To: Gabe Foster

From: Dylan Mitchell

 

A few days later I ease out of the minibus that’s brought us to the chalet Fletcher has borrowed. I look up at the building and shake my head. Chalet is really the wrong word for it. Monstrosity would probably be a better word, because it’s huge, more like a mansion. It’s traditionally built of wood with lots of balconies jutting out over the drive like raised eyebrows, and it’s probably got more floor space than Buckingham Palace.

The others are laughing and mucking about as the driver removes their bags from the boot, so I take a welcome second to get away from them. I wander over to stand on the edge of the gravelled drive, looking at the stunning view of the snow-covered mountains. I breathe in through my nose, feeling the cold sharpness of the air fill my head and lungs. It’s truly beautiful here, and normally I’d be in my element and raring to get on the slopes. However, normally I’d be with Jude, rather than the present company of idiots.

I shoot a glance towards the men now walking up the steps of the chalet. The journey here had been interminable, filled with inane chatter about nothing and was about as interesting to me as a lecture on waste disposal would have been.

The other men in the party consist of the friend Tommy, whose parents own the chalet, and who is seriously into Fletcher. He’s a part-time model as well, and I get the distinct impression that it isn’t a way to earn money, as his parents seem to pay for everything. He’s undeniably gorgeous, with golden hair, pale skin and that skinny, almost frail appearance that’s so trendy at the moment.

He and Fletcher look gorgeous together, but it’s a false glamour. It’s like looking at a picture in a gallery that everyone loves, but it just leaves you cold. However, his upper-class drawl and supreme confidence grate on me. He obviously looks down on me with my state school education and well-worn clothes, and he makes no secret of his disdain when I speak.

There are also two brothers called Will and Jamie. They’re both dark-haired men who are also models, and they look sufficiently alike that I still can’t work out which one is which. They are also eerily perfect, like they’ve rolled off a conveyor belt somewhere. I’ve inwardly christened them Topsy and Tim.

The only bright side of the trip is Gabe’s friend, Henry. He’s actually the only friend I’ve ever met who belongs to Gabe, and not Fletcher. I’d gathered from not too subtle prodding that he’d been at university with Gabe, with both of them studying law. He’d specialised in family law, but the two seem very close. He’s gorgeous, with dark-red hair like the colour of a fox’s pelt, and vivid, hazel eyes.

He isn’t staying at the chalet with us, but rather with his brother who has a home here. He’d appeared at the airport to cadge a lift from Tommy on his parents’ plane, and I’d brightened instantly when he’d stepped through the plane door. He’d always without fail, been polite and friendly to me when he’d called into the office to pick up Gabe for lunch, but truthfully, I’d have welcomed even Hannibal Lecter at that point. Anything to block out the unrelenting tedium of listening to four grown men recount tales involving men called Alexander and Trubbers, who are apparently too busy throwing up in the Ritz, to actually do anything productive.

Gabe had taken one horrified minute to listen, and had then buried himself in some of the papers I’d packed for him. He’d motioned for me to sit next to him at one of the small tables, and I’d seen Fletcher direct a poisonous glance at me and then lean closer to Tommy, saying something that had made the other man laugh and shoot me a cryptic look.

I’d stiffened my spine, but it was at that point that Henry had stepped onto the plane, and Gabe had greeted him with a wide smile, standing up and hugging him. I’d tried not to stare, but Gabe’s smiles, although rare, are worth seeing as they fill his whole face, making his eyes crinkle, and his eyebrows arch wickedly. I’d been surprised when Henry had then reached out and hugged me, as I didn’t really know him, but he’d seemed genuinely pleased to see me.

He and Gabe had then launched into a long conversation, trading war stories for the rest of the flight, as I tapped away on my tablet and made notes for myself of things that still needed to be done before Amsterdam.

It was very noticeable how apart from the others Gabe and Henry were. They wore wealth and success easily, but it wasn’t in the louche way the others did. They had a palpable sense of energy about them, like even sitting still, they were poised to move. Their conversation was lively and funny, and I thoroughly enjoyed hearing them catch up. The others seemed to treat them as though they were a lot older; as if their successes meant a gain in age when both of them were only thirty-two.

I turn at the sound of crunching footsteps, as Henry strolls up and stands beside me gazing out over the snowy landscape. “It’s so beautiful here,” he says, taking a deep breath the same way I had done. He turns to me. “Have you skied before?”

“Yeah, loads of times. My friends and I come when we can during the winter.” I look around. “Not in places like this though. Our getaways are much more budget appropriate.”

