Chapter 10

“Give me a break!” Sonia moaned into her cellphone the next morning. “It’s only 8 o’clock.”

“I’ve been up since seven.”

“Don’t tell me your problems,” she complained, trying to bury her head under the pillow.

“I’m sorry...”

“Liar!”

“ ... but honestly, it’ll be well after nine before we head up the mountain, and the morning will be half gone before we know it.”

“It’s only half an hour to the ski field.”

Roy sighed. “I guess my years as a builder have made it hard for me to sleep in. Don’t stress yourself. I’ll go and have a pre-coffee coffee until you’re ready to face the day. You’ll find me in the restaurant.”

“And leave any other instruments of torture behind,” she said as she hung up.

It was another 30 minutes before Sonia appeared in the café. Roy rose as she entered, and without thinking gave her a brief hug, to which she responded lightly.

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?” Roy asked as he directed her to the breakfast self-service bar.

“Just this once.”

“I’ll take what I can get. Especially if there are more ‘onces’.”

“You’re running a bit fast, mister. Let’s eat before either of us digs a hole we’re not ready for.”

Once settled with their food, Sonia paused.

“I do owe you an apology. Sorry I snapped your head off when you phoned. I normally handle mornings okay, but I tossed and turned a lot before sleep arrived last night. Maybe this weekend is stirring up more than I expected. I hadn’t quite managed to put on my meet-the-world persona.” She turned again to her plate.

“Apology accepted. But is this the time to ask why sleep evaded you?”

“No. But I promise we’ll talk about it later. In the meantime, I want to relax into the day, continue throwing off any hangover of stress, and enjoy the surroundings. And I’m hoping Mt Hutt will work its magic.”

Roy glanced toward the windows. “The sun’s already glinting off the slopes. Makes me feel like we’re about to enter another world.”

“Exactly. That’s why I love it.”

“What magic have you experienced there before? Are you a ski bunny?”

“Not really. After I returned from Singapore and settled in Christchurch, I wanted to explore the alps, to see whether I had any affinity for snow or skiing. Mt Hutt was one of several South Island ski fields I visited, but I never became more than a slightly competent learner on skis, and resigned myself that I’d started too late in life. It’s rather humiliating when five-year-olds run rings around you. But I loved the clean feeling of the cold, and the magnificent views. I’m in awe of the presence I feel in the mountains – it reminds me there’s something majestic in the world that is far greater than me.”

“That’s a humbling perspective.”

“Have you never felt it?”

“Not in that way. But I’m willing to admit there have been times I wished there were something bigger. I don’t think I’ve slowed down for years. Always another project, another person to manage. I’m not sure I remember what quiet feels like anymore.” He paused, then added, “Maybe today will help me to experience the same thing that inspires you.”

Sonia gave a faint, appreciative smile, touched by his openness. “That’s all I could ask.”

The sun caught patches of melting frost along the roadside as they headed up the mountain. Roy drove slowly, partly because it was a long time since he’d driven in the mountains, so he was keen to avoid the odd pocket of ice, and partly because he was still easing into the hush that Sonia now seemed to have settled into as they left Methven.

Neither had said much since leaving the lodge. There was no awkwardness in the silence—just a mutual awareness that this part of the day had a different rhythm. Sonia had chosen gentle instrumental music on her phone to accompany the drive, and Roy found himself breathing more deeply than usual, as if matching his pulse to the landscape.

They reached the ski field complex shortly before ten. There were few people around – there wasn’t enough snow for skiing, though a few families found enough for their children’s toboggans. Sonia led him past the main building toward a modest structure tucked into a snowy shoulder of the hill. A wooden sign, simple and weathered, bore the words Chapel of the Snow. No one else was in sight.

Inside, the chapel was spare and still. Rough-hewn timber benches faced a large picture window that looked out toward a vast sweep of the Southern Alps. There was no pulpit, no religious iconography—only a cross carved into the wall above the window, where mountain and sky became the unspoken altar.

Sonia didn’t speak. She simply sat near the front and closed her eyes. Roy hesitated, then sat a few rows back. He wasn’t sure what to do—wasn’t sure what he believed—but something about the silence invited him to stop thinking. The cold seemed to recede. His shoulders relaxed.

Minutes passed. He watched Sonia for a while, noticing how peaceful she looked. Then his eyes drifted to the mountains. He let himself feel small, realising at the same time that he didn’t feel diminished.

Roy’s thoughts had turned so far inward for a few minutes that it took him a moment to register the sound of an electronic keyboard being played softly. He looked up to see Sonia, eyes half closed, her fingers moving quietly over the keys. The melody was familiar—something he hadn’t heard in many years. He sat still, not wanting to disturb the atmosphere she was creating, the peace that hovered in the room like a fragile mist.

Then he noticed a guitar leaning against the wall near the piano. Did he dare? It had been too long. What if he spoiled the moment? But somehow the guitar called to him, despite his apprehensions. He rose carefully, walked over to it, and lifted it from its stand. Slipping the strap over his shoulders, he watched Sonia’s hands, noting the key of the song she was playing. Softly, tentatively, he began picking out the chords.