WINTER WONDERLAND (32 page)

‘At the beginning, of course!’

And so Gilles takes me on a technicolour retrospective of my trip. From the Hôtel de Glace to the snow sculptures, the hair-raising Tornado ride, the sticky Cabane à Sucre, me in a post-Caribou fondue rapture (didn’t know he was photographing that!), the exhilarating dog-sledding, the gorgeous, playful fluffy puppies, our shopping trip and bistro lunch, posing in my sash bikini with Bonhomme, the insanity of the Snow Bath … So many memories I have been holding in my mind, now here in the form of tangible images.

‘Wait! Go back!’

‘To the fusball game?’

‘Yes, yes,’ I urge, scooching forward. ‘Can you zoom in on this man?’

It’s Mal. In disguise, of course, but it’s him nonetheless. I can’t believe Gilles captured him on film, without even realising. It pleases me to know that I have a little reminder of him. Even if it is the moment just before I set Niko on him.

‘Ready for the next?’

There are some wonderfully chilling photos from the ferry and then a familiar-looking wolf-pelt and fire pit …

‘When did you go to Wendake?’ I ask, amazed that he has so many beautiful shots of the First Nations hotel, even the artsy restaurant platters.

‘When you were in Montreal,’ he replies. ‘Annique said it was worth photographing.’

‘And it is,’ I confirm. And then I give him a sideways glance. ‘So how’s it going with her?’

He looks a little awkward. ‘Annique?’

‘You can tell me. I want her to be happy.’

‘It’s not that.’ He heaves a sigh. ‘It’s just … ’

‘Yes?’

‘She is perfect in every way.’

‘How awful for you,’ I roll my eyes.

‘Except … ’

Oh dear. Here we go. ‘
Except?
’

‘I don’t know if I’m ready to be a father. It’s a big step. She has asked if I want to meet Coco this weekend and I don’t know if it’s a good idea.’ He sighs and rubs his brow with both hands. ‘I mean, I’m only twenty-three, my career is still developing—’

‘Wait,’ I place my hand on his arm. I can’t have heard right. ‘You’re twenty-three? How is that even possible?’

‘How is it possible?’

‘I thought you were in your thirties!’

‘Well, I haven’t been getting so much sleep lately … ’

‘Not because you look haggard!’ I tut. ‘You said you’d been modelling for ten years and then working as a photographer for six … ’

‘It’s true. I was a child model. I started when I was about seven and went through to my teens, then I started assisting … ’

I sit back in my chair. This is quite a shock to me. Puts a whole new spin on things. ‘Does Annique know?’

‘She knows I’m younger, just not how much.’

‘Well,’ I puff. ‘That could be your solution right there. If you tell her the truth, then she’ll automatically look at your relationship in a different light.’

‘You think?’

‘It doesn’t mean she’ll like you any less, she’ll probably just give the future a little more consideration.’

‘So you think I
should
tell her?’

‘Honesty is the best policy,’ I say, though not the most thorough practiser of what I preach. ‘She’ll probably ease up a little regarding Coco and then you guys can just take your time and see where things go.’

His shoulders lower. ‘That sounds good.’ And then he places his hand on mine. ‘Thank you.’

‘Knock-knock!’

‘Jacques!’ I brighten at the sight of him.

He looks suspiciously happy too.

We walk up to each other, shimmering with good cheer, yet still unsure of an appropriate greeting. And then he notices the photos of his dogs on the ‘washing line’.

I’m not sure if he says ‘
Mes chiens
’ or ‘My children’, but I suppose in this case the words are interchangeable.

‘Big day for them tomorrow.’

‘You’re racing?’ I gasp.

He nods. ‘That’s what my meeting was about. I was just getting my registration approved.’

‘Oh Jacques!’ Now I hug him. ‘I’m so excited. Right through town?’

‘If you get a spot by the château you can see us take off and finish.’

Gilles gives me the thumbs-up.

And then I rein in my enthusiasm. ‘Do you still have time for dinner?’

