OK, so here I am in Chamonix . . . let's see exactly how much of that brochure was true: 1. Fun on the slopes?

Fall over a lot. Feel like crying. Run away to a coffee shop and eat cake.

2. Benefits of fresh air and exercise?

A bruise that looks like the map of Africa on my left b.u.t.tock. More blisters on my feet than the last time I walked home from a nightclub in stilettos because I'd missed the last bus. Never again underestimating how much I like sitting on the sofa watching The X Factor.

3. Waking up feeling rested and invigorated.

Waking up feeling as if I've been run over by a double-decker bus.

The next morning I can barely move. The word 'sore' doesn't do it justice. It's as if I've aged about a hundred years overnight and it takes forever just to climb out of bed. And to think I'm supposed to do it all over again today, I wince, as I shuffle into the shower. At this rate, I'm not going to be able to walk, let alone s...o...b..ard.

But after forty-five minutes of standing under steaming-hot jets of water, I've mustered some enthusiasm and am determined to have another go. I can't give up after one day! OK, so yesterday was a bit of a disaster all round, but I'm not going to let it ruin the whole trip. I can't let it ruin the whole trip, I remind myself firmly. This is my big chance to prove to Seb that I'm the one for him. I can't blow it now.

Having loosened up enough to be able to put on my socks without shrieking, I make it into the kitchen for breakfast. Only to discover everyone else has finished eating and are pulling on their boots.

'Hey, there you are,' says Seb as I appear. 'We're getting ready to leave.'

'Already?' I check the coffee pot. There's only a dribble left. 'Oh OK, well I'll just have to grab a coffee on the way-'

'No need,' replies Anna sniffily. 'We're going to Les Houches to board the Kandahar.'

'You're doing what?' I ask, ignoring her and turning to Seb for an explanation. Like I said, I don't speak s...o...b..ard.

'Kandahar's the famous World Cup downhill run. We're going to s...o...b..ard down it,' he explains.

'Somehow I don't think you'll be able to manage it after just one lesson,' patronises Anna. 'Never mind.'

I've tried my best to like her, I really have, but it's hopeless. She really is a total cow.

'But ride up with us on the cable car,' suggests Seb, who for some reason is completely oblivious to her b.i.t.c.hiness. 'The view is awesome.'

'And you can watch your man fly off the top,' grins Chris, grabbing the last piece of toast before I can reach it and shoving a corner in his mouth.

My stomach protests loudly. Make that coffee and toast.

'Then you can ride back down again to the nursery slopes,' finishes Anna pointedly.

I choose to ignore her. 'OK,' I manage limply, 'Well, in that case I'll just go and throw my clothes on and I'll be right with you.'

Despite Anna's comments, I'm really glad I do go, as the view from the cable car more than makes up for having to sit next to her on the ride up there. It's incredible. As is watching Seb launch himself off the top of the mountain. It's a sheer drop, but he casually dives over the edge and disappears with the others, the sounds of their whooping echoing from down below.

If I needed more evidence to prove I'm never going to be a s...o...b..arder, then this is it. It takes me all my courage to even just look over the edge.

I take the cable car back down the mountain and grab some breakfast, then make my way to the nursery slopes for my next lesson. Though, to be honest, I'm beginning to have second thoughts. Einstein once said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Which a) perfectly describes my attempts at learning how to s...o...b..ard and b) means I must be completely insane.

I'm just struggling to get up from the snow after yet another fall, when I'm vaguely aware of a sort of m.u.f.fled vibration. Funny, but that almost sounds like my mobile. Hang on, that is my mobile, I realise, scrabbling around to find it underneath all my layers. I finally locate it, just before it rings off.

'Hey, I've been trying to get hold of you.'

It's Fergus. It sounds urgent.

'Sorry, I've been on top of a mountain there probably wasn't any reception.'

'I wanted to talk to you, Tess.'

'You did?' I feel unexpectedly pleased.

'Sara emailed me back.'

Followed by a curious beat of disappointment.

'And I just needed some female advice.'

'Yes, of course,' I reply, quickly gathering myself together.

