The crackle
and hop of the needle finding the lead-in groove brings to mind the fire that
kept the cold away in the lodge that night. As Satchmo’s trumpet plays the
intro like liquid gold, it brings me back to the thick, sweet cocoa we were
sipping.
We had been
skiing all day, the best thing to do in the Alps in the middle of winter. The
cold got into your bones up there, it wasn’t like the cold in England. It was
colder, even when it wasn’t. But we didn’t mind. It gave us an excuse to cuddle
up close in front of the fire, sipping our cocoa. We had only been married a
week, so it was all wonderfully new. It felt like she had been designed to fit
into the crease of my arm.
There was
something about that holiday that would and could never be repeated. Perhaps it
was that before then we hadn’t ever slept in the same house, much less the same
room, never mind the same bed. Or maybe it was that we were no longer separate
people, but part of a larger while. It could even have been that it was
particularly fine in the Alps that year with the powderiest snow, the blackest
nights and the bluest days. Whatever it was, we both agreed that we never had
another like it.
As the intro
ends and the low rasp of Mr Armstrong begins telling me how he got an invitation
and that it’s formal. It draws a picture from my memory of the dinners we
attended every night before going back to the lodge: not quite as formal as top
hat, white tie and tails but it was a nice place. I would wear a dickey. She
loved me in a dickey. I loved her in anything. One night, I remember, she wore
a violet dress I had bought for her especially. It had cost me a month’s wages,
but it was worth it. I always fancied she had a tinge of violet in her eyes,
and the dress brought it out perfectly. She just said I was silly. But she
smiled that delicious smile all the same.
The food was
food like we had never eaten. Lobster in butter, fillet mignon with garlic and
potatoes as only the French can do them. She always had her steak rare. I had
mine well-done. She called me a coward and told me how it was a shame to ruin
such a fine piece of meat. We washed it down with wine that made our toes curl.
She could never eat a whole dessert, or said she couldn’t. So I always agreed
to share one. One night we shared a crème brûlée, only it was so small I had to
order another. Her laugh was like crystals as the waiter shot me a look.
My tea is ready
to drink by the time Louis is complaining about it raining all the time. Those
two days when the storm hit were my favourite of the whole holiday. We had
plenty of food in the lodge. Somehow we had managed to find tea the day before,
I remember as I sip mine.
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