Dave sat staring out at the snow. He was bored already. His friends had only left half an hour ago but already the day stretched into nothingness.
He glanced down at the white plaster cast encasing his left leg.
“Come to France,” they said.
“We’ll go skiing in the Alps,” they said.
“We’ll have a blast, all those sexy French girls,” they said.
The first day on the ski slopes, somehow, Dave had managed to crash into another skier as he struggled to master his skis. He’d felt rather than heard the snap, but either way, the leg was broken and he was left doing a very bad impression of Jimmy Stewart as he wheeled himself around the chalet in his wheelchair.
Megève was pretty much how Dave had imagined it. Hordes of beautiful people swanning around the place, managing to look cool, refined and in control as they gracefully skied and managed to come to a stop without the need to plough into someone.
He picked up the pair of binoculars and gave another cursory scan of the slopes on the off chance he would actually recognise his three friends under their ski jackets, hats and goggles.
The resort looked fantastic. Nestled under the shadow of Mont Blanc, the mountains towered over the resort. Everywhere he looked, he could see people zipping down the slopes, whizzing in and out of slower skiers and generally having a good time.
His friends had regaled him the first evening about the gorgeous girls, how they were up for it and it was such a shame he couldn’t be there.
‘Fuck it,’ he thought. He may as well give up and go back to bed. As he spun his chair around, he saw one of the chalet maids going into the chalet next door.
‘Nice arse,’ he thought to himself as he watched her unload supplies from the trolley. Almost subconsciously, he raised the binoculars to his eyes, sighing to himself as he admired the curves of her ass under the tight leggings. She was fit. Toned legs, tight ass, slim, long brunette hair tied up in a ponytail. She looked pretty. Youngish, in her early twenties. She had a cute slightly turned-up nose and full lips. Dave offered up a silent prayer of thanks to his friend who had left the binoculars within reach as he used them to check her out in minute detail.
Dave had a thing for brunettes, though to be honest, he wasn’t that picky. He continued to watch her as she opened the door and went inside. The chalet was the same design as the one he was currently sitting in. The central hub was a large double-height ceilinged living area with the bedrooms leading off it. The chalet had large glass windows on three sides of the living area to showcase the spectacular views of the Alps.
The snow was brighter than Dave had imagined possible. He was used to grubby slushy mushed up dirty snow which would lie for a day or two before melting away until only a few small piles of frozen slush remained in the sheltered areas. Here, the snow was everywhere. It was crisp and crunched under his feet. He’d never really understood why everyone wore sunglasses on a skiing holiday until he stood, almost blinded by the glare as the cocky young French skiing instructor laughed at him, calling him ‘L’Anglais’ like it was an insult or something. But he didn’t mind. He had loved everything about the place that first day.
Or he did. Now, he felt like a prisoner, forced to stare out the window. He had discovered in the past few days just how hard it is to get around a mountainous snow-covered resort in a wheelchair.
He raised the binoculars to his eyes again, focussing on the large glass windows of the chalet the girl had just gone into. He watched her as she placed the pile of bedding on the coffee table. She shrugged her way out of the puffer jacket and Dave felt his cock stirring as he appraised her figure all over again.
The skinny long-sleeved top was certainly figure-hugging he thought to himself. He twiddled the focus rim on the binoculars. Nice tits, not too big, a perfect handful. He peered closer, trying to check if he could see the outline of her nipples as she moved about the chalet.
She knelt down in front of the open fire and Dave used the opportunity to study her ass. He’d never been much of a voyeur. He was usually so loud that the girl realised she was being watched within a few seconds. Here, however, the distance, the panes of glass and the binoculars all left the girl thinking she was unobserved.
Dave watched her move in and out of the rooms. She was graceful, economical about the way she worked. She was obviously well used to this routine and was slipping her jacket back on within fifteen minutes of arrival.