He clears his throat and starts reading: 'Dear Fergus, Great to hear you'd be interested in volunteering, but unfortunately the sanctuary is run by Buddhist monks and strictly for practising Buddhists only. Sorry about that. Best, Sara (Karma Dechen Palmo Radiant Woman of Great Bliss)'

There's a pause, then, 'So, what do you think?' he asks.

I think that coming up with this new excuse wasn't easy and it took forever to find that Buddhist name. I was Googling for nearly an hour yesterday in that cafe!

But of course what I think and say are two different things. I swallow hard. I need to be very careful here. I don't want to make things worse than they already are.

'Well, at least you gave it your best shot,' I say cautiously, accidentally catching the eye of Francois, my instructor, who throws me a dirty look and motions at my mobile phone. Which is rather cheeky considering his own is permanently glued to his ear. I signal 'won't be a minute' with my gloved hand, and wait for Fergus to answer.

It seems to take forever and then . . .

'Yup, you're right.' Fergus heaves a sigh on the other end of the line.

I've been holding my breath tight inside of me, barely daring to breathe, and now I let it out. Oh thank G.o.d. Disaster averted. My whole body sags with relief.

For like a second.

'But then another part of me thinks: you know what, Fergus, if you want something you have to go out there and get it.'

My mouth goes dry. 'You do?' I croak.

'All my life I've been so scared of failure I've never dared go for it. I mean, OK, I tried with my acting, but did I really try? Did I really go for it?'

My thoughts are scrambling. 'Um . . . I don't know, did you?' I stammer, but his questions are rhetorical and he's already charged on ahead.

'I don't want to just give up. So I'm going to email her back and tell her I've been doing a lot of thinking-'

'You are?' I interrupt with horror.

'Yes I am,' he says with a determination I've never heard before. 'Ma O'Flanagan won't be happy, or our local Catholic priest, but I've been reading up on it, and you know what? I think I could become a Buddhist.'

I open my mouth to say something, I'm not quite sure what, but before I can answer he's gone.

'Fergus? Fergus?' I yell down the handset, before I realise we've been cut off. Frantically I try calling him back, which is when I notice the screen on my phone is blank. Oh f.u.c.k. The battery is dead!

The rest of my lesson is spent trying and failing to concentrate. I can't stop thinking about my conversation with Fergus, which means I spend even more time on my b.u.m then ever before. I think Francois is relieved when I tell him today is my last day and I won't be back tomorrow. He says something in French I don't understand, but I don't need any help translating when he throws his arms around me, before waving me off with the biggest smile he's ever given me.

Afterwards I go straight back to the chalet. I want to charge my phone so I can call Fergus back, only after searching through my bag I realise I've forgotten my charger and everyone else has an iPhone.

Something which Anna seems to take great delight in.

'What? You don't have an iPhone?' she sn.i.g.g.e.rs from the sofa where she's draped around Chris, drinking a gla.s.s of red wine. 'How vintage.'

'I like my old Nokia,' I say defensively.

'You're going to have to come into the twenty-first century one day,' grins Seb, pulling me towards him for a kiss.

Usually I'd be thrilled by the affection, but now it just irritates me and I pull away.

Seb's grin vanishes and is replaced by a frown. 'What's wrong?'

'Um, nothing's wrong. I'm just tired,' I say hastily, brushing away any doubts. Yes, that's all it is, it's got nothing to do with Seb, I'm just tired and crabby. This weekend has completely exhausted me. 'By the way, shouldn't we start packing?' I remind him.

'I know you don't like to be late, but it's still a bit early for that,' he replies, resuming his smile and reaching for the open bottle of wine. He starts pouring two gla.s.ses.

'Why, what time's our flight back to London?' It's probably one of those that don't get into Heathrow until the early hours.

'Oh don't worry, it's not until tomorrow,' he says, pa.s.sing me a gla.s.s of wine.

For a moment I think he's joking. 'Are you serious?'

'Why wouldn't I be?' he replies evenly.

'But tomorrow's Monday.'

'Ten points for a correct answer,' whoops Chris from the sofa, and Anna laughs as if it's the funniest joke she's ever heard.

'And I have to be back at work,' I add for Anna's benefit, whose only job appears to be that of a professional girlfriend.

