“This is beautiful!” Madame gasped, breaking the long, stunned silence from within the compartment and taking in the awe-inspiring scenery.
The driver fidgeted with the carriage controls as they beeped in time with the orchestrated procedures and finally slowed the railway car to a walking pace before approaching a covered platform. Edging forward, the carriage gradually entered the sheltered station underneath the multi-storeyed Grand Hôtel and abruptly the scene changed from snowy white to a brightly lit garage. Inside the manmade cavern, a bustling arcade of stairs, elevators and a flat, cold concrete platform appeared. Waiting on the landing, a small group of warmly attired hotel staff gawked through the windows of the carriage with their best plastic smiles plastered to chilly lips, causing Madame to sigh and whisper just loud enough for Chantal to perceive.
“Here we go again!”
Chantal was the first to exit the train and as she did the cold biting air sent a shiver up and down her spine, but her concern rested with her first lady. Madame was too lightly dressed for the new environment and needed to change swiftly into her mountaineering attire or risk exposure to the cold and inflame her beguiling illness. It was obvious Angelina felt the cold immediately she descended from the train and a chattering shiver accompanied her greeting to the official party until a sudden movement across her shoulders startled her, followed by an immediate sense of warmth as Clayton’s heavy suit jacket engulfed her small frame. Grateful for her minder’s sacrifice, she acknowledged his unselfish action with a mimed, ‘Thank you,’ and an appreciative smile, pulling the jacket closed around herself like a small bathrobe.
Finally able to settle her chattering teeth and with a display of dignity befitting a high profile woman, she returned the hotel staff’s greeting formally, then apologising, asked to be shown to her room quickly. Acknowledging Madame Trudeau’s request and her apparent discomfort, the hotel welcoming committee ambiguously searched the carriage with an enquiring gaze, obviously expecting a fourth member of the party. Out of courtesy to their distinguished guest, however, no further questions were asked and they led her party into an elevator and to a fourth-floor room.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 45
From a window in her hotel room, Angelina’s dark eyes timidly searched the snowy slopes and then further down into the green valley far below. Strange thoughts had tormented her sleep, with a droning voice rattling her mind, painting colourful scenes into her imagination yet leaving her feeling confused and disturbed. She’d just woken from an hour’s rest and it took her many anxious moments before she recognised her surrounds and the strange figure of a young woman uncomfortably asleep in a chair not far from where she stood.
As if a curtain had been drawn back from across her confused memory, she eventually recognised Chantal’s tiny devoted figure and smiled. The young woman couldn’t be more than twenty but what she lacked in age she made up for in bulldog tenacity. Madame was becoming extremely fond of her fervent lady-in-waiting. Contemplating the scantily furnished room from her position at the window, Angelina’s brow creased into a frown, staring at a neat stack of dishes gracing the floor near the rustic room door until her memory caught up with the confusion. A traditional Suisse cheese fondue, compliments of the hotel had been delivered to the room but something was still missing, something that she relied upon like a crutch...
Bewilderment wrestled with her mind until its foggy tentacles parted and the mist of uncertainty evaporated, leaving the clear image of a blue-suited giant smiling impishly through the haze. The apparition drew a guarded smile and a bizarre emotion coursed through her, feeling strangely happy in his presence; yet without him, she felt peculiarly lost and empty. The playful and gentle handsome giant stealing glances at her when he thought she wasn’t watching and protecting her with almost rock star adulation. Tangled thoughts brought comfort and frightened her at the same time, with a sense of duplicity accompanying the culpable emotions.
With a guarded sigh and turning back to the view from her window, she coaxed her mind trying to remember the face of her benevolent husband, Armon, but the image eluded her and Clayton’s cheeky grin stole into her memory instead, causing another wary smile to light her lips. Safeguarded in her innermost private world and kept under lock and key where nobody but she ever walked, she allowed a momentary impression to linger in a cloud of impetuous wonder before slamming the door on the preposterous image and intentionally locking it shut—for good.