Dave watched her as she left the chalet. Ski boots and jacket back on. Her hair poking out from under a bright multicoloured hat. Dave wondered for a minute if she’d be coming to their chalet but then remembered they were responsible for cleaning the place.
He watched her climb onto her little ski mobile moped and drive off around the corner, heading no doubt for another chalet. Now she was gone, the four walls began to loom over him again as he sat cursing his bad luck, his broken leg and the stupid cow he’d skied into.
The next day, Dave sat with the binoculars on his lap the minute his friends cheerily made their way outside and headed off towards the ski slopes. Less than an hour later, he heard the little snowmobile chug up towards the chalet next door.
He watched her climb out, focussing this time on her face. She had sparkling blue eyes. Her lips were full, and not for the first time, Dave wondered what it would be like to kiss her. To brush his lips against hers, to flick his tongue against her teeth as they pressed their mouths together.
She shed her coat once she got inside as she had the day before. Dave admired her curves as she moved about the room in her leggings and top. She was petite. She seemed to dance on her tiptoes as she moved from room to room, her ponytail swaying as she gathered up the clutter, depositing it neatly away and making the chalet look presentable. Dave knew the group staying there were a bunch of lads from Essex or somewhere down south and silently pitied the poor girl for having to deal with their crap. He’d watched them come home last night, with a group of girls in tow that’d they picked up at one of the après-ski parties. He’d watched them partying as his friends had sat around the table playing cards and drinking wine, recounting tales of their skiing day to Dave.
Soon, it became a routine. Dave would harass his friends to hurry up and get out in the morning, urging them to get on and get up the slopes to make the most of the winter sunshine. He decided the girl was called Chloe. It sounded suitably French and his morning routine now became him waiting for the putt-putt-putt of her snowmobile. He would watch her every move. He began to anticipate her movements. The binoculars would sweep ahead of her, letting her spin and twirl and move into frame. He created a back story for Chloe. She was local. She lived down in the village. She was a student but was working in the ski resort to save money for term time. He imagined what he would say to her when he walked up to her in the bar one evening. Once he was out of the plaster cast.
The day the group of Essex lads left the chalet, the routine changed. His friends had left, as usual, the now compulsory advice not to sit around on his arse all day being called out as the doors closed behind them. Dave sat, watching the lads gather their crap together. Chloe was due in ten minutes and they were still there. Why couldn’t they hurry up and leave?
Finally, they stumbled out of the chalet, dragging their luggage behind them. Last night appeared to have been a night of excess as one guy seemed still drunk while another was a particularly nauseous shade of green. He watched them stagger up the road, silently wondering how the ski gods allowed them to survive a week of skiing unscathed while he couldn’t even stay upright for one day.
But where was Chloe? His glances at his watch grew more frequent. At one stage he was convinced his watch had stopped, despite watching the numbers change as time appeared to slow down. Chloe was now over an hour late. A cold fear gripped him. Maybe she wasn’t coming. Or she’d had an accident and was in the hospital right now. He could feel himself start to panic as the reasons for her non-appearance grew more and more fanciful.
He was almost at the stage of phoning the resort complex to enquire what was wrong with her when he heard the familiar putt-putt-putt. He relaxed, his head falling back as he sighed in relief. Then he sat bolt upright. There was another girl sitting on the back of the snowmobile. She had her hands wrapped around Chloe’s waist, holding tight. She was pressed against Chloe’s back. Giggling about something as Chloe pulled to a stop in front of the now-deserted chalet. Chloe’s snowmobile was pulling a small trailer sledge as well.
Of course, Dave realised. Change-over day. No wonder she was late. There would be extra cleaning to do to get the chalet ready for the next group. He brought his binoculars to his eyes. The other girl was taller than Chloe but appeared to have the same physique. Maybe there are rules for what a chalet chambermaid can look like. She was strikingly beautiful as well. Her black skin seemed to shine, reflecting the whiteness from the snow. Her hair was braided with gold cord threaded through her long dark brown hair.
