The Beaten Track

PROLOGUE

Raindrops spatter against the stiff sack that’s been pulled over my head – pop-pop-pop – it sounds like distant gunfire. I hear the swelling rush of flooding water; we must be next to the river. The air is diminishing inside the claustrophobic space and smells of the fermented sourness of cattle feed and mouldy cardboard boxes.

You surprised the hell out of me this time.

I can’t get purchase on the wet grass as you yank me by the rope into the river. I gasp with the temperature of the spring melt. My soaked boot rolls over a rock on the uneven riverbed and the flow sweeps me off my feet. Without the use of my arms, I fall into the water. I wriggle inside the sack, trying to work the rope up my arms. Cold seeps into my bones.

Two strands of the coiled rope begin to work themselves up my body. By bending my neck and reaching my hand towards my head, I tear away one piece of sack from my face. You pull the rope again and I have to let go. I’ve managed to rip a section of the thick-layered feed sack away from one eye, and when I stare upwards, the shadowy monolith of the mountain above the farm towers over me in the dark. Cold raindrops against my eyeball make me blink.

I’m pulled down again into deep water. When I bob up, I take a gulp of air and cough violently as pieces of disintegrating paper fill my mouth. I spit them out, take another quick breath in the biting air.

Time for this stupid game to end.

I’m almost upright, but my feet no longer detect the riverbed. In the cold weightlessness, one of my arms loosens the rope a little more around my torso and I work it until the space becomes bigger. I start to kick out at all angles, hoping to find contact, to make you let go, to escape your clutch. My foot thumps against one of your limbs, but the water has dulled the impact of my boot. Instead I stop moving my legs to conserve energy.

Time has slowed, and I try to think of anything other than the oxygen my lungs are craving. We are both still under the water. I keep working my arm, and suddenly it comes free at the elbow, the rope having worked its way to my bicep.

I will not let you win. I will not let you take what is rightfully mine. I will fight to the end. Not mine. Yours. That you thought you could beat me is laughable.

I reach up with my hand, my fingers tangling in strands of your hair floating in the current. I clamp my hand over the front of your face, my thumb and forefinger finding the soft pits of your eyeballs. The other fingers of my hand squeeze your jaw, digging into your cheek, to force you to release the last of the air from your lungs, endeavouring to steal the last of the life from your body.

CHAPTER ONE

January 1988

I’ve arranged to have coffee with my best friend in the Café Tivoli on the main street in Châtel St Denis, but the waitress approaches me with a frown as I enter. Valérie has left a message saying she can’t make it.

‘A problem with her car she needs to fix,’ the waitress says. ‘She told me to look for a woman with a baby.’

I curse Valérie under my breath. She has no idea how much organisation it takes to get out of the house, and I’ve been looking forward to a good chat. My spare time is precious, between the turmoil of feeding and laundry, not helped by a disturbed sleep pattern and Papa’s dementia.

Kai’s fallen asleep. The smell of roasting coffee is alluring, so I decide to stay. Although I should be taking advantage and resting too, it feels good to be out. My brother’s girlfriend, Marianne, is looking after Papa today. I feel guilty relief at being away from the house. Papa’s frailty and decreasing moments of lucidity seem to have heightened my postnatal anxiety.

The café is crowded and my spirits fall as I scan the room, then lift again on spotting a free table in the corner by the window. The pram is cumbersome as I manoeuvre between seated customers. I feel inept, like a learner driver on her first lesson, bumping into the backs of chairs, causing sighs of protest and irritated glances.

Someone brushes past me. He waves his hand to placate customers who are obliged to move out of the way and he eases my passage to the table. Flushed with gratitude, I turn to thank my saviour.

‘Merci, Monsieur.’

He tips his head, then points to the seat opposite mine.

‘May I?’ he asks.

I smile when I hear his accent. American, or maybe Canadian. I still can’t tell, even after all those months globe-trotting with hordes of North American backpackers.

His sun-bleached hair flops over his blue eyes, and I can tell he’s well-built under his linen shirt. As a single mother, my sole purpose should be to nurture my baby for these first uncertain months, so I’m a little abashed for reacting to this man’s attention.

