Rebellion of a Chalet Girl:

But then I haven't been back to England since I was eighteen.

"How do you know it's the Nathaniel Campbell?" Tash stopped at the doorway and turned back towards Amelia.

"How many Nathaniel Campbells do you think there are with the kind of money you need to invest in Verbier property?" Amelia asked. "Anyway I found his most recent interview online and when asked about new projects he said he was taking some time out in the Swiss Alps to write a companion book for the series. That would explain why he's booked Chalet Repos for the whole month."

"Hmm. I need a caffeine fix.” Tash shrugged. “Coffee anyone?”

It was irrational to dislike a man she’d never met but telling herself so didn’t stop the stirrings of resentment.

Nathaniel Campbell was bringing change to Chalet Repos and that was a good enough reason for Tash.

"I've seen him, I've seen him," Rebecca squeaked, practically bouncing up and down with excitement. Gone were her casual clothes, replaced by smart black wool trousers and a gorgeous aquamarine cashmere sweater. She even wore her tiny pearl earrings and a Tiffany pendant.

Her clothes whispered wealth and style.

"Great," Tash replied without enthusiasm as she pulled a clean navy hoodie on over her vest top, her sole concession to dressing up for the guests. She might not have been so irritated if Rebecca hadn't spent most of the previous evening talking about what she should wear and what Nathaniel Campbell would be like in real life.

Tash's mix of charity shop and cheap supermarket clothes felt like rags compared to the designer cashmere clothes Rebecca wore.

I feel cheap. In pretty much every sense of the word.

She wondered for the umpteenth time if she could last the whole season without cracking and pushing Rebecca down a black ski run.

Minus the skis.

It wasn't as if Rebecca even had to work, her father was a judge, they were minted. She even had a pony back home in Surrey for frick's sake.

Something tightened in her chest at the thought of it. A proper home. A safety net. Rebecca had it with bells on and Tash…didn't. Not that she expected life to be fair; she'd given up that hope long ago.

The familiar tension crept into Tash's jaw as she applied her eye shadow. Rebecca was doing the 'chalet girl thing' for fun because 'Daddy says I need to get a job. It's like, character forming, you know.'

Tash stared at Rebecca now in much the same way as she'd stared at her when she'd explained why she was at Chalet Repos, as though Rebecca had flown in from another planet, another universe even. It often felt like they spoke a different language.

"Do you really think some business mogul come TV star is going to take up with a poxy chalet girl?" Tash shook her head.

"Maybe." Rebecca grinned.

Tash tutted. "You have been watching too many romantic comedies."

There was a certain childishness to Rebecca's expression, a naïvety that stirred an unexpected protectiveness in Tash. She felt twenty years older than her, not the mere two years older she actually was. Rebecca was twenty-one but she seemed far younger than Tash had been at her age.

From what Tash had gleaned, Rebecca had seen practically nothing of the world outside her Surrey pony club idyll, private school and holiday villas in Tuscany.

She didn't seem to have a clue just how cruel human beings could be to each other.

Lucky her. Yet the lack of knowledge made her so vulnerable.

How can I hate Rebecca one minute and want to protect her the next?

Tash sighed. This was what dormitory living could do to you. Just the way someone else was breathing or humming along to their iPods could be enough to wind you up after two months of forced proximity.

Mountain Cabin Fever, Holly called it.

Rebecca rummaged in her make up bag for lipstick and applied it. When she smiled at Tash there was a pink smear on her front teeth.

"Wait." Tash touched Rebecca's arm, the cashmere super-soft beneath her fingertips. "You've got lipstick on your teeth."

It's not Rebecca's fault she isn't Sophie.

"Oh, have I? Thanks." Rebecca pulled out her compact mirror and a face wipe to remove the smear.

"Where are Amelia and Lucy?" Tash asked, making her way to the door.

"Already out there." Rebecca pushed her make-up bag beneath her bunk. "Wait for me."

Tash rolled her eyes as she waited, but not so as Rebecca could see. Tash wasn't a total bitch. Being friends with Sophie and Holly seemed to have sandpapered away some of her sharper edges.

But prickles aren't all bad. They keep you safe; just ask a hedgehog.

Had staying in one place for so long turned her soft?

In Chalet Repos' living area Amelia and Lucy handed flutes of champagne to men wearing dark suits and expensive leather shoes. Champagne at eleven in the morning? These guests must be considered important. But suits in a ski resort? Looked like she'd been right. There were four in the group, all with their backs to her. On closer inspection one of them turned out to be a woman in an androgynous trouser suit and a very short pixie haircut.

Tash lingered by the doorway, feeling out of place. Rebecca edged forward, fixed smile in place, trying to make her way to the front of the group. Tash cringed for her.

Could she be more obvious?

Tash decided to skulk at the back of the room, straightening a few faux-fur cushions on the sofas and hoping to be left alone if she looked busy. Delaying the inevitable and much dreaded small talk she'd doubtless have to engage in.

When the cushions were plumped and the throws straightened Tash headed to the fireplace and threw another fresh log on the fire, even though it didn't really need it.

She scanned the room for any other unnecessary jobs and met Holly's eye.

"Tash," Holly called out. "Come over here and meet Mr Campbell."

Chapter 2 (#ub124c98c-23ed-5021-85a3-ca6680c26f3f)

Why did you have to choose me to babysit this guy? I'm no good at this. No good at…suits. Give me a bar or a club and I can talk for England but not this…

The summons gave Tash no choice but to move reluctantly forward.

He's only a man.

Just a man.

Holly met her halfway and linked her arm through Tash's, as though afraid she was planning to leg it. Tash held her head high. No twat in a suit would intimidate her. Weren't you supposed to imagine people naked to make it easier?

Her stomach twisted over and her muscles tensed. Suits reminded her of officialdom, of all the adults who'd moved her around foster placements, who’d laid down the law and made decisions about her life without consulting her.