A sudden knock reverberated into the hotel room, sidetracking Angelina’s wandering mind, diverting her gaze from the powdery scene beneath her window and turning to face the commotion emanating from the solid room access instead. Chantal stirred, immediately jumping to her feet at the disturbance, scanning the barren room with sleepy eyes and relaxing only when she located Madame’s pensive yet impressive image studying her from across the room. Convinced that all was in order, Chantal turned her attention to the door and prepared a professional pose to deal with the enquirer, huffing when Clayton’s big frame smiled back. It wasn’t Chantal’s most tolerant part of the day shaking off sleep and particularly being woken, instead of waking under her own volition.
“Are we ready to go exploring?!” Clayton grinned, scanning the unremarkable room and secretly stealing another admiring glance at Angelina’s immaculate figure silhouetted by the strong mountain light flooding through the hotel pane.
Madame momentarily caught Clayton’s eye and with an embarrassed flush, he quickly averted his stolen glimpse and turned away as if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar again while Madame, no longer oblivious to Clayton’s attention, tried to hide her reaction to his not-so-surreptitious admiration.
After leaving Chantal to attend to Madame earlier and abide by a rest break stipulated by a stern Doctor Bonnet in his list of instructions, Clayton had gone exploring on his own. But before Madame could heed her doctor’s instructions, Chantal had meticulously fussed over her charge, preparing her for the afternoon’s activities, making sure she was immaculate in the cruel and competitive world of casual mountain fashion, however wearing down the reserves of Madame’s energy in the process. Judging by Clayton’s stare, Chantal had succeeded in her quest to impress, making her first lady stunning to behold.
Chantal joined Clayton’s silent enquiry, both turning to Madame for confirmation and when she smiled and nodded her consent, the meticulous preparations for the afternoon activities swung into well rehearsed automation.
“I had a bite to eat at the Plein Roc restaurant while you ladies slept. Madame, you have to see this place. It’s awesome!” Clayton sounded like a big kid on Christmas morning.
Trying to match his childlike enthusiasm, Madame teased, “Well, lead on, Monsieur!”
The little gathering deserted the privacy of their room, standing expectantly in the passage, waiting for Clayton to pull the door closed and confirm its security. Cautious of an earlier staring felony, the gentle giant hesitantly offered Madame his arm and to his relief she took his gesture without faltering. Madame wrapped her hand around his offering with pleasure, but not wanting to draw attention to the action, she took Chantal’s with the other.
Exiting the elevator onto the station platform, the chilling air grasped at exposed skin, but the protective layers made sure body warmth couldn’t escape through unauthorised pathways. Clayton led the way into a long, skinny tunnel entering from the station platform and after an easy few hundred metres walk through the frosty mountain’s rocky interior, the passage split. One side led to a well appointed restaurant perched solidly into the unyielding rock mountainside with only a line of windows on the outside to betray its existence. The opposite fork led to an outdoor viewing platform securely attached to the Plein Roc’s restaurant roof.
As Clayton held open the door to the observation deck, a breathtaking sheer mountain panorama opened before them, stealing their breaths and demanding a subdued and silent contemplative awe in the midst of such majesti
c splendour. Clinging to the protective railing, Madame stared in wonderment. Les Rochers de Naye was on a mission to impress, topping each previous experience with the next new and determined scene. Clayton carefully watched Madame’s expression, delighted by her reaction as she glanced around the stunning view; but a momentary cloud passed across her childlike expression and for a few seconds the pleasure disappeared and a confused reflection took its place.
Wondering whether she was suffering from the drug side effects as Doctor Bonnet had warned, Clayton sidled over to her position and gently asked, “Are you alright, Madame?”
Angelina wiped the corners of her eyes, smiled a watery smile and assured her minder she was okay. “Show me what’s next, Monsieur Clayton,” her happy face reappeared and chased away the sad one.
