Chapter 31
NOW
‘Where are you going?’ Henri moaned, turning over and reaching for her.
She’d slept in her own bed again last night, not quite ready to completely forgive him. Then this morning, she’d woken early and crept into his room – half expecting he might have company. But he’d been alone. She’d sat on the edge of his bed. ‘I have to go out,’ she whispered. ‘Work stuff.’
‘But it’s Saturday!’ He sounded a little like a petulant child.
‘Yes. But you know I have this important presentation coming up. I have to put in some extra hours.’
He groaned. ‘I feel like I never see you.’
‘I know,’ she said, softening. ‘We’re like’ – she lapsed into English, unable to find a suitable French saying – ‘ships passing in the night?’
Henri lifted himself up on his elbows. ‘Why would you say that?’
‘It’s an English saying. You know, that we don’t see each other properly.’
‘You English are strange,’ he said. ‘Why would you want to compare us to excrement?’
‘What?’
‘Yes, shits passing in the night. It is not very romantic, n’est-ce pas?’
‘Not shits! Ships!’ she said, ‘like with a “p”.’
‘A pee? So we are piss and shit?’ he said, confused. ‘It is not very romantic to say that.’
‘No, ships,’ she said, half laughing, half frustrated. ‘Like, boats!’
‘Oh!’ He was silent for a moment. ‘So we pass each other but we do not meet.’
‘Exactly.’ She grinned.
‘And nobody is going to flush us away?’ He was grinning too now.
‘We can only hope.’
They smiled at each other and she realised, despite finding him a bit frustrating at times, that she really did like Henri. He was cute; easy-going. She leant down and gave him a kiss on the forehead, and he grabbed hold of her arm. ‘Stay with me. I am sorry for what I did.’
‘I really can’t. I’m sorry.’
He narrowed his eyes in mock annoyance. ‘OK, but tell your boss if she makes you work too hard, I will hunt her down like a dog.’
She smiled. ‘Yes. I’d expect nothing less. Although probably not at 7 a.m. on a Saturday?’
‘Non. I keep my vengeance for the afternoons. You don’t get to be as good-looking as me without beauty sleep.’
* * *
Brad was waiting when she came down the stairs, standing by the front door, his arms folded in front of him, looking up as she descended. It was like a low-budget version of a grand ‘prom’ entrance: he, the nervous date, she, the beauty, gliding down in her best gown.
Except, obviously, they were both dressed casually, there were no parents waiting expectantly to see them off. And of course this wasn’t a date.
‘Thanks for this,’ she said in a near-whisper, not wanting to wake Odette.
‘Pleasure.’
They walked the short distance to what Brad told her was his favourite Versailles café, a small, single-windowed building with a wooden door and window surround. Italic letters spelled out ‘Café’ across the wood, faded with age. It was quaint, albeit a little run-down.
‘This looks nice,’ she said.
He laughed. ‘Don’t worry, the coffee here is amazing, even if the place looks a bit… crappy. I used to come here when I was a kid with my grandmother, and the signage was exactly the same. The proprietor too, only he was younger back then, obviously.’
‘You went for coffee as a kid?’
‘They do milkshakes.’
‘Fair enough.’
They sat at a corner table in the already quite busy space, filled with people who looked to be on their way to work in the service sector – dressed in uniforms of local hotels and restaurants.
A pair of gendarmes sat near the window talking earnestly and sipping espresso.
The room was filled with the rumble of quiet conversation and the gorgeous aroma of coffee and freshly baked bread.
Brad went to the counter as she sat and opened her laptop on the table.
She noticed that, despite the fact this was a busy café, she was the only one who’d brought a device with her.
One woman looked at her almost with admonishment as if her computer had no place in a café, and Bella quickly looked away.
When Brad returned with two large cups of black coffee, each with a tiny pastry nestling on the saucer, she had already pulled up her plans. He sat, placing her hot drink next to her carefully, then taking a sip from his own. ‘Mmm.’
She also lifted her cup to her lips, the rich aroma meeting her before the beverage even made it to her mouth. It was rich and delicious. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘Great coffee.’
He nodded. ‘Still do milkshakes too, but my gut can’t take it these days.’ He smacked his stomach. ‘Anyway, enough of the small talk. Hit me with it.’
She laughed. ‘I assume we’re talking metaphorically?’
‘Well, think I’d probably be more help without concussion,’ he replied, ‘but hey, go ahead if it’ll help your stress levels.’
She pushed the laptop in front of him. ‘Here’s what I’ve done so far,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t realise Claudine was expecting more. You know, creating a unified look for the hotel, a theme – I hadn’t realised how important that was.’
