Casanova by Mark Arundel Page B

assistant fitted me with a decent pair of rental skis and a good pair of boots. He handed me a chart and asked me to indicate my height and weight. I pointed on the chart and he nodded and then adjusted the bindings.
    I left with the boots hanging from one hand, poles from the other and the skis flat together balanced over my shoulder. I stored my equipment back at the hotel and returned to my room.
    I took a shower, ordered tea from room service and waited for Charlotte. It wasn’t long before she knocked on the door and I let her in.
    ‘Have you spoken to home yet?’ she asked.
    ‘Yes, briefly; Casanova has been confirmed as the one responsible for the hole, but there’s nothing new on his location.’
    ‘So there’s nothing for you to do except wait. Have you got your skis yet?’
    I didn’t answer and instead said, ‘Can I come for dinner?’
    Charlotte seemed surprised and said, ‘Yes, all right, if you want to.’
    She was wrong about me not having anything to do except wait. Dinner was an excuse to visit her catered chalet. It would give me the opportunity to take a close look at her neighbourhood.
    ‘Canapés aren’t being served for another two hours,’ she said, and then looked at the bed. ‘You’re right, it is big.’ She jumped on it and bounced up and down as though she hada springy tail. ‘And comfortable too,’ she added.
    ‘Don’t break it,’ I said.
    She stopped bouncing and widened her eyes. ‘Let’s test it properly,’ she suggested.
     
    Sometime later, we left the hotel and went out onto the main street. It was snowing. A layer already covered the road and the pavement. Tyre tracks from the cars showed as two black lines running away into the distance. It was colder than before. The air temperature was heading down faster than Casanova’s share price.
    We both took our gloves from our pockets and pulled them on. Wearing our hats, thick coats and boots with good treads, Charlotte took my arm and we walked slowly along the path. She held on firmly, unsure about how slippery it might be.
    An impenetrable covering of heavy grey cloud pushed down and tried its hardest to block out what was left of last light. The shops, bars and restaurants, and hotels had all switched on their lights and it was impossible for it not to affect all except for the most hard or cynical. The village had a mountain charm and exclusivity. I could almost feel Charlotte’s happiness radiating from her body where she pressed against me.
    ‘If this keeps up, the skiing tomorrow will be excellent,’ she said. ‘Fresh powder snow is the best.’
    ‘Can we call in on Mrs. Casanova on our way? I asked.
    Charlotte turned sharply and looked at me. ‘So that’s why you wanted to come for dinner,’ she said.
    ‘Have you seen her yet?’ I asked.
    ‘No, not yet,’
    ‘Do you know which chalet she’s in?’
    ‘Yes, it’s just behind ours.’
    ‘Good; well, it’s still early enough for a social call and I’m sure she’ll be pleased to see you; it can’t be easy for her.’
    I felt Charlotte concede. ‘Yes, very well, but just a quick visit.’ There was a pause and then she asked, ‘You don’t think Mr. Casanova is there, do you?’
    ‘No, but I think he’s been in contact, and if I’m right Mrs. Casanova will be anxiously waiting to hear from him again. If he is in danger, and the dead girl back in London suggests he just might be then it’s better for everyone if I get to him quickly before anyone else does.’
    Charlotte’s eyes were still on my face. ‘You think he’s in real danger?’ she asked.
    ‘Perhaps,’ I said. ‘With a large amount of money missing and a strangled girl laid out on a cold, hard slab I think there’s every possibility.’
    Charlotte continued to hold my arm even though she was, by now, perfectly sure footed. The snow fell with a heavy silence and the light dwindled into sinister shapes and pools of darkness. We walked out of the village, between the parked cars