About the Author

KAREN ALDOUS enjoys village life on the edge of the North Downs in Kent with easy access to the buzz of London. Not only does she love the passive pleasures of reading and writing but also craves more active pursuits such as walking, cycling and skiing – especially when they involve family, friends, food, and … wine!

Much of Karen’s inspiration comes from her travels. The UK, France, Switzerland and USA are just some of the places you’ll be transported to in her books, but wherever she goes, new characters invite themselves into ‘Karen’s World’ screaming at her to tell their stories; strong independent women who are capable of directing their own lives but struggle to control them … especially when temptation strikes!

As a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association and The Write Place, Karen feels she owes so much of her success to the love and support of her fellow writers.

You can follow Karen on Twitter at @KarenAldous_

Also by Karen Aldous

The Vineyard

The Chateau

The Riviera

One Moment at Sunrise

Under A Tuscan Sky

Five Ladies Go Skiing
KAREN ALDOUS

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

Copyright © Karen Aldous 2018

Karen Aldous asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © November 2018 ISBN: 9780008302672

Version: 2018-10-31

PRAISE FOR KAREN ALDOUS

‘A story of relationships, love and the importance of family, a romantic tale that leaves the reader with a glow.’

Postcard Reviews

‘I could have been lost in this book for months on end and I wouldn’t have noticed the days slipping by …’

Becca’s Books

‘Light, easy to read and entertaining, perfect for a summer holiday read.’

Portybelle

‘A perfect book for these final summer days, to indulge in with a glass of wine or two.’

Paris Baker (Amazon Reviewer)

‘Escapism with more than a touch of reality … Karen Aldous is an author that you need on “auto order”!’

Crooks on Books

‘A great holiday read – quick, easy and entertaining!’

Ginger Cat Blog

‘Gloriously escapist, wonderfully entertaining and absolutely impossible to put down! Sure to appeal to fans of Cathy Kelly and Erica James.’

Bookish Jottings

‘Fascinating, heartwarming, engaging, romantic and utterly compelling.’

Sparkly Words

To Lynette & Stephen, Christine & Nigel, Sally and Peter

With Love

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Also by Karen Aldous

Title Page

Copyright

Praise for Karen Aldous

Dedication

Meet the Girls – Preparing for Switzerland

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Twelve Months Later

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

Dear Reader

Dear Reader

About the Publisher

MEET THE GIRLS – Preparing for Switzerland
Ginny

As Ginny stepped out into the dining area, the candlelit festive dining table caught her breath. She shuddered at the sting in the backs of her eyes.

‘Oh, it’s …’ The amber flickering mixed with the sparkle of the decorations toyed with her emotions. They looked almost too cheerful. ‘It’s gorgeous,’ she said, blinking away those brimming tears. Her daughter Rachel and daughter-in-law Clemmie had laid it beautifully, and Ginny’s heart swelled at the effort each of her children and in-laws, even the grandchildren, had made on this difficult day: their first Christmas without their father and grandfather. It just didn’t feel right to enjoy Christmas without him.

The family waited in silence for her to be seated, watching as she wiped a stray tear from her face and pulled on a band at the back of her head, unleashing her mane of shoulder-length hair that she had tied back before preparing dinner.

‘You’ve all made such an effort. Thank you,’ she said smiling at each of them as she nestled in the chair and smoothed her hair. ‘OK, let’s enjoy,’ she added, grateful for their input. Thank goodness Rachel and Ross had helped in the kitchen getting everything into the right serving dishes. The morning had been manic. In fact, the whole week had. It had been a rush trying to fit everything in before her ski trip to Switzerland. The effort involved in getting time off work for a hair appointment, getting to the farm shop for the last-minute veg, fruit and salad, cleaning the house, cooking the meats and prepping in readiness for the family’s arrival had all proved to be worth it. She had forgotten just how much Mike used to contribute to helping around the house, particularly at Christmas and family gatherings. He always prepped the veg and was a dab hand at juggling the food around in the fridge so that beers and wine would fit in. They were small things that counted in a big way.

She heaved out a sigh. At least they were all together. She raised her Prosecco-filled glass, first to her daughter Rachel and son Ross who sat either side of her, then to the others.

‘Well, shall we …?’ Ginny waited for each of her family to pick up a filled glass or, in the children’s case, plastic flutes of lemonade.

‘Merry Christmas, Mum,’ Rachel cheered in unison with Ross, and Ginny’s eyes glistened mirroring theirs, her gaze flicking quickly to their partners and children gathered around the festive-food-filled table.