He laughs. “Some of my best holidays have been like that. Gabe and I did some serious travelling around Europe in our uni holidays, on a shoestring budget. You should hear some of the stories I’ve got stored up on him.”

I look at him with interest, but at this point Gabe comes up behind us, stretching with a heavy grunt that makes me shift my position quickly. “What stories?” he asks, flinging his arm around Henry’s shoulders.

I stare at them. They look very striking together and I wonder if they’ve ever fucked. Gabe shoots a quick, dark glance at me as if he knows what I’m thinking, but then his gaze slides away instantly, the way it has done since that moment in the office.

Henry laughs loudly. “I was thinking about Rome,” he starts, and Gabe immediately shakes his head.

“Fuck no, don’t tell Dylan that. I’ll never hear the end of it.” I open my mouth, but he shakes his head fiercely. “Too much ammunition.”

I snort. “As if you haven’t got loads on me.”

He strokes his chin, his face alive with amusement, and making my breath catch. “Yes, I do seem to remember last year’s Christmas party.”

“Oh my God, don’t.”

“What?” Henry asks, and Gabe starts to laugh.

“Dylan hates old man Bernard.”

“Because he’s so rude to everyone,” I interject.

“Because he’s so rude to everyone,” Gabe parrots, and turns to Henry. “Anyway, Dylan had far too much to drink, and put a photocopied picture of his arse on Bernard’s desk.” Henry starts to laugh, and I groan. Gabe continues blithely. “I had to do a lot of talking to dissuade Bernard from his plan to have everyone drop their trousers and then sack the culprit.”

“How would he have known?” Henry asks curiously.

Gabe laughs. “Because Dylan here has a birthmark shaped like Italy on his bum.”

“Oh my God, you said you hadn’t seen it. You bloody swore,” I say indignantly.

Gabe starts laughing helplessly, balancing on Henry’s arm. “Seen it. I’m using it as my work Christmas card this year.”

“Oh, I call absolute bullshit.” I pause. “You couldn’t anyway. There’s no holly on it.”

“Or a prick,” Gabe gets out, before giving a disgusting snort. He misses Henry giving him a startled look, but I notice him extend that look to include me.

We’re interrupted by a shout of Gabe from the steps, and turn to see Fletcher with his arms folded.

“Oh dear the missus is calling,” Henry says sweetly, and I laugh.

Gabe shoots us both a look, then hugs Henry. “Give me a call and we’ll go out for a drink this week.”

“With Fletcher?” Henry asks doubtfully, and Gabe smiles wryly.

“No, don’t worry.”

The two men clap each other’s shoulders. “Okay, but make sure to bring Dylan,” Henry adds, and Gabe gives him a startled look before nodding quickly.

“Of course, we’ll be there.”

He moves away, answering something that Fletcher shouts at him with a grunt, and I watch them before becoming aware of Henry staring at me. When I turn, he doesn’t attempt to hide his study, but just looks at me before suddenly smiling. “I like you, Dylan,” he says. “You’re good for him.”

“Who?”

He shakes his head and digs his hand into his pocket, pulling out a business card which he hands to me. “My mobile number’s on the back, Dylan. Give me a ring if all this gets too much.” He looks up at the house. “They’re not a nice bunch of people.”

I smile. “Oh, I can take care of myself, but thank you.”

He shoots me an amused glance. “I know you can take care of yourself. Gabe’s always been full of stories about you, so I know you’re your own man.” He stares at me, and says softly, almost as if not aware of muttering, “I wondered, and now I know.”

“Know what?”

He shoots me a smile. “Oh, lots of things, and I have to say I’m very relieved and happy at the way that things are progressing.”

I’m completely puzzled. “What things?”

He shakes his head. “Just something I’ve been nagging Gabe about for a couple of years. Nothing for you to be concerned about. It’s a work in progress.”

I nod. I’m not aware that they have any projects together, but I suppose I’ll know soon enough when Gabe drops the work on my desk. I shake the card at him. “Well, thanks for this anyway.”

“Not at all.” He suddenly steps a little closer, and says in a low voice, “Don’t let him work all weekend. Make him have some fun.”

I laugh awkwardly. “I’m not in control of that. That’s Fletcher’s business, and I’m sure he’ll pull him away from work when he needs him. I think I’m more cast in the role of Cinderella on this trip.” He looks at me querying. “All work and no play.”

He laughs lightly and claps me on the shoulder, before walking back to the car, throwing over his shoulder. “Don’t forget what happened to Cinderella.”

