Hold the Dream by Barbara Taylor Bradford
‘I don’t know whether they’re safe or not. I hope to God they are. I pray they are,’ Winston said, putting his arm around her.
‘But you – ’
Winston interrupted fiercely, ‘I didn’t go skiing this morning. When I got here I’d just missed a cable car. I waited around for a while, planning to take the next one, but I got fed up. I had a bit of a hangover and I was beginning to feel queasy. So I left, went in to the town. I bought the English papers, stopped at a café and had a fernet branca. By the time I felt better it was too late to go skiing, so I did a bit of shopping. I was actually in the car park, stowing the stuff in the car, when I heard a whoomp that sounded like a blast of dynamite. There was an American parked next to me, and he shouted something about an avalanche, that his daughter was on the slopes, and then he ran like hell. I followed him, knowing – ’ Winston swallowed. ‘Knowing that everybody from the chalet, well practically everybody, was up there too.’
An unexpected feeling of hope soared in Emily. She exclaimed, ‘Perhaps they decided to ski on that other range.’
Winston shook his head. His face was bleak.
Emily grabbed hold of him. ‘Oh Winston!’
He calmed her. ‘Come on, Emily, you must be strong, very brave – ’ He broke off and swung his head as he heard his name being called. He spotted Marc Deboyne and Elizabeth running in their direction and lifted his hand in a wave, looked down at his wife and said, ‘Your mother and Marc are coming.’
Elizabeth almost flung herself at Winston and embraced him, crying. ‘You’re safe, you’re safe. I was petrified for you, Winston.’ She looked at him through anxious eyes. Her white face was stark, but she was exercising immense control. She hugged Emily, then said, ‘What about the others, Winston? Have you seen any of the family, or Jan and Peter?’
‘No. You see, I didn’t go skiing this morning. I changed my mind.’
There was a sudden flurry of activity in the area. They all turned around. The rescue teams had arrived, professional skiers wearing backpacks and controlling a number of German shepherds. With them were additional police, a group of French soldiers and town officials.
‘I will go and ask a few questions,’ Marc muttered and strode off purposefully.
Winston exclaimed, ‘It’s stopped! Do you realize the avalanche has stopped.’
Elizabeth stared at him. ‘It stopped when Marc and I were running down here. After that deafening noise the silence was awful, deathly.’
Before Winston could reply, Marc was back with them, explaining: ‘The teams are going up now. They’ve got the best equipment in those backpacks. Listening devices, probing rods, and the dogs, of course. Let us be hopeful.’
‘Is there any hope?’ Winston asked in a low intense tone.
Marc hesitated, tempted to lie. But he elected to speak the truth. ‘It’s doubtful,’ he murmured quietly. ‘The avalanche must have been travelling at enormous speed, anywhere between one hundred and twenty to two hundred miles per hour…and then there is the force, the weight of the snow. And yet – ’ He attempted an encouraging smile. ‘People have been known to live through avalanches and snow slides as bad as this one. It depends where they are on the slopes when it strikes. Those near the bottom would have the best chance, providing they knew to throw away their skis and poles, make swimming motions with their arms. That creates air pockets in front of the face. Even if a person is felled by snow it is vital to keep the arms moving in that manner to provide air around the body. People have lived for days under the snow – because they had those air pockets.’
Emily said worriedly, ‘David, Jim and Philip are experienced skiers, but Maggie – ’
Elizabeth suppressed a cry of fear. She gasped. ‘We must have courage and keep our hopes high. Please don’t let’s talk so mournfully. It makes me nervous. I must continue to believe that they are all alive.’
Marc put his arm around her protectively, ‘You are right, chérie. We must be positive.’
Winston said to Emily, ‘I think you ought to take your mother over to one of the nearby cafés. Wait there. There’s nothing you can do here.’
‘No!’ Emily cried heatedly, glaring at him. ‘I want to be here with you. Please, Winston.’
‘Yes, we must stay here,’ Elizabeth insisted. She blew her nose and got a grip on her diminishing composure. Silently she began to pray.
