Chapter 25
25
3 DECEMBER
Manon and I drive to Galeries Lafayette in the 9th arrondissement near Opera Garnier to find the perfect star for our tree. While I much prefer shopping at all the Christmas markets across Paris, Manon convinced me we’d find what we need here.
Every window in the department store is extravagantly decorated with Christmas scenes. The shopping centre is famous for its floating Christmas tree that sits under the glass Neo Byzantine dome. We visit all the displays while humming Christmas carols. It’s impossible not to be swept away in the magic and the need to recreate it at The Secret Library Hotel.
We choose a few small ornaments for the tree and find the perfect glittery star. Manon exclaims over two life-sized Nutcrackers, and I do my best to keep her moving. ‘But we need them!’ She’s like a child on Christmas morning, surrounded by all these luxury ornate decorations. ‘They’ll guard both sides of the entry, standing like Christmas sentries to welcome our future guests!’
‘They’re frightfully expensive.’
‘I’m buying them, not you.’
‘Manon, it’s a waste of money.’
She won’t be told and hoists them under her arms, knocking into shoppers as she goes.
‘Oooh, I need that cute-as-a-button Père No?l!’ Manon nods to a jovial chubby Santa Claus with ruddy cheeks, holding a beer stein.
‘Do you think that’s the right message? A drunk Santa?’
‘ Oui! It’s Christmas, time to drink, laugh and be merry! My hands are full. Can you pick it up for me?’
‘I will not.’ Note to self: don’t bring Manon here ever again. ‘We have those gorgeous Christmas decorations from suite twenty.’
‘But he’s holding a beer stein!’
I’ve never had children, but I assume this is what they’re like when they’ve had too much sugar and are overexcited by the magic of Christmas.
I do splurge on some Christmas lights for the windows, and I hide a smug smile when I note they’re bigger and better than Noah’s rather lacklustre strings.
‘We’ll get a real tree, non ?’ she asks.
‘ Oui , of course.’
‘ Parfait ,’ Manon says. ‘I can’t wait for the vin chaud .’ My cousin and I have a lot of Christmas traditions, and one of them is making an evening out of decorating the tree. We feast on Christmas snacks and listen to carols on repeat while drinking far too much mulled wine. Without fail, we usually end up on the sofa watching Christmas flicks. My all-time go-to is Les Bronzés font du ski – French Fried Vacation 2 – an oldie but a goodie that most French families watch around this time of year. It’s the same kind of wacky comedy as National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation . Manon always chooses La B?che – Season’s Beatings – as she does love a good drama in her life and on screen. They never get old and I love those cosy evenings with her each and every year.
We load our haul in the car, and sputter slowly back. There’s no parking to be found so I’m forced to do a circuit before a space finally opens up out the front of Noah’s bar. It’s a tight spot, so I reverse park, holding my breath as I navigate backwards, trying hard to focus as Manon natters on about making and decorating a gingerbread house, which fills me with dread. Manon is many things, but baker she is not. She’s more likely to burn down the hotel, so I do my best to temper her plans.
‘Let me order a gingerbread house from Ladurée instead.’ I run up the kerb but successfully fit the car into the small space, only just kissing the bumper of the car behind me. Succès!
Before I can even open my door, Noah strides from the bar, index finger at the ready. ‘Here comes the king of Rue de Vaugirard,’ I mutter as I unplug my seatbelt and exit. So much for the idea of a truce.
‘Can you not see my car there, Anais?’ He gesticulates wildly as if I’ve side-swiped his oversized SUV. No one drives such a huge vehicle in Paris, they’re just not practical, so part of me wonders if Noah is making up for a lack. Big SUV, small man, if you get my drift.
‘I can see your SUV. It blocks out the sunlight, so how could I not? What’s the problem?’
‘You reversed right into it!’ He goes on to berate me about Parisian parking etiquette as if I’m new to the city and haven’t lived here all my adult life.
I hold up a hand to stop his tirade. ‘That’s enough mansplaining for one day, Noah. Parking in Paris is an art form, and if you knew any better, you’d know that a light graze like that is totally normal. It’s expected.’
He folds his arms across his chest. ‘Is that so? And just how am I supposed to get my car out? You’re “grazing” the back and the other car is “grazing” the front.’