He picks up Kai’s muslin that’s fallen to the floor and hangs it over the handle of the pram. He leans down to peer in before sliding onto his seat.

‘He’s beautiful,’ he says, eyeing the baby blue blanket.

Like many North American tourists, he assumes we all speak English. I smile.

‘Thank you, on behalf of the baby,’ I say. ‘He’s called Kai.’

I’m curious to see a shadow flit across his features.

‘That’s an interesting name,’ he says.

He settles in his seat, and smiles back at me. His teeth are straight and white. Like a film star. I narrow my eyes and study his face, wondering if I’ve seen him on the cinema screen. He holds out his hand.

‘I’m Scott,’ he says. ‘It’s real nice to meet you.’

‘Sandrine. But call me Sandy.’

His grip is strong, confident.

‘Sandy…’ he murmurs.

The way he says my name makes me tingle. I pull at my creased blouse and suck in my stomach, still soft from carrying Kai, wishing I’d paid more attention to some postnatal toning.

‘Kai was the name of the baby’s father,’ I say. ‘But we lost him before the little one was born.’

It isn’t exactly a lie, but it feels weird saying this out loud to a stranger. Scott will probably excuse himself and take off at any moment. It isn’t the first time in the past few months I’ve felt an overwhelming need to cry for no reason. Something to do with hormones.

But he reaches across the table and puts his hand on my arm. A Patek Philippe watch flashes at his wrist.

‘Then it sounds like someone should be taking care of you,’ he says.

I clear my throat, and change the subject, trying to cover my blush.

‘It hasn’t snowed much yet this season. Last year when I was away on my travels, they experienced the coldest temperatures on record here. What brings you to Switzerland?’

‘I arrived a few months ago for work, so it looks like we’ve both picked the right year to be here, for the weather,’ he says.

The awkward moment passes, and we continue the small talk. By the time we’ve finished our coffees, Kai begins to stir. I reach for my purse. Scott wants to pay, but I insist on splitting the bill. Outside the café he offers me a lift home, pointing to a black Range Rover in a parking space near the Place d’Armes.

I marvel at his chivalry, although it seems a bit forward. I nevertheless refuse, thinking of Kai’s safety without a car seat. After we swap phone numbers, he helps me lift the pram onto the bus. He says he’ll call soon. I’m sure that’s the end of my Cinderella meets Prince Charming moment.

*

‘Must be the pheromones I’m giving off,’ I joke with Valérie later on the phone.

‘Do you fancy him?’ she asks.

‘He was rather lovely. Incredibly handsome. Makes a change to meet someone sophisticated and wealthy.’

‘You deserve a little attention after your nightmare last year, Sand,’ Valérie says, and I shiver. ‘Makes a change from all those backpacking hippies.’

Valérie hums a few bars of Roy Orbison’s Pretty Woman and mentions something about finding a rich handsome suitor to sweep me off my feet. I don’t think any more of it; I’m sure Scott won’t call.

CHAPTER TWO

But he does call a few days later. We arrange to meet in Vevey on a market day when he says he has time off work. It’s a mild winter morning. We walk along the shore of Lac Léman and through the old town while Kai wriggles in the pram, practising a new high-pitched screeching. Scott doesn’t seem bothered. The bustle of the market, with accordion music filtering down the alleyways between the stalls, drowns Kai’s vocals.

‘How’re you doing?’ Scott asks.

I marvel at his calmness with Kai beginning to demand more attention in the pram.

‘A little tired,’ I say. An understatement. ‘I think Kai’s getting hungry. I need to find somewhere to feed him.’

I force a smile. In truth the smell of vegetable scraps, overripe fruit and caustic textile dye is making me feel a little ill. In my role as a new mother, I have no idea how to play out what is effectively our first date.

Scott places his hand lightly on the small of my back as we navigate our way through the crowds. When he helps guide the pram out of the way of a child on a scooter, I turn to thank him for these little kindnesses. My stomach does a flip as our eyes meet.

Away from the market, we find an empty bench on the promenade by the lake where I breastfeed Kai under a shawl. Scott pulls the cloth across my shoulder when a gust of wind blows it away and tactfully averts his gaze. We share a bottle of apple juice and a cheese ramequin he bought from the bakery stall. He breaks off morsels of the small quiche and hands them to me.

