Chapter 31
31
8 DECEMBER
I spend the day buzzing around the hotel, completing one chore before moving on to the next. There are so many items on our to-do list but they’re easily achieved if I just keep my energy levels up and eye on the prize – partially opening by 18 December, which is ten short days away. We still haven’t decorated the tree, or the lobby. It’s been all hands on deck trying to get the place painted. The words written. And the mystery of suite nineteen has been on my mind, but time slips away so fast here at the hotel.
JP meets me in the lobby for a walkaround. He points out a few jobs they’ve got left to complete. Really, it’s just smaller finicky work, patching up scuffed skirting boards, removing the last of the clutter and junk from the suites and the shared spaces. ‘We’re slightly ahead of schedule,’ he says. ‘So most of our crew are going to move on to the next project. I’ll stay here with just a few of my staff to get the last of it done.’
‘Are you confident we can take bookings now? We have a guaranteed completion date?’
He nods. ‘December eighteenth, but, like I said, I’ll stick around and fix the cornicing, the smaller detailed jobs, but I’ll be quiet so I don’t disturb guests. Then I can quote you for the remaining work, but nothing there is urgent, unless you choose to renovate more suites.’
I let out a whoop. While the hotel is coming along nicely, there’s still scaffolding in hallways and tradespeople everywhere; there’s plastic covering our coffee station trolleys, and there are boxes of books stacked in a corner of the guest lounge.
‘ Merci, JP.’ I swipe at sudden tears. With only ten days to go, it brings this stark reality into focus. We are going to make it! Not only has JP and his team completed their work to a high degree of quality, but they’ve also done it fast and made me fall in love with what this place will become. A sanctuary for bibliophiles, a haven for Francophiles. A cosy, welcoming hotel for those who want to stay in one of the best locations in Paris.
We finish our walkaround, noting a few extra jobs that need to be completed, and JP goes off to have a team meeting with his crew.
I note the time and head to the guest lounge area and find Manon there already, wearing a black pant suit. I give her a slow up and down and she laughs. ‘ Oui , back to the real me.’
‘How did dinner with the parents go?’
Manon uses a screwdriver to tighten up a brass handle onto a navy-blue bedside table. ‘Well, I dressed in your elegant but extremely dull ensemble.’
‘Stop, I can’t handle all these compliments.’ Switching the silver handles out makes all the difference; the bedsides now have a regal air to them. Well, regal if you knew how bad they looked before paint and flea market-find brass handles.
‘His maman is one of those tactile types. She grabbed hold of my hands as soon as I walked through the door, squeezed and hugged. It was… a lot, but I liked it. I suppose, as much as I can like all of that touching.’
‘His maman sounds really lovely and welcoming.’
‘And she blurted, “Why are you dressed so pretentiously like that?”’
I bristle. ‘Wow, Manon. My clothing isn’t that bad!’
‘ Non, she didn’t mean it like that. She follows me on Instagram and wondered why I went from wearing all black to arriving in white cashmere. She told me I should never change who I am, especially for their sake.’
I lift a brow. ‘I did say all that to you as well.’
‘ Oui , but you’re not the one I’m trying to impress.’
As always, I’m slightly bamboozled by my cousin. ‘OK.’
Manon’s eyes shine with happiness. ‘We had a great night. His maman is hilarious, cheeky and silly and not at all like I imagined she’d be. After dinner we went to the Fete de No?l and had so much fun playing the sideshow games. I’m going to fit in just fine in that family.’
‘I knew you would. Everyone loves you, Manon, and if they don’t then there’s something wrong with them.’
‘ Merci. ’ She accepts the compliment as if it’s fact, which draws a small smile from me. Oh, to have Manon’s confidence in life. ‘I’m sorry to say, there was a slight accident and your cashmere coat came off a little worse for wear.’
I groan. ‘Red wine?’
She drops her head in mock shame. ‘ Oui . This is why black is the safest option for me.’
‘Gah. Did you soak it?’
‘Uh-huh.’ She surveys her nails.
‘You did not. Where is it?’
‘I’ll get it later. Look, here they are.’
We’re holding a job interview for maintenance staff today. We’re hoping to find a team of two superstars who’ll handle making up the suites and doing the laundry in-house. I placed an ad online last night and a husband-and-wife duo contacted me for more information. They’ve got great references and have worked in and around Paris at various hotels. And this time I took it upon myself to call those references and make sure they were legitimate.
‘ Bonjour ,’ I say and welcome them in. They’re in their sixties and are lively and energetic. After we’ve shown them around the hotel, we sit down in the guest lounge to chat.
‘We’ve worked in prestigious hotels all our lives,’ the wife, Lina, says. ‘While that’s been great, we’d like to slow down a little now. Eighteen rooms, including the owners’ suites, is an achievable number for us.’ We didn’t include suites nineteen or twenty on our tour and they didn’t question it. ‘We’re a great team and we work well together. If you take a chance with us, we can offer you long, loyal service and a wealth of experience.’