‘Hope you’re feeling our cheer, Dad,’ Rachel hailed, peering out of the window and up at the grey sky. ‘We miss you loads but we’ll always cherish our lovely memories. Merry Christmas.’

‘Absolutely,’ Ginny rushed in after a gulp of the bubbly, trying again to steel herself against the constant burning in the backs of her eyes; but then catching a glimpse of Rachel’s lips quivering, a sudden gasp escaped her throat. ‘Me … merry Ch … Christmas, Mike.’ It was only the third time they had all been together since Mike’s passing but it wasn’t getting any easier.

Ross reached for his mother’s wrist, his caring green-grey eyes, so like his father’s, misting. ‘You OK, Mum?’

Ginny reached for her napkin, holding back sobs as five-year-old Tommy, Rachel’s eldest, gazed at her, concerned. ‘Yes, yes. I’ll be all right. Truly. I knew it would be tough. Our first Christmas without him. I know it’s difficult for all of you too.’

‘I miss Grandad,’ Tommy said. ‘He’s going to miss me opening my presents.’

A symphony of swallowing and gasping sounds resonated around the table and, like her mother, the petite Rachel grabbed her napkin and wiped her eyes as she turned to her son. ‘I know, darling, but he’s here in spirit. We just have to deal with the rest.’ She turned to the empty chair then back to her son. ‘We’ll get used to it; we have to. Come on, there’s a good boy, get your dinner.’

Ross leaned back, nervously rubbing his four-year-old daughter Amelia’s back and faced his mother. ‘If you don’t mind, Mum,’ he said hesitantly, ‘I’d like to ring you on Monday, the twenty-eighth, the anniversary. A bit selfish I know, but I just want to know that you’re all right.’

‘Me too,’ Rachel added, gently squeezing her mother’s hand.

Fighting yet another lump in her throat, Ginny smiled as she glanced at each of her children. An image of Mike amused her. It was one from years ago when he was teasing Ross’s friends that the Friends comedy characters were named after his kids. As much as she wondered and tortured herself about what Mike may or may not have done, he was still their children’s dad and they had loved him unconditionally and were both coping so well with his loss. The urge to jump up and kiss them both became overwhelming.

‘My cherubs, of course, I won’t mind. That would be lovely, thank you. Both of you. It’s a major step for all of us and if it helps you too, then even better. I remember when my dad died, it took me ages to come to terms with it. Just hearing Louis Armstrong sing “Wonderful World” on the radio would start me off. For some reason I coped with Grandma’s passing better. I’ve read though, that the first anniversary of a beloved’s death can be a turning point, so let’s hope so. We’ll never forget Dad, but we all have to move on.’ She blinked at her own words. ‘I’ve been thinking about having some sort of memorial that day, to help.’

Rachel looked aghast. ‘Not on your own.’

‘No. With the girls.’ Ginny clenched her teeth. ‘All of us, I’m sure they won’t mind. We may need a rest from the skiing by then anyway. That’s if I even get on the slopes.’ Ginny gave a snort, realising the impression her negativity would give. Her usual self-doubts crept in. ‘Oh, please don’t let on to the girls, but I’m petrified.’

‘Oh, Mum, I thought you were.’ Rachel gazed at her mother with concern. ‘You know, there’s still time to change your mind, although I think it’s a perfect distraction, a great idea to challenge yourself as well as have fun with your friends.’

Ginny slid her knife beneath a slice of succulent white turkey and laid it gently onto her plate. ‘No. No, I wouldn’t – couldn’t – let my friends down. They’ve organised this all on my behalf. I’m really touched that they care so much. So, no. I’m determined to throw myself into it. And, I’m exaggerating. It will be a new challenge, and I’m sure the girls will expect me to organise something to remember Dad. Angie even suggested it at one point. I don’t want the trip to be miserable though. Just a toast at a meal or something. I’m not really sure if there will be anywhere suitable, but once we’re there, hopefully I’ll find a place I think is right and I’ll ask the girls. I’m sure they won’t mind. Like you, they’ll think it fitting that we remember him.’

Ginny flinched as one of the red candles in the centre of the table flickered. She would never get used to losing Mike despite her need to question him. She missed him terribly. And it was incomprehensible that he was taken at just sixty-one. Was it punishment for his misdemeanour? Not that she could ever know anything now. His words would echo, possibly haunt forever, but no explanation would ever be spoken. All she knew was that she needed closure and the determination to stop tormenting herself and wallowing in self-pity.