‘Tell me about growing up in the States,’ I say.

He shrugs. ‘Not much to tell. High school. College. After I graduated I got a job at a bank in Chicago. A couple of years later I was offered a contract in Geneva. I love Switzerland. It’s like living in a fairy tale. All this alpine quaintness. I could see myself staying on, perhaps renewing my contract.’ He pauses. ‘But I don’t want to talk about me. I want to find out about you.’

There are dark moments of my round-the-world journey last year I don’t want to share with anyone. Grim memories that are best forgotten. I think about what I might tell him about myself.

‘Where did you learn to speak English?’ he continues before I get the chance to speak. ‘Your accent is perfect.’

‘I went to a private bilingual school. Up there. You can see it just below the forest.’ I point to a turreted building on a slope above the town.

‘Looks expensive.’

‘An uncle of ours emigrated to Australia years ago. He made a fortune running a sheep station in Queensland. Although he had kids of his own, he set up a trust for my brother and me for our education. Probably felt guilty about leaving my father here to run the family farm.’

‘Did you enjoy it?’

‘We had a great childhood and the school was fun. Now I’ve seen more of the world, I can really appreciate that.’

‘What did you do when you graduated?’

‘I had okay grades, and a few offers of places at university here and in the UK. But I decided to save up to travel first. I intended to re-apply after the year off, but came back with something a little unexpected…’

I lift Kai in my arms as I say the word ‘unexpected’ and press my lips against his silky head.

‘Where did you travel?’ Scott asks.

I don’t want to talk about my backpacking trip, so I remain vague about the journey, giving him a brief itinerary. When I mention America, New Zealand, Australia and Asia, a muscle ticks in his cheek. What must he think about the whims of a girl who doesn’t know what to do with her life and has carelessly allowed herself to get pregnant?

‘Let me drive you home,’ he says.

‘That’s a kind offer. But I don’t want to put Kai in a car without a proper baby seat. You probably think I’m being over-protective…’

‘Well, my neighbour has a car seat his kid grew too big for, and I’ve borrowed it.’

‘Are you serious?’

I warm to his thoughtfulness, and wonder what Valérie would say. Probably that Scott must really fancy me if he’s prepared to go this far.

I lift Kai out of the pram and put him in the car seat. It’s a Maxi Cosi, the current in-thing for yuppie parents with budgets way above my own. It looks brand new, but I don’t say anything. I’m amazed he’s done this for me, on the off-chance he can drive me home. I click the buckles around Kai’s little body. My fatigue and guilt are forgotten in this new hopeful excitement.

I settle into the passenger seat, enjoying the smell of new leather, and stroke the polished walnut inlay of the dashboard. My brother Pierre will be jealous about me getting a ride in this modern descendent of our farm vehicles.

‘Are you interested in seeing my place?’ Scott asks as he starts the engine.

I press my lips together. This is going fast.

‘Okay,’ I say after a pause. ‘Just a few minutes. I have to get the little guy home.’

We drive through the terraced vineyards above Lac Léman, with snow lying in crusty patches between the rows of gnarled dormant vines. On the outskirts of the village of Chardonne, Scott pulls up in front of a duplex apartment. It’s constructed mostly of glass on the south side, taking maximum advantage of the spectacular view across the lake to the snowy French peaks.

‘Holy shit!’ slips out of my mouth before I can stop it.

‘No cursing,’ he says jokingly, turning to look at Kai asleep in the car seat.

Scott unlocks the door and with Kai still in the Maxi Cosi hanging in the crook of my elbow, we walk into a stunning modern interior. I imagine my mother tapping under my chin with her hand, and remember to close my mouth. I’ve just walked into the house of my dreams.

‘J P Morgan is a generous company to work for,’ Scott says, seeing my expression. ‘They take care of everything. My personal health and welfare.’