Manon and I exchange a glance. It’s an obvious choice. ‘We’d love you to join the team. We’re learning as we go so we are really lucky to have experts such as yourself willing to help. One thing you should know is, once the hotel is up and running, I’ll be looking to sell. I’m not sure if that will sway your decision, but if so I understand.’
They confer in whispers before saying, ‘We’d love to accept the position. However, our daughter is about to have a baby and we’re going to stay with her for a couple of months.’
‘Oh.’ I deflate. A couple of months! ‘So when would you be ready to start?’
‘We’re planning to return to Paris early February. Do you think you could hold the position for us until then? We know it’s a big ask, but it’s important we’re there for our daughter and our grandchild.’
I weigh it up. Manon and I would have to handle all the cleaning and washing on top of our other work around the hotel. It’s probably doable as we’re only soft launching, and hopefully by the time the couple are back from visiting their daughter we’ll have a few more suites renovated, funds depending. Manon gives me a surreptitious nod. ‘ Oui , we can wait for the right staff, that’s not a problem.’
Once they leave, Manon turns to me. ‘Do you really think you’ll still sell this place?’
I frown. ‘ Oui , of course. All my money is tied up here and I don’t have the time or inclination to be a hotelier. The sooner I can extricate myself, the better.’
Manon’s face drops. ‘It’s just… hasn’t it been fun? Even all those marathon painting sessions and washing so many white sheets I saw snowy spots for a few hours. Pranking the tradespeople, meeting Camille who is going to set TikTok on fire, and hopefully not an actual kitchen. It feels like we’re on the brink of something special. I don’t know – maybe this is the stupid love-struck phase I’m battling, but this place has a heart and a soul and, for the first time in my entire life, I feel like I fit. Even though the salary is woeful. So woeful it’s actually non-existent.’
‘It really is woeful, but it will get better once we have paying guests. I’ll make it up to you when we sell, I promise.’
‘So you won’t think about keeping the hotel, not even if it’s wildly successful when we launch?’
I search her face. It’s evident Manon has fallen under the spell of L’H?tel Bibliothèque Secrèt, but my cousin is fickle at the best of times. How do I know a few months from here, her enthusiasm won’t wane? And what am I even saying? There’s the mortgage to consider, the loan from my parents. It’s too much. ‘I don’t think so, Manon. How can I? This place needs an owner who is hands on, there for any dilemma twenty-four-seven. That’s not going to be me, is it? While I might have been going through a tough patch with my writing, that’s where my passion lies. Not in running this place, as much as I have come to love it, like you have.’ It does grow on you, this little boutique hotel across from the jardin , the history, the story we are slowing unfurling…
‘What about the secret library?’ she asks. ‘You’d give that up?’
The secret library. That does give me pause. How can I entrust that space, and the history it holds, to just anyone?
I purse my lips together and I envision the sale, and the next owner. It’s a worrying thought. ‘I don’t know, I guess I’ll have to.’ My brain is telling me to be practical, but now my heart has other ideas. How can I abandon the mystery writer and her secrets?
What makes it worse is I’ve had the most amazing idea to honour suite nineteen. I wonder if we can pull it off? And what will that mean when it comes time to sell…?
I’m winding my scarf around my neck when Manon finds me in my suite. ‘Where are you off to?’ she asks.
‘We. You and me.’
‘OK, where are we off too?’
‘La tour Eiffel.’
She tilts her head. ‘You’ve got a burning desire to visit the Eiffel Tower?’
‘ Oui . Hurry, we’ve got tickets so we can’t be late.’
Thirty minutes later, we’re herded into the glass elevator that hangs on to the outside of the tower and are making our way slowly up to the summit. The view is incredible from this vantage point. We exit at the very top onto the open-air balcony located just below the spire. ‘What are we doing here?’ Manon asks. ‘While I joked about you being afraid of heights, this is a little… high.’ Wind whips her hair from her face and carries her words with it too.
‘ Oui , but you’re lucky we didn’t have to take all of the 1,665 stairs to get here.’
‘ Non! Are there really that many?’
I nod. ‘But visitors are only allowed to climb 674 steps. The rest are not open to the public, so the elevator is necessary after that stage.’
‘That’s still about six hundred steps too many.’
‘Look,’ I say, indicating to a small queue of people, shuffling to keep warm.
‘What are they waiting for?’
‘You’ll see.’
When it’s our turn, we move to the portal-like window and peer in.
‘Ah! I see!’ says Manon.
‘This is known as the secret apartment. Gustave Eiffel used the space as an office. It’s been restored back to its original layout. Back then he’d invite notable guests here, or would conduct science experiments.’ Now there’s a tableau of wax sculptures featuring Gustave Eiffel, his daughter Claire, and guest Thomas Edison, who gifted the engineer the first sound recording device ever made. The display features a piano, desks and sofas. The secret apartment is one hundred square metres, but some of the space is obstructed by the elevator chute and stairwell.
‘This has to be the best apartment in Paris. I can’t believe I had no idea this existed.’
The queue grows behind us, so it’s time to move on. ‘We can do this too, Manon. With the secret library.’