I shake my head at him, waving as the car moves off. Yes, Cinderella won a real prize - a man who couldn’t see her true worth until she fitted in the shoe properly.

Making my way into the chalet, I find my suitcase abandoned and lying on its side as if someone has kicked it over. I look around for someone to ask where my room is, and just as I’m about to go and find someone, I become aware of raised voices coming from a room nearby.

Carrying my case, I pop my head around the door, only to realise that Fletcher and Gabe are involved in an argument. I catch the words ‘he’s in the way’, and I hastily go to pull my head back, but it’s too late as Fletcher has spotted me.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” he hisses. “He’s everywhere.”

Gabe turns, his face full of irritation and anger at the interruption, and it catches me on the raw unexpectedly. Maybe because he’s been so nice and funny lately, I’d forgotten how irritated he can get with me, and now it unexpectedly stings, especially in front of Fletcher.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just looking for someone to tell me where my room is.”

Fletcher waves his hand dismissively. “There is a housekeeper, Dylan. I’m sure she can help you. I think Tommy put you somewhere on this floor.”

I bite my tongue to stop myself saying something sharp and go to back out gracefully, but Gabe says ‘wait’ sharply.

He turns to Fletcher. “Why the fuck is Dylan on this floor?”

Fletcher makes a dismissive motion. “I don’t know. I presume Tommy put him here because he’s staff.”

“This isn’t fucking ‘Upstairs Downstairs’, Fletcher. How fucking rude.” He strides towards me. “Let’s find the housekeeper and put this right.”

“Oh yes, walk away, you fucking bastard. That’s what you do so well,” Fletcher shouts, which is wasted on Gabe who is patently not paying attention. He strides past me, and I swear under my breath and follow him, grimacing and dragging my case after me.

Gabe catches a woman he finds in the foyer, and talking swiftly in French, he must have asked her where my room is, because she smiles and gestures for us to follow her. She walks down the corridor past the room where Fletcher had been, but which now stands empty. We follow her until she reaches a door into what is obviously an annexe to the building, as it looks a lot more plain and functional than the rest of the house. Going through the door I can hear the sound of pots and pans coming from what must be a kitchen, and she takes us up a set of stairs to a corridor with about ten doors leading off it.

She walks to one and opens the door, gesturing for me to go in and patting me on the shoulder. “Welcome,” she says in accented English. “I will give you time to unpack, and then someone will come and find you and show you the staff kitchen and the recreation room.”

She takes a look at Gabe who is standing in the corner of the room with his arms crossed, and blanches at the look of rage on his face. Smiling nervously, she leaves the room and shuts the door behind her, leaving us standing in silence.

I take a look at the room which is tiny but functional, with a single bed, wardrobe, and a desk and chair pulled up to the window. I wander over to peer out of the window and look down on what looks like the garage. It makes me want to smile because Fletcher and Tommy couldn’t have been clearer in their intent to make me feel my place. I’m obviously going to be punished for Gabe’s decision to bring me here because they can’t do anything to him. He’s like a mountain, firm and inviolate with no weak spots.

I sling my case onto the bed and take a look at him. Actually, he doesn’t look inviolate now. He looks bloody furious. “What on earth is the matter with you?” I ask lightly, unzipping my case. “You look like someone’s pissed in your coffee.”

He moves suddenly, lowering his arms and coming round to where I’m standing. “I wouldn’t unpack,” he says sharply, rage simmering under his voice. “You’re not staying here.”

I sigh heavily. “Oh yes, I am.” He starts to interrupt, and I hold up a hand, which has the effect of doubling his irritation level but actually shutting him up. “I am staying in here because I don’t want a fuss being made, Gabe. This room is perfectly adequate for my needs.” I look around. “Anyway, Jude and I have stayed in worse than this.”

He looks around the room sniffing. “I sincerely doubt that.”

“Well, you shouldn’t. This room even has a window. Once, in Crete, we stayed in what looked like a broom cupboard.”

He goes to the window and releases an angry sigh, his fingers clutching the sill so hard that his knuckles are white. “You might just as well not have one. You’re looking out over the fucking garage.”

I join him at the window, and playfully nudge his shoulder. “Yes, but it’s a nice garage, and ooh look, snow.”

His lip twitches as my voice gets high, and then he growls. “You are not charming me out of my rage. This is deplorable.” I open my mouth, and he shakes his head. “This isn’t right. You’re with me. I asked you to come with me.”

