Chapter 17
17
As I push open the grand double doors of the chateau, I can’t help but admire how the morning sun warms up the tone of the creamy-coloured walls.
I just love that feeling of walking in and out through the doors, and the way the temperature shifts all of a sudden. When you walk in it’s like stepping into a big, warm hug – sort of like when you step off the plane when you fly to a hot country, and you step through the door and it instantly feels like you’re walking into a wall of heat. It’s just like that, except it smells delicious, and helps the feeling come back to your fingers.
I stroll through the fancy hallway, my footsteps echoing on the hard floor, letting my nose lead me in the direction of breakfast. Not that I don’t know where the dining room is, but if I didn’t the smell of freshly baked something would give it away. I can’t wait to find out what it is.
Walking into the dining room, I find Mandy, Bette, and Gina already parked at the long, elegant breakfast table. They’re surrounded by the breakfast buffet of my dreams – no wine this time, although I wouldn’t be shocked if I found out Bette’s coffee was Irish instead of French. Either they’ve hardly touched a thing, or I’ve arrived just in time, because everything is still picture-perfect.
It’s the fanciest continental breakfast spread I’ve ever seen. Usually I’m a scrambled-eggs kind of girl if I’m going for savoury, or American-style pancakes if I fancy something sweet. Silver trays are loaded with golden, flaky croissants, pain au chocolat, and other delicious-looking pastries that would serve as a delicious chaser to the one I ate on the walk here. Then there is the savoury stuff – meats, cheeses – and various jars with different spreads and conserves in. Back home I would laugh if anyone suggested I eat cheese for breakfast but here it just feels right. There is freshly baked bread, which must have been what I could smell walking in here, as well as a large glass bowl full of fresh fruits. Again, I’m not really one for fruit on a morning (unless it’s in a pancake or a Danish) but this looks too good to resist – I’m sure I’ll feel healthy when I eat it, even if it is part of my second breakfast.
My stomach growls as I look over it all, longingly, which only helps to conceal the fact I’ve already eaten.
A young woman in a crisp white uniform moves gracefully around the table, pouring coffee into dainty china cups. She looks up as I approach and flashes me a smile.
‘Good morning! Would you like a cup of coffee?’ she asks.
‘Yes, please,’ I say, smiling back. Even though I can still taste the coffee I just had, but you can never have too much coffee, can you?
This tips the ladies off to the fact that I’m here, so we all exchange polite good mornings.
Taking my seat at the table, as the waitress fills up my cup, I take a look around the dining room. The high ceilings are decked out with fancy mouldings, and huge windows draped with heavy ruby-red velvet curtains let in beams of morning sunlight that make the polished wood floor gleam. You couldn’t get away without dusting this room, that’s for sure. There’s a massive antique sideboard against one wall, piled high with even more dishes, ready to refill the table – although I suspect these are the ornamental plates, not the ones we use.
‘Amber, up and at ’em already?’ Mandy says, her voice as chipper as a salesperson on commission. ‘You look like you’ve been out in the cold. Are you having breakfast with us?’
‘I just popped to the resort shops for a few bits and bobs,’ I explain, trying to sound nonchalant. ‘And yes to breakfast.’
‘Goodness – you really were unprepared for this trip, weren’t you?’ she says, nodding towards my bag. Mandy’s tone drips with condescension, her words delivered in that patronising baby voice she seems to only use with me. ‘If we had known, we would’ve had a whip-round, wouldn’t we, ladies?’
It takes all my strength and focus not to roll my eyes at her, because you just know she’s trying to make me feel bad.
‘I was just spoiling myself,’ I insist, lifting my chin slightly.
‘The day I spoil myself with a toothbrush, shoot me,’ Mandy laughs, and the others join in. Everyone has to laugh at Mandy’s jokes, even when she isn’t funny, it turns out.
‘Actually, I bought myself a hamper,’ I lie smoothly, hoping to put a stop to her smugness.
‘Oh, what did you get?’ Gina asks, her curiosity piqued. ‘Let’s see.’
I know, I didn’t actually buy myself this hamper, but I’ll bet it’s full of fancy, luxury products, and when this lot see it, it’s going to wipe the smiles off their faces. They’ll never know I didn’t actually pay for them. I know, I shouldn’t have to resort to little scams like this to save face, but it will make the week go a lot faster. I need a little win, especially when it feels like it’s me vs. Mandy.
But