Exactly one hour after the avalanche had struck the rescue teams and the dogs went up in the cable cars.
In just under an hour they returned with the first eight people they had found. Five of them were dead. Three were miraculously alive. Two were young girls. One was a man.
‘It’s Philip!’ Emily screamed and breaking away from Winston and her mother, she began to run towards her cousin.
Philip was being supported by a member of the rescue team. As he limped across to her, Emily saw that one side of his face was scraped and covered with congealed blood, and his bright blue eyes were dazed. But otherwise he looked as if he had escaped with no really serious injuries.
‘Philip!’ Emily exclaimed, drawing up beside him, ‘Thank God you’re safe. Are you hurt at all do you think?’
He shook his head. Despite the odd glazed look in his eyes, he recognized her, reached out to her.
A second later, Winston, Elizabeth and Marc were also by his side, asking questions. Philip simply went on shaking his head helplessly, remained mute.
The skier who had found him said in halting English, ‘This man, your friend, has been lucky…he knew what to do. He did not panic. He discarded his poles…the skis…did the swimming. Yes, he was most fortunate…this man was at the bottom of the slope…had completed his run. He was covered with only ten feet of snow…the dogs…they found him. Now…if you please. We go. To the first aid station over there.’
Philip finally spoke. He asked, in hoarse voice, ‘Dad? Maggie? The others?’
Winston said. ‘No news yet.’
Philip closed his eyes, then opened them quickly, allowed himself to be helped away.
Turning to Emily, Winston said, ‘You and your mother had better go along with Philip, lovey. Marc and I will wait here. Once you’ve ascertained that he has no internal injuries, I want the three of you to go back to the chalet.’
Emily started to protest. Winston cut her off sharply. ‘Please, Emily, don’t argue. Look after Philip. And somebody should be at the chalet…when Daisy and Alexander get back from Geneva.’
‘Yes,’ Emily acquiesced, realizing the sense he made. She kissed him and ran after her mother, who had walked ahead with Philip and the skier.
Winston and Marc stood around for another hour, smoking incessantly, occasionally talking to each other, and striking up conversations with other people who were keeping the same distressing vigil at the terminal.
The rescue teams continued to go up and down in the cable cars. Four more survivors were brought to safety, to be followed by nine who were dead.
At four o’clock one of the rescue teams which had been long and endlessly searching the higher part of the mountain returned. They brought with them five more vacationing skiers who had been trapped by the avalanche. The bad news spread quickly. All were dead.
‘We must go over and check,’ Winston said, throwing his cigarette on the ground, grinding his toe on the butt. Bracing himself, he swung to Marc. ‘Will you come with me?’
‘Yes, Winston. No use putting it off.’
The bodies were being laid on stretchers. When he was a few feet away from them, Winston came to a sudden halt. His strength ebbed out of him, but somehow he managed to take several more steps forward after this brief pause.
He felt Marc’s strong hand under his armpit, heard the Frenchman say sorrowingly, ‘I am so sorry, so very sorry. This is a tragedy for the family.’
Winston found he could not speak.
He gazed down at the five people who lay on the stretchers. Two of them he did not know, but the other three…For a moment his m
Sucking in his breath, and brushing his hand across his brimming eyes, Winston went to identify the bodies of David Amory, Jim Fairley and Maggie Barkstone, fatal victims of the avalanche. And he thought of Daisy and Alexander, driving back from Geneva, and of Paula, who was in New York, and he wondered how he was ever going to break the devastating news to them.
CHAPTER 51
Shane O’Neill stood in the kitchen of the barn in New Milford, waiting for the second pot of coffee to brew.
After lighting a cigarette, he reached for the wall phone and dialled the farm. When Elaine Vickers answered, he said cheerily, ‘Top of the morning to you.’
‘Hi, Shane,’ Elaine replied. ‘We thought you weren’t coming up this weekend when we didn’t hear from you last night. But Sonny saw your car earlier this morning, so we knew you’d made it.’
