WINTER WONDERLAND (31 page)

‘Yes, yes. Um. Do you know what time the ski joring is?’

She consults her list. ‘It’s just starting now.’

‘Can we go straight there?’

‘No problem.’

We’re halfway up the hill before I think to ask, ‘What exactly is ski joring?’

Naturally it is one of the most daredevil activities of the Carnival – a charging horse drags a skier around a track while he performs jumps and slalom zigzags at maximum speed – because skiing and horse riding simply aren’t sufficient bone-breakers in their own right.

As soon as I hear this, I know Mal won’t be a mere spectator. I just wonder if I’ll be able to single him out in his ski goggles. But, really, why am I even worrying about that? He always finds me.

Here we are at the Plains of Abraham and the ring is still stuck. I’m sure my hand would indeed shrink if I could remove the all-too-insulated glove and let the icy air get to it, but there are police everywhere and every time I pass one I only feel myself getting
hotter
. What the hell am I going to do? Have Mal tie a piece of string to it and then take a downward slope at 70 mph? I just know I’d either get dragged down behind him or lose a finger. What I need is a tub of butter.

It’s then I see the Queues de Castor pâtisserie stand.

‘Beaver tails!’ I exclaim.

‘Have you tried one yet? They are delicious!’

‘I had a little bite the other day but I could really do with one of the maple butter toppings … ’

‘We’ll come right back after the ski joring.’

‘Actually I need it now.’

Annique’s nose wrinkles at my desperation. ‘Okay … Just make sure you don’t get it all over you like the maple taffy … ’

‘Good point,’ I say, accepting the pastry from the lady in the kiosk. Turning away from the masses, I stuff my gloves in my pockets and then, as gross as this is, rub my whole left hand in the sugary-buttery topping.

‘Come on, come on!’ I urge.

I give one almighty yank, and with that the ring shoots off into the snow.

‘Noooo!’ I fall to my knees, desperately trying to find it before it gets trampled by Carnival-goers or swamped in slush.

Come on, come on – show yourself!

‘Is this what you are looking for?’ Annique holds the ring up in front of my nose.

‘Yes!’ I puff, snatching it back. ‘Gosh, thank you! Family heirloom, would’ve been in so much trouble had I lost that.’

‘Really? Because it looks a lot like the rings on the front of all the newspapers this morning.’

I look back at her, unable to speak.

She eyes my sticky hands. ‘If I give you a Wet Wipe, will you tell me what’s going on?’

I decide to come clean. Mostly because I can’t think of a convincing enough lie at such short notice. But also because I am asking Annique to walk into the dragon’s lair with me.

She is surprisingly unfazed. ‘Is that him? Is that him?’ she asks when we reach the event track. ‘If I could just see that chin!’

‘Oh, that’s long gone,’ I tell her.

We watch one skier (dressed in yellow and grey) complete the course and another (in red) begin, but I don’t get a gut reaction until the next competitor sets in motion. There’s a very particular amethyst flash to his otherwise black ensemble …

I can’t even bring myself to say, ‘That’s him!’ I just watch with my heart in my mouth as he swishes and leaps, knees to his chest, with a mixture of finesse and abandon, causing gasps and cheers from the crowd. I swear he even gives us a little salute as he curves past. Impressive. With that athleticism he’s going to fit right in at Cirque du Soleil. That’s if he doesn’t get incarcerated first.

‘Now what?’ Annique asks.

‘I think I should stand a little way off to the side, it’s too crowded here.’

‘Okay,’ she nods. ‘I’ll wait right here.’

I have never felt more self-conscious as I head towards the horse trailers. My eyes are working overtime, checking for Mal, the police and even Jacques, who typically appears at just the right moment but today … Let’s just say I’m looking forward to seeing him tonight and not a moment before …

And then I see the skier with the amethyst flare heading towards me. My stomach pogos upward but then hesitates mid-air – there’s something unfamiliar about his gait. His outfit has a looser fit … And then he raises his goggles and I see a very different pair of eyes. Whatever Mal’s disguise trickery, switching race would require some special CGI skills. I go to speak but he walks right past, ignoring me. Now I’m foxed. I’m about to turn back to signal to Annique that it’s not him when I hear a naying and braying in my ear.

‘You switched!’ I gasp as I turn and find Mal now astride the horse.

‘Well, I thought I’d better have a built-in getaway vehicle this time,’ he says, scanning the horizon. ‘Do you have the piece of paper for me?’

I nod. ‘Do you have the jewels?’

I can’t believe I just said that. How is this my life?

‘I do. Ready to trade?’ And then he hesitates, leaning back in the saddle and placing a hand on his hip like some kind of dandy. ‘Did you know that amethyst was thought to ward off drunkenness?’

‘What?’

‘It’s true, there’s nothing worse than a drunken bishop—’

‘Stop!’ I complain. ‘You’re making my head hurt.’

He laughs and then throws the velvet bag over to me. It doesn’t feel as heavy as I was expecting. Mostly because it contains nothing but a dozen or so boiled sweets.

I look up in confusion. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Oh Miss Carter … Did you really think that was me?’

‘It wasn’t?!’ I don’t know which is harder to believe.

He raises his nose in the air. ‘I rather feel someone might be taking my bad name in vain, trying to get me to take the fall for their far larger crime.’

‘How would that even work?’

‘It didn’t take much to convince you I was guilty.’

‘Well, you did send me this!’ I protest, holding up this morning’s ring.

‘It’s a fake. I was just messing with you.’

