Chapter 14
14
11 NOVEMBER
I clutch my heart and fall back in my chair with a yelp.
Manon rushes over. ‘What is it? Are you sick? I told you not to eat the whole box of macarons. I’m all for eating your feelings, but every single one, Anais?’
‘They’re Pierre Hermé limited edition Christmas-flavoured macarons, only the best you’ll find in all of Paris, and I know, I’ve tried them all. Besides, consuming sugar is an effective coping mechanism, and I won’t be stopping anytime soon. But it’s not the sugar come down. It’s… that .’ I point to the laptop, opened to my email. The renovation quotes have arrived and the first one I opened is eye-wateringly large.
Manon grips the mouse and scrolls down the page and shrieks. ‘Is this a typo? It must be a typo. How can it be so much?’
‘There’s a second page.’
‘ Non! ’
‘ Oui! ’
‘He’s a crook, a charlatan. A…! Let’s cross that builder off the list.’
I pinch the bridge of my nose. ‘Let’s read the other quotes. Maybe they’re better.’
She waggles a brow. ‘I’m sure JP’s quote won’t be as steep.’
‘It probably will be after you terrorised him with strewn lingerie and the dead-body-under-the-bath theory.’
‘You’re so na?ve.’
I force a smile but have a sneaking suspicion the totals are all going to be similar. There’s a lot of work I didn’t factor in because my knowledge of such things is non-existent. The damp and the mould are the main costs, but we won’t know how extensive the issue is until they investigate.
‘Let me check.’ Manon toggles through the inbox and finds the other quotes. ‘How do these people sleep at night?’
‘Probably remarkably well due to all that manual labour. And really, it’s worth every penny, but what if they find more damage? Where will it end?’
Her lips twist into a grimace. ‘OK, builder two is out. His quote is even higher and they can’t start until after Christmas.’
‘And JP?’ Is our plan to partially open for the festive season a pipe dream?
Manon finds the email from JP and reads. ‘Told you so.’ She gives me a triumphant smile. ‘It’s less than the other quotes. But still far more than you budgeted.’
‘Damn. And honestly, I’m not surprised, because how can I budget for such a thing when I have no idea what I’m doing!’ My voice gets a little high as I wonder again if my life is really going to implode this time. What was I thinking? I shouldn’t be renovating a hotel!
‘He says he’s had a cancellation and can start soon. He can do four suites before Christmas, plus a quick nip around ours, just swapping the sinks and taps. He will do the majority of the noisy, messy work before our soft launch. But, overall, the other more time-consuming work will take months but he’ll stay on and do that alone, without the team.’
‘OK.’ I talk myself down.
‘He’s given us the option of saving even more if we do some of the painting ourselves. Although, he’s said they’ll paint the ceilings and cornices because they’re fixing the damage on those.’ Manon steps away from the computer and stretches her arms above her head. ‘I’m so glad we don’t need to do the ceilings; can you even imagine? I’d die.’
I pull the computer onto my lap and scroll down the list of work and the relevant costs. ‘It’s a reasonable quote considering, and the timeframe works, so we won’t be disturbing our Christmas guests if he does most of the noisy work now.’
I take a breath. This is doable, if I had some more funds…
JP’s also made copious notes of what we’ll need to achieve down the line, including fixing the wrought-iron balconies that are damaged in a few of the suites. Let’s hope that’s a cost for the new owners.
‘There’s obviously going to be some noise and mess as we do up other parts of the hotel as we can afford to,’ I say, ‘but we’ll make that up to our guests by reducing the rate somewhat and wowing them with our happy sunny dispositions.’ I give Manon a toothy grin.
‘Please don’t smile at them like that. They’ll run away screaming.’
‘I’ll work on my happy sunny smile.’ Manon drags the computer back her way. ‘He can do the lobby, guest lounge, library and four suites in about four weeks’ time as long as nothing untoward crops up. Or, we also have the option of less trades but a longer completion time. February, March timeframe.’
‘Let’s go with the extra trades. When did he say they will start?’
‘Monday November eighteenth. That means they’ll be finished around December eighteenth. We could partially open a week before Christmas.’
‘ Oui. But with that quicker timeframe comes a heftier cost because of the extra tradespeople.’
‘Right. And dipping into what’s left of my savings is a huge risk. I need to keep a buffer for the monthly mortgage until we have a steady income when the hotel is fully open and paying its own way.’
