Yasmin Weston ignored the first call. She’d just slipped into the pool and the jets of warm water were already doing wonders for her hip. She checked the bruising. That last fall was a doozy. It was crazy to be skiing on Storm Peak in this weather – she was too old to be testing her luck in a white-out, but Kat wanted to prove they were fifty, fearless and fantastic. Safe to say, Yasmin proved otherwise. She settled deeper into the water as the snow fell in thick flakes all around. She wasn’t getting out until she was properly pruned.
‘How magical is this,’ Kat said, sweeping across the pool, almost vanishing in the steam. A pile of blonde hair and pink cheeks floating in the distance. ‘I can finally feel my toes.’
‘There’s something very decadent about being snug in a blizzard.’ Yasmin closed her eyes. The pool was fed from the nearby thermal springs and she could feel the mineral salts soaking right into her muscles. The only thing interrupting the peace was the constant buzzing from the bench.
‘Is that your phone?’ Kat asked.
‘Just try to ignore it. It’ll be one of the boys. They’re probably looking for the oven.’
Kat laughed. ‘I had a text from Toby about the washing machine. Mum, I really think it’s shat itself.’
‘Care factor: zero,’ Yasmin said, sinking a little deeper. ‘We’re on holidays, not staffing the domestic support desk.’
She had a son at university and two at high school, plus a perfectly competent husband. Surely they could fend for themselves for a week. It wasn’t like she travelled for work or flitted around the world on endless self-discovery journeys, like some people she knew. She rarely went anywhere without them. Her last solo trip had been over a year ago.
A spa weekend with friends that ended abruptly at a highway service station, in the toilets, thanks to a dubious turkey sandwich. She’d been off duty for less than a day. As for the ski trip, it was a last-minute thing. A favour to Kat because her sister had been forced to cancel. Admittedly, skiing in Colorado wasn’t an arduous favour, but still, she’d had jet lag to contend with and a very surly flight attendant on the way over.
Her phone buzzed again. This time, her shoulders started to tense as it dawned on her: it was late morning in Steamboat, but it was the middle of the night in Australia. She clambered out of the pool, dried her hands on her towelling robe, unwrapped the phone.
James. Five missed calls…
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