What Happens in the Alps.... T Williams A
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up to the first station. Below her, the pistes had been cleared, but there were very few people on the slopes. After years of riding in chairlifts, she was no longer scared stiff. Although she knew that in all probability she might be killed if she fell off one of these lifts, she wasn’t anything like as scared as when she was hundreds and hundreds of feet off the ground in a cable car. It was a question of degree. She was just grateful that Montalto didn’t have any cable cars.
Evidently, she was going to be one of the first skiers of the season. That, too, was exciting. As she skied off the lift at the top and stopped to adjust her goggles and gloves, she found she was humming to herself. She hadn’t done that for a very long time. It felt good, really good. She stood there for a few moments, staring out across the snow-covered mountains, and she felt the familiar stinging in her eyes, but this time, she didn’t cry and she didn’t stop humming. She ran a gloved hand across her face, pulled her goggles into place, and set off.
An hour later, after a few fast downhill runs, she had warmed up and decided to ski down a particularly difficult black run; a steep mogul field of dips and bumps, bordered on both sides by thick forest. It was tough, technical skiing and she was concentrating hard. As she reached the left-hand side of the piste, within touching distance of the thick canopy of conifers, she threw herself into a sharp turn back in the opposite direction, her knees flexing hard under the compression. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw another skier flash past, bouncing over the bumps, hopelessly out of control. At the same time, a movement further down the slope caused her to jam in the edges of her skis and stop dead, her hand over her mouth in silent horror.
A big black dog came running out of the trees, right in the path of the other skier. The man was powerless to take evasive action and the two figures converged with an awful inevitability. She clearly heard a cry and a yelp as the skier smashed into the dog, sending both of them flying into the air. The dog landed several metres further down the slope, its body limp and lifeless like a rag doll. The man bounced, rolled, and finally ended up on his face, perilously close to the trees, one ski still attached, the other stuck upright in the soft snow at the side of the piste. As Annie looked on, he stirred, sat up and then, without making any effort to help the injured dog, pulled himself to his feet, clipped on his missing ski, and set off down the hill once more.
Annie was appalled.
She skied down to where the body of the dog lay motionless in the snow. She stepped out of her skis, sticking them into the snow in the form of a cross to warn any other skiers of the danger, and went over to the dog. He was a fine-looking black Labrador, but he was quite unconscious. She knelt closer and was relieved to see he was still alive; his white, steamy breath clearly visible in the frozen air. His tongue was hanging out and blood was running from his mouth into the snow. She sat down beside him, her hand resting on the dog’s head, and debated what to do. Then she spotted a silver medallion attached to his collar. On it was a phone number. She pulled out her phone and dialled the number. It was answered almost immediately.
‘Pronto.’ It was an old man’s voice. He was speaking Italian, so she spoke to him in the same language.
‘Hello, I’m afraid there’s been an accident.’ Annie found she was panting and had to stop for breath before being able to carry on and give the man the story of what had happened. Luckily, both he and she were very familiar with the layout of the ski runs and he understood immediately when she described where the accident had happened.
‘Thank you very much for your kindness. Somebody’ll be there in ten minutes. Can you wait?’
‘Of course.’ Just at that moment, she saw a movement. The dog’s eyes fluttered, and then opened. She was quick to relay the good news. ‘He’s just opened his eyes. I think he’s going to be all right.’
‘That’s marvellous.’ She couldn’t miss the relief in the man’s voice. ‘His name’s Leo, by the way. Ten minutes.’ He rang off.
Annie pushed her phone back into her pocket and bent down closer to Leo the dog. His eyes were rolling and he was panting for breath, but he was conscious. She reached out and cradled his big furry head in one arm, stroking his cheek with the other. Gradually, he began to come round. After a few minutes, he managed to turn his head towards her. Her eyes met his and her heart went out to him. He really was gorgeous; and all the more gorgeous for being so vulnerable.
‘How’re you feeling, handsome?’ She found she was speaking Italian to him. Remembering what his owner had told her, she tried his name, still in Italian, seeing as he was an Italian dog. ‘You okay, Leo? Are you all right, Leo?’ This time there was a definite response from him. He stirred and tried, unsuccessfully, to pull himself to his feet. He struggled for a few moments before slumping back down again, exhausted by the effort. ‘You’ll be all right, Leo. Good dog, Leo.’ Annie was still talking to him some minutes later when she heard sounds behind her. She looked up as two men appeared, one wearing a bright blue jacket and the other a ski instructor, manhandling a metal stretcher sledge. She looked up and greeted them, naturally in Italian.
The man in the blue jacket gave her a big smile and murmured his thanks as he unclipped his skis and settled down beside the dog. He was probably around her age, mid or maybe late thirties, and looked very friendly, although he was clearly concerned for the dog.
‘Ciao, Leo.’ He knelt beside the dog and ran his hands gently along the length of his body. Annie was delighted to see the end of the dog’s tail wag weakly. She shifted slightly to one side, but left her arm supporting the big dog’s head.
‘Are you all right?’ The young ski instructor’s accent was local, with a slight French inflexion. She was thankful he was speaking to her in Italian, rather than the local patois that she found almost incomprehensible. He sounded genuinely concerned for her well-being. She looked up and gave him a smile, answering in Italian that came quite naturally to her now after ten years in the country.
‘I’m fine, thanks. I’ve just got a cold bottom from sitting on the snow too long.’ She glanced down at the dog and back up again. ‘What are you going to do with him?’
The man in the blue jacket looked across at her. His face was only a few feet from hers and she couldn’t help noticing his brilliant blue eyes, the exact same colour as his jacket. ‘I don’t think he’s broken anything. He’s let me touch him all over without jumping or yelping. We’ll just have to hope he hasn’t sustained any internal injuries. He’s very groggy, but you said the impact knocked him out, didn’t you?’
Annie nodded. ‘Out like a light for a few minutes, I’m afraid.’
‘That would explain his weak state. I think it should be okay to put him on the toboggan.’ He glanced up at the other man. ‘Paul, we’ll take him down to the car park and then I’ll run him down to the vet in Santorso.’ There was authority in his voice. His accent was northern Italian and well-educated. Annie found herself wondering just what it was he did up here.
‘Sure thing.’ Paul nodded and slid the sledge as close as possible to the dog. The man in the blue jacket reached his arms underneath the Labrador and then, with Annie still cradling Leo’s head, he straightened up and lifted the dog onto the sledge. Leo didn’t make a sound. They wedged him in with a blanket and straps to stop him rolling off and then Paul didn’t waste any time. He eased the sledge out onto the piste and slipped away down the hill. As he went, he gave Annie a big smile. ‘See you again, I hope.’ Annie watched him with considerable admiration. The sledge was solid and heavy, and Paul was skiing without the use of sticks, just steering by hanging on to the handles, for all the world like skiing with a long wheelbarrow behind him.
The dog’s owner stood up and held out his hand to Annie. She took it and he helped her to her feet. Only when she was standing did she realise how tall he was for an Italian, probably as tall as Matt. As for her, she hadn’t been joking about her cold bottom. Not only was it cold; it felt as though her right buttock had gone to sleep. Surreptitiously, she hopped from one leg to the other to get the circulation flowing.
‘Thank you again, most warmly.’ The man shook her by the hand and the bright blue eyes caught hers. ‘Really, thank