‘It was late when we arrived,’ Shane explained. ‘The farm was in darkness and I thought twice about waking you. Paula didn’t get back from Texas until early evening and it was after nine when we left the city. Sorry I didn’t ring you before now, but we got off to a slow start this morning.’
Elaine laughed. ‘I’ll say you did. It’s almost noon. But the way you two work you deserve to take it easy occasionally. I hope we’re going to see you for dinner tonight,’ she went on. ‘We’ve been looking forward to it all week.’
‘We’ll be over around seven-thirty as planned,’ Shane assured her.
Elaine exclaimed, ‘Oh Shane, you’ll have to excuse me. That was the oven bell. My bread’s going to spoil if I don’t take it out immediately. See you tonight.’
‘Bye, Elaine.’ Shane dropped the phone in its cradle, stubbed out his cigarette and went to the sink. He rinsed the two mugs and dried them. He was just about to pour the coffee when the telephone began to ring. Putting down the pot, he picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’
There was no response at the other end of the phone, only the sound of static and a hollow echo. ‘Hello? Hello?’ Shane said again in a stronger tone.
Finally a muffled voice came down the wire. ‘It’s me. Winston. I’m phoning from Chamonix. Can you hear me, Shane?’
‘I can now. Winston! How – ’
Winston cut him off. ‘Something terrible has happened here, Shane, and I don’t know where Paula is, where to reach her, and I thought I’d better speak to you first anyway.’
Shane gripped the receiver tighter, frowned to himself. ‘Actually she’s staying here with me for the weekend. What’s wrong, Winston?’
‘There has been a disastrous avalanche on Mont Blanc, at about one o’clock today, the worst in years,’ Winston began, his voice sounding more muffled and gruff than ever. ‘Some of the family have been killed.’ Winston’s voice cracked and he was unable to continue.
‘Oh Jesus!’ Shane steadied himself against the counter, waiting to hear the worst. His heart had begun to thud in his chest and intuitively he knew that Winston was about to impart news that would devastate Paula. He knew it in his bones.
Thousands of miles away, in the dining room of the chalet on the outskirts of Chamonix, Winston Harte stood at the window gazing into the distance. Mont Blanc loomed up into the darkening sky, looked so peaceful now in the twilight after the havoc it had wrought only five hours ago. He got a grip on himself, said in a controlled voice, ‘Sorry for breaking down. It’s been the worst day of my life. Look, Shane, I’m going to give it to you straight because it’s the only way I know how.’ Winston took a deep breath and began to speak, relaying the tragic news to his friend.
As he listened Shane felt the shock strike him like a body blow and ten minutes later when Winston finally hung up he was still reeling. He stood with his hand on the phone, staring blankly into the middle of the room. He began to blink as bright sunlight streamed in through the windows. How normal everything seemed here in this kitchen. It was so tranquil. Peaceful. And it was such a pretty day outside. The sky was a bright blue, clear and without a single cloud and the sun was radiant. But over in France the family he had been so close to for his entire life were living with unexpected death and sorrow. How abruptly, how suddenly lives had been changed, almost in the flicker of an eyelash. Oh dear God, Shane thought, how am I going to tell Paula? Where will I find the words?
He heard her step in the hall outside and swung around to face the door, then held himself very still, waiting.
She was laughing as she came in and said in a teasing voice, ‘That’s the last time I’ll ever ask you to make the coffee. You’ve been on the phone for ages. Who were you talking to, darling?’
Shane took a step towards her. He tried to speak but nothing came out. There was a parched gravelly feeling in his throat and his mouth went dry.
‘You’ve got the oddest look on your face, Shane. What’s wrong?’ Paula demanded, instantly tensing.
He put his arm around her shoulder and propelled her out of the kitchen and into the big living room, leading her to the fire. She demanded again, and with fierceness, ‘Shane, what’s happened? Please tell me.’
‘I will, I will,’ he said hoarsely, pressing her down on the sofa, seating himself next to her. He took her hands in his, held on to them tightly, and looked into that face he had loved all of his life. He saw the worry, the sudden apprehension invading it.