‘Perhaps you should invest in a smaller vehicle if you have trouble manoeuvring such a beast as the one you drive.’ I give a loose shrug, just like he always does, that implies I don’t care one bit. ‘Pro tip: usually if you find a good car space such as this, you don’t move, as they’re hard to come by.’ I can’t help but grin. It’s a stupid silly rule of thumb that has us leaving our cars for days while we walk or catch the metro. I only have a car because Francois-Xavier insisted on it, claiming we’d need wheels to get around when the hotel was up and running for errands and whatnot. So far, it’s been a blessing and I’m glad I got to keep it in the divorce, though that’s mostly due to the fact we got a loan for it. But, for now, it will stay parked because of the handy location, and also because I don’t think I’ll be able to get out easily either. It’s just the way street parking is here. Chaos.
‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard you say, Anais, and you’ve said some real doozies before.’
Hilary eyed the arrogant mansplainer coolly while he once again tried to belittle her. If only he knew about her past with men just like him. Men who were now not of this world.
‘ Moi? That’s rich coming from you. He who puts the P into patronising.’ At that he frowns. Did I cut him down to size? I’m internally bubbling with anger and my mind is a muddle.
Manon watches us bicker back and forth before she finally bursts out, ‘I could cut the sexual tension with a knife!’
If only I had a knife at hand; I’d slice that smarmy look straight off his smarmy face!
My very witty comeback to Noah dries right there on my lips. ‘ Manon! ’ I admonish. ‘Can’t you see we’re two adults engaging in warfare? The only tension I feel is the expanding of my head when Noah tells me the rules about parking in Paris as if I’m a complete novice, when the opposite is true. And does he stop there? Non , he will school me in the best way to clean a window so it’s streak-free, or give me a lesson on how much noise my builder can make. I could go on and on…’
‘Please don’t.’ He shoots a glare my way. ‘I’m trying to be a good neighbour and, if you can’t see that, that’s on you. I’m only trying to help as I’ve been in your position before and learned a thing or two.’
‘Except when you’re being a massive hypocrite.’
‘Like when?’ He cocks his cocksure head.
‘Like when you suggested our industrial skip go right down the back and around the corner when you did no such thing.’
‘I got permission from the previous hotelier to put mine out the front; that’s the difference.’
‘Oh? So if I’d asked your permission you’d have agreed it could stay just like yours did?’
He mumbles under his breath.
I put a hand to my ear. ‘Sorry, I can’t hear you.’
Manon’s head looks like it’s on a swivel going back and forth from me to Noah. She’s got a triumphant grin in place like she’s enjoying every quip being flung back and forth.
Noah blushes. ‘Truthfully?’
‘No, why don’t you lie , Noah? Like all men do!’ I fight the urge to stamp my foot. This guy frustrates the hell out of me.
‘Not all men lie.’ He pushes his hands into his jeans pockets while I shoot him a galactic-force glare that is so fierce I’m sure it’s going to melt the skin off his bones. ‘Fine, truthfully , I’d still have suggested the location out the back for the benefit of all interested parties.’
Point, Anais! ‘And yet, it was different for you.’
‘We’ve covered this.’
‘And still you stubbornly refuse to play fair. It says a lot about your character, Noah.’
‘Hardly.’
‘ Oui , it does. Rules for everyone except you!’ And with that, I spin on my heel and dash inside, determined for once to have the last word. My heart thunders and I can’t help feeling a little thrill that I won that battle!
Just as I’m feeling on top of the world, taking down one arrogant man at a time, Manon reappears. ‘Are you going to help bring the Christmas shopping inside? There’s a Nutcracker with your name on it.’
‘Has he gone?’
‘Where do you want them?’ Noah asks, hoisting the two Nutcrackers under each arm.
Mon Dieu. I shoot Manon a glare, which she grins at. ‘Oh, anywhere.’
Noah deposits them by the entrance and turns to me. ‘One more thing, Anais…’
‘ Non, merci. I don’t need any more of your advice, Noah.’
He holds up his hands. ‘OK, then I won’t tell you that you left your car running.’ I slap my forehead as he takes the keys from his pocket and hands them over. ‘I hope I’m not being too presumptuous by turning it off and locking it for you. Don’t want to overstep.’
I roll my eyes and get ready for Round Two when Manon says, ‘Knock it off for the sake of les enfants .’
‘Who are les enfants ?’