‘Your hair looks really good by the way. I like the new shorter fringe,’ Rachel said, brushing her fingers through a spring of Ginny’s bouncy highlighted hair. ‘You’re looking amazingly fit too. You must have worked really hard preparing. You remind me of that … oh, what’s her name, the Sex and the City woman, er … Kim Cattrall. That’s the one. Don’t be surprised if you pull on the slopes.’

‘Don’t be daft. I’m almost sixty not sixteen.’ Ginny laughed, but was thankful to be side-tracked from the incessant niggling that festered in her mind. ‘But, I’m flattered. Thank you. It’s been hard work and I pray that I’ve done enough to get me through the week. I’m apprehensive about skiing, yes, but I’m really looking forward to having some fun with the girls. The timing’s perfect and I’m certainly glad to be away from that office. I was tempted to walk out on Thursday.’

Ginny shook her head and scrunched her nose. ‘It’s not a nice place to work, but I thought of today, with all of you, and the week away with my all my friends. The break will be the tonic I need. Maybe I’ll look at the job differently when I get back.’

Kim

Sheltering from the late afternoon sun under a canvas canopy Kim Anderson drained the last of the tepid tea from her mug, knowing she should get on with her packing. It was naughty to be lazy, naughty and nice and something she rarely did. And why not? The Perth heat was intense and there was nothing more refreshing after a day on her feet at the hospital than a cool dip in the pool and then that priceless slot of the day slumbering for an hour in the shade, gorging on colours and the heady scents of the rose garden before Will, her husband, returned from work.

In fact, today she would savour it that little bit more just because she could. Will would be another two hours. She had suspended Lena, her personal trainer, for two weeks over Christmas and whilst she was away skiing. The break, she envisaged, would give her time to decide if she should actually continue. Although the sessions had produced a body she had always yearned for, it had been gruelling these last few months, so she deserved a treat.

The pile of ironing in the laundry room could lounge for another half hour despite the fact she couldn’t wait to seal up her travel bags and be on her way to Europe. So far from Australia, and so much cooler this time of year, but she took comfort and warmth knowing that she would very soon be with Mai, one of her twin daughters, for Christmas Day. Mai was staying with Kim’s friend and former colleague, Tandy, in her home by Lake Geneva. After that Kim would meet up with her besties – Ginny, Cathy, Lou and Angie – for a whole week together. And skiing.

The skiing was irrelevant. An excuse. It was time with her old buddies that her heart yearned for. Since the twins left, a wound had opened up inside her. Kim indulged herself among the roses. Her home served as a place for sleeping, eating, storing belongings and washing clothes. Although beautiful, with every consumable imaginable, its heart had been ripped out when Avril and Mai flew off to study in Europe four years ago. It only came alive every Christmas.

After her friend Ginny lost her husband Mike, Ginny had come to stay a month and they spent hours chatting and consuming buckets of wine in the rose garden – Kim’s refuge.

Waking from her reverie, Kim entered the building she called home and, as usual, checked the security cameras before climbing the stairs to shower. The gates were secured and there was nothing signalling alarm. After showering, she towelled herself dry and applied a heavy dose of Nivea to soak into her skin, then slipped on a summer shirt and headed back down to the laundry room. Sticking out her tongue at the pile in the basket, she pulled out the ironing board from its cupboard, followed by the iron. Turning the dial to cool, she briefly ran the iron over the new ski-wear she had collected over the last few months. She had washed fleeces, T-shirts, thermals and jeans. Then she realised what a waste of time it all was – they didn’t need ironing. As she looked up at the clock, she heard the rattle of Will’s keys.

‘Have a good day, love?’ she asked noticing beads of sweat bubbling on his skin as he slapped his laptop case onto the worktop close to her. He’d only walked from the car.

‘Nah, not the best.’

‘I don’t know why you didn’t book a flight and come with me to Switzerland. Or London at least – spend Christmas with Avril.’

Will rolled his eyes. ‘She won’t want me there; she’s all loved up. Anyway, odds on they’ll be spending Crimbo with his folks.’

‘You think? She hasn’t said.’ Kim creased her eyebrows, anticipating more information.

Will shrugged, smoothing his greying hair with his fingers. ‘Well, I’m flat out over the holidays so it ain’t gonna happen. Besides, you’ll be with your friends and I know that means a lot to you.’ He kissed the back of her neck as if knowing it should soothe any tension about the subject. She had given up trying to persuade him to retire and move back to England. It only upset him and caused rows. He wasn’t ready to give up his specialised work with the oncology team in Perth, and understandably so; they were making great headway treating, even curing women with breast cancer. Plans were now in place to set up a one-stop care centre over the next two years. She knew he couldn’t bear to abandon the team.

