Chapter 15
‘ HOW DO YOU SAY “I have a hangover that might finish me off” in French?’ Jamie asked, from his horizontal position on the kitchen bench.
‘I’m not sure but a hangover is a gueule de bois .’
‘What does that me—’
‘Wooden gob.’ Maggie was standing at the kitchen counter making coffee. It was just after ten and she’d woken half an hour earlier in a panic. The time! The guests! What about breakfast? She’d thrown on yesterday’s clothes, rushed downstairs and found Audrey loading the dishwasher with their smeary plates and mugs. Miracles did happen, apparently.
‘In that case, I have a wooden gob. A very wooden gob.’
‘Me too,’ Maggie replied, carrying the cafetière to the table.
‘If I die today, will you make sure I don’t end up in anything that grotesque?’ Jamie said, tilting his head towards the urn.
‘What time did we go to bed?’
He closed one eye and squinted at the ceiling. ‘I think it must have been about three by the time we got up that ladder. No, it was three because I sent a message to Ben just after three.’
‘Uh oh, what did it say?’
‘I don’t know. I can’t bring myself to look. I’m only hoping it wasn’t a picture.’
‘Of what?’
‘I love you, Maggie Lemon, but you aren’t half naive sometimes. What do you think? Of my dick. Pass me a mug.’
‘I don’t want to think about that now. Or any time. Did we finish the Calvados?’
‘Yes.’ Jamie reached for the bag of croissants, tore off one end and then made a strange noise. ‘Fuck me, Mags, I’m not sure my stomach is ready for food yet. I think I might be sic—’
‘RUN!’ she ordered, pointing towards the back stairs that led to the annexe.
She pulled the paper bag towards her and pushed half a croissant into her mouth. She was never sick the next day. She just had to eat plenty of carbs to get through: croissant, and baguette covered with butter and homemade jam, maybe a croque monsieur for their lunch. Lunch! Shit. She needed to think about what she could make for the guests. Something easy, something uncomplicated, something that wouldn’t take her hou—
She looked up at the sound of a cough and her mouth froze, chewed croissant in each cheek, like a squirrel storing nuts for winter. There was a stranger in the doorway who was so handsome she didn’t know what to say: tall and broad, with several days of stubble darkening his jaw.
‘Morning,’ he said from the doorway. He had an American drawl.
She swallowed the ball of croissant in one go. ‘Er, hi, hello. Can I help?’
The stranger ran a hand over his stubble and looked uncomfortable. ‘I wanted to apologize, for being brusque yesterday. I was tired after travelling and …’
Maggie came to her senses. He was the mystery guest from upstairs, the rude one.
‘And …?’ she asked, raising her eyebrows. She wasn’t going to forgive him just because he looked like a hero from an Ancient Greek poem: dark curled hair, wide shoulders, thick forearms. He was familiar. Had she seen him somewhere before? Had she cooked for him?
He looked surprised. ‘And … nothing. No excuse, but I am sorry for being abrupt.’
‘Abrupt’s one word for it. Rude, some might say.’
‘Yeah … right … I’m sorry. And I’m Gray, by the way? There was some confusion when I checked in because my assistant booked the room.’
‘Audrey mentioned that. If you could bring your passport down later, I’ll sort the details.’
‘Sure, thank you.’
Maggie gave him a small nod and stuck her hand back into the croissant bag. She would need to eat both of them, but then she looked up, sensing that he was still hovering in the doorway. Go away, she thought irritably. She couldn’t eat if he was standing there and watching. ‘Anything else?’
‘Is there any breakfast?’
Maggie glanced pointedly at the clock over his head. Nearly eleven and breakfast was only served until ten. She might have taken pity on him had he been less rude last night. But not this morning. Not with this hangover. ‘It’s finished, sorry.’
‘Can I get a coffee? I mean, this is a hotel, unless I’m very much mistaken?’
Maggie calmly placed both hands on the table and inhaled. She didn’t like his mocking tone. ‘Yes, yes, it is a hotel, which is why we have rooms and a pool and a dining room in which we serve breakfast, lunch and dinner at the usual times that you find in hotels.’
‘I don’t need to eat, seeing as that’s clearly such an imposition,’ he replied, looking at the paper bag of croissants. ‘But I would very much like a coffee, so long as it doesn’t inconvenience you?’
She shoved her chair back and stood, offering him her best fake smile. ‘No inconvenience. Take a seat in the dining room or by the pool, and I’ll bring it out. Do you need any help finding the dining room or the pool?’