‘I am! I’m your younger cousin who didn’t come here to referee each and every argument. Don’t get me wrong, I love drama as much as the next person, but not at the rate you two are going. Just kiss already.’
Kiss! That will never happen! Duly chastised, I hang my head like a recalcitrant child. ‘Drink?’ I ask Noah. That’s as far as I’ll go with any conciliatory efforts to make peace.
‘Sure.’
Manon takes the car keys from me. ‘Allow me to get the rest of the Christmas decorations while you pour the lait de poule .’
‘Chicken milk?’ Noah queries the translation in English. ‘I’ve never tried that before…’ He wrinkles his nose as if dubious why anyone would drink chicken milk.
‘It’s eggnog; there’s no chickens involved.’ Even though he’s proficient in French, I suppose there are always strange phrases that when translated literally make no sense.
Relief sweeps across his face. ‘Ah, oui .’ He pretends to wipe sweat off his brow. ‘I was lost to wondering how on earth one would milk a chicken, and then why , and how such a thing would be palatable.’
The earlier tension evaporates and we fall into easy laughter. I wonder why it’s called chicken milk; it’s never occurred to me before because I’ve always known it’s the French version of eggnog.
‘There’s a jug in the fridge,’ Manon says. ‘I made it this morning. I’m going to unload the car.’
We leave the lobby area and wander into the kitchen.
Manon’s not only bad at baking, but she also can’t mix drinks. She gets carried away and doesn’t measure anything, is always heavy-handed on the alcohol. It’s likely to blow our heads off and Noah’s already seen me not at my best after the death metal evening. The more I think about it, the more I wonder if Manon set me up with those drinks on purpose, and how do I know she’s not trying that again now? I’m suddenly tongue-tied around Noah and, by his silence, I guess he is too. If we’re not arguing, what else is there to do?
I find the eggnog and pour two glasses and we sit around the kitchen bench.
Noah holds his glass up to mine.
‘ Santé . Fair warning, this might be the best drink you’ve ever had, or it could be the worst, and potentially lethal at that.’
He gives me a lopsided smile. ‘I’m a gambling man.’
We grin at one another and take a sip at the same time. It doesn’t taste lethal, so maybe Manon followed a recipe this time.
‘Not bad. Now, far be it for me to make assumptions, but I get the feeling that you despise me. Or is it all men in general?’
Says he, who then makes a huge assumption like that! Have I been a little hard on him? Hasn’t he deserved it? My first reaction is to tell him off again, but am I being unfair? I decide to lead with the truth and he can make of it what he will. ‘Manon already blurted to you that my husband, ex-husband, had an affair. Well, it was not once, not twice, but multiple times with multiple women. That betrayal has made me see the world through a slightly jaded lens when it comes to men.’
‘Where is he now, your ex? Still kicking or did you give him one of Manon’s concoctions?’
I laugh. ‘I wish I’d thought of that. No, the poor man went to Thailand and was crushed by an elephant in a freak accident. Very sad. For the elephant.’
Noah smiles. ‘I better be on my best behaviour around you. It’s strange, though, my wife also died under mysterious circumstances. She was struck in the left temple with a golf ball and died right there on the 9th hole.’
‘Wow, did you live near a golf course?’
‘ Non , I wish. The man she was having an affair with did.’ We share a laugh over the joke about the fictional demise of our significant others, but Noah’s confession about his wife cheating gives me pause. I’m a little surprised he was once married, as I’d pegged him for the non-committal type. Not a settled-into-wedded-bliss sort. Well, until he wasn’t.
But I’m way off the mark with my assumptions about Noah. He knows what it’s like to be betrayed, and it does make me slightly soften towards him. If my heart wasn’t bruised, I’d probably admit that the man sitting opposite me is rather attractive and makes my heart beat double time, but I can’t trust my own judgement. Not after Francois-Xavier.
‘Should we move into Library Ana?s?’ I ask. ‘I can light the fire. The chairs aren’t great. We’ll be replacing the cushion inserts eventually but they’re OK for now.’
‘Library Ana?s?’
‘I knew you’d latch on to that.’
‘I’m not saying a word.’
‘Go on,’ I say, gathering up our glasses and the jug of eggnog. ‘Tell me everything you know about her, like you wanted to the other day. It might spark more ideas with what to do for the room itself.’