‘ Ooh la la! Giving our guests a sneak peek into what effectively is a room where time stopped a hundred years ago. You’re a genius, Anais.’
‘Perhaps not only our guests but the public too?’
We hold off discussing it as we make our way down in the elevator, but, once we’re deposited on the ground floor, we resume our excited chatter.
‘Would you make it like Gustave Eiffel’s secret apartment? With a portal window? Or…?’
‘Why not remove the door and put a three-quarter partition up? That would prevent guests from walking into the suite itself, but not obstruct their view. And…’ My words come out thick and fast as I picture how we could best honour our mysterious writer, not just for our guests but for literary fans alike.
‘There’s also suite twenty to contend with…’ Could we make it a museum exhibit of sorts? Displaying her clothing, her trinkets? There are so many options, but most important is to preserve the legacy of our mysterious writer and Lily-Louise and celebrate them in a way that is respectful.
JP pours us each a glass of vin chaud and plays Christmas carols from his phone, the tinny sound reverberating around Library Ana?s. ‘We’ll need a proper sound system in here, won’t we? Background music for the guests.’
‘I’ll make a note to do that tomorrow,’ Manon says, reaching for her phone. The more I consider Manon wanting to stay working at the hotel, the more I’m tempted. My cousin never sticks with anything. There’s always a new hobby, new career; dare I say it, new man around every corner. She’s fully aware of her fickle nature and makes no efforts to curtail or change it, so for her to share those feelings of finally fitting in somewhere, having a place like the hotel that feels right – it does make me consider it from her perspective. What if this is meant to be – for Manon?
I’ve never seen her focused and in control like she is here. I’m suddenly the nutty distracted one making mistakes, hoping to god it all comes together, but the truth is that it’s only going to because Manon has upped her game and picked up the slack.
‘Why don’t we invite Noah to help decorate the tree?’ Manon asks, putting her phone on the table, and picking up her mulled wine to take a sip.
‘Sure,’ I say.
‘I’ll invite him over.’
A few minutes later, she returns with Noah, whose hair is mussed like he’s just woken up.
‘Did we interrupt a nap?’ I ask and hand him a glass of mulled wine, the scent of the orange and star anise perfuming the air between us.
‘I prefer to call it a power nap. It’s been hectic with one Christmas function after another. Merci ,’ he says, holding the glass aloft.
Manon opens a box of ornaments. ‘Anais has decreed the tree should be decorated ombre-style, which means we go from colour to colour cascading down the tree. She’s quite pedantic about placement so make sure they’re equidistant or we’ll never hear the end of it.’
I laugh. I am a stickler for symmetry. ‘Go wild; who cares what distance they are?’
Her forehead wrinkles. ‘And you won’t sneak down at midnight and redo them?’
‘Of course I will, but have your fun now.’
Noah and JP laugh. We gather around the tree, each holding an ornament.
‘OK, so you’re both lucky to be included in our annual Christmas tree tradition, and with that responsibility comes question time. I’ll start with you, JP. Tell me, what makes the perfect Christmas gift? Novelty socks that say All the Jingle Ladies , or a more heartfelt gift like homemade gingerbread and a handwritten card?’
JP loops a Santa ornament at the top of the tree. ‘Why not both?’
‘Good answer! OK, your turn.’
He rubs the back of his neck while conjuring a question. ‘What’s the best night for Christmas feasting?’ Traditionally in France the Christmas feast is called Le Réveillon and is held after returning from Mass on Christmas Eve; however, there are plenty who prefer celebrating on Christmas Day itself so there’s more time to prepare and enjoy the food and festivities.
‘Why not both?’ Noah says, grinning as he hangs a candy cane on the tree.
‘ Oui! ’ Manon laughs. ‘All that effort should last a few days at least.’
I take a step back and survey the trio of happy, smiling faces. How did we get here? We feel like a little found family. It wasn’t what I expected to find when I stood out the front of the desolate grimy hotel all that time ago when my interfering neighbour waltzed over to complain about the mess. Now Noah is part of our everyday lives and that brings its own little thrill, but I keep that secret close to my chest. It’s too soon to contemplate another relationship… but it’s nice to know that my heart hasn’t shrivelled and withered away completely. There’s hope for me yet.
Like Manon, have I found the place I’m meant to be? Perhaps my life needed a shake up too. While I had success with my writing, what else did I have? A marriage based on nothing but hot air, a sterile apartment that didn’t bring any joy and a sort of emptiness that I’d put down to worry over money, fatigue from writing so much. But was it more than that? Was it that my life had become so bland and insular that I didn’t even recognise how bad it was until Francois-Xavier exploded our marriage? All the hurt and pain I’ve held fast to evaporates as I suddenly understand he did me a favour. Without him, my life is so much better. I’m surrounded by people who irk me, make me laugh, give me hope and at times make me want to throttle them – the whole gamut of emotions; the very antithesis of bland.
It’s a revelation, as if I’ve been sleepwalking the last couple of years and have woken up to this explosion of colour. If I sell the hotel, if I take this away from Manon, will I go back to that humdrum life?