‘No, ma’am. I’m sure I can manage, thank you. I’ll head outsi—’
‘Jesus, Mags, I just chucked up so hard I practically lost an eyeball. I feel rough. Oh, hello, who do we have he—’ Jamie said, reappearing downstairs, his face instantly lifting at the sight of the handsome man hovering in the doorway.
Then Jamie took in his face, his frame and his Loro Piana tracksuit, and clapped his hands to his cheeks. ‘Oh, my fucking good god!’
‘Jamie!’ Maggie warned. This guy was rude, but they couldn’t swear at the guests.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Jamie went on, dropping his hands from his face, ‘but are you Gray Hudson?’
Gray’s eyes dropped to the floor before he glanced up and said, almost apologetically, ‘Uh, yeah.’
Maggie frowned, sensing she was missing something. Jamie was better at pop culture than her and grumbled that her refusal to join any form of social media meant she missed out on memes and ‘important references’. She’d given in once and joined Instagram, a few years earlier, but not long after that a friend had a baby, and then another friend had another baby, and then it felt as if all her friends had babies that they were parading on Instagram, and she’d felt a premature sense of fear in her stomach every time her finger had hovered over the app’s icon. So she’d deleted it and instead relied on Jamie to update her on anything vital, be it Beyoncé’s new single or any time a cat did something amusing and improbable with a milk bottle.
But even she knew the name Gray Hudson. The Gray Hudson who’d won an Oscar two years before for a film that had involved him losing several stone to play a cowboy? The Gray Hudson who’d risen to fame as a teenage heartthrob after starring in a high-school romcom opposite Kirsten Dunst, but then turned down every romantic role for several years because he didn’t want to play the handsome jock forever? The Gray Hudson who had dated pretty much every Hollywood actress until he’d fallen madly in love with the equally famous actress and equally ravishing Holly Hernandez who’d reportedly ‘changed’ him? The Gray Hudson who commanded something like $20m per film? That Gray Hudson? That Gray Hudson was standing in front of her, asking for coffee? He was this jerk?
‘Gray Hudson,’ Jamie murmured, his eyes as wide as dinner plates. ‘Please don’t take this the wrong way but what the hell are you doing here?’
‘Uh …’
‘Jamie!’ Maggie growled again, before looking at Gray. ‘Find a spot by the pool, and I’ll bring the coffee through.’
‘Sure, will do. Thank you, uh …?’
‘Maggie.’
‘Thank you, Maggie.’
Jamie watched over his shoulder, until Gray had stepped outside, before running across the kitchen.
‘MAGS,’ he shouted, gripping Maggie’s shoulders, ‘WHY IS GRAY FUCKING HUDSON IN YOUR HOTEL?’
‘Shhhhh,’ she replied, shaking herself free. ‘I don’t know, do I?’
‘Oh my god,’ shrieked Jamie, before covering his face with his hands. ‘I said that thing about being sick and my eyeball falling out!’
‘I wouldn’t worry. I didn’t know who he was until you came downstairs.’
‘WHAT?’
‘Jamie, shhhhh.’
‘Oh my god.’
‘ What? ’
‘What did you say to him before I came down?’
‘What do you mean?’
Jamie pulled his hands away from his eyes. ‘What did you say to him before you knew who he was?’
‘Nothing. Well, not nothing. I was pretty short with him because the guy was incredibly rude last night and even ruder just now.’
‘What? What did he say? And do you mean, short? Please tell me you didn’t say anything bad? Oh, god, please tell me you didn’t say anything about me ?’
Maggie theatrically placed a finger on her chin. ‘Ohhhhh yes. Yes, now that I think of it, I said had he seen a loud gay man running around the hotel and that he should call the police if so, because he’s wanted for being a bellend .’
‘Seriously!’ Jamie pointed towards the door. ‘That is Gray Fucking Hudson. Gray Hudson! Here!’
‘Yes, I know, and I need to make his coffee before he demands something else, so can I get on with it please?’
Jamie sat on the bench and tapped at his phone while she spooned grounds into the cafetière.
‘Oh my days, it all makes sense. I even read about this on the way out here. Look!’ He held his mobile across the table. It was a story from an American website, headlined HUDSON IN HIDING.
Gray Hudson is known for breaking hearts everywhere he goes – but this time it seems he’s broken a nose.
The Escape actor and husband of How To Marry A Billionaire star Holly Hernandez was booted off his latest movie production for reportedly landing a punch on another member of the cast.
