gurgling away to its heart’s content, but now it was silent and cold to the touch. Flinging herself back on the pillow, Lydia assessed her chances of going back to sleep and decided that, what with the risk of frostbite, not to mention the fact that one of her best friends was in bed in the next room with her secret ex-lover, the chances were low.
With a brief, scathing glance at Stephen’s slumbering form, she braced herself and clambered out of bed, deciding to bypass looking for socks and pulling on her ankle boots as soon as her feet hit the icy cold boards. Stealing one of Stephen’s many jumpers off the back of a chair, she tugged it on over her head before finding an official Heron’s Pike dressing gown hanging behind the bathroom door and wrapping it tightly around her. True, she did look a bit like a style-starved Michelin man, but she was warm, which at this point was about the only plus in life she could think of.
Going into the little turret room, Lydia leaned against the windowsill and traced the tip of one fingeralong the lacy film of frost that had formed on the inside of the glass during the night, etching a beautifully symmetrical pattern across the glass. She pulled the towelling sleeve of the dressing gown down over her wrist and rubbed clean a circle of glass with the heel of her hand, then peered through it.
The outside world was silent and still. All signs of life had been muffled under acres of white, but Katy had been right about one thing. This was the perfect location for a hotel. The snowy mountains that bordered the lake looked majestic against the freezing blue sky. They were much bigger and more imposing than Lydia had ever imagined. The lake itself, laced with ice around its shores, stretched into the distance, its dark and calm waters keeping all its secrets under its smooth implacable surface. It was a landscape so raw and untamed that it made Lydia feel tiny – an insignificant scrap of humanity lost in an indifferent wilderness. Well, if you could call it being in a wilderness when you had an en-suite bathroom.
Her watch indicated that it was ten past eight, and yet the house seemed silent. Perhaps everyone had frozen to death in the night, which at least would get her out of any awkwardness over the next few days. More likely, most of them had all consumed at least the same amount of alcohol as her darling boyfriend had last night, and were still sleeping it off. Hugging the dressing gown around her, she set off to findbreakfast, intent on keeping herself busy by boiling, poaching or scrambling something. Preferably, the brains of all the men who had ever wronged her, including the two still sleeping upstairs. But if those weren’t available, then eggs would have to do.
It took a while to find the kitchen, and she only managed to do so by following the sound of Katy’s trademark sanitised swearing that she reverted to whenever the children were around.
‘Banana poops!’ Katy yelled furiously as Lydia walked into the large but seemingly ill-equipped kitchen. Slate flagstones lined the floor, and the units and tiles looked like they would have been the height of fashion circa 1979. All Lydia could see was Katy’s bottom. The rest of her was leaning into the depths of a rather aged-looking Aga.
‘Fat, fat, teddies!’ Katy growled. ‘I knew it. I knew we should have done the kitchen first. Fat, f— f— fat teddies!’
‘It’s not the teddies’ fault they are fat,’ Tilly said, somewhat offended, colouring in what Lydia thought at first was a piece of paper and then realised was the table top. ‘It’s all the honey they have to eat to stay alive.’ She looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Mummy, do teddies go to the dentist?’
‘Twice a year,’ Lydia said calmly, pausing to admire the child’s rather spectacular doodle. ‘Anything I can do to help?’
Katy looked up at her, her usually serene face wrought with distress. ‘Can you install a new boiler? Ours has
With a brief, scathing glance at Stephen’s slumbering form, she braced herself and clambered out of bed, deciding to bypass looking for socks and pulling on her ankle boots as soon as her feet hit the icy cold boards. Stealing one of Stephen’s many jumpers off the back of a chair, she tugged it on over her head before finding an official Heron’s Pike dressing gown hanging behind the bathroom door and wrapping it tightly around her. True, she did look a bit like a style-starved Michelin man, but she was warm, which at this point was about the only plus in life she could think of.
Going into the little turret room, Lydia leaned against the windowsill and traced the tip of one fingeralong the lacy film of frost that had formed on the inside of the glass during the night, etching a beautifully symmetrical pattern across the glass. She pulled the towelling sleeve of the dressing gown down over her wrist and rubbed clean a circle of glass with the heel of her hand, then peered through it.
The outside world was silent and still. All signs of life had been muffled under acres of white, but Katy had been right about one thing. This was the perfect location for a hotel. The snowy mountains that bordered the lake looked majestic against the freezing blue sky. They were much bigger and more imposing than Lydia had ever imagined. The lake itself, laced with ice around its shores, stretched into the distance, its dark and calm waters keeping all its secrets under its smooth implacable surface. It was a landscape so raw and untamed that it made Lydia feel tiny – an insignificant scrap of humanity lost in an indifferent wilderness. Well, if you could call it being in a wilderness when you had an en-suite bathroom.
Her watch indicated that it was ten past eight, and yet the house seemed silent. Perhaps everyone had frozen to death in the night, which at least would get her out of any awkwardness over the next few days. More likely, most of them had all consumed at least the same amount of alcohol as her darling boyfriend had last night, and were still sleeping it off. Hugging the dressing gown around her, she set off to findbreakfast, intent on keeping herself busy by boiling, poaching or scrambling something. Preferably, the brains of all the men who had ever wronged her, including the two still sleeping upstairs. But if those weren’t available, then eggs would have to do.
It took a while to find the kitchen, and she only managed to do so by following the sound of Katy’s trademark sanitised swearing that she reverted to whenever the children were around.
‘Banana poops!’ Katy yelled furiously as Lydia walked into the large but seemingly ill-equipped kitchen. Slate flagstones lined the floor, and the units and tiles looked like they would have been the height of fashion circa 1979. All Lydia could see was Katy’s bottom. The rest of her was leaning into the depths of a rather aged-looking Aga.
‘Fat, fat, teddies!’ Katy growled. ‘I knew it. I knew we should have done the kitchen first. Fat, f— f— fat teddies!’
‘It’s not the teddies’ fault they are fat,’ Tilly said, somewhat offended, colouring in what Lydia thought at first was a piece of paper and then realised was the table top. ‘It’s all the honey they have to eat to stay alive.’ She looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Mummy, do teddies go to the dentist?’
‘Twice a year,’ Lydia said calmly, pausing to admire the child’s rather spectacular doodle. ‘Anything I can do to help?’
Katy looked up at her, her usually serene face wrought with distress. ‘Can you install a new boiler? Ours has
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