A Twist in the Tale Read online

  “What?” I said, a little too loudly, glancing up from the previous day’s Times.

  “The siren, silly. There must have been an accident on the mountain. Probably Travers,” she said.

  “Travers?” I said, even more loudly.

  “Patrick Travers. I saw him at the bar last night. I didn’t mention it to you because I know you don’t care for him.”

  “But why Travers?” I asked nervously.

  “Doesn’t he always claim he’s the first on the slope every morning? Even beats the instructors up to the top.”

  “Does he?” I said.

  “You must remember. We were going up for the first time the day we met him when he was already on his third run.”

  “Was he?”

  “You are being dim this morning, Edward. Did you get out of bed on the wrong side?” she asked, laughing.

  I didn’t reply.

  “Well, I only hope it is Travers,” Caroline added, sipping her coffee. “I never did like the man.”

  “Why not?” I asked somewhat taken back.

  “He once made a pass at me,” she said casually.

  I stared across at her, unable to speak.

  “Aren’t you going to ask what happened?”

  “I’m so stunned I don’t know what to say,” I replied.

  “He was all over me at the gallery that night and then invited me out to lunch after we had dinner with him. I told him to get lost,” Caroline said. She touched me gently on the hand. “I’ve never mentioned it to you before because I thought it might have been the reason he returned the Vuillard, and that only made me feel guilty.”

  “But it’s me who should feel guilty,” I said, fumbling with a piece of toast.

  “Oh, no, darling, you’re not guilty of anything. In any case, if I ever decided to be unfaithful it wouldn’t be with a lounge lizard like that. Good heavens no. Diana had already warned me what to expect from him. Not my style at all.”

  I sat there thinking of Travers on his way to a morgue or, even worse, still buried under the snow, knowing there was nothing I could do about it.

  “You know, I think the time really has come for you to tackle the A-slope,” Caroline said as we finished breakfast. “Your skiing has improved beyond words.”

  “Yes,” I replied, more than a little preoccupied.

  I hardly spoke another word as we made our way together to the foot of the mountain.

  “Are you all right, darling?” Caroline asked as we traveled up on the lift side by side.

  “Fine,” I said, unable to look down into the ravine as we reached the highest point. Was Travers still down there, or already in the morgue?

  “Stop looking like a frightened child. After all the work you’ve put in this week I know you’re more than ready to join me,” she said reassuringly.

  I smiled weakly. When we reached the top, I jumped off the ski lift just a moment too early, and knew immediately I took my second step that I had sprained an ankle.

  I received no sympathy from Caroline. She was convinced I was putting it on in order to avoid attempting the advanced run. She swept past me and sped on down the mountain while I returned in ignominy via the lift. When I reached the bottom I glanced toward the engineer but he didn’t give me a second look. I hobbled over to the first aid post and checked in. Caroline joined me a few minutes later.

  I explained to her that the duty orderly thought it might be a fracture and it had been suggested I report to the hospital immediately.

  Caroline frowned, removed her skies and went off to find a taxi to take us to the hospital. It wasn’t a long journey but it was one the taxi driver evidently had done many times before from the way he took the slippery bends.

  “I ought to be able to dine out on this for about a year,” Caroline promised me as we entered the double doors of the hospital.

  “Would you be kind enough to wait outside, madam?” asked a male orderly as I was ushered into the X-ray room.

  “Yes, if I must, but will I ever see my poor husband again?” she mocked as the door was closed in front of her.

  I entered a room full of sophisticated machinery presided over by an expensively dressed doctor. I told him what I thought was wrong with me and he lifted the offending foot gently up onto an X-ray machine. Moments later he was studying the large negative.

  “There’s no fracture there,” he assured me, pointing to the bone. “But if you are still in any pain it might be wise for me to bind the ankle up tightly.” The doctor then pinned my X-ray next to a set of others hanging from a rail.

  “Am I the sixth person already today?” I asked, looking up at the row of X-rays.

  “No, no,” he said, laughing. “The other five are all of the same man. I think he must have tried to fly over the ravine, the fool.”

  “Over the ravine?”

  “Yes, showing off, I suspect,” he said as he began to bind my ankle. “We get one every year but this poor fellow broke both his legs and an arm, and will have a nasty scar on his face to remind him of his stupidity. Lucky to be alive in my opinion.”

  “Lucky to be alive?” I repeated weakly.

  “Yes, but only because he didn’t know what he was doing. My fourteen-year-old skis over that ravine and can land like a seagull on water. He, on the other hand,” the doctor pointed to the X-rays, “won’t be skiing again this holiday. In fact, he won’t be walking for the next six months.”

  “Really?” I said.

  “And as for you,” he added, after he finished binding me up, “just rest the ankle in ice every three hours and change the bandage once a day. You should be back on the slopes again in a couple of days, three at the most.”

  “We’re flying home this evening,” I told him as I gingerly got to my feet.

  “Good timing,” he said, smiling.

  I hobbled happily out of the X-ray room to find Caroline, head down in Elle.

  “You look pleased with yourself,” she said, looking up.

  “I am. It turns out to be nothing worse than two broken legs, a broken arm and a scar on the face.”

  “How stupid of me,” said Caroline, “I thought it was a simple sprain.”

  “Not me,” I told her. “Travers—the accident this morning, you remember? The ambulance. Still, they assure me he’ll live,” I added.

  “Pity,” she said, linking her arm through mine. “After all the trouble you took, I was rather hoping you’d succeed.”

  THE LOOPHOLE

  “THAT ISN’T THE version I heard,” said Philip.

  One of the club members seated at the bar glanced round at the sound of raised voices, but when he saw who was involved, only smiled and continued his conversation.

  The Haslemere Golf Club was fairly crowded that Saturday morning. And just before lunch it was often difficult to find a seat in the spacious clubhouse.

  Two of the members had already ordered their second round and settled themselves in the alcove overlooking the first hole long before the room began to fill up. Philip Masters and Michael Gilmour had finished their Saturday morning game earlier than usual and now seemed engrossed in conversation.

  “And what did you hear?” asked Michael Gilmour quietly, but in a voice that carried.

  “That you weren’t altogether blameless in the matter.”

  “I most certainly was,” said Michael. “What are you suggesting?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything,” said Philip. “But don’t forget, you can’t fool me. I employed you myself once and I’ve known you for far too long to accept everything you say at face value.”

  “I wasn’t trying to fool anyone,” said Michael. “It’s common knowledge that I lost my job. I’ve never suggested otherwise.”

  “Agreed. But what isn’t common knowledge is how you lost your job and why you haven’t been able to find a new one.”

  “I haven’t been able to find a new one for the simple reason jobs aren’t that easy to come by at the moment. And by the way, it’s