Chapter 12
12
10 NOVEMBER
The next afternoon, the backpackers return earlier than usual, bringing in with them an icy wind.
It’s cold for November and I hope it means we’ll have snow for Christmas. There’s just something about snowy wintry weather when you catch a snowflake and make a Christmas wish. They join us in the guest lounge, where we’ve set up a makeshift workshop, layering newspaper to protect the parquetry to paint bedside tables from the four suites we’ve chosen to redo first. I’m just putting the finishing touches on the last one. For such small pieces of furniture, it’s surprisingly time-intensive to paint.
We’ve gone for a dark navy chalk paint that hides most of the battle scars. ‘These are gorgeous,’ Kiki says, pointing to our row of freshly painted bedsides.
‘ Merci . We’re going to replace the standard silver drawer pulls with some brass or gold ones to give them a more luxe look.’
‘ Magnifique .’
‘Do you want me to light the fire in the library room?’ I ask. I found a stack of firewood earlier when I was out the back washing paintbrushes. Another cost saved, and we’ll be long gone by next winter so won’t need to worry about another wood delivery.
‘ Non, it’s OK,’ Juliette says. ‘I wanted to show you a couple of literary places that we spoke about! No one turned up for our second tour today, so I have time, if you do too?’
‘ Oui , I have time. I’m sorry about your tour. Does that happen often?’
‘Almost every day, lately. It’s to be expected. Tourists get held up in queues for the Louvre, or Sainte-Chapelle, many of the popular sights. Or they get lost and lose track of time. It’s part of the job but still stings when a big group is a no show, which is what happened today. C’est la vie .’
‘I’m sorry, that really is disappointing.’
‘I’ll make gingerbread coffee if anyone wants some?’ Manon says, standing to arch the crick in her back. ‘Let me quickly clean up first. Give me your brushes, Anais. I’ll wash them.’
Manon wanders off with Kiki, both talking over the top of each other without any concern for who’s saying what. In the short time we’ve been here, they’ve become firm friends, often staying up late watching true crime documentaries on Netflix together on Manon’s laptop.
‘Where are Timothee and Zac?’ I ask as Juliette falls into step next to me. In the laundry, I soap my paint-splattered hands while she rubs her palms together to stave off the cold. There’s a real chill in the air – I’ll light the fire in the library room when we return so we’ll have a warm place to congregate. I’m not a Grinch by nature, but I don’t want to turn on the central heating in the hotel until absolutely necessary, although we each have a little electrical radiator in our suites that we turn on at night.
‘Tim and Zac have an interview for a job at the Marché de No?l Notre Dame.’
‘Ooh, the one on the Left Bank?’
‘That’s the one. I hadn’t heard of it. You know it?’
I dry my hands on a towel. ‘It’s one of the most popular Christmas markets in Paris. In late November they set up tiny Swiss-style chalets around the square and they offer all sorts: vin chaud , gourmet food like foie gras, thick German-style sausages, roasted chestnuts and every cheese you can imagine. There are gift stalls; last year I bought the most beautiful mohair scarf there. There’s handmade jewellery, toys, ceramics. Musicians play as you wander around. Even Père No?l makes an appearance!’
She breaks into giggles, but I’m not sure what’s provoked such a reaction. ‘That’s what they’re interviewing for. The part of Père No?l! They want two Santas – one for the crowd and one for a photo booth.’
I laugh, imagining the two of them dressed up in padded Santa suits. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fun. Hectic but fun.’
‘Let’s hope they get the job then. I’m going to freshen up and then we’ll head out?’
‘Sure.’