‘I don’t need checking out. You’re blood-shot and you’re the one who got buried. You need checking out to make sure you’re not whatsit. Traumatised.’
‘What are they going to do? Give me counselling? Hold my hand? I’m fine, I don’t need checking out. Some snow fell on me and I crawled out. End of story. What about you?’
‘I feel fine. The only thing different is I feel ridiculously horny. Feel this.’
‘Get off. Let me have my bath first.’
‘Do you think it’s like when people feel horny at funerals? Do you think it’s the swish of the scythe? Makes you want to rut? Come here,
‘Get off me, I’m chilled to the bone, Jake. You must be, too. Let me get in the bath first.’
Jake snatched up the phone. ‘I’m going to tell some fucker what happened.’
‘What do you think they’re going to do? Don’t you dare get a doctor for me! Come on, get in the bath with me. I don’t want no doctor shining lights in my eyes. Come on. Afterwards you can do what you want to me.’
So Jake stripped off his ski gear and squeezed into the hot bath along with Zoe, groaning and sighing. They sat face to face in the steam, hugging each other’s knees, letting the heat penetrate and dissolve the chill in their bones.
They sat in silence. With his head resting on Zoe’s knee, Jake seemed to drift off to sleep. At last the water started to cool around them so she shifted him, got out of the bath and wrapped a towel around her. Thinking that maybe she really should at least report their escape to someone, Zoe called reception. The phone rang and rang, but no one picked up. She dried herself and pulled some clothes on, left Jake to soak and went back down in the lift.
The reception was still deserted. There was an old-fashioned bell on the desk, the kind you had to slap with the palm of your hand, but on this occasion it summoned no one. She leaned over the desk and peered into the office behind the reception, and though all was in order, no one was there. She felt slightly queasy.
Her first instincts had been to get warm and to look after Jake, forgetting that her own ordeal had been worse than his. Although he too had been picked up by the avalanche and deposited on the slopes, he’d not been buried alive. Images from the ordeal were starting to return to her mind for the second time since Jake had dug her out of the snow. Her hands were trembling. She got back into the lift and returned to their room.
Jake had gone back to sleep in the bath. She stood in the doorway looking at him and he seemed to sense her presence. He opened his eyes.
‘There’s no one there.’
‘Where?’
‘Downstairs. I just went downstairs. There’s no one there.’
‘Well, the hotel is usually dead at this time, isn’t it? All the guests are out.’
‘What about the staff?’
‘Probably off on a cigarette break.’
She looked doubtful. ‘But they’re not, are they?’
‘Who aren’t what?’
‘The guests. They’re not all out, are they? The slopes are closed.’
‘Well, maybe the avalanche was worse than we thought it was. Maybe everyone is up on the mountain. Helping.’
‘Do you think so? Do you think it was a really bad one?’
‘It was bad enough for us. I mean, I’ve no idea. Maybe we just got caught in a tiny wing of the main avalanche. What can we do?’ He stepped out of the bath and reached for a towel. ‘All we can do is wait until they come back.’
She went through to the bedroom and sat on the bed, twisting her fingers.
Jake appeared wrapped in his towel, his pink skin still steaming slightly from the warmth of the bath. ‘There must be a rule,’ he said, ‘that says a man shouldn’t find his wife so dirty-sexy. Especially after a near-death experience.’
He whipped the towel off and upended her on the bed, lifting her legs in the air. She shrieked, and when he launched himself on top of her she fought back. He winced.
‘My ribs.’
‘Serves you right.’
‘We nearly died! We nearly died. I want to be all over you. Like that avalanche.’
‘Come here.’
‘I’m getting hungry. Where’s that steak, dripping with blood? To hell with the prices, let’s rustle up some room service.’ He studied the menu. ‘What do you want ordering?’
‘Rare steak, yes. Red wine. Anything that’s bad for you.’
He dialled the number for room service. There was no answer, so he dialled the reception desk. No one picked up. ‘Odd.’
‘I told you, there’s no one there. You don’t listen.
He hung on to the phone a while longer. Then with a gentle click he laid the receiver back on its cradle. ‘Let’s get dressed. We can get something at the restaurant.’
On their way to the restaurant, Zoe got an attack of the giggles. She put her hand over her mouth but a pig- snort came out. Jake stopped in the corridor and looked at her, but the quizzical expression on his face only made her worse. Maybe it was hysteria after the close encounter with death, but something made Zoe want to laugh now. Not smile, or giggle, but laugh. The urge to laugh at nothing was uncontrollable.
There was an uninspiring abstract print on the wall near the lift and this made her want to laugh. The silly musical chime of the lift arriving on the third floor made her want to laugh, too. There was something absurd about these vapid decorations that stood in vivid contrast to where she’d just been, upended in the snow. The mirrors in the lift made her want to laugh. The notice about the weight capacity of the lift; the strip of carpet on the floor; the alarm button. It all seemed so ridiculous she wanted to guffaw.
‘What?’ said Jake. ‘What?’
She slammed herself back against the mirror in the lift and howled, convulsing, holding her ribs.
‘No, I’m glad you find it all so amusing,’ said Jake. ‘I do too. Sort of. We nearly died. That’s hugely entertaining. You’re cracked.’
Almost to shut her up he pressed her against the wall of the lift and put his tongue inside her mouth. She felt her own convulsions discharging through Jake, like a power source. She felt him hard against her. They’d only just fucked and he wanted her again. She wanted him again, too.
The lift reached the reception and the doors opened. Zoe pushed him off her, flicked her hair and composed herself before stepping out of the lift.
She needn’t have bothered. There was still nobody there.
They crossed to the reception desk. Jake hit the bell. ‘Shop!’ he shouted, mugging at her.
‘Let’s try the restaurant.’
They passed the neat but vacant concierge’s desk of blond wood and walked through to the hotel restaurant. The dining room was habitually quiet during the daytime, with most of the guests eating there in the evening only, but one or two tables were usually occupied.
Not today.
The lights were up everywhere, but all the tables were empty. A sign at the entrance to the dining room directed guests to wait to be seated by the maitre d’, but there was no maitre d’, and there were no waiters. The restaurant was set perfectly for business: crisp linen table cloths and napkins, heavy crystal wine glasses, silver cutlery, all spotlessly presented. Faint muzak piped overhead.
Jake stood with his hands on his hips. He turned back and forth and then headed towards the kitchens. He stepped through the swing doors, and Zoe followed.
There was no kitchen staff. The clean stainless-steel work surfaces were primed with freshly chopped vegetables and cuts of red meat, all as if ready to be prepared for lunch. On the far side of the kitchen an industrial-sized stainless-steel dishwasher had been loaded with dirty breakfast plates and dishes. Jake opened the door of a giant freezer cabinet and was hit by a blast of cold air. After a quick glance inside he closed the door.
Zoe touched him on the forearm. ‘Do you think we should leave?’