Kim placed the iron down on its safety grid, turning to Will. As she wrapped her hands around the back of his neck, his arms slid around her waist whilst he leaned down to kiss a short tuft of her hair.

His lips brushed hers. ‘I must be crazy to let such a beautiful woman out of my sight for twelve days.’ He took a step back and eyed her naked body beneath the thin linen shirt. ‘Look at you. Girls in their twenties are less lean and toned. God, I wanna eat you!’ He pulled her close again and Kim instantly felt his arousal.

‘I have things to do and you need a shower,’ she said, freeing herself from his embrace.

‘All the trouble you go to so that you can ski and see your friends and you can’t spare me half an hour of your time.’

Kim sighed, blinking hard, then peering up at him, she said, ‘Go, shower and I’ll be up in five. God, why don’t men have a menopause and lose their drive? You owe me.’

Will smiled and gave her a squeeze. ‘Aw, come on, I don’t make that many demands.’

Kim tightened her lips, staring at his hand. ‘I know, but …’ She paused. ‘Never mind, no you don’t,’ she said softly, when what she really wanted to say was: Be warned. I’m going to be notching up enough credit so that you honour my desires, my yearning to move back to England. But it would have no effect. Will had made his view very clear, so it would only create an argument.

‘Besides, you’re not going to see me for nearly two weeks.’ He headed for the hall stairs. ‘I’ll be washed and waiting.’

Switching off the iron, Kim rubbed her forehead. She would never stop loving her husband, but she found herself immensely irritated with his reluctance to discuss their future. The last time she approached him about it, they rowed and didn’t speak for days, and since then she’d lost the courage to broach the subject, allowing the issue to fester inside her for fear of upsetting him.

At times her life was an island, floating in a vast and desolate sea. Yes, Will was her dream husband, but he could be stubborn as a mule. Not that she would have noticed it as a young nurse. She was blinded to his faults and blown away when the handsome Dr Will Anderson flirted with her. She’d almost exploded when he had asked her to be his plus-one at the Hospital Christmas Dinner. And, as a partner, he had always been so loving and strong, even through the dark days of their fertility problems. It was that love that kept them strong throughout the long IVF treatments and the longing for a family.

Naturally, there was tension – lots of it at times – but letters to and from her friends had kept her spirits up so she and Will had got through it. And, eventually, the twins had made them complete. Now that the twins had flown the nest and Will was more and more absorbed in his work, she found herself pining. Her only deep friendship since moving to Oz in her mid-twenties was a previous neighbour, Marnie, who nowadays was blessed enough to spend much of her time with her seven grandchildren.

Kim climbed the stairs, aware that Will had probably had his shower. She didn’t find intimacy so easy since the menopause had scared off her libido, but Will was very understanding. He did make an effort to get her in the mood first with his caresses. And the acupuncture she’d had helped. If only he comprehended her other needs as readily. Something to distract her from pining. She lifted her chin as she entered the bedroom, seeing Will towelling his lean body after his shower. Again, she would try her best to push her thoughts to the back of her mind.

Cathy

As efficient as always, Cathy Golding had completed her list of morning chores as well as the last of her packing and sat in her book-bulging study to switch on her laptop. She checked her watch: 8.29. She picked up a brazil nut from a small dish and nibbled on it, well on her way to consuming one half of her daily dose of protein and selenium. Outside the window, the grey winter sky and depleted front garden motivated her to get writing to reach the end of her story. She opened the document entitled ‘Sally’s New Bike’, the summer story she was submitting to a woman’s magazine. After enduring more than thirty years teaching English Literature and Language to girls at the local secondary school, albeit with much commendation and personal satisfaction, Cathy was finally living her dream.

She craned her neck to check she had closed the door. There was only Anthony, her husband, in the house, but he managed to disrupt her more in a morning than a class of thirty twelve-year-olds ever had in a whole day. As it was Christmas Eve, she needed to finish the story ready for posting before her ski trip to Switzerland on Boxing Day with her closest friends.

Reading the last two paragraphs, Cathy then read the notes underneath and began typing. Each day, before closing a document, she had formed the habit of adding a few brief sentences so that she could instantly pick up the thread next time. And, she found it was always good to note her ideas down, even if a better idea came along later – which they often did. She tapped swiftly on her keyboard, only pausing here and there for thought, but no sooner was she in the zone than she heard the familiar drum of Anthony’s slippers on the floorboards outside, then the clack of the handle on the study door. Anthony was never subtle.

His voice boomed, jolting her from the zone. ‘Would you like tea?’

