Dead Men Don't Ski Page 5

  It is, of course, traditional for ski instructors to be handsome. But Pietro was outstanding even among ski instructors. He was tall and spare, with a classically perfect face burnt nut-brown by the sun: his eyes were as dark and blue as sapphires: when he smiled, his teeth glistened whitely—and he smiled a great deal. Henry could detect at once a family likeness to the ill-fated Giulio—but whereas the latter's hair had been black, Pietro was as blond as a Botticelli angel, his hair burnished and glinting in the sunshine.

  "Good afternoon," said this vision, in excellent English. "I am Pietro, your instructor. May I have your ski school cards, please, so I may learn your names?"

  So the first lesson began. To start with, Pietro made them climb laboriously up a small mound on their skis, standing sideways to the slope, and tramping up, ski above ski, until their leg muscles ached. Then he showed them how to balance on their skis, how to bend their knees and throw their weight forward. After this, he invited them to follow him down the gentle incline. One by one they launched themselves, gathered speed, flailed the air wildly with their sticks, and sat down—all except Jimmy, that is f who remained upright not so much from a natural aptitude at skiing as from an extreme sense of caution which prevented him from moving at all. This was in sharp contrast to Caro, who launched out fiercely, and maintained a fairly good position at speed for some three seconds before she came gallantly to grief, head-first. Fraulein Knipfer, who had been having lessons for nearly a week, was obviously a ragged mass of nerves and hated every minute of it.

  "Courage, Fraulein! Faster! Faster!" shouted Pietro encouragingly, in German. The poor girl made a stab at the snow with her sticks in a half-hearted effort to increase her speed, and promptly fell over. Henry began to feel sorry for Pietro, whose patience seemed inexhaustible. They were all pretty bad, he reflected, but after all it was only their first day. He could see already that by to-morrow they would have left the fraulein behind, simply because she was too pathetically frightened even to try to learn.

  After a few more runs, it became clear that Caro, with her blithe abandon, was going to be the star pupil of the class.

  "Bravo, Miss Caro! "Pietro called, as she took the little hill far too fast, and then attempted a turn at the bottom, Caro somersaulted into soft snow. "You are impatient, Miss Caro. That we learn to-morrow."Clearly, Pietro was delighted.

  Jimmy remained caution personified.

  "You too need courage, Mister Jimmy," said Pietro, which made Jimmy furious.

  "I'm not nearly as bad as the Knipfer girl," he whispered crossly to Henry. Jimmy had been utterly confident that there was really nothing difficult about skiing, that one only needed enthusiasm and the rest would come easily. It was not working out like that.

  "Bend ze knees," shouted Pietro. "Lean forward. Mister Jimmy ... no, no, not to stick out behind..."

  "I'll get it right if it kills me,"remarked Jimmy, emerging like a snowman from a soft bank which he had just entered headfirst. He went on doggedly practising while the others were having their turns.

  Henry turnea out to have the makings of a good, steady, average skier. "A little more coraggio, a little more to concentrate, and we will make you ski good, Mister Henry," said Pietro—more kindly, Henry felt, than he deserved. Then they all climbed the tiny hill to try it again.

  So, during the first afternoon, the commonplace miracle occurred. Three pairs of feet (it is impossible, alas, to include Fraulein Knipfer's) had started the lesson convinced that never, never would these great, unwieldy planks be anything but sharp, skiddy death-traps: and by four o'clock, these same feet had learned to accept and use their skis, as practical and delightful extensions of their own function: and each of the beginners had experienced, even if only for a brief moment, the quiet glory of a smooth, swift, silent descent.

  The lesson over, they returned to the hotel in high spirits, feeling like veterans already.

  "I," announced Caro, her mouth full of cream cake, "am madly in love with Pietro."

  "Don't be so conventional. It doesn't suit you," said Jimmy, a little acidly. "It's frightfully suburban to fall for your ski instructor. And anyway, I think he's conceited."

  Caro was up in arms at once. "Why must you always pick on anyone I like" she said, warmly. "You'd be conceited if you were as beautiful as that and skied like an angel and—" She stopped suddenly in mid-sentence, and said in quite a different tone, "Wherever can Roger be?"

