Chapter 28
28
7 DECEMBER
After a semi-successful night writing, I wake early, keen to get the library painted so we can later decorate not only the tree but also the entire room, which is visible from the street. Juliette’s going to focus on the second guest suite that JP has finished, while Manon and I focus on the library, including painting the cheap plywood shelves black so the colourful spines will stand out, and to help disguise the fact the shelves have seen better days.
JP still has to install a simple bar area, which we plan to dress up with colourful bottles and glassware. It won’t be anything as fancy as Bar Hemingway in The Ritz, but it will be a nice addition for our guests, who can help themselves to a complimentary drink or two with Ana?s Nin looking down coquettishly, from the many pictures I’ve framed of her and will hang around the room. None of that can happen though until we slap the paint on the walls.
Where is Manon?
I spread plastic matting along the far wall and tape up around the light switches and windows. I check my watch; it’s close to my cousin’s regimented breakfast time and there’s still no sign of her. In fact, I haven’t seen JP either, but he’s usually dashing up and down the stairs supervising his staff and dealing with issues as they arise.
Before I open the tin of paint, I go to Manon’s suite to check on her. I knock and receive no response, so open the door to find her and JP asleep curled in each other’s arms. It’s so unlike Manon to invite a date to stay over so part of me wonders if this could be the real thing for her. I creep backwards and let the lovebirds snooze. JP’s worked hard and I’m not going to begrudge him a lie in. Just as I’m sliding the door closed my mobile rings; I dash away so I don’t disturb them.
‘ Allo? ’
‘How’s the word count? What numbers are we talking?’ Why didn’t I check caller ID! At least to have given myself a moment to brighten my voice, to make myself sound upbeat, like everything is just fine .
‘ Bonjour to you too, Margaret. I take it you’re well.’ I can’t help but tease her for her curt question and the usual lack of a greeting.
‘Cut the crap, Anais.’
I grin. ‘Now that we’ve got the pleasantries over with, I’m happy to report I have written three chapters and, while this is not ideal, or enough, at least it’s something. I can build from here, but it will be… messy.’
‘Three chapters? That’s it?’ Her voice is so loud I have to pull the phone from my ear. ‘What have you been doing since we last spoke to have only written three measly chapters? And don’t tell me it’s the renovations, when I know you’ve got a builder doing the heavy lifting. I’ve seen the social media posts.’
‘Well, we found…’ I am about to tell her about the secret library and think better of it. Margaret might just get on the next flight over if there was a hint of a hidden manuscript that might be of value. I can picture her, vape clamped between her lips, eyes narrowed in concentration as she tears room nineteen apart, looking for treasure.
‘Found what?’
‘Found that renovations are – ah – time consuming. Yes, JP is doing the “heavy lifting”, but we’re still sourcing items for the hotel and building the website and social media pages. Painting, cleaning, sorting fire extinguishers, safety protocols, all the fun stuff. There’s a lot of behind-the-scenes work that goes into such a project.’
‘And that affects me how? Come on, Anais. I need this done, OK?’
I sigh. ‘I’ll get there, I promise.’
‘Good.’
Less than a month to go for the deadline. I can write a messy first draft fairly quickly, but that was before I took it upon myself to maim and dismember all my heroes. Still, I feel like I’m finally past that now. I confess to my agent what I’ve discovered about the longest writer’s block of my career. ‘I figured it out! The block was caused by writing unrelatable heroes, heroes just like my former husband, all suave and showy with very little else going for them. Sure, those kinds of men are attractive but only on the surface. This new hero I’m conjuring, well, he’s got the soul of a poet, but he’s also good with his hands. He’s robust and wild and takes charge. Though he says stupid manly man things, but that’s because he’s hiding his own hurt.’
‘You’ve just described Noah!’ I jump out of my skin as Manon appears out of nowhere and yells over my shoulder. She’s got the stealth skills of a ninja when she wants to.
‘Noah, eh?’ Margaret says. ‘The guy next door? Maybe it’s time I paid you a visit, eh? Just to talk shop. Actually, it’s not a bad idea. It’ll get me out of a publicity tour with that two-bit celebrity creep Wells,’ she says, almost as if she’s musing to herself.
I push Manon away, who is intent on listening in on my phone call. ‘A visit won’t be necessary, Margaret. Not yet. Wait until the hotel is open and I can offer you a refurbished suite so you’re comfortable.’
‘OK, OK, all I’m suggesting is perhaps you do need a little inspiration of the romantic kind. Would it be so bad to have a quick fling with this Noah guy? Restart the clock, so to speak. Get your ex-husband out of your mind for good and get those words on the page.’