Cathy took a deep breath and turned her head. ‘Yes, but please, darling, I shouldn’t have to keep reminding you. Just bring it, and quietly. If I don’t want it, I’ll leave it.’

‘Yes, sorry again.’ Anthony clenched his jaw. ‘How’s it going?’

‘It was going fine. I want to finish, edit and post by lunchtime. I’m cooking the gammon and sausage rolls this afternoon and your last two meals for freezing so I want to get this off.’

Anthony rubbed his thighs sheepishly. ‘Right. Anything I can do?’

‘All done, I believe.’

‘Need any last-minute bits for your trip?’

‘No, darling, but thank you for asking.’

‘I might meet Terry and the guys in the pub later. What do you think?’

She looked at him in surprise. ‘It will be good for you to see the boys,’ she said patiently as he padded out the door. ‘And, just tea, love, please.’ She returned to her keyboard gripping her knuckles, wondering why she felt she had to treat her husband like a child these days. He knew she craved peace and quiet to write. In fact, meeting friends for a Christmas drink would do him good. His friends hadn’t yet retired like Anthony had, but it would help him when they did. The last year or so he was like a lost puppy, moping around and interrupting her, trying to please her. Not the wildly energetic man she married at all. Where was her confident Anthony?

Growing up in an emotionally repressed household, she had basked in all the attention that Anthony used to lavish on her. Unlike her parents, he listened, gave her his undivided attention and allowed her to speak her mind. She didn’t have to eat the meat on her plate and behave like the perfect daughter to avoid embarrassing him like she did her famous father. Anthony was proud of her whoever she was and never let her think otherwise. Anthony adored the fact that she was well read. He was always proud of the fact that she could meet his demanding clients at functions and events and talk to them on any level. The devotion and energy he had for her, and his clients, was a rare gift and had very likely contributed to making his talent agency extremely successful.

Cathy had been teaching a few months when she met and fell in love with Anthony and it was at a time when her confidence was sagging with her pupils, struggling to get to grips with exerting authority over rebellious teenagers. His support was tremendous. As luck would have it, he was working with a client who was a speech and confidence coach, so it was fortuitous that he was able to relay some tricks. With trial, error and persistence, and a belief in herself, along with her passion for books, she soon delighted in sharing her love of literature and the English language with her pupils. Kids grew to love her lessons and respect grew among her peers and superiors. She threw her soul into her career, her writing ambitions quashed. Even thoughts of having her own family: quashed. But retirement meant she was freed. She could write her stories down.

Ginny and Lou, her closest friends from childhood, had loved hearing her stories. They used to gather in the little summerhouse her father had built, and their encouragement spurred her on to write more. Many were still stored in the attic. And although she didn’t get around to writing a great deal whilst teaching, she had continued to read like a girl obsessed whilst remaining close to her friends.

She still giggled to herself when she thought about skiing. She wasn’t sporty or outdoorsy at all like Ginny, Lou, Angie and Kim, but was strangely looking forward to the challenge, especially after the effort it had taken to prepare physically. And, crucially, she couldn’t wait to spend time with her old friends, particularly Ginny who was still down after losing Mike and the job she loved. Ginny had spent far too much time hiding herself away this last year. Cathy hoped this trip would show her just how much they all loved and cared for her and that their encouragement would help her turn the next corner. Though, naturally, she would take some books and her Kindle for the quieter times or – she shuddered – in case she broke a leg.

Her door rattled again, only gentler. Anthony edged in slowly, carrying a china cup and saucer, and smiling. ‘Here you are, beautiful. You’ll miss my cuppas when you’re away.’

‘I will.’ Cathy smiled up at his glistening brown eyes. He was still her sweet husband and she did love him dearly, but at times he was a pain. ‘Thank you, darling. I don’t think tea will be readily available in the mountains.’

‘Exactamundo! But I could pop some teabags in your case.’

‘Yes, good idea. Thank you, darling.’

‘Anything else before I watch Jeremy Kyle?’

‘I’m fine, honest,’ Cathy said. She jumped up suddenly and moved over to the bookcase. ‘Actually, I came across that sudoku book you were looking for if you’ve done the crossword.’

Anthony reached out and took the book from her hand. ‘Ah, thanks, love. I might do some after Jeremy.’

Cathy sat down, resting her elbows on her desk with her head in her hand. She listened to the door close. ‘Right – focus,’ she told herself. ‘Roll on Boxing Day and Switzerland.’