  "He went off with Colonel Buckfast," said Henry. "I daresay they'll be back soon."

  "The Colonel's back already," said Caro. She got up and went over to the window. Sure enough, there was the Colonel, skis on shoulder, heading for the little lean-to ski-store at the back of the hotel.

  "Oh, for heaven's sake, don't panic, Caro," said Jimmy, easily. "Roger can look after himself."

  Caro said nothing, but stood looking out of the window at the Colonel's backview as it retreated through the dusk.

  A moment later, Emmy and Mrs. Buckfast arrived, having come up on the lift together.

  "Wonderful, wonderful," said Emmy, throwing,herself into a chair. Her cheeks were glowing, and her short black hair glistened with still-unmelted snow. "Darling, I'm a bit better than I thought I was. I'm to be promoted to Class Three to-morrow. We did Run One twice, and the second time I only fell once. How did you get on?"

  "I fell twenty-five times," said Henry, with a touch of pride. "I counted."

  "Damn it, I forgot to count," said Jimmy. "I bet I beat you, though."

  "Caro's the prodigy of our class," said Henry. "She's going to be really good."

  "And guess what," added Jimmy, "She's fallen in love with—"

  "Don't tell me—the ski instructor."Emmy laughed. "Caro, how could you?"

  Caro wheeled round from the window. "I wish you'd all shut up," she said. Abruptly, she walked over to the door, and almost collided with Colonel Buckfast. To everybody's surprise, she grabbed his arm.

  "Colonel Buckfast," she said, "where's Roger?"

  "Young Staines? Not a bad skier. Not bad at all. Could have used him in the Team in the old days, with a spot of training. Mad about speed, of course, like all the youngsters. We ended up with a shot at Run Three, and we did it.. • not very well, but we did it."

  "But where is he?"Caro persisted.

  "I can tell you where he is," said Emmy. "He's having tea at the Olympia."

  "By himself?" asked Caro, rather too loudly.

  Emmy glanced at Henry. "No," she said. "He's with Fritz Hauser. They must have met in the village. I saw them going in there together while I was waiting for the lift up."

  "So there you are, silly," said Jimmy. "The precious boy friend's sate and sound, if in dubious company."

  Caro had gone rather white, but she managed a smile, and said, "I'm sorry. I'll go and have a bath, I think."And she ran upstairs.

  "What a fidget that girl is,"remarked Mrs. Buckfast. "I only hope she doesn't take all the hot water." She produced a sheaf of picture postcards from her enormous handbag, and began to write energetically.

  Half an hour later, Roger came up on the lift, greeted the others shortly, and went up to his room to change. It was not until after seven that Henry saw Hauser picking his way, delicately as a cat, up the path, having presumably come up at the last possible moment, before the lift stopped for the night.

  Dinner that evening was an uneasy meal, owing to the fact that Roger and Caro were obviously quarrelling. Not all Jimmy's breeziness or Emmy's determined good humour could gloss over the fact that Roger's handsome face was set in lines of stubborn bad temper, or that Caro was ominously silent. The Baroness and Franco di Santi were now sharing a table and a degree of warm intimacy which was in itself enough to cause a pang of disquiet to anyone who remembered the harsh face under the Tyrolean hat at Innsbruck. Only the Knipfers, the Buckfasts and Hauser appeared quite at ease. Mrs. Buckfast was well in her stride, complaining successively of cold soup, tough veal and a draught, while the Colonel withdrew into
his own cocoon of silence, happily re-living the day's sport: Hauser ate with rapid, finicky movements, like a bird, speaking to no-one, and again claimed Fraulein Knipfer as a dancing partner in the bar afterwards.

  Roger and Caro both disappeared after dinner. At nine o'clock, Jimmy said, "What on earth are those two doing? I'm going to look for them."

  He went out of the bar, and returned in a few minutes with both of them in tow. To Henry's relief, they seemed to be on better terms than they had been at dinner.

  "What have you been up to?" asked Emmy, smilingly. "Secret skiing practice? Or something more sinister?"

  "Of course not," said Roger, shortly.

  "I'll vouch for them," said Jimmy. "All very innocent. I found them playing pencil and paper games, of all things."