I raise my eyebrows, and he grins reluctantly. “Okay, I told you to come. But the onus was then on me to make sure you were comfortable on this trip, and not shoved in the box room and talked down to like you’re little fucking Orphan Annie.” I look at him, and he shakes his head. “You don’t think that I’ve missed the jibes, do you? Believe me, they won’t continue.”

“Oh, please,” I sniff. “As if the opinions of four people who have the IQ of snails, could bother me.”

“It bothers me.”

“Well, don’t let it,” I say sharply. “Ignore it, and I’m asking, no I’m telling you not to make a fuss about this room. I’ll be comfortable in here, and I’m unlikely to spend much time in here anyway with the amount of work we’ve brought with us. Shall I ask the housekeeper to set us up in a room?”

He nods. “Fine, but I am very aware that you’re changing the subject.”

“I am, because as far as I’m concerned, the subject is closed. I’m working, not on holiday. Now, I’ll see what I can organise regarding a room, and then we should be able to start tomorrow. Is that okay, or are you skiing?”

Something flickers over his expression too quickly for me to read at the mention of skiing, but I file it away for future reference. He shakes his head. “I’m not skiing until I’ve got all this sorted out. I can’t rest until I know we’re set up. They won’t be bothered. Fletcher will be happy with their company until he needs me for the evening.”

“Okay,” I say doubtfully. “I’ll see you at ten tomorrow.”

“No, you’ll see us for dinner tonight.” He raises his hand to stem my torrent of excuses. “Man up, Dylan. If I’ve got to sit through it, then so have you. You may have won over the room, but you won’t win over food. There’s no fucking way that you’re sallying off to sit with the staff, and leaving me alone. Okay?” I nod reluctantly, and he smiles. “See you for dinner. I’ll send word.”

“I’m sure you will,” I say sourly, hearing him laugh as he leaves the room with his humour restored.

***

The next morning, I look up as the door to the library opens, and Gabe appears, looking distinctly hungover. “Morning,” I say brightly and more loudly than I need to. Watching him wince with satisfaction, I then throw my arm out and gesture around the room. “Well, what do you think?”

Giving me a narrow-eyed stare, he looks around the beautiful, book lined room. “Lovely,” he says faintly. “Have you got coffee?”

“Hang on a minute,” I say indignantly. “I’ve been here for an hour making sure that everything is up to your gruelling standards. I need more than a pathetic lovely.”

“My standards are not gruelling, and is this where you’ve been all morning? Have you had breakfast yet?”

I wave my hand. “Oh yes, I ate in the kitchen with Frau Gerber the housekeeper, and Bruno the chauffeur. Did you know that Tommy Senior has not one, but two mistresses from the village? He actually schedules them on different nights.”

He sits down heavily at the desk in the middle of the room, a glimmer of humour showing. “You and your gossip grapevine. He must be taking his vitamins. Well, I suppose like father like son.”

I give him an arch look, and before I can stop myself, the words come out. “So I gather. Well, I suppose you’d know.”

He freezes for a long second, and I brace myself for the explosion, but to my surprise, he looks slightly shamefaced. “I suppose I deserved that. Did you know before last night?”

I shrug, straightening some papers unnecessarily. “Fletcher’s not terribly discreet, Gabe, and I got the impression it was heading that way last night.”

The dinner had actually been painful in a way I don’t want to analyse, as Fletcher had spent half of it ensconced on Gabe’s lap, flirting heavily with both Gabe and Tommy. Gabe had been drinking heavily, and when I’d made my escape, I had cast one look back and seen Fletcher kissing Gabe torridly, while Tommy leant over with his hand in Gabe’s lap, stroking his obviously erect cock.

Gabe jerks and looks anywhere but at me. “Yeah, but that’s not where it went for me,” he says suddenly, catching my gaze and holding it with the force of a laser. “I spent the night alone in my bed.”

“And Fletcher?” I can’t believe that we’re having this conversation, with me asking him such intrusive questions, and him answering me as if I have the right to know.

He shrugs. “With Tommy, I presume, although it could have been the twins. That wouldn’t be the first time either.”

“Goodness it’s like a disturbed version of ‘Dynasty’,” I say lightly, and then shoot a look at him. “And you’re okay with that?” My tone is far too startled, and not to my surprise he stiffens.

“I’m fine with it. We don’t have the sort of twee, traditional relationship that you obviously look for, Dylan. We’re adults, and if we want to add a third or a fourth, then that’s our business. You should try it sometime.”

“I don’t think so,” I say clearly. “That’s not really my thing.”

“That’s patently obvious,” he mutters. “Shall we get to work?”

So we do. And it’s just like at the beginning - as if we’re strangers working in the same room with no connection at all.