What are you doing with them?’

  ‘I’m going to dip the rims in lime juice and then in salt, to get a proper crust around the edges.’ She waved her hand towards the shaped cocktail glasses that she’d been thrilled to find in TK Maxx. ‘And look: I’m going to sprinkle a little edible golden glitter in the salt to give them a bit of pizazz.’ She was rather pleased with this idea, and even more pleased by Hannah’s enthusiastic reaction.

  ‘What a brilliant idea. And that’s why you’re the food technologist.’

  ‘Huh, I don’t think creating a new twist on pasta sauce is that exciting.’ Mina tried not to sound too ungrateful. Working in the test kitchens of a major supermarket brand was a good job, a great job… it just didn’t inspire her as much as it used to these days. Catering to the common denominator, like putting a more flavoursome béchamel sauce on top of a lasagne, could be a bit dull when she was wild to try new flavours.

  ‘Now, if you’re going to be my kitchen assistant, I need you to get cracking.’

  Mina hummed away as she sliced and diced onions, seasoned chicken, and chopped a small mountain of chilies, like a mini whirling dervish. This was going to be a special evening and the food just one small part of it. She wanted to show Simon just how much he meant to her. He’d become an integral part of her community of friends over the last year, and she wanted to share her happiness with them as well. Good friends were everything. She glanced over at the small tissue-paper-decorated pinãta striped in pink and blue. Earlier, she’d stuffed the small pouch inside it and now she felt a little thrill of anticipation at what Simon would say when it was released.

  By the time six o’clock arrived, and they’d both treated themselves to a taster of the freshly mixed margarita, virtually everything was done.

  ‘Just time to get our glad rags on.’ Mina surveyed the kitchen and the neat rows of everything lined up ready. She called it Blue-Peter-style cooking, with the emphasis on ‘here’s some I prepared earlier’, so that when her guests arrived she spent as little time as possible in the kitchen – which was a challenge when you were serving really fresh, zesty street food. Somehow she couldn’t help herself, and she did a little more prep as she waited for Hannah to finish in the bathroom before she finally dashed in at twenty-to-seven. Taking the quickest of quick showers, she dragged a comb through her blonde bob, swiped a quick slick of pink lipstick over her lips, and brushed on a lightning layer of black mascara to darken her ridiculously long, pale lashes, which could have rivalled a llama. Done. She blew a kiss at her reflection in the mirror, fluttered her llama lashes, and darted back into her bedroom to pull on her new, bright fuschia-pink dress and nipped into the kitchen to put on an apron. She’d been caught out by food splatters before and this dress deserved to shine.

  When the doorbell rang at seven, she was in full hostess mode. As the room filled, she was in her element, dishing out bottles of Corona stuffed with the obligatory slice of lime, or glasses of the sort of margaritas that provided a mule-like kick.

  ‘Blimey, Mina,’ said George, one of her old university friends. ‘That’s going to put hairs on my chest. And I’m not sure about the glitter, I’ll be twinkling at work on Monday. But killer of an idea.’

  ‘Don’t be a boring old stick,’ said his partner, who was also inconveniently called George, and in the six months they’d been together had become G. ‘I love the glitter and that is a seriously good cocktail.’ He blinked his eyes rapidly as the alcohol hit his throat. ‘Fire water.’

  ‘Oh, is it too strong?’ Mina paused in the act of handing over a glass to her best friend Belinda, who’d just arrived, flashing a smile at Simon just behind her.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ said Belinda, a kissing her on both cheeks and taking the glass for a sensible sip. ‘Yum. And the glitter is…’ She studied her glass. ‘Is it OK to eat, or rather, drink?’

  ‘Yes. It’s edible. As if I’d use something that wasn’t.’ Mina stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Belinda had been her friend since school days and her sensible nature had often put a break on Mina’s more reckless ideas in the past, but she was a grown-up now for goodness’ sake. Didn’t tonight prove this?

  ‘Of course not,’ said Belinda dryly, but Mina was already swinging towards Simon.