‘There’s no getting around it, Anais. You’re going to have to ask the bank or your parents to loan you the money.’
‘Hmm. Let’s take a visit to the vintage shop in the 5th and meet the vendor I emailed about the finds in the storage cupboard. They’re especially keen to see what condition the two wine bottles are in.’
‘That’s avoiding the issue. You need to sort this first.’
I scrunch up my nose. ‘I know, I know, I’ll figure it out. We need to clear out as much as possible before JP and his team start anyway, and whatever money we raise can go towards buying books. I can’t help but worry the library is going to look bare and not as appealing as I imagine it to be for a so-called boutique literary hotel.’
Look at me, avoiding my problems!
‘There won’t be a library if we can’t pay for the renovations.’
‘When did you get so sensible?’
‘About ten minutes ago when I read those quotes.’
Manon is right. Not only do we need to come up with the money for the work, but we also have to do so much ourselves in a short amount of time if we’re to make our goal of a Christmas opening. ‘We need a detailed list of jobs that are up to us, items we need to buy.’
‘You and your lists. Do you want me to make a spreadsheet? We can keep track of expenses that way too.’
‘You’re so very handy, Manon. Really.’ Often Manon’s brilliance is overlooked in our family because she pivots from one thing to the next, and while I joke about her being fickle, I admire her for living life on her own terms.
‘I’m actually enjoying this more than I imagined. But that’s subject to change.’
‘We better work fast then.’ There’s writing time to factor in too. I’ll have to stick to a routine. Hotel work during the day, writing in the evenings.
‘What about suite nineteen? There could be untold riches in there.’
‘ Oui, hopefully a treasure chest full of gold! The locksmith is coming today. Soon we’ll know what lies behind that door.’
I flash her a dazzling smile. I’m happy for the first time in a while. Things are moving forward. Soon, this place will be a hive of productivity with the bang of hammers, the buzz of drills. The sound of progress. ‘I’ll call JP and tell him they can start immediately. And then we’ll take those odds and ends from the storage room and sell them for whatever we can.’
‘ Oui , but the whole you-need-extra-money thing?’
Keep the faith. That’s all I have to do.
‘Urgh. I’ll call my mum.’ My British-born mother isn’t as theatrical as my French family, but still, once she feeds the news back to my père , he’ll inevitably post on the family group chat, asking for their advice, enquiring if everyone’s grown child needs such support, and then they’ll all chime in with complaints about their own children, not realising or not caring that WE CAN ALL SEE.
Manon gives me a mechanical pat on the shoulder. ‘Sell her the dream.’
I steel myself and make the call. ‘Mum, bonjour !’
‘Hello, darling. How are you? I thought you’d dropped off the face of the earth!’
Mother guilt – there’s nothing quite like it. I have been lax in calling as much but it’s mostly because I get a lecture every time about why I haven’t moved on and found another man so I can produce grandchildren. And when I gently rebuke them and remind them that men and babies aren’t something I can simply order online, they accuse me of not trying hard enough. ‘I sent you an email a few days ago, Mum. And you replied.’
She tuts. ‘It’s not the same as hearing your sweet voice now, is it? How’s it all going there?’
‘Fine. Fine. Better than fine.’ I must sell her the dream. ‘It’s fabulous actually. Wonderful.’
‘You hate it.’
I may have oversold it.
‘No, it’s not that. It’s that the renovation costs are a little higher than first thought. To be expected when it’s such an old, architecturally beautiful building like this.’
‘I see,’ she says guardedly.
‘The thing is…’ I send a prayer up to the heavens. ‘I’m in need of a loan to tide me over. I could ask the bank, but the interest rates are appalling, and, well, you always say come to you first.’
She lets out a chiming little laugh. ‘Come to me first when you need a shoulder to cry on, Anais, or when you need me to look over a manuscript for typos, or advice about a new man; now that I’d be keen to hear. Best colours for a nursery, that kind of thing.’
I sigh. This was a bad idea.
‘How much do you need?’
I rattle off a figure and hold my breath.
‘That much?’
‘ Oui. But it’s only a short-term loan. Once this place is up and running, I’ll sell it to an astute buyer who sees the value and pay you back, with interest.’ With interest? I must be desperate.
‘Darling, are you quite certain you’re not throwing money into a sinking ship?’
‘Quite certain,’ I lie.