Angie

Scratching the upper right side of her torso, Angie Ricci raced from her car to her front door. As she opened the door, despite it being the middle of winter, aromas of summer soared up her nose: garlic and lemon infused with fresh herbs. She poked her head into her spacious shiny kitchen and her husband Robbie peered up from the chopping board where evenly sliced juicy tomatoes lay. A grin lit his cheeks.

She pursed her lips and kissed the air. ‘Hi, sweet, this is a nice surprise. Smells delish! I’m just going to run upstairs and take off this bra. It’s been driving me mad all day.’

‘No rush,’ Robbie said waving the knife before resuming his task. ‘I’ll pour you a glass of wine.’

‘OK, I’ll jump in the shower then.’

Angie dashed up the stairs to her newly fitted bedroom which, with its floor-to-ceiling mirror wardrobes along one wall, reflected twinkling orbs from the other side of the river in the distance. Closer, a light shining from Ginny’s home, just down the valley, brought a smile to Angie’s face. Not long now and she and her beautiful friends would all be together.

Stripping off an oversized navy fleece, she slipped three edamame beans into her mouth that slid from her pocket onto the bed. They reminded her to pack some of her supply for the journey and the trip. They were difficult to get in the smaller shops even though veggie food was more freely available. Munching, she stripped off her pale blue T-shirt and threw it on the bed too, before removing the offending undergarment. She inspected it before stepping closer to the mirror and raising her arms. Instantly she scowled at the red rash-like swelling on her smooth light brown skin.

‘Nasty bra,’ she mouthed, reaching for a bottle of moisturising cream on a chest of drawers and pressing the top to release the liquid balm. ‘I hope you’re not going to aggravate me when I’m skiing,’ she moaned to the sore on her torso. As she massaged the cream in, relief surged, soothing her. Had she been at her own health centre on any normal day, she would have had the opportunity to change, but promoting on a stand in a bustling local shopping mall all day on Christmas Eve, alone, it had been impossible. Wiping it so that all the cream disappeared, Angie then removed her leggings, trainers and socks and seeing a long, lean reflection, posed with a pout.

‘Looking hot, babe,’ she praised, admiring the recent changes. Her body was the best it had ever been, with a sleek tone and definition she had always envied in younger women.

‘If only I could notch off twenty years of real time,’ she told her reflection. Not that she hadn’t always kept herself fit. Since joining the WRENs at eighteen she had trained as a PT instructor. It was the one thing that gave her the identity she craved, being a biracial child in the Fifties. Later, as the UK became more multicultural, she grew proud of her heritage. Unlike her mother, who never felt London had embraced her. Her dear, now departed mother had sailed from Barbados to train as a nurse and met her father at a stall on Greenwich market where he was selling ladies’ fashion.

Her father had also passed. She recalled his claim that he was instantly struck by her mother’s exotic beauty and didn’t care that his neighbours gossiped or crossed the road to avoid them. He was happy, and prejudice had never entered his brain. Angie relished the colour of her skin now and appreciated the fact that its texture remained taut, even on her face, and had aged without too many creases or wrinkles. Many a time compliments had been forthcoming that she could be thirty-something, despite now being sixty-two, a little older than her besties.

After a quick shower, and another soaking of moisturiser, she towel-dried her thick black curls and slipped on one of the oversized shirts that she left undone at her breasts, before she returned downstairs to the kitchen.

‘Sorry,’ she said, reaching up to Robbie on tiptoe and pecking him on the lips. ‘That bra was grinding under my arms all day. I think I’ll just pack my sports bras for skiing.’ She perched on one of the stalls at the central island where Robbie had prepared the salad, rubbing her hands together and inhaling the Mediterranean fragrance.

‘Haven’t you packed yet?’ Robbie asked turning to her as he reached in the fridge for the salad dressing he’d prepared.

Angie splayed out her hands in wonder. ‘When have I had time to pack?’ she asked, spotting a small bottle of nail varnish submerged among satsumas and Granny Smiths.

Rob shook his head from side to side. ‘I hope you don’t think you’re going to pack when everyone’s here tomorrow. Danny and Matt will probably tolerate it, but you know Jonty will moan.

‘Of course not. I’ll do it later. After dinner,’ Angie stated. She unscrewed the nail varnish top. ‘I’ve started piling it, ready.’

‘You really need to start delegating. You can’t do it all.’

‘It’s not that easy, Rob,’ she said, brushing a thin layer of the ruby-red lacquer on to her thumbnail. ‘There’s nobody at the centre who knows about promoting or marketing. Any more than me anyway.’

Rob flicked his greying thick fringe from his forehead. ‘Get a professional in then. Surely it will pay for itself. The rate you’re going, you’ll run yourself into the ground.’