  Caro only stayed long enough to have a cup of coffee, and then went off to bed. Jimmy drank brandy and tried to flirt, in excruciating Italian, with Anna, the barmaid. Roger talked skiing to the Colonel, while Mrs. Buckfast did her knitting. Maria-Pia and Franco sat at a table in the corner, speaking very little. Even when Gerda, the children's fraulein, came downstairs in a severely simple black dress, and Roger persuaded her to dance, the Baroness apparently did not even notice. Henry and Emmy, alone at the table, grinned at each other.

  "Any clues, Mr. Holmes?" said Emmy.

  "Too easy," said Henry. "I'm just waiting for something to happen. Meanwhile let's forget it and enjoy ourselves."

  They did.

  Life at the Bella Vista soon fell into a pleasant pattern. Breakfast at nine, ski school from ten till twelve, lunch and ski-talk until two-thirty, more skiing until half-past four. Then came tea at the Olympia—after a few days even the beginners were tumbling and slithering down Run One to the village—and the final ride up to the Bella Vista for drinks, dinner and dancing.

  On the fourth night, the snow fell: and over the new, light, powdery surface, even Class One began to feel well on the way to becoming expert. They had learnt, now, to snow-plough—putting the tips of their skis together to slow down or stop: and to do stem turns by transferring the weight to one foot or the other in the snow-plough position. They had experienced the fascinating, muscle-aching sensation of traversing diagonally across and down a steep slope ("Lean out from the mountain ... out into the valley, Mister Henry. 4 . watch as Miss Caro does it... and BEND ZE KNEES..."). Now they were tackling the sideslip-skidding sideways down icy slopes, their skis flat against the mountain-side—defying, as it seemed to them, all the laws of nature and gravity by leaning outwards over the valley to maintain their balance. This proved the most difficult manoeuvre they had yet encountered, and they all fell many times ("That is not side-slip, Mister Jimmy ... that is back-slide..."Pietro laughed hugely at his small standard repertoire of English witticisms).

  Fraulein Knipfer, following a long and earnest talk with Pietro after ski school one day, had left the class and embarked on private lessons with a middle-aged and lugubrious instructor called Giovanni—much to the relief of the others. Every day, the two incongruous figures could be seen on the gentle slopes near the hotel, Giovanni proceeding downhill at tortoise-pace, with the facial expression of a bored bloodhound, while the girl—rigid with nerves and misery—came tumbling clumsily after him.

  On Friday evening, after their fifth day of skiing, the English party were surprised and pleased to find Pietro in the bar of the Bella Vista when they came out from dinner. He was chatting over a drink with Fritz Hauser, who had dined early: but on the arrival of the English, the little German moved away to join the Knipfers. Pietro beamed.

  "I eat at home, and come up before the ski lift finish," he explained. "To-night is full moon, so I may ski down when I wish."

  After waltzing politely with Emmy, Pietro proceeded to monopolise Caro for the rest of the evening. She was in high spirits, and obviously revelled in the flattering attentions of the handsome young instructor. Roger, apparently in no way put out, disappeared upstairs and came back about ten minutes later with a protesting Gerda, whom he insisted must make up the party.

  As usual, Maria-Pia and Franco went up to bed early. They had made no attempt to join in the dancing, but had been sitting at a remote table, talking earnestly, Henry thought that they both looked extremely worried, and even frightened, and he noticed that they both glanced frequently in Hauser's direction.

  Everybody else, however, succumbed to the general air of gaiety, and stayed up late. Fritz Hauser danced energetically with Fraulein Knipfer, and the two elder Knipfers surprised everybody by taking the floor and giving an extremely competent demonstration of the Viennese waltz. Roger danced with Gerda, only once or twice glancing sharply at Caro and Pietro, who were swaying cheek to cheek, oblivious to everyone else in the room. Hauser and the Knipfers finally went up to bed soon after one o'clock, but the party went on. Henry, like everyone else, drank rather too much grappa, and he was glad that it was Pietro and not he who was setting out on the moonlight run to Santa Chiara at half-past two in the morning. They all turned out in the bitter cold to speed him on his way.