‘OK,’ he read through the list, his tongue just visible at the edge of his lips as he concentrated. ‘Right,’ he said at last, pushing the laptop back towards her.
‘Right?’
‘It’s OK.’ He nodded. ‘These things you’ve done, they’re pretty cool.’
‘Right? But?’
He looked at her. ‘Well, I was having a look at Hotel Club stuff last night, after you went to bed. And I looked at your place too – it’s pretty cute.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And you know, you might just make it. There’s nothing wrong with it as far as I can see. Plus the home-baked goods – that’s a great touch. Especially if they’re anything like the ones I ate yesterday.’
‘Last week.’
‘What?’
‘You ate my cookies last week.’
‘Ah. Well, sorry. I also ate some yesterday.’
‘Brad! Those were for the launch!’ But she wasn’t angry, not really. ‘I was practising.’
‘Sorry. They’re just too good. And I guess they help.’
‘Help with what? Your aim to develop diabetes before you’re fifty?’
He gave a small, breathy laugh. ‘Nah. Just… I guess I feel a bit down sometimes is all.’
‘Oh.’ It was hard to know what to say. ‘Well, in that case, feel free.’
‘Thanks.’
He pulled a tattered notebook from the inner pocket of his jacket. ‘Anyway, I wrote down a few ideas – you know, quick fixes that you can turn around in a few weeks. Just things maybe I’d do in your position.’ He shrugged as if it were no big deal.
She took the notebook from him, noticing the scribbled ‘Lyrics’ on the cover. ‘You write songs?’
He shook his head. ‘Not for a while.’
Bella read through his suggestions; they seemed obvious now, written in black and white, and she felt a little foolish she hadn’t thought of them herself.
New bedding, curtains, rugs for the rooms to knit the theme together.
Some original art or sculpture, with a theme.
Maybe a band or quartet for the party where she’d make her presentation, to play while the guests milled around.
Her cakes (he’d drawn a smiley face next to this entry) and specialist coffees, mini cafetières for each of the rooms.
‘So, like you say, each of the Hotel Club places seems to have something that draws them together. You need to find a theme, then we can create a showroom – something that really shows it off.’
‘Maybe the theme could be Paris?’
He shook his head. ‘Too dull. I mean, maybe if the hotel weren’t in Paris, it would be kind of cute. But they have Paris already.’
‘Yeah, I see what you mean. I’ll have to think.’ She looked at him. ‘Thanks, though. This is great.’
‘It’s nothing, really.’
‘It is to me. I was— just stuck, I guess. Panicked.’
‘It’s nothing you couldn’t have come up with.’
‘Maybe, but not under pressure. Seriously, I owe you big time.’
‘Ah, just buy me another coffee,’ he said, draining his cup.
‘Brad…’ she said.
‘Sorry.’ He held his hands up. ‘I’ll take an enormous cheque too. Or, you know. A snack.’
She went up to the counter and came back shortly with another coffee and a muffin.
‘Will this cover your costs?’ she joked.
He laughed, looking at the chocolate muffin in its dark brown paper. ‘Ah, I think that’ll just about do. Although I usually charge two muffins an hour.’
‘Two muffins an hour!’ she said, slipping into the chair opposite and lifting her own fresh coffee from the tray. ‘Things really are expensive over here.’
The two hours they’d spent together had flown by.
It was only 10 a.m. but she already felt lighter than she had, as if she might be able to relax this weekend, safe in the knowledge that she would cope – maybe even thrive – on Monday.
She took a bite out of her muffin – it was freshly baked and crumbled deliciously in her mouth. She let out an audible ‘Mmm.’
‘That good?’
‘Yeah, just a bit.’
‘You’re not going to go all Meg Ryan on me?’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘It’s not that good.’
There was an awkward moment in which they both pictured the famous scene from When Harry Met Sally.
Then, ‘So what business are you actually in? I know you have premises here? Or offices? But I have no idea what you actually do,’ she said.
He took a sip of his drink, regarding her over the top, then set it down as if suddenly the mug were heavier than it had been before. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘You got me there.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Ah, nothing.’ His shoulders slumped slightly and he let out a breath, looked at her. ‘Look, I was going to give you the usual bullshit. But I guess we’re all about truth here, right?’
She nodded.
‘The others, they probably said I’m some sort of hotshot CEO, right?’
‘Yeah, something like that.’
‘Well, that was true once. Only things changed last year, and I never got around to… updating them.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah, so I moved permanently to France when I got married, like fifteen years ago now. And I started up this little café near the beach in Nice. It did OK. So I opened another. Soon I had, like, five of these cafés. I was making some real money too.’
‘Right?’