  ‘Hi, darling.’ She wished her hands weren’t full and she could give him a proper hug. ‘You’ve made good time.’

  ‘Yes, I finished work… a bit earlier. I gave Belinda a lift.’

  ‘That was kind.’ Her eyes sparkled at him. Belinda lived the other side of town and didn’t drive. He was such a kind man. Safe and steady too. Just what she needed. ‘Want a margarita? Or would you prefer a beer?’

  ‘Just water. I’m driving later.’

  ‘Oh, babe, aren’t you going to stay?’ She kissed him again on the cheek, with a mischievous grin, hoping to remind him of what he might miss. ‘These margaritas are to die for.’

  ‘I bet they are, but not with football practice in the morning. You don’t want me disturbing you after a heavy night.’ He surveyed the table. ‘Looks like you’ve gone the usual mile. This looks amazing. You’re so talented in the kitchen.’

  She raised her eyebrows in mock reproof as if to remind him that wasn’t the only place.

  ‘Well, it is a special night,’ she murmured.

  His brows drew together and she shook her head. ‘Simon. What are you like? You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?’ she accused him jokingly. ‘Honestly. Hopeless. Men.’ She included Belinda in her teasing exasperation. ‘It’s our anniversary.’

  Simon looked mildly horrified, but then he would. He didn’t like getting things wrong. That driving perfectionism was one of the things she’d fallen for. She might live her life at ninety miles an hour all the time, trying to cram as much in as she could, but she still liked everything to be just so. Hence the themed evening, which had come together perfectly. Hannah was handing around plates of nachos, made with good stringy cheese and home-made spicy salsa, and from the satisfied munching they were going down well.

  Leaving the room buzzing with conversation she went back into the kitchen and began to ferry out the food. Once the plates were all arranged on the table, in a haphazard jigsaw to make everything fit, she invited everyone to come and shoehorn themselves into the seats around the fully extended table, which spanned the whole width of the room.

  ‘This looks amazing, Mina,’ cried Patsy, a friend she’d made on a fish-filleting course a couple of months back, who worked in a local delicatessen. ‘I have to get the recipes from you.’

  ‘Don’t you guys ever get fed up with being around food all the time?’ asked Patsy’s boyfriend, James, who was a firefighter. ‘Not that I’m complaining.’ He slung an arm around Patsy, who nudged him in the ribs with a laugh.

  As she unloaded the plates, making sure everyone had something within reach, Mina basked in the exclamations of delight and interest while she explained what everything was, and invited them to tuck in. The fairy lights, the glow of the candles, and the main lights dimmed along with the low-level chatter created a wonderf
ul, and to Mina, a deeply satisfying atmosphere in the room.

  The drink flowed, the conversation rose and fell, punctuated by shouts of laughter, and Mina relaxed into her chair next to Simon, soothed by the happy, smiling faces around her. This was what life was about. Friends, lovers, and good company.

  Once everyone had demolished the churros and the tablecloth was spattered with tiny drops of chocolate, she brought out the piñata and the wooden stick that had been provided with it. Everyone roared with laughter at its dainty size.

  ‘I know, I know, but its only for one person. One very special person.’ She looked at Simon and handed him the stick. ‘Today is our first anniversary.’

  ‘And they said it wouldn’t last,’ quipped George from the other side of the table. She laughed back at him.

  ‘Good job I didn’t listen to you,’ she said. When she’d first started seeing Simon, in secret because they were work colleagues, George had been the only person she’d confided in. He’d tried to talk her out of it, saying that it wasn’t a good idea to mix business with pleasure, especially with her track record. Her relationships tended to implode at around the three-month mark, which was how she knew that Simon was the right man for her. He was calm, steady, and just what she needed, unlike her previous boyfriends, who tended to be here today, gone tomorrow. Admittedly, while they’d been a lot of fun, commitment, financial stability, or the ability to be faithful had been in short supply. Simon offered all of those things, although he could be a little stodgy and stuck in his ways sometimes. Her spontaneity and get-up-and-go was a good balance for him. They complemented each other perfectly.