  There was something ghostly but breathtakingly beautiful about the mountains glimmering in the icy moonlight, and it was good to see the lights of the village twinkling reassuringly from the valley. Joining the village and the hotel, the ski-lift made a slender rope of light—for after dark a single lamp was switched on at each pylon, throwing out a warm, yellow circle of illumination on to the blue-white snow. Pietro snapped on his skis and set off. They strained to watch his graceful, rapid figure as it disappeared into the trees, appeared again briefly where the piste crossed underneath the chair-lift, and finally plunged out of sight into the woods below.

  The next morning, they all woke up with slight hangovers, and skied rather worse than usual in consequence: otherwise, there was no intimation of impending disaster. Which was strange.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The day passed like any other, marked only by small incidents which took on a significance—merited or otherwise—in the light of what followed.

  At breakfast, Hauser called for Signor Rossati and asked for his bill. He would leave, he said, by the last train that evening, but was going down into Santa Chiara during the morning and did not expect to return to the hotel. The Baroness, as usual, breakfasted in her room; but on his way to fetch his skis, Henry noticed her with Hauser in the deserted bar, talking rapidly and with much emotional gesture. She looked up as Henry passed the door, and he caught again the same expression of panic that he had seen on the train. A moment later, Franco di Santi came out of the kitchen with two packed lunches under his arm, and called her away. Henry was still waxing his skis when the two of them came into the shed. They collected their skis, and went off together without a word.

  Pietro was talking to Mario at the top of the lift when the class assembled. He saw them, put his arm round his father's shoulders for a moment in a curiously protective gesture, and then came over with his usual greeting— "Bon giorno ... come sta? All very good today, I think Not too much grappa last night, Mister Henry?"

  "Far too much," said Henry, miserably.

  "Then we start with easy thing ... first we side-slip."

  "Oh, no,"groaned the class.

  "Miss Caro will show us first if she side-slip as well as she dance," said Pietro, with a flashing smile. "We go this way."And off they went.

  Roger and Colonel Buckfast waved them good-bye as they passed. They were taking advantage of the excellent snow conditions, and tackling the Immenfeld run, which had just been officially declared open. This long and difficult run took them over the Austrian border into the little resort village of Immenfeld, whence they would return by train.

  Gerda and the children set off down Run Three.,, Emmy took the lift down to join her class, which was headed for a day's skiing on the Alpe Rosa run, on the other side of the village. On the terrace of the Bella Vista, Mrs. Buckfast sat knitting with dedicated concentration, as far away as possible from the Knipfers, who were munc
hing milk chocolate in unsmiling unison. Their daughter, wobbling unhappily on her expensive hickory skis, contrived to fall down twice on the path from the hotel to the lift, where Giovanni was waiting for her. The sun sparkled on the snow* It was a perfectly ordinary morning.

  At lunch-time, Henry announced that he really must do some shopping. "I'll lunch down here in Santa Chiara," he said, " and join you afterwards. If I'm late, don't wait for me. I'll find you somewhere."

  He bought cigarettes, razor blades and postcards from Signura Vespi's shop, and then, feeling rather daring, he lunched in the Bar Schmidt, where he was received with cold and curious glances from the villagers. Afterwards, he took the bus to Montelunga, the little town farther down the valley. At half-past four, when the rest of the class assembled in the Olympia for tea, they found him waiting for them, munching Eclairs and apologising for his laziness.

  "You missed a perfectly heavenly afternoon," said Caro. "We did Run One twice, and it was divine."

  "All make good progress now," said Pietro, who had come in with them, as he usually did. "A very good class."

  "Pietro says we can start on stem cristies to-morrow,"Caro added.

  "Not to-morrow—Monday," said Jimmy. "It's Sunday to-morrow, no ski school. Thanks, I'd love another cake. More coffee, Caro my beauty?"

  "In a minute," said Caro. "I'm going to powder my nose."

  She went off to the cloakroom, and Pietro made his way to the bar to buy cigarettes.

  Left alone with Henry, Jimmy said: "What do you think of young Caro's behaviour?"

  "How do you mean?" Henry asked.

  Jimmy nodded slightly towards the bar. "Pietro," he said. M She's making an absolute ass of herself, if you ask me.

  "I don't think it's anything too serious," said Henry. "After all, she's very young."

  Jimmy was silent for a moment. Then he said, "She certainly has an infallible instinct for getting herself involved with the wrong people."