‘Let me speak to your dad and I’ll call you back.’
Manon and I load the car with all the odds and ends from the storage cupboard to take to the vintage shop in the 5th arrondissement.
We meet the owner, a sixty-something man who is genial and welcoming. ‘Have a look around while I go through your items.’
We wander the quirky shop and, when we’re out of earshot, Manon whispers, ‘Have you got a figure in mind for everything?’
‘ Non , why? I know roughly what the wine is worth; the rest, no idea. I mean, who wants a box of sixties-style telephones? And those dolls, I would happily give those away because they have creepy nightmare-inducing eyes.’
‘The reason these traders are happy and oh so sweet is because they’re experienced negotiators. They kill you with kindness to fool you into thinking they’re kind and generous when really they’re looking at you like you’re a dollar sign.’
I scoff. ‘Manon, you’re reaching. They’re doing us a favour by taking all of this off our hands. Better than in the scrapheap.’
She cups her face. ‘It’s already working! Mind control is alive and well.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Just let me do the negotiating.’
‘Fine,’ I say, shaking my head as I peruse a stamp collection on display. My eyes almost fall out of my head when I see the price. Maybe they’re rare? What would I know.
‘OK,’ he says from behind the counter. ‘I’m happy to take the lot. Would three hundred euros suit?’
Manon was right! How does she know these things? ‘Three. Hundred…’ My sputtering comes to an abrupt halt when Manon digs an elbow into my ribs.
‘Three hundred will get you the vintage magazines, and that’s being generous. Now, are you going to make a serious offer or should we contact a professional who knows the real value of treasures such as these?’
The man gives her a slow, understanding smile. ‘I see you’ve got some experience in the trade.’
‘ Oui . I also have experience in how to dissolve a bod?—’
It’s my turn to jab Manon in the ribs so she doesn’t finish that particular sentence. Next minute we’ll have the gendarmes knocking on our door. And really, we haven’t figured out what the hell is buried in the bathroom of suite seven yet so it’s best if we don’t have an unexpected visit from the authorities.
We do a deal that is way more substantial than expected and I have a newfound respect for my cousin.
The locksmith arrives, a tall gangly man with spiky hair and a smile that almost swallows his face. ‘I’m sorry it’s taken so long to get here. Work has been hectic. It seems like most of Paris is being renovated and keys are nowhere to be found.’ He takes brisk long strides as I struggle to keep pace with him.
‘It’s suite nineteen,’ I say, attempting to mount the stairs three at a time like he easily does. ‘Go ahead.’ Doesn’t he know I’m a romance writer, not a runner? Gah.
Manon pops up behind me. ‘Who is that?’
‘The locksmith.’
She rubs her hands together. ‘Finally. All will be revealed.’
We catch up to the locksmith, whose smile has disappeared as he bends his tall frame to study the lock, and he makes tutting noises that imply this isn’t going to be straight forward.
‘ Pas possible .’
Not possible? He hasn’t even tried lock-picking tools!
‘Should you try with a tool of some sort?’ I mean, I don’t want to tell the guy how to do his job, but if I were a locksmith I’d start there.
‘I could, but I risk damaging the vintage locking cylinder. This one is rare indeed. I respect the design too much to interfere with it. Paris is full of antique locks like this and they need to be preserved. Protected. We don’t know what techniques were used to make them, so I cannot pick it for fear I’ll ruin the workmanship.’
‘Erm…? I understand your reservations. As far as locks go, it’s, uh – lovely? However, what’s behind the lock is far more important to me. Can you at least have a gentle go at opening it?’
His aimable expression turns stony. ‘I cannot! And no self-respecting locksmith would dare tamper with it.’
‘I see,’ I say, clearly not seeing. ‘How do you propose we get into this room then?’
‘Sledgehammer?’ Manon says.
‘ Without causing further damage,’ I clarify.
He slips his phone from his overall pocket and takes some pictures of the lock. ‘I suppose I can investigate, look through some vintage lock blueprints, but I can’t promise anything.’
I nod. ‘OK, that would be great.’
He lopes off as fast as he arrived.
‘So is that a no to the sledgehammer?’ Manon asks.
I shrug. ‘That’s Plan B for now. Have you ever heard of a locksmith who respected a lock so much they refused to open it?’
‘It feels fitting somehow. Like room nineteen isn’t quite ready to give up its secrets just yet.’