Scowling at me, she tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder and snuggles up to Chris. I've obviously hit a nerve. To be honest, as much as she's a cow, I actually feel quite sorry for her. I've met girls like Anna before, women who make a career of going out with rich men, but I've noticed a few wrinkles around Anna's eyes and yesterday I caught her looking in the mirror and pulling back her face when she didn't see me watching. I reckon she's a lot older than she lets on.

But what happens when the Botox stops working? When her bottom starts to sag? Chris trades in his girlfriends like his cars and always prefers the newest model. Soon there'll be a different blonde on that sofa, a younger blonde. Then what's Anna going to do?

'I'm sure you can square it with your boss,' says Seb casually. 'It's only a day.'

I glance back at him in disbelief. 'I can't just ring up and say I'm not coming in,' I bristle with indignation. '"Sorry Sir Richard, but I'm in Chamonix." '

'Why not?' he shrugs. 'It's not like your job's that important, is it? I don't think you've ever mentioned it, except to tell me you'll be leaving as soon as your boss retires.'

I feel stung. It's true, I hardly ever talk about my job with Seb, but that's because he never seemed that interested in the past.

'But that's not the point,' I argue. 'I might not be the best PA in the world, and it might not be the most important job in the world, but it's important to me-'

Until now I've never realised just how seriously I take my job at Blackstock & White. Not because I've got any great career ambitions there. On the contrary, working in an office, any office, isn't my dream. And, let's face it, my talents don't lie at the end of a spreadsheet. But I do always try to give something my all, whether I'm good at it or not (s...o...b..arding aside, perhaps . . . ). Like it used to say on my school reports, 'Tess might not be the most academic of pupils, but she always tries her best.'

'I can't let Sir Richard down.'

Looks are flying across the chalet at my outburst and Seb takes a sip of wine. 'So what do you want me to do? Change the flights?' He smiles at the very suggestion.

I realise at that moment that the whole truth of why I've never talked about my job to Seb is because he always made it feel so inferior to his mega-successful career.

'Yes . . . I do,' I say quietly but firmly.

For a moment no one speaks, then: 'Oh dude, you're not gonna leave us already,' wails Chris, sticking out his bottom lip like an overgrown schoolchild.

'If Tess needs to get back, Tess needs to get back,' shrugs Seb, but his jaw is set and I can see he's far from happy.

'But can't you stay?' suggests Anna, looking directly at Seb. She seems thrilled that I might be leaving.

'Anna's right, I can fly back on my own,' I say evenly, 'it's no problem.' I make an attempt at damage limitation. 'I don't want to spoil your weekend.'

But he's already picked up his phone and begun dialling: 'Hi, is that British Airways Executive Club? I need to change my reservation . . .'

Chapter 31.

As it turns out, all the flights are full and we have to wait until the next morning after all. Which means Seb is happy but I get into the office late and have to work through lunch to try to catch up on all my emails.

Including those from Fergus.

Over the last twenty-four hours he's been as good as his word and hasn't given up. In fact, he and my alter ego Sara have exchanged a dozen emails. I've had to keep checking them at the internet cafe, the airport, as soon as I got back to the flat, and now at work. It's been quite stressful.

And it's getting to be a real worry. With trepidation, I log in to my fake account and see another one from Fergus waiting for me in my inbox. Anxiety tugs hard. I can't keep emailing him like this. I was trying to save him from feeling rejected; after all, no one knows how that feels more than me, but instead of making things better, I've just made things worse.

I start reading his email, it's the fifth one today: Dear Sara, it's me again . . .

My stomach knots. I've unwittingly got myself into a cyber-relationship. With someone who's become a really good friend. Oh Jesus.

Which is why I'm going to have to kill it once and for all, I decide, as I finish reading the message. Be cruel to be kind and all that. Fergus is going to be hugely disappointed, but ultimately it's for his own good.

With a heavy heart I hit reply and start typing . . .

I've just pressed 'send' when I get a call from Sir Richard wanting to see me. As I hurry over to his office, I find his door ajar and Sir Richard sitting behind his desk, his usual genial mood replaced by a grave expression. Oh f.u.c.k. He's angry with me for getting in late today.