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flying to her head. Her hair, caught by the wind,
began to wave round, and at that moment, Peter came
towards them.
' In trouble?' he asked.
Simon had Claire on her feet. Now he frowned.
' No trouble at all,' he said with a curtness Claire had
never heard from him before. ' Just give the girl time.'
Claire's hair covered her face, red but almost gold
in the sunshine. 'What's happened?" Peter asked.
Deirdre was laughing. Now she waved the green
cap that matched Claire's green thick-knit she wore
above her white trews.
' Catch me if you can 1' Deirdre shouted, and darted
away, flashing down the slopes, looking beautiful as she
cut long curving lines through the humps. Staring
after her enviously, Claire could see how Deirdre's
knees were bent and her poles working crisply.
Peter laughed. ' I'll get it for you,' he promised,
and flashed down after Deirdre, skiing even more
beautifully.
' I'll never ski like that,' Claire sighed dismally.
Simon laughed. ' Neither will I. I don't want to.
I just want to enjoy myself.'
' And are you?' Claire asked, trying to get her
balance correct.
Simon turned and looked at her. His face was grave,
his eyes serious. ' Very much,' he said slowly. ' Are
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ff: ,
|you?
I Claire hesitated, looking round at the brightly
^coloured bodies flashing by her, seeing the graceful
lease with which Deirdre was skiing.
I ,' In a way,' she said honestly. ' But I would be
|much happier if I wasn't so stupid.'
| ' You're not stupid,' Simon said with an unusual
I violence.
.: ' If only I could do all these things in the way
[Deirdre does,' Claire sighed. ' I feel such an idiot.'
' I don't think so. This is your first time. I expect
^Deirdre's been doing it for years.'
Hesitating again, Claire wondered if she should be
frank with Simon and tell him that she could not
.understand how Deirdre, supposed to be the neglected,
[poverty-stricken daughter of an actor and actress how
come Deirdre was so good at sailing, surfing and ski-
ing? None of these sports were learned quickly. Yet
Claire hesitated, not wanting to let Simon know the
truth that she was in love with Peter. For a moment
she was worried; had Simon guessed? No, she was
sure he hadn't, for he always went straight to her side,
always danced with her first, went out of his way to
look after her. Suddenly she remembered something
Molly had asked her and she had dismissed the idea
at once. Molly had asked if Simon could be in love
with her. And Claire had said no, quite definitely.
Now, seeing the way Simon was looking at her, Claire
knew a moment of dismay. Simon was too nice to
be hurt. Had she, unwittingly, encouraged him?
Selfishly, in fact, for she liked him very much and
being with him was a welcome change from the tense-
ness she felt when with Peter and Deirdre. But what
could she do? Simon was in the party, so she could
hardly give him the brush-off, or refuse to dance. He
was one of Peter's guests and she was one of Peter's
119
employees . . .
Peter came swooping towards them. He stopped
perfectly, handing her the green woollen cap. Instinc-
tively Claire put her hand to her hair. She had for-
gotten about it until she saw Peter. Now she could
feel the tangled mess the wind had made it.
8 Thanks . . .' she began.
' It's a shame to hide such beautiful hair,' Simon
said, and looked at Peter. ' Don't you agree?'
Peter had been watching Craire, but now it was
as if a curtain came down over his face. ' That's up
to her,' he said stiffly, and turned away.
Claire's hands shook a little as she pushed her hair
under the cap untidily. Peter had been angry, she
felt, but it hadn't been her fault. It was Deirdre's
for snatching off the cap. Oh, as Molly had said,
Claire thought, she could never win!
' I'm tired, Simon,' she said. ' Mind if I go and
flop?'
' Of course not. I'm tired, too,' he said, taking
her arm. ' I'll come with you.'
She stifled a sigh. It was so difficult to shrug off
Simon; not that she wanted to, but then, on the other
hand, she didn't want to hurt him either.
He directed her, helping her walk with the long
skis that had such bright red tips, so she began to talk
fast, about Molly and the baby, and about the Cots-
wolds where her parents lived. She talked much faster
than usual, for she had the uncomfortable feeling that
if there was a moment of silence, Simon might say
something she didn't want him to say. If it was true,
of course, that he was in love with her. Now, looking
back, she began to see things she had never noticed
Simon's kindness, thoughtfulness, his obvious pleasure
if they met by chance, the way he always sought her
out. Poor Simon, if that was love. She liked him so
ISO
much, but . . .
In the evenings they always danced. It was a beauti-
ful timbered house with a perfect view and a per-
manent staff; a middle-aged couple who had just
retired and willingly looked after the house in return
for living in it rent free, for they only saw their
employer during the few months that the snow was thick
enough to act as a playground. The two married
couples who were the other guests were young and gay
and obviously delighted by their invitation to stay
with the famous Peter Mottram. Peter, the perfect
host, danced with each girl in turn. Claire found that
when she was in someone else's arms, they compli-
mented her on her dancing while her whole body
ached to be in Peter's arms, yet when it was her turn
to dance with him, she grew clumsy, tripping over his
feet, feeling self-consciously that he was always glad
when the dance came to an end.
It was on the day before they were due to leave that
the accident happened. It was almost their last skiing
chance, as the plane left in the morning to fly them
back to Sydney in an hour. Claire, always so efficient,
had already packed most of her things, but knew that
Deirdre wouldn't start packing until about ten minutes
before they were due to leave. It was just the differ-
ence in them, Claire was thinking, as she slid her feet
into the skis. Her one idea was to please Peter, not
to keep him waiting, whereas Deirdre seemed to
delight in making him wait, and got away with it!
Now as Claire stood up gingerly, she wished that the
next day had come, for her success at skiing had been
non-existent. Simon had encouraged her, yet she had
failed so often; even now, when she could keep her
balance, using her shiny aluminium ski-sticks so that
they didn't dig in, she moved forward carefully.
Deirdre turned to look at her, her face sly. ' Bet you
lai
can't do that one.' She pointed to one of the other
slopes. ' You'll never learn you're too chicken 1'
Claire looked round. Simon and Peter were inside
talking about something. Then she looked down the
slope . . . and shivered. Deirdre was right. She was
chicken. She'd never make it if she let herself be a
coward.
Now she smiled. 'Can't I?' she asked. 'I'll give
it a try.'
And then she was off. The new slope was steeper
... it was hard to remember all Simon had taught her,
to lean her body. She seemed to be getting out of
control , . . the snow-white ground raced up to meet
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