He made it sound so simple, but marketing personnel were so expensive. Only in the last few years had the business been turning a good profit and she was squirrelling that extra money away in the hope of buying a little bolthole somewhere warm – a winter hideaway she and Robbie could escape to if ever they had free time.

She watched as Rob tossed sweet potato wedges over on the hot oven tray. ‘Anyway, don’t lecture me about delegation or managing my time or myself. I manage to work and keep myself in tip-top condition – you’ve surely no reason to complain. I could certainly give some of those young actresses you watch a run for their money. Anyway, I waited for you last night. Did you watch another film? Horny as a rig worker I was.’

Angie had always been conscious that men would look elsewhere for gratification; after all, she knew only too well what her father got up to when he took ladies to try on dresses in his van when he worked the markets.

‘I fell asleep, I’m sorry. I still need a shower and a shave actually. I was late for work and I’ve been busy.’

Angie sighed. ‘Yes, I can see that. So why are you cooking? I could have popped into M&S or John Lewis for a meal deal.’

Rob shrugged and even blushed slightly. ‘I suppose guilt and the fact that you’ve been on my mind this afternoon as I wrapped your Christmas presents. I left the office a bit earlier to collect one, popped into the Horse and Groom of course, but got back to wrap them before you got home.’

‘Ooh, something mega sexy I hope. Yours is.’ Angie’s black locks bounced with excitement as she imagined a seductive silk negligee coupled with the latest, most wonderful sex toy on the market. Robbie knew how much she liked to try new gadgets. Their sexual connection had been major from the off. He was the first man she had ever met who knew how to please her, as well as being warm and funny.

Ginny and the girls had never really grasped her insatiable appetite for sex, but it had always been a huge part of her and Rob’s relationship. Even after the menopause, Angie persuaded her GP to keep her on HRT just in case her libido faltered. Lately, though, she had found Rob a little forgetful and complaining of being tired; maybe it was his age – he was sixty-four in a month. But he hadn’t forgotten her Christmas present. Hopefully things were looking up. ‘Eek, I’m so excited. Can’t wait until tomorrow. In fact, if we’re still waiting for the food to cook, we could fit in a quickie.’

Placing the sweet potatoes back into the oven, Rob swiped his neck with the back of his hand. ‘I don’t know where you get your energy from, sweetheart, but I’m bushed.’

‘Nonsense. You just want me to seduce you, don’t you?’ she said and, wasting no time, screwed the nail varnish top back on and leapt swiftly from the stool. She sidled up to him and pulled him close, sweeping one arm around his neck and reaching for his crotch with her other hand. ‘You are sex on legs, Rob Ricci, and what if we don’t get another opportunity before I go away?’

Lou

It was almost two o’clock when Lou Cavendish checked her watch and straightened the last cushion in the show house. She pulled her scarf tighter so that it hugged the back of her neck; it probably wasn’t her greatest idea to get her hair cut so short in the winter, but she was certainly pleased with the result and it would be easier to wear a ski helmet. She decided she looked and felt so much younger and Terry, her husband, had approved too, which was unusual. He usually preferred her hair long.

She switched off the lamps and headed to the hall, happy that the house was finally furnished and tweaked ready for the New Year launch. She opened her classic Chanel flap bag, pulled out her Chanel lip gloss, leaned towards the mirror and stroked her lips with the pink-orange tones of Corail Naturel, until they shone. Satisfied, she rolled and smacked her lips before tossing the lip gloss back in the black bag and slipping on her matching ballerina flats. After a final smile at her reflection, she turned off the hall light and rubbed a speck off the switch with her shiny long fingernail.

‘OK, done.’ She grabbed her winter coat from the hook and brushed the faux-fur collar before sliding it on. At least that was one more thing ticked off her list; now all she had to do was finish her packing and decide what to wear for Christmas Day.

She and Terry weren’t cooking a Christmas dinner this year. They had all been invited to her son Ollie’s house with his wife Ella and their two girls, as well as her daughter Emma and Emma’s partner Joe. Lou was looking forward to not having to rush around like a headless chicken with all the usual pressures of preparing food for Christmas Day and all the mess that came with it. It was Terry’s job to tidy after her. Lou hated any kind of housework but still held a passion for her and Terry’s property business – building and selling them. Fortunately, show houses didn’t get too messy when you employed good cleaners.

