laughing. She hurried past, but her confidence had taken a dive. It got worse when she saw all her colleagues waiting for her and looking so hopeful.
‘Ready?’ they chorused.
‘As I’ll ever be,’ Lucy confirmed, wondering why she had agreed to sing in the first place. Being a good choir girl hardly qualified her for the annual karaoke competition between the rival chalet companies, and the moment she entered the makeshift dressing room, which doubled as the ladies’ restroom, she knew she’d made a big mistake. She didn’t have the personality for something like this.
‘Make-up?’ one of the girls prompted, waking her out of the terror stupor. They were stripping off her coat and scarf, and one of them plucked the hat from her head.
‘I don’t have any make-up.’
‘You don’t?’ The girls looked at each other in alarm.
‘I’ve never bought any.’
Alarm was replaced by incredulity.
‘I’m not very good with it.’
‘Not surprising if you never tried,’ one girl said with an encouraging smile, stepping forward. ‘No worries—we’ll do it for you.’
‘Oh, no, thank you—but if I wear make up, I’ll look awful.’ I look bad enough already, Lucy thought, gazing in despair at her reflection. Compared to the other girls she was a real plain Jane.
‘You couldn’t possibly look awful,’ one of the other girls said kindly.
‘I only took off my apron five minutes ago.’
‘So imagine the transformation.’
They were all so eager to help. How could she let them down? She dragged her confidence cloak tightly round her. ‘Okay, I suppose we’d better get on with it.’
Hasty words, Lucy realised as one of them produced a costume for her to wear with a flourish, carolling, ‘Ta da!’
‘No,’ she said firmly. Singing was one thing, but she was going to wear her sensible off-duty clothes, which comprised jeans and a pale blue fleece.
The girls looked at each other and then, recognising the straw that might well break the camel’s back, they gave in.
‘Just tell me when I have to sing and I’ll be fine.’ Or she might be, if her upper lip didn’t feel as if it were superglued to her teeth.
‘Here, have a drink of water,’ one of her colleagues said as Lucy licked to no effect with a bone-dry tongue.
Then they all went silent as the contestant from the opposing chalet company began to sing.
‘He’s got a great voice,’ Lucy commented, swallowing hard.
‘And he’s hot,’ one of the girls added.
Better to know she didn’t stand a chance before she headed for the makeshift stage, Lucy reasoned. ‘I’m going to give it everything I’ve got.’ She smiled bravely as a pile of make-up bags hit the counter.
Then the girls took over, transforming her while she could only watch helplessly. One of them brushed out her hair and curled it with a heated wand, while another made up her face.
‘Relax—I do this as a living when I’m not doing the ski season,’ one girl assured Lucy as she applied a brown stripe beneath Lucy’s cheekbones, a white one above and a blob of red on the apple of her cheek.
Now she looked like a painted doll with exaggerated colouring. She should never have let this happen.
Lucy closed her eyes, resigned to her fate, so it was a surprise when she opened them to find that once the stripes had been blended in she didn’t look half bad. Her skin looked even, radiant, and her face sculpted. The make-up was like a mask, Lucy realised with relief—a mask to hide behind. Careful work on her eyes and lips had turned her into someone she hardly recognised and Mac would certainly never recognise her if he decided to come in for a drink. ‘I had no idea,’ she murmured, leaning forward.
‘No time for that,’ the girls insisted as she continued to stare into the mirror, amazed at her reflection. Taking hold of her on either side, they ushered her outside.
One last glance confirmed the surprising fact that, left loose, her hair didn’t look half bad either. Thanks to the styling wand it hung in thick waves almost to her waist. She had never worn her hair like this before, because her mother said long hair was untidy, and, of course, in a professional kitchen her hair was always covered. Make-up? She pressed her rouged lips together anxiously—she’d never get used to it, but at least the girls looked pleased.
‘You look amazing,’ one of them assured her and they all agreed.
‘Amazingly silly?’
‘No!’
‘Have some confidence,’ one girl insisted. ‘You won our award when you least expected it, and now you’re going to win this.’
‘If I could sing better.’
‘It’s karaoke, Lucy.’ They all laughed. ‘You’re not supposed to sing—just get into the spirit of it and you’ll be fine.’
‘And if you’re not, we’ll hide and pretend not to know you,’ another girl teased her.
They had left the bar and headed back to the chalet for their skis to satisfy Razi’s whim to expend a small part of his energy skiing down the black slope with just the ultra-lights on their helmets to show them the way. With precipices on either side and at the speeds they travelled it was like playing Russian roulette with a loaded gun that had no bullets missing. It was both exhilarating and dangerous. Irresponsible, maybe, but it had left him on a high. The five of them had been doing this since school when they had first climbed out of a chalet window at midnight, leaving the school masters on the trip snoring. These days Razi pleased himself. He owned the chalet and could leave by the front door, but the thrill had not diminished.
They were all down safely, but with adrenalin surging through his veins he still had energy to burn.
‘Champagne?’ Theo suggested.
‘Lead me to it,’ Razi agreed, snapping off his skis in anticipation of a short stroll to his favourite bar.
‘Do you think we could drop by the chalet? Let Lucy know what we’re up to? Invite her along?’ Tom questioned with a knowing wink.
As Razi might have anticipated, this drew comment from the other men. They were experienced men of the world, but they had all seen something in Lucy—just as he had. His hackles rose. ‘Lay off her, boys,’ he warned, lifting off his helmet. ‘You could all see Lucy was overwhelmed when we rocked up.’
This drew a second chorus of knowing smirks, which he ignored. ‘The least we can do is give her a chance to get used to us.’
‘To you, don’t you mean?’
He refused to dignify Theo’s comment with a reply.
Tom