I try not to sound eager when he asks if I want to look around. The four bedrooms are tastefully decorated in the earthy colours I love. Everything looks fresh and new. How perfect, I want to say, and then think it might look like I’m coming on a bit strong. I mention I need to use the bathroom. I’m surprised when he shows me to his ensuite rather than the guest bathroom, allowing me so quickly into his personal space. Perhaps he wants to prove he doesn’t have anything to hide. I bite my lip as I take Kai with me, thank him and lock the door behind me. I marvel at the contrast to our cranky old pipes in the bathroom at the farm with its wonky towel rails, bath toys and piles of infant laundry in the corner. My toes curl with pleasure inside my socks as they suck up the warmth of Scott’s underfloor heating and I hold the plush towel to my cheek after I’ve dried my hands.

I take a quick peek inside his bathroom cabinet and stare at the creams and lotions. I’m contemplating the level of his vanity when my gaze falls on a bottle of saline solution for contact lenses. I’m secretly thrilled that there is this one tiny imperfection in Scott’s otherwise impeccable physique. On the top shelf is a bone fish hook, a typical tourist souvenir from New Zealand. I make a note to ask whether he’d been there, as he hadn’t mentioned it when I talked about my travels. It lies next to a watch, the kind divers use. I imagine it would be rather pleasant to go scuba-diving or snorkelling on a tropical reef with this handsome American.

I close the cabinet, comb my unruly hair with my fingers, pick up Kai in the Maxi Cosy, and join Scott at the foot of the stairs.

‘How long have you been in this place?’ I ask.

‘A couple of months. I lived in a condo in Geneva for a while until I decided to move to somewhere less urban.’

‘That’s a bit of a commute. You’ll never use half these rooms. Unless you have family to stay. Don’t you feel lost in here?’

‘Would you like a tea? Coffee? Something else?’ he asks, brushing off my question.

As we walk to the kitchen, I wonder not for the first time what on earth a guy like this is doing flirting with someone like me. But as I place the Maxi Cosi on the slate-tiled floor, I choose not to question his motives too closely. I surely deserve a little attention?

As I stand up, Scott holds my shoulders. He gazes into my eyes, and my heart spikes with the intensity of his look. He kisses me tentatively. I don’t react immediately, and he pulls away, a little embarrassed. I grab his shirt and kiss him back. He presses his body against mine, and I feel his passion against my hip. As we draw apart, I stand on my toes to whisper ‘tea, please’ hoarsely in his ear.

CHAPTER THREE

‘Are you sure about this guy, Sandrine?’ Marianne asks later when I describe our day out. ‘Isn’t it weird he’s coming on so strong? I mean, you have such a young baby.’

Scott has driven me home and dropped me off after we finished our tea. Marianne sits at the table in the farm kitchen cradling Kai in her arms while I cook dinner. It’s not the first time I think the role suits her more than me. Her curtain of auburn hair falls around her face as she smiles down at Kai.

‘He’s so hot, Marianne, and he seems so keen. I just wish Kai was a little older. I feel so frumpy and tired right now.’

‘You’re a good-looking young woman, Sandrine, whether you’re a mother or not. What does he do for a living? You don’t want him suddenly running back to the States because his contract has finished.’

‘He told me his assignment with J P Morgan could be renewed. He’s sure they’d offer him a local contract if he requested it. I know you’re trying to protect me—’

‘I just don’t want to see you get hurt.’

‘I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. My focus is on Kai’s wellbeing now.’

Marianne smiles and hugs Kai to her. I wonder whether he’s making her feel broody. Since my early return from travelling I feel like I’m encroaching on Pierre and Marianne’s relationship. After Kai’s arrival I’ve rarely been on hand to help with Papa’s care, although in normal circumstances I might have moved out by now anyway, either for study or work.

‘You’re very kind to me, Marianne. I’m so grateful you’ve accepted all this.’

I turn back to the stove, and worry how the hell I’m going to support Kai and myself financially.

In the meantime, it’s good to have the attention of a handsome man, no matter how fleeting it may turn out to be.

*

Our courtship is intense. We see each other almost every other day. Dinners, cinema, theatre, when Marianne can babysit. Boat trips on the lake, drives to the mountains, walks with the pram when she can’t. I get the feeling Scott wants to take the relationship further, but there’s the uncomfortable matter of the birth to consider. It’s beyond the suggested waiting time prescribed by the doctor, but as it would be the first time I’ve slept with Scott, I’m a little timid. He is lovely about it, and doesn’t push me. ‘I’ve been waiting for someone like you all my life,’ is how he often puts it; he’ll wait until I am ready.