The wandering explorers backtracked through the Plein Roc’s tunnel and found a trail leading from the protection of the hotel to Les Rochers de Naye mountain summit some 300 metres higher up. Heading for the peak, they left the image of the hotel behind, dwarfed by the mountainous backdrop and as they crunched along the snowy path, the exertion of the climb made them pant deeply in the thin mountain air.
Halfway along the struggling slope, they rested by an area marked out by curious fences into a number of strange separate grassy pens. Standing by the fences, drawing heavy breaths and trying to steady their hammering hearts, they pondered the reason for the deliberate creation. An unexpected high-pitched and slow staccato whistle echoed out across the intense sunlit field, drawing their attention to a furry, squirrel-like creature standing on his back legs and scouring the scene with alarm. Before long, the fence line erupted with a colony of alpine marmot climbing over each other and vying for the visitors’ attention. It was obvious the cute furry beggars were expecting food and when none seemed to appear, they impertinently lost interest and nonchalantly went about their business among the rocky slopes of their fenced mountain home.
Madame’s contagious laugh drew both Chantal’s and Clayton’s attention to an area inside the pen as they tried to follow the direction of her pointing hand. Finding two marmots standing on their back legs and locked in a boisterous game of animated belly bumping, trying to knock each other over and claim the territory in contention, Madame gulped in another amused breath and laughed energetically. Calming her laughter after a while and stammering breathlessly over her words, Angelina tried to explain, “Th... that’s exactly what you two do trying to outdo each other around me!”
Chantal and Clayton stared at each other, somewhat unamused by their first lady’s description of their performance around their charge, but after a while they could see she was right and acknowledged the deep sense of competition between them.
Sensing her character study had caused some angst, Angelina took both of her minders’ arms and tried to smooth over her observation. “And I adore your devotion and professionalism.”
The last steps before reaching the summit and onto the observation platform of Les Rochers de Naye required a huge effort and all three people were puffing breathlessly, but as they stepped onto the structure and turned towards the alpine vista, time seemed to pause with the stunning outlook demanding appropriate reverence.
The cloudless and overarching sapphire sky gave an uninhibited spectacle down to Lac Léman’s deep blue mood, while the distant shores and mountains of France lay exposed for all to scrutinise. A paddle steamer cut a zipper of white in front of its miniature bow and disturbed the expansive lake’s peaceful reflection. From here, Montreux’s bustling vastness fitted easily into the palm of an outstretched hand and with a powerful camera lens the view could be easily magnified, giving a secretive analysis of unsuspecting inhabitants over 2,000 metres below. Caux’s castle, languishing on a lower peak and trying to hide from the higher summit, stood impressive against the summer sky and even further down still, another ancient masterpiece, the Glion Institute of Higher Education pronounced its glory straddling the sheer mountainside directly above Montreux.
Madame’s struggling voice broke the contemplative quiet, absentmindedly speaking her thoughts and drawing Chantal’s and Clayton’s attention away from the scene. “This is breathtakingly beautiful. It reminds me of the flight from Naples to Geneva flying over the Alps in that clapped out Learjet when we almost died...!”
Madame realised what she had just said and a confused, pleading stare turned towards her minders, her eyes alight with fright and begging for understanding. The droning voice appeared again, replaying in her mind and flooding her memory with conflicting images, stirring the bewilderment into a swirling vortex of perplexing dreams and spiralling her body into trembling chaos. Chantal stared, frozen in fear, concerned for her first lady and wondering what Clayton would say, but Madame filled the awkward void instead with a quavering tremor.
“That was just nonsense and it didn’t happen... did it?” her traumatised voice tapered off and before she could speak, her body slipped down the railing and crumpled.
“CLAYTON!” Chantal’s alarmed voice called to the giant in a near scream, echoing over the mountain view and urging him to act.
