The snow had finally stopped falling, and now the temperature dropped again, to seal it into a hard crispy coating over the roads and the houses. The white, smoothed-over mountains surrounded the village, deadening all sound, and closing seamlessly with the heavy white sky above them.
Helena finished breakfast and stepped into the lobby to pay her bill. She recognised the complaining tones of Vicky Royle, who appeared to work at the hotel in some sort of lowly capacity, judging by the nylon housecoat she was wearing over her jade green tracksuit that morning, and the fact that she was just in the act of accepting a sheaf of papers from the receptionist. Helena ignored her, just like she would have done at school.
The receptionist was the same pony-tailed girl who had allocated her the room the previous evening. Matt dealt with it all, she said, waving away Helena�s credit card.
Something funny going on there, Vicky Royle said, in a stage whisper to the receptionist.
Helena froze, her eyes fixed on the reddening face of the girl behind the desk. The hormones that fed her fight-or-flight response, instead of being locked into their usual fight position, made her fingers tremble and her tongue feel twice its normal size inside her mouth. Nonetheless, and without considering her actions, she turned slowly to look down at Vicky, who could have matched Helena for height, but instead slouched in her trainers, leaning on the desk.
If there�s something you wanted to share with me, Vicky, I�m listening. She knew from bitter experience that Vicky might not be all that bright, but she had an extra-sensory perception for fear, even when the shake was not audible in one�s voice.
Only the few seconds� pause divulged Vicky�s surprise at being faced down. The idea of you and Matt Hayes playing happy families sickens me, she said, and stalked off, saving Helena the enormous effort of producing a cool response.