He looks a little shy. ‘If you like, I could cook for you. I’m sure you must be a little bit tired of restaurant food.’

‘Oh I would love that! We just have to look at the general scenery pics and we’re done.’

‘Great. Is it okay if I look around?’

‘
Bien sûr
,’ Gilles gives him the go-ahead.

I have to say, these cityscapes and Carnival overviews are nothing short of stunning. I love how he chooses one aspect as a focal point and then uses the background as a chorusline to the star feature. And this curved lens effect is amazing. In fact, all the images, I think as I scan back through the collection, have so much life and personality to them. This may be Va-Va-Vacation!’s best collection yet.

‘You’ve done a really good job, Gilles,’ I concede. ‘You should consider doing this for a living.’

For a second he looks confused, as if I mean it.

After all the tension of the day, this is all I need to crack me up. Which sets Gilles off. Which makes me worse.

Suddenly we hear the sound of a door slamming.

I turn around and find Jacques gone. ‘Where’d he go?’

‘You think we made him jealous?’

I stoop to pick up the pictures he knocked to the floor in his haste to leave. And then I freeze.

Oh no.

I turn on Gilles. ‘The double chins you remove and these you leave lying around?’

It’s the pictures of us kissing at the ice hotel. Pillows drooping by our side, feathers fluttering in the air.

His hand flies to his mouth. ‘I was going to show you and then put them away, I-I’m sorry—’

‘You’re crazy!’ I blurt. ‘What if Annique saw them? Can you imagine how she’d react?’

‘How I’d react if I saw what?’

She’s standing right behind me.

Before I can even speak she’s taken the pictures from my hands.

It would be bad enough if she’d slapped Gilles or raged her fists against his chest, but she doesn’t. Instead she turns to me and says, ‘This has been going on since the Hôtel de Glace?’

‘No!’ I gasp. ‘It was just one weird moment—’

‘I thought we were friends.’

And then she leaves.

For a moment Gilles and I stand there in shock. This is worse than the decapitation of the snow sculpture.

‘I’m going after her.’

‘Hurry!’ I implore.

‘Can you lock up for me?’

‘Yes! Just go!’

I sit down, a little weak-kneed from obliterating so many relationships in a matter of minutes.

I take out my phone to call Jacques, not that he’ll answer. Perhaps a text would be better. But what should I say?

‘
It’s not what you think!
’

‘
It didn’t mean anything!
’

‘
It was just one time!
’

Only clichés come to mind. Though, ‘It happened before we met!’ may be a good way to start.

It’s just unfortunate that I lied to his face the other day when he said he thought Gilles had some kind of attraction for me. I didn’t mean to be deceiving, it just seemed unnecessary to go there. Of course, if I had confessed then, perhaps he wouldn’t have run out on me tonight.

I start and then delete half a dozen more text messages, ultimately sending:

‘
I’m so sorry Jacques. Those pictures give completely the wrong impression. I hope you will give me the chance to explain.
’

It’s still not right. But I don’t know what else to say. Half of me feels it’s a thankless task trying to win him back – for what? I’m leaving tomorrow. Why would he bother with the emotional upheaval? After all, as brief as that moment was with Gilles, it still means I was kissing another man a week ago and that doesn’t paint me in the best possible light …

I slope back over to the laptop and focus on reviewing the final images, trying keep the hysteria at bay. I can’t believe that just happened. I can’t believe I got so close to having a cosy night with Jacques, only for some stupid pictures to ruin everything!

I linger as long as I can, hoping he will return – either my text or to the studio, but he does neither. And then it dawns on me that I don’t want to be here if Gilles and Annique come back so I hurriedly gather my things and leave Gilles a note to say I’ll see him tomorrow at the starting point for the dog-sledding race. But then I change my mind – the last thing Jacques would want to see before he took off would be me squished alongside Gilles. So I scrap that and write a new note saying, ‘Meet me at Château Frontenac Starbucks at 11 a.m.’

So what now?