He sometimes holds Kai and studies him intently. I’d like to believe if he’s falling for me, he’ll fall for my baby too. Adding up the positives, I know I want to give him more.

‘He wants to take me to Paris!’ I tell Pierre and Marianne when Scott drops me at home after a night out.

I dance around Kai who’s sitting in his baby bouncer gumming his fist, waiting for his bedtime feed. He jumps at my squeal. When I kiss him on the forehead, he scrunches up his eyes as a lock of my hair tickles his nose. His mouth widens into a smile and he lets out a raucous giggle. I take it as a sign.

‘And you’re coming with us,’ I say to him. ‘I told Scott I couldn’t possibly leave you behind, and he said of course you can come, little man. Can you believe it?’

‘He didn’t suggest you leave him with us for the weekend?’ Marianne asks.

‘No. He knows I couldn’t leave him behind. Oh, Marianne, it’s like something out of a romantic movie. Paris! A dream come true.’

‘I’m guessing he wants something you haven’t given him yet, hey, Sis?’ Pierre says with a theatrical wink.

*

After checking into a spacious suite at the Plaza on the Champs Elysées, we set out on foot to discover the city. Our visit to the Louvre is abandoned when Kai begins his squealing, the sound magnified in the great halls. Scott is a gentleman, and doesn’t complain about cutting short the tour.

We take a ride on a Bâteau Mouche. The vibration of the motor and the gentle rocking on the waters of the Seine send Kai into a deep slumber. Scott takes us to Saint Germain to buy clothes, shoes, jewellery and expensive infant outfits.

Returning to the hotel in the late afternoon, I organise a babysitter. Not wanting to be far away from Kai, I ask Scott if we can eat at the restaurant downstairs. I later find out the chef holds three Michelin stars, and tables are usually booked months in advance. Somehow Scott manages to secure a reservation anyway. We are welcomed like royalty.

The scene is set with a bottle of champagne, the sparkling art deco lights of the dining room, and every mouthful of food a sensual experience itself. Scott is initially sceptical about the tiny portions on his plate, but I know his desire for something else is replacing his appetite. And nervous excitement is blunting the edge of my own.

*

We stand at the foot of the bed. As Scott’s kisses grow bolder I know this is right. My body is reacting and I crave his touch. He takes off his shirt without removing his mouth from mine, and his chest pushes against me. This invokes a flicker of pleasure deep in my belly.

He lays me gently on the bed. Raw passion flashes in his eyes as he gazes at my body dressed in the new Chanel night shift he bought me this afternoon. My heartrate escalates. I’m glad to be horizontal, my tummy flattened by gravity. I want to look sexy for him. His muscles flex as he leans towards me. I pray my breast milk doesn’t choose this moment to stain the oyster silk.

He slowly removes the garment, the material caressing my body. I lift my arms as he pulls it over my head. Throwing the shift to the floor, he kisses my neck under my ear, and moves his lips across my throat. I want him so much.

‘Oh Sandy,’ he breathes. ‘I’ve waited so long for you.’

I smile, glad we can finally give ourselves to each other. He carefully enters me.

‘Is it okay? Are you okay?’ he asks.

I nod as his passion begins slowly and languorously. I know he is being gentle, so I encourage him as I feel my lower belly clenching with pleasure. He moves his lips from my mouth to the dip at the base of my throat. I think of Kai, sleeping soundly in his cot in the suite’s sitting room next door, how much I want a normal life with love and security for him. And a fleeting thought: Don’t wake up now.

Scott gently tugs my hair to expose more of my throat and his lips feather my skin. When I close my eyes, the vision of my baby’s father – Kai senior – swims into my thoughts. A little guiltily, I sweep away his image. That time has passed. Scott and I are together now. My head falls back onto the pillow, my breath shortens.

Scott’s fingers rest briefly on my collar bone, then grip my shoulder, his thumb sinking into the hollow between the clavicle and the muscle. As his grasp triggers an almost sweet pain, his hot breath whispers in my ear: ‘Finally we are together.’

A shock courses through my body, a taser of memory.

Suddenly I am right back on that beach in Thailand the year before.