‘The director had no choice but to fire him on the spot,’ one source told the gossip site. ‘He’s been holding up shooting for weeks, showing up drunk and slurring his lines, and this was the final straw.’
Production reps insist the Oscar-winning actor was dismissed because of creative differences.
But an insider on the set of the forthcoming blockbuster, Spring in Paris , says the 43-year-old’s behaviour has thrown the entire movie into crisis.
Rumours about his behaviour have been swirling for months, and intensified in February after Hudson was reportedly dropped from Netflix’s forthcoming Kryptonite project following a row with director, Pete Zeffman.
‘I don’t know what’s going on with the guy,’ the source told Six News, ‘but he’s a mess.’
Maggie pushed Jamie’s phone away. ‘Enough of your sordid websites.’
‘It’s not sordid! Listen, he gets pissed and hits someone on set in Paris, causing a massive hoo-ha, and now he’s come here to hide out. Mags, we are at the centre of an international scandal. It’s been all over Twitter all week! It’s been on the front pages of all the papers! Look, Mags, it’s here. Look, on the Mail Online .’
She ignored him and picked up the kettle.
‘OK, but look at the memes.’ Jamie stood and stuck his phone under her nose. It was a cartoon of Batman slapping Robin, but Gray’s face had replaced Batman’s.
‘I don’t care.’
He stared at her with disbelief. ‘Mags, how can you not care? This is like the biggest story on the internet. The biggest story in the world! And he’s here! Gray Hudson is here in your ho—’
‘Shhhh,’ she hissed, glancing at the door. ‘Keep your voice down. You’re being hysterical.’
Jamie watched her pick up the coffee pot. ‘Please can I take that out? Please? Please, Mags? Please? ’
She shook her head and headed towards the hallway with it, blinking as she emerged into the bright sunshine. Gray was lying on a sunbed at the deep end of the pool, in a baseball hat and sunglasses, as far away from Liz and Tina as possible.
She walked towards him, the flagstones warm under her feet, and laid the tray on the table. ‘Here you go. Coffee and milk, if you take it. Normal milk. I’m afraid we don’t have anything made from a nut.’
‘Normal milk’s good for me.’
‘Thank goodness for that,’ she murmured.
Gray pulled off his sunglasses and his blue eyes met hers. ‘I really am sorry to put you out.’
‘Not putting me out. Coffee’s fine but, like I said, breakfast finishes at ten if you want it tomorrow.’
She turned to go back inside then spun, remembering something. ‘Can I check how long you’re staying?’
He glanced towards the hills in the distance, then back to her. He looked more worn out under the glare of the morning sunshine than he had inside, she noticed. His eyes were bloodshot; his cheeks hollow.
‘I’m not sure. Maybe a few more days. My assistant booked the room for a week, I believe?’
‘That’s fine. Our manager hadn’t written any details down. But I’ll note that it’s a week. And lunch is at one.’
‘Sure thing.’
At the sound of a window opening above them, Maggie glanced up to see Jamie’s forehead and eyes emerge over the windowsill of a first-floor bedroom. Glaring at him, she stepped towards the French windows into the dining room but was – yet again – summoned back.
‘Hey, Margy? Here, please, take this.’
She looked over her shoulder to see Gray reaching into his tracksuit and pulling out a note.
‘No need,’ she said crisply, ‘we don’t take tips.’ It had been one of Phil’s rules. No tips allowed unless guests wanted to leave something at the end of their stay when they checked out, in order to avoid them having to fumble awkwardly in their pockets every time they asked for more coffee, or another drink, or a bottle brought to their room.
‘A hotel that doesn’t take tips?’ Gray said, surprised, slipping the cash back into his pocket. ‘I like this place more and more.’
Maggie flashed him a thin smile and walked back inside. Having cooked for celebrities before, she knew the type: they behaved how they liked because they assumed they could apologize simply by paying someone off afterwards. She felt sorry for Gray if he was having a rough time personally, but that didn’t excuse rudeness or entitlement. That had been another of Phil’s rules: famous, very pampered people could stay at Le Figuier but if they treated any of her staff, or her, like servants, she had words with them. It wasn’t just a hotel, it was her home and it deserved respect.
The same went for Gray, Maggie thought. He was welcome to stay here if he needed a place to hide out, but she absolutely wasn’t going to tolerate any ‘please-can-I-have-my-breakfast-late-because-I’m-famous’ bullshit.