Shane’s heart clenched as he said in the softest of voices, ‘I just got some very bad news, some dreadful news, Paula darling. From Winston. There was the most hideous accident in Chamonix around one o’clock today. An avalanche on Mont Blanc. Some of the family have been killed.’
Paula gaped at him. Her eyes, opening widely, were pinned on his. He saw the horror mirrored in them and the draining away of all colour from her face. It turned chalky white. ‘Who?’ she asked in a strangled whisper.
Shane’s grip increased, his fingers biting into her flesh. ‘You must be brave, my darling,’ he said. ‘Very brave. I’m here, I’ll help you through this.’ He paused, swallowed hard, sought the right phrases, the right words. But there were no such things, he knew that.
Paula, her mind racing, thought of the most dedicated skiers in the group. She cried harshly, ‘Not Daddy? Not my father?’
Shane’s throat constricted. He nodded. ‘I’m so sorry. So very sorry, my darling,’ he murmured in a dim and shaken voice.
For a moment Paula could not say a word. She continued to stare at Shane, stunned and stupefied, almost uncomprehending, unable to conceive what he was saying – or accept it.
Aware that it would be kinder to tell her everything at once, quickly, and without further delay, he said in the same saddened tone, ‘Paula, I don’t know how to tell you this, and I’m so sorry, but Jim was also killed. And Maggie. They were on top of the mountain with your father when it happened.’
‘No!’ she said. ‘No!’ She wrenched her hands out of his and clapped them over her mouth, looking around the room frenziedly, as if seeking escape, as if trying to run from this new and dreadful knowledge. Her eyes stretched and stretched in her ashen face. She jumped up jerkily and shouted in a frantic voice, ‘It can’t be so! No! It just can’t be so! Oh my God! Philip. My brother. Was he – ’
‘He’s all right,’ Shane exclaimed, also leaping to his feet, wrapping his arms around her. ‘Everyone is safe, except for Jan and Peter Coles. They haven’t been found yet.’
Paula pulled away from him roughly, staring up into his face. Her violet eyes were black with the pain and horror of it all, and her face twisted in a grimace of grief and anguish and heartbreak. She began to tremble violently but as Shane reached for her once more, wanting to help her, to comfort her, Paula ran into the middle of the room, moving her head from side to side, denying, denying. Suddenly she wrapped her arms around her body and doubled over in agony.
She began to make small but high-pitched mewling noises like a terrified animal in immense
The private jet owned by O’Neill Hotels International sliced through the dark night sky high above the English Channel. It was set on a steady course for London Airport where it would soon be landing after a seven-hour flight across the Atlantic.
Shane sat opposite Paula, who was stretched out on one of the banquettes and wrapped in several light woollen travelling rugs. He watched her closely, hardly daring to take his eyes off her. Occasionally he leaned over her, soothed her gently, as he had throughout the long and difficult trip. She tossed about restlessly despite the sedatives she had been given at different intervals since he had told her about the tragedy in Chamonix.
The local doctor in New Milford, instantly summoned by Shane after she had collapsed, had treated her for shock. He had injected her and given Shane a small box of additional sedatives in tablet form. Before leaving the barn he had instructed Shane to administer them during the flight whenever he considered it necessary, but to use his discretion.
Shane had rapidly come to realize that Paula was fighting the tranquillizing drugs, just as she had fought him at times during the night. Twice over the Atlantic she had tried to struggle up off the banquette, her eyes filled with panic and fear. She had vomited once, retching until there was nothing left inside. He had tended to her every need with infinite patience, tenderness and love, helping her in every way he could, murmuring consoling words to her, trying to ease her mental turmoil, ensure her physical comfort.
Now, as he sat observing her, Shane’s worry accelerated. She had not broken down or cried once, and this was abnormal for her, she who was such an emotional woman by nature. Nor had she spoken to him and it was this extraordinary and protracted silence plus the wild and febrile look in her eyes that frightened him so much.