sighed.
What he really wanted to do was to
dive back into the annual reports of several international NGOs. Instead he had
to deal with a distributor in India as they tried to regain the market that
they had lost there after the scandal with the film star.
He reread the email from New Dehli.
There were cultural norms he had to respect in his reply, forms of politeness
which took some concentration not to overlook in his efforts to be efficient.
The Pichard clan had inadvertently rubbed enough Indians the wrong way. The
social scandal had been bad enough; the last thing they needed was to be seen
as disrespectful in business as well.
After several aborted attempts to
answer the message he pushed his chair back and stood up, stretching his back.
His usually focused mind was being hijacked today by images of Michelle, some
of them not so innocent. This was ridiculous. He needed a coffee.
On his way out of his office, he
stopped to take in the magnificent view from the windows. His office was on the
top floor of the stately eighteenth century building that housed their main
watch showcase on the first floor. Large windows overlooked the promenade that
ran along Lake Leman. It was a clear, sunny day and he could see across the
lake to the French Alps, covered in snow.
He could imagine the day in
Verbier, the sun glinting on individual snow crystals, making the whole bowl
sparkle. He wished he could be there now, skiing in the afternoon sun, coming
home to curl up by the fire in the evening. Sharing a glass of wine with
Michelle. Watching those green eyes dance.
Five minutes passed as he gazed
unseeingly across the lake before he came to his senses with an unimpressed
snort. He was worse than Stefan.
This was not a winter for pleasure
or creating scandals. He had a business to run. He closed the blinds on the
Alps and continued down the hallway.
Chapter Seven
Switzerland, despite its
flourishing tourist industry, remains a country largely closed to outsiders. A
legacy of generations brought up in closed valleys, the Swiss maintain a solid
loyalty to their peers and a guarded wariness of strangers. Even people from
the next valley, with their slightly different idioms, are considered as
foreigners in the tightly-knit mountain communities.
Coming from abroad, don’t come
to Switzerland expecting to make friends with a lot of locals, unless you plan
to stay for decades. You can, however, expect to make friends within the
dynamic expatriate community, despite the ebb and flow of its members.
The Alps were originally opened
up for alpine tourism by the English, and the ski resorts remain the playground
of foreigners. Once, the British hired local guides and porters. Now the
situation has reversed and the British flock here to work for the Swiss in the
bars and ski shops. The situation pleases both parties, even if never the twain
shall meet. Just don’t come to Verbier hoping to perfect your French.
Kate was curled up on the couch
with a cup of tea, her laptop balanced on her knees. The fire was crackling
cheerfully in readiness for Sebastien and his guests, who were due to arrive
soon.
She reread her column one more
time and then saved it to email later. Her editor had jokingly started calling
her his foreign correspondent, pleased with the positive response the Swiss
series was generating. She enjoyed writing it and loved having the time to
contemplate her immersion in the life of a Swiss ski resort.
Mimi was making sure that Kate
made the most of her time here. This week the two women had gone to the
thermal baths in Saillon to soak in the hot pools while admiring the mountain
views, and then visited the Roman arenas in Martigny on the way back. Kate
loved the contrast between the snowy slopes of Verbier and the vineyards and
sunny villages in the valley bottom nearby.
“Just wait until spring, you’ll be
jaw-dropped,” Emily promised her. “You can ski in a T-shirt with views on icy
glaciers, and then
What he really wanted to do was to
dive back into the annual reports of several international NGOs. Instead he had
to deal with a distributor in India as they tried to regain the market that
they had lost there after the scandal with the film star.
He reread the email from New Dehli.
There were cultural norms he had to respect in his reply, forms of politeness
which took some concentration not to overlook in his efforts to be efficient.
The Pichard clan had inadvertently rubbed enough Indians the wrong way. The
social scandal had been bad enough; the last thing they needed was to be seen
as disrespectful in business as well.
After several aborted attempts to
answer the message he pushed his chair back and stood up, stretching his back.
His usually focused mind was being hijacked today by images of Michelle, some
of them not so innocent. This was ridiculous. He needed a coffee.
On his way out of his office, he
stopped to take in the magnificent view from the windows. His office was on the
top floor of the stately eighteenth century building that housed their main
watch showcase on the first floor. Large windows overlooked the promenade that
ran along Lake Leman. It was a clear, sunny day and he could see across the
lake to the French Alps, covered in snow.
He could imagine the day in
Verbier, the sun glinting on individual snow crystals, making the whole bowl
sparkle. He wished he could be there now, skiing in the afternoon sun, coming
home to curl up by the fire in the evening. Sharing a glass of wine with
Michelle. Watching those green eyes dance.
Five minutes passed as he gazed
unseeingly across the lake before he came to his senses with an unimpressed
snort. He was worse than Stefan.
This was not a winter for pleasure
or creating scandals. He had a business to run. He closed the blinds on the
Alps and continued down the hallway.
Chapter Seven
Switzerland, despite its
flourishing tourist industry, remains a country largely closed to outsiders. A
legacy of generations brought up in closed valleys, the Swiss maintain a solid
loyalty to their peers and a guarded wariness of strangers. Even people from
the next valley, with their slightly different idioms, are considered as
foreigners in the tightly-knit mountain communities.
Coming from abroad, don’t come
to Switzerland expecting to make friends with a lot of locals, unless you plan
to stay for decades. You can, however, expect to make friends within the
dynamic expatriate community, despite the ebb and flow of its members.
The Alps were originally opened
up for alpine tourism by the English, and the ski resorts remain the playground
of foreigners. Once, the British hired local guides and porters. Now the
situation has reversed and the British flock here to work for the Swiss in the
bars and ski shops. The situation pleases both parties, even if never the twain
shall meet. Just don’t come to Verbier hoping to perfect your French.
Kate was curled up on the couch
with a cup of tea, her laptop balanced on her knees. The fire was crackling
cheerfully in readiness for Sebastien and his guests, who were due to arrive
soon.
She reread her column one more
time and then saved it to email later. Her editor had jokingly started calling
her his foreign correspondent, pleased with the positive response the Swiss
series was generating. She enjoyed writing it and loved having the time to
contemplate her immersion in the life of a Swiss ski resort.
Mimi was making sure that Kate
made the most of her time here. This week the two women had gone to the
thermal baths in Saillon to soak in the hot pools while admiring the mountain
views, and then visited the Roman arenas in Martigny on the way back. Kate
loved the contrast between the snowy slopes of Verbier and the vineyards and
sunny villages in the valley bottom nearby.
“Just wait until spring, you’ll be
jaw-dropped,” Emily promised her. “You can ski in a T-shirt with views on icy
glaciers, and then
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