‘And you don’t think a quick fling would complicate matters and steal away what little writing time I have?’ Only I could have a job where my boss, or at least the person in control of my earnings, advises having a romp with a man to increase my workflow.
‘Of course not! It would inspire you! Call it research if you must.’
Now I’ve heard everything. ‘Ah, I’ll definitely keep that in mind.’
‘You will not. But you should. Call me in a few days and let me know what you’re up to.’
‘Will do. à bient?t .’
Margaret ends the call without a goodbye, on to terrorise her next author. While she’s sharp and short and can be brutal, she’s a force to be reckoned with and I’ve learned how to deal with her over the years. Under that acerbic demeanour, she’s a softy at heart. Well, sort of. If I don’t meet my deadline, I’ll certainly hear about it. Right now, I’m distracted by Manon, who’s leaning against the wall, eyes glazed, lost in a daydream.
‘Earth to Manon.’
‘Huh?’
‘That’s not exactly painting attire.’ I point to her black flannelette PJs that feature skulls, of all things.
‘Oh, oui . It’s just that I’m a little tired today, I’m coming down with a bug.’
‘Ah, punaise d’amour ?’
She screws up her face. ‘A love bug? That is disgusting, Anais!’
I laugh. ‘It’s meant to be romantic. Bitten by the love bug; have you never heard of such a thing?’
‘This is why I steer clear of romance mumbo jumbo. It’s nonsensical.’
‘You know what else is nonsensical?’
‘Let me guess: me trying to avoid painting because I had a late night with JP?’
I make a show of feigning surprise. ‘You can read minds too!’
‘Urgh, why are you so spritely this morning? I much prefer it when you’re grumpy and monosyllabic.’
‘Because…’ I make jazz hands purely to annoy her further. ‘I wrote three chapters last night. And not once did I butcher the hero. I’m at the start of Chapter Four and he’s still alive and well with all his appendages intact.’
She heaves a sigh. ‘How depressing. I hoped you really were going to pivot into writing crime novels. You might try and hide it, but underneath that sweet romance writer persona lies a black heart, just like your favourite cousin.’
‘Who, Eloise?’
Manon gasps. ‘See, you are evil!’ Our cousin Eloise is rather elitist and doesn’t often have a kind word to say about anyone. Eloise is the child my uncle talked about in the group chat who demands a new wardrobe of designer label clothing every summer. Even though we’re adults now, our parents still expect us to attend gatherings at their family chateau on the outskirts of Lyon whenever we’re invited. Which is far too often for Manon’s liking.
‘Oh I don’t know, maybe we judged Eloise too harshly in the past. Shouldn’t we let bygones be bygones? Why don’t I invite her here for Christmas?’
With that, Manon takes it upon herself to tackle me like the lady she is not. When I finally disengage from her octopus-like hold, we’re on the floor, legs akimbo, hair a mess, breathing hard and laughing uncontrollably, when I glance up to see Noah standing there, hands in pockets, a look on his face that implies he’s been there for some time and still doesn’t know what to make of the scene before him.
‘A writer in her natural habitat, eh? I’ve always hoped to see one in the wild.’
I bite down on my lip in embarrassment. What must he think! Manon crash-tackling me to the floor, like she’s some kind of wrestler putting me in an arm bar. I wish I could say this didn’t happen often, but Manon often practises her jujitsu submissions on me. She’s shockingly strong, especially when she boa-constrictors herself around my poor body in her efforts to bend my limbs in unnatural ways until I’m forced to tap out.
‘Not so haughty now, is she?’ Manon teases, holding a hand to help me up. She keeps insisting I’m acting stiff and modulated around Noah, like a well-mannered robot; well, that just went out the window.
‘Can I help you, Noah?’ Best to pretend he hasn’t just witnessed two adult women fighting to the death, me to survive, Manon to win. I give him a wide smile that feels a little forced, but still.
Manon frowns and steps close, whispering, ‘What’s with the lockjaw?’
‘It’s my “nothing to see here” smile.’
‘Please don’t. Rethink that for everyone’s sake.’
Noah coughs and clears this throat. He probably heard what Manon said, but at this point can it really get any worse? ‘I wondered if I could steal a moment of your time? I did some research into our mystery. If we could chat in’ – he darts a glance around the room – ‘the secret library?’
‘Sure, sure.’
Manon yawns. ‘So I guess I’m painting alone?’
‘Unless you can get JP to help, but last I saw of him he was still sleeping.’ Two can play at that game!
‘You little spy!’