The view from the ski-lift was simply stunning. From a cold-blue cloudless sky, the December sun shone with crystalline brightness, giving the snow covered mountains a silently majestic grandeur. Fred McAllister seemed a really nice guy, Ingrid Benson thought. Since she had first met him two days ago at Heathrow, her impressions of him were changing. Her husband Michael had often described his boss as a ruthless beast, but it seemed the relaxing environment of the French Alps was showing more of Fred’s charm. The same went for Valerie, Fred’s girlfriend, who they had also just met. So, this seemed a great idea after all. Much better than Mike and she had thought, or even feared, when first considering Fred’s offer to go skiing together. Four people barely knowing each other going on holidays was not a low-risk formula after all.
“Oh, this is just so lovely, I can’t believe it,” Ingrid said to Fred. She stretched out relaxed, letting her skis dangle as the lift took them up the piste. Fred smiled from behind titanium Ferrari sun-glasses, that hid how closely his eyes were observing the curves of Ingrid’s ski-suit.
“It is, really, eh? We’ll make this a great day, even without them pro’s,” Fred replied with a confident grin. After two days of the four of them skiing together, they were now just the two of them today. Mike and Val were quite the superior skiers, and they had pressed on yesterday to go do a couple of very advanced down-hills. The stuff way beyond Ingrid and Fred. Ingrid nodded and smiled, seeing the end of the lift in front of her.
“I and Mike did good business this year, despite the heavy weather on the stock-market,” Fred continued. “And there’s a time to make money, and a time to spend it, not?” Ingrid smiled again, semi-courteously, noting he put himself in first place. Generous as this offer of Fred’s was, she also knew Mike had made this man quite enough money this year to be able to afford this little ski-trip for four.
“Yes, and there’s a time to talk about business, and a time to leave it behind,” Ingrid replied, not really wanting to talk about that now. She found their business boring, even when it made a lot of money. Money that she had gotten used to.
“Sorry, you’re right,” Fred said, smiling with mock apology in his voice. “Bad habit.”
“It’s okay. Let’s say I am familiar with it,” Ingrid replied with a chuckle. She understood.
“Well, time for the stumbling and sliding, again,” Fred announced, as the lift approached final destination. The two of them were the very nightmare of every ski instructor. Not even the well-paid patience of the best instructors had ever resulted in more than very basic skills. Even getting off a lift still presented problems now and then. But it had never stopped either of them; skiing was just too much fun to be bothered by incompetence. However, this was about the only field in which Fred allowed himself any incompetence. As the lift approached the revolving end, they took a deep breath, jumped off the way Val and Mike had told them to, on and again, and landed more or less safely. But a landing was not the same as a decent standstill. Ingrid squealed as she tried to come to a stop. Fred grabbed her in an attempt to reduce her speed. Their lack of skill showed in full bloom when their skis entangled. The plunge into the snow was not too painful, and they landed on top of each other. There was little left but to laugh at their own clumsiness, which was what they did indeed.
“Oh Jesus! Haha. Are you okay, Ingrid?”
“Haha! Oh God, I’m such a clumsy cow on these things!” Ingrid was Swedish-born, a city girl from the South, which explained part of her being such a bad skier. She was also every bit the classic Scandinavian beauty. White blonde, light blue eyes, slender and tall, great figure. And, in perfect accordance with all the school-boy fantasies about Swedish girls, Ingrid also possessed an impressive pair of breasts. They were well large enough to not go unnoticed during the accidental landing on top of each other. She felt his hands on them, as if by accident. Nothing new, it was the story of her life. Ingrid tried to roll over, noting his subtle insisting before he let her go.
They made it back on their skis again, and started going down the gentle slope. Fred was moving ahead of her, and she thought about what just happened. And more. Ingrid was a realist, and not stupid. She had married Michael Benson, a young career guy with a stately mansion in Chelsea and enough money to have her have her own “little” Porsche. Mike was vaguely caring when not busy making money and - as far as she knew - faithful. Ingrid had first met him five years ago, at a posh party in Kensington. A friend of a friend had gotten her invited, probably in an attempt to be repaid with a free night together. It was the way things worked, but that guy had been unlucky. Ingrid got to chat with Mike Benson, and they had left together. A terribly expensive supper followed, as did their first night together. Mike was good in bed, and seemed to possess the amount of money she had been looking for. So, they married. She made him marry her, actually. Ingrid was well good enough to make a guy believe she was madly in love with him. And since then, he provided her with enough credit cards to be his trophy wife. To impress his colleagues with, she thought now and then. Ingrid was all too aware she would never have married this man if she had been an ugly girl with a flat chest. All men in this world of money had good looking wives or girlfriends, not one excluded. She hated that so called coincidence. But it was also the world she had become addicted to. She had even chosen to become part of. The money was so nice, life was so careless. But empty too, with things you had to just accept. Like Fred just touching her breasts. He was Mike’s boss, and he had shown her a moment ago how power really works. She followed him down the hill with the taste of disgust in her mouth.
The chalet was pleasantly crowded with rosy looking people. Ingrid looked out the window, enjoying the scenery. She smiled as Fred put down their coffees.
“Double cappuccino for madame,” he smiled.
“Thanks, that’s lovely,” Ingrid replied.
“I want to show you something, Ingrid.” She took a sip and watched fumble into a coat of his ski-suit. He came up with a small magazine, and folded it open. Ingrid’s heart beat over.
“Such a coincidence to come across this, don’t you think?” His look was almost cold; he was enjoying this moment. The bastard. It was leaving her speechless for a few seconds, but she was sharply aware of what was going on. She knew this world too well; nothing was a coincidence.
“Congratulations, Fred. You’re the first to find out. About this little indiscretion of a young woman in need of some money.” He looked at her, taking off his sun-glasses. A triumphant and arrogant grin spread across his face. ‘Mike was right after all,’ she thought. ‘He is a ruthless prick.’
“Is that what you’d call it, Ingrid? A little indiscretion? I’d call it full blooded pornography, you know.” Even when she hated it, his qualification was downright accurate. The picture session featuring in that compromising magazine had earned her five thousand Swedish Kronen. It was a lot of money for a nineteen year old without income. She had also done quite a few nasty things for it. He didn’t need to show her the pictures. They were all in her mind still.
“So, Fred, I assume you bringing this up over a coffee a deux means that you plan to open negotiations?” She played confident, but inside she was all nerves. This could wreck her whole perfect luxury life in a few hours time, after all. He lifted an eyebrow, not expecting her to see through this so fast. He had hoped to scare the guts out of her, making her more bendable, so to speak. He grinned at that thought.