With my dinner plans gone awry, I decide to eat at my auberge restaurant
Le Pain Beni
– blessed bread for a cursed girl.

The waitress seats me beside a lively mural featuring two nuns.

‘You’ve got the right idea, sister,’ I mutter under my breath.

With not much of an appetite, I go straight for dessert and order the banana cognac flambée Annique’s friend had raved about – but I can’t eat it. It seems too much of a treat. I’m in a suffering mode. I need poutine.

After checking back at Reception – ‘No messages? No packages?’ – and then checking my phone a dozen times more, I head down the road, once again passing the Hôtel Clarendon, the Musée de l’Amérique Française, Simons department store and so many of the shops we dipped into on our ‘window-licking’ excursion. My brow rumples further at the sight of Les Frères de la Côte – the bistro where we had lunch, back when Annique liked me.

I hurry past, turn right on Côte du Palais and there it is: Chez Ashton, which sounds terribly chic and exclusive but is in fact Quebec’s answer to McDonald’s.

The menu offers fast food burgers, hot dogs, ‘rosbif’ and trough-loads of their signature dish of poutine.

It comes in three sizes – regular, mini and – clearly for those people who feel compelled to say they’ve eaten it but are frankly terrified –
bébé
.

To think that I could be sipping wine while Jacques conjures up his ‘spécialité de la maison’ but instead I’m sitting alone at a fluro-lit table surrounded by a coach-load of teenagers preparing to eat what looks like prison slops out of a foil carton with a plastic fork.

I heave an almighty sigh.

Bon Appetit!

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Laurie is positively reeling from all the drama.

Stolen religious jewels! Skiing with horses! Secret tryst photo-scandals!

But the thing that really sends her ergonomic chair spinning is this:

‘You actually liked the poutine?!’

‘I don’t know what to say,’ I sigh down the phone. ‘It was sooo delicious. I think it’s like Marmite in that you love it or you hate it but if it hooks you then it sets up a craving that no another food on earth can satisfy. I actually fancy another portion right now.’

‘
For breakfast?
’ Laurie wretches.

‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.’

‘I’d say bring me some back, but the thought of those cheese curds after an overnight flight … ’

‘Do you know they actually squeak when they’re fresh?’

‘Krista,’ Laurie adopts a serious tone. ‘Do you think perhaps that you’re fixating on the poutine as a way of not dealing with what happened with Jacques? Not to mention the fact that this is your last day in Quebec?’

I slink lower beneath the covers. If I don’t get up then the day can’t start.

‘What are you going to do about him?’

‘What can I do, realistically, when I only have a matter of hours left and he’ll be tied up with the race for most of those?’ I puff. ‘Even if I could make it right with him, what would that mean beyond today?’

‘Being a bit defeatist, aren’t you?’

‘I just realised my infatuation with him is a fantasy – I’m all caught up with my feelings for him and not really looking at the practicalities.’

‘I thought you said that you could see yourself living on the Île D’Orléans mushing huskies, tapping maple syrup and speaking French with a Bromley accent.’

‘I could.’

‘And what about that little puppy-child that needs a mummy?’

‘Teddy,’ I sigh, panging as I remember the moment at which he emerged from Jacques’ jacket. ‘But what are the odds of him inviting me to stay? I mean, as holiday romances go, we didn’t even get to the romance part.’

‘That’s because he’s had a lot going on emotionally. It’s not like some drunken Ibiza bar hookup.’

‘Hold on – there’s another call coming through.’ I look at my phone.

‘Who is it?’ Laurie demands.

‘I don’t know, I don’t recognise the number but it is a 514 area code … ’

‘Answer it!’

‘Hello?’ I fail to disguise the caution in my voice.

‘Krista?’

‘Yes?’

‘It’s Sebastien.’

‘Is everything all right?’ My thoughts immediately go to Jacques.

‘Yes, I just need to ask a favour.’

‘Go ahead … ’

‘There’s a church opposite your hotel, can you meet me there an hour from now?’

‘Yes … ’

‘I’ll explain when you get here.’