Once out and on the road, the traffic was lighter than she had expected for Christmas Eve, so she was soon back in the village, clocking that Ginny’s car wasn’t in the drive opposite. She parked her Range Rover Evoque beside Terry’s big Range Rover. She knew he would still be down the Horse and Groom with Robbie, possibly Anthony if he dared to leave Cathy alone in the house, and Mike’s old partner Scott, along with the contractors who often worked on the developments together. They went Thursday nights and every Christmas Eve. Terry and Anthony even wheeled Mike down to the pub last year – to think he was only a day away from entering the hospice. Lou shivered at the thought. Mike’s last day at home had been Christmas Day.

After a bite to eat and a much-needed hot cup of tea, she climbed the stairs to one of the spare bedrooms, Emma’s old bedroom, where a case lay partially full on the crimson carpet and clothes were scattered across Emma’s pink and purple duvet cover. Ski garments were neatly folded, whilst others awaited their fate.

‘So, who is travelling to Switzerland with me?’ Lou began to pair up some more outfits, wondering what was most suited to après-ski and what accessories to include. Opening a drawer containing several boxes of costume jewellery, she rummaged through for some navy and pearl beads that had matching earrings. With her new haircut she wanted earrings, but she had no idea which box they were in. She found a set of red beads with earrings, which she thought would go splendidly with her charcoal-grey cashmere, and she placed them on the bed. Tugging at the lid of the next box, her eyes brightened, and her heart gave a light flutter. She lifted a gold belcher chain with a half-sovereign and untangled it from a silver one. The gold one, her parents had given her for her eighteenth birthday. The silver chain, now tarnished, with the words ‘I Love You,’ also in silver, was from her ex, Jimmy Dixon, when she was twenty-one.

Lou bit her lip remembering her first love. They met at university in Sussex. Instantly smitten with each other, their chemistry had been strong. She smiled while picturing him then, his black curls flopped over the most gorgeous sultry brown eyes. He was two years older, drove a sporty Ford Capri, and treated her with the latest records, her first ever cassette player and album cassettes among other gifts.

They were inseparable at university and, once home, Jimmy had even proposed. But according to her parents, it was too soon. She should wait, they said, persuading her to concentrate on her banking career for a few years and encouraging her to travel, explore life. Knowing her mother had never had the same opportunities as herself, she considered it fair advice. And after much heartbreak, all she could do was forget him. That is, until he found her on Facebook a few years ago.

Lou heard the front door slam and, instantly blasted from her trance, threw the jewellery back into the box. Speedily, she searched the other boxes for the navy and white beads and placed them together with the red in a small drawstring bag before tucking them into the case.

‘Terry, hi. I’m upstairs finishing my packing,’ she shouted, grabbing a polo neck sweater from the bed and arranging it in her case.

She heard the loo flush in the downstairs cloakroom and the thump of Terry’s bare feet stomping on the carpet on the stairs. As she stood back up, the alcohol on his breath and his clothes wafted straight to her nostrils as he walked up beside her.

She met his lips and pecked them. ‘How was the pub?’

‘Mm, downbeat to begin with. Sad, without Mike, but we soon came to the conclusion that Mike wouldn’t want us moping. He was our social secretary – we couldn’t let him down – so we toasted his memory a few times. Poor sod. I do miss him.’

Lou rubbed her husband’s arm. Terry was still very attractive for a man of his age and she cared for him deeply, despite the chemistry between them never matching her and Jimmy’s. ‘I know, darling. Must be hard. How was Robbie? Did Anthony go?’

Terry shrugged, clasping her hand. ‘Both like me – still missing Mike and grateful we’re all still alive. What can you do? I just hope it doesn’t happen to us yet.’

‘I know – poor Ginny. I can’t imagine going through what she has. And I didn’t think Ant would go today if I’m honest. He’s been down. He seems to have missed Mike most.’

‘Nah, I don’t think it’s just Mike he’s missing. I think he’s getting bored. Maybe retirement makes you like that. Bit worrying, isn’t it?’

Lou squeezed Terry’s hand and kissed him briefly on the lips again. ‘Well, if and when we sell the business and retire next year, I hope we don’t get bored. I want to do a variety of things. As well as watching our children prosper and grandchildren grow up, I want to explore new activities, learn new skills, travel and go on adventures with you, and I intend to spend lots of time with my friends, so make sure you do too.’

He hugged her tight. ‘I love you so much, Lou Cavendish, and I hope we have many more years together, enjoying our retirement. At least we know we can work together after all these years, so I’m sure we can get through and enjoy our retirement together. So, don’t you go doing anything stupid like knocking yourself unconscious on the slopes. Let’s just hope nothing happens and we have a ball.’

As predictable and cautious as ever, she thought, pecking him on the lips. ‘Absolutely. I love you too, Terry.’

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