Before Madame’s body could drop unconscious to the snow, Clayton had broken her fall, swooped into his powerful arms and hanging limp like a rag doll. Angelina’s frightened eyes flickered open for a heartbeat, recognising Clayton’s worried and adoring stare, then with a pitiable smile, her eyes closed again and she slumped against his chest.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 46
Dangling precariously from the ceiling by an exposed but insulated electric wire, a single incandescent light bulb burnt into the dark room and cast shadows over a disorderly array of instruments and furniture stacked unceremoniously into a hasty pile, the tools required for the successful operation of a music recording studio. Maestro’s objections to moving his vast equipment cache from a well appointed soundproofed studio into the island property were loudly protested. Robere, however, was adamant and the move began in earnest.
Ambience is everything to a gifted composer and if the surrounds aren’t conducive to artistic creativity, inspiration simply dries up. Nothing is more purposeless to a musical genius than a debilitating atmosphere, injuring inspiration and distressing the shy melody to remain ambiguous in a sea of meaningless musical scratches hanging dubiously over desolate staves. Like a washing line full of dirty family laundry flapping uselessly in the dry and exhausting alpine Foehn gales, hoping the apparel would somehow clean itself, yet without the intervention of proper cleaning process.
When Maestro had enquired, somewhat disdainfully how he should transport the heavy baby grand over the watery gap between the mainland and island, Robere had laughed, slapped the teen affectionately across his shoulder and offered, “Ask God to help you.”
It had only been God’s help and a handful of strong hired men that had prevented the heavy piano from overturning the small boat and sending the extravagant instrument to the ancient silted bottom of Lac Léman. Now the baby grand stood shivering in one the island’s cold and dank stonewalled ground floor rooms. Pushed into a darkened corner, the sensitive instrument joined company with a mountain of lifeless musical clutter, unsure of its fate in the destructive damp confines.
Overcome with the rumblings of discontent and glaring around the turmoil, Maestro pushed the plastic protective cover from the cowering piano and began to tease its ivory teeth with supple talented hands. Locating the matching piano stool, the duo melded into a precisely orchestrated symphony with man and machine combing wills and fingers while ivory keys blurred into a maelstrom of harmonious and melodic chaos. Empty staves on blank music paper erupted with powerful notations as Maestro interrupted the piano’s ordered pandemonium. When he paused, the musical storm momentarily abated, yet he could still hear each beat and each note in his mind, writing as furiously as his fingers would allow and capturing the moment’s hypnotic romance. Regaining his place with effortless ease, the baby grand sang with a harrowing tone as M
aestro’s body swayed in time with agile gifted fingers decisively manipulating highly expressive ivory keys and birthing yet another haunting musical jewel.
Pushing away from the stool and with a vigorous grab for electronic assistance, Maestro began to hastily shove boxes and crash equipment around the confined room. Compellingly, he searched for power leads and power outlets as a fever of musical pulse clamoured for a conduit from his focused mind and onto ordered music sheets, transposing the classical timbre into a determined and powerful rock masterpiece. Finally hanging his head in exhausted passion, Maestro contemplated the hastily written and completed score. Searching its pages, he could still hear the complex melody pulling at his heartstrings. This would be his finest yet and all it needed was a name. Falling to a worshipful pose at the piano’s feet, Maestro offered homage, realising he’d been given a new work born out of extraordinary circumstances and challenging traditional musical thought. Asking silently for a name to bless his latest creation, an immediate answer flashed through his prayerful mind: sfidare le tradiziones... challenge the traditions.
*~*~*~*
Ryan Tauxe quietly slipped the key into the family’s front door, hoping his mother had remembered to leave the inside key slightly out of the lock, allowing his metallic opener enough length to completely enter the tumbler and unlock the access. Otherwise he’d have to wake the family to gain entry, but at 5:15 am, waking his sleeping parents would be met with disharmony and incredulous questions. The unusual shaped unlocking device slid to its full length and with a twist, the lock gave way silently under his hand. Aware of the stubborn nature of the chalet’s front door, Ryan pushed the barrier slowly and carefully, however the leading edge scraped across the wooden floor and sent an unwanted announcement into the darkened household. Holding his breath and straining to listen, Ryan jumped as a shadowy figure from within the dim passage appeared and floated like an apparition in the gloom, apparently tying a dressing gown tether around its waist.