I roll my eyes, utterly exasperated. ‘Haven’t you got anything better to do with your time?’

‘Obviously not.’ And then he smiles. ‘I think you might be my favourite foil.’

I heave an almighty sigh, eager to expel the built-up tension from my body. And then I look back up at him. ‘All these pranks, really, it’s got to be more than boredom.’

He narrows his eyes. ‘I feel another of your theories coming on.’

‘I was just thinking that maybe, because your dad didn’t set any boundaries, you have to test the ultimate authority – the law.’

He smiles. ‘If I had my shrink here, I’d trade her. You’re much better.’

I can’t help but snigger. But then I get serious as I extend the folded slip of paper towards him.

‘I want you to have this anyway. So you can start using your powers for good.’

‘As opposed to evil?’ he taunts.

‘You’re not evil; you’re just lacking a purpose in life. I really think this could be the answer. Promise me you’ll read every word on the website before you judge.’

He tries to take it from me but I hold fast.

‘Promise me.’

He waits just long enough to let me know that he’s thought this through and then says, ‘I promise.’

‘You could really make a difference.’

‘I could?’ He looks unconvinced. ‘Why?’

‘Because you’ve got imagination and flair and you know how to get around tricky obstacles and you’re smart and you could be whoever they needed you to be to get the job done. And you’re not afraid of anything. And you know what else?’

‘What?’ he says, serious himself now.

‘You could become someone you really admire.’

Now he is still.

‘And!’ I continue. ‘You could fall in love with a contortionist from Belarus.’

He cracks a smile. ‘Really?’ Then, holding my gaze, he leans forward so that his face is level with the horse’s mane.

‘Why Krista, I’d almost think you believed in me.’

There’s something so vulnerable in his voice that my eyes immediately start to prickle.

‘I do,’ I say softly. And then a single tear splashes onto my cheek.

He reaches down and gently transfers it to his fingertip. ‘One drop.’

I blink, amazed. Does he already know?

But then the mood suddenly changes – the horse begins pacing and jerking its head.

‘They’re coming for me.’

And then with a rousing, ‘Hah!’ he’s gone.

I sense a rushing and a commotion around me but I close my eyes and try to block it all out – I can’t bear to see the police chasing him down.

CHAPTER THIRTY

When I return to Annique I’m a little shell-shocked.

‘So he’s innocent?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far. But he didn’t steal the jewels.’

‘Hmmm,’ she muses. ‘That’s a lot of drama for nothing.’

‘Not entirely nothing,’ I counter. ‘At least this way I get to keep the ring!’

‘Oh yes!’ She laughs. ‘Though you might want to wait until you’re back in London to wear it!’

And then her phone jingles. It’s her daughter Coco.

‘She forgot her school project.’

‘Do you want to go and get it?’

‘Well, we still have more of the Carnival to see … ’ She looks conflicted.

‘I can do that, honestly, go! We can meet up later at Gilles’ studio.’

‘If you’re sure?’

‘Yes, and take this bag of sweets for her class.’

‘
Merci, merci!
’

‘One quick thing,’ I reach for her arm. ‘Do you still have the pass for the Hilton Executive Club?’

‘I don’t. But if you’re looking for a room with a view you can see everything from the top of the Observatory. Or Loews if you could do with a rigid drink.’

I smile. ‘Is that the one with the revolving restaurant?’

She nods.

‘Then I’m sold.’

I like the idea that the revolutions might somehow counter my own spinning head.

I feel rather self-conscious as I enter L’Astral – the circular dining room is considerably more sophisticated than I was expecting. I appear to be the only pink-nosed, wind-whipped tourist, while everyone else looks polished and affluent.

Still, I’m too entranced by the view to leave. It is just as magnificent as my first day here. Only this time I can see the Plains of Abraham, and thus the Carnival, in its entirety.

Methodically I scan from the entrance to the big wheel to the bistro tent to the sleigh rides, up to where the ski joring took place, and beyond to the huge ice circuit where Annique and Gilles taught me to skate. I just want a glimpse, to know he’s all right.
Could that be him?
No. False alarm. I take out my phone and check on the local news to see if anyone has been caught or charged.

Nothing yet.

Which is good. I think. I hope.

A minute passes. I check again. Still nothing. Then I type in ‘amethyst’ and ‘drunkeness’ and to my utter amazement I find a link that confirms Mal’s claim – that the sheer purple quartz was named from the Greek word ‘
amethystos
’ meaning ‘not drunken’.

Whattayaknow?
So he does tell the truth from time to time …

And so I settle in – cocktail in one hand, cocktail ring embedded in the palm of the other – and gaze out at the subtly changing scenery, gradually making peace with the fact that I may never see him again.

Finally, the sun sets.

Now the day is gone and the night belongs to me and Jacques. There’s just the matter of reviewing the photographs at Gilles’ studio …

I wasn’t expecting much more than an outsized computer screen to click through the digital images, but it turns out Gilles has a passion for old school photography and has been mixing it up all week. He’s even strung up a few prints on a line with wooden clothes pegs.

‘Are you for real?’ I laugh as I enter.

‘Well, it beats hunching over a light box!’ He grins. ‘Though we’ll be doing that too!’

‘I daren’t even ask how many you’ve taken … ’

There are piles on every surface.

‘Well, I have edited them a little – the ones I know you’ll hate: the double chins, the eye wrinkles—’

‘All right, all right!’ I hush him. ‘It’s a good thing you let your pictures speak for you most of the time.’

He grimaces an apology and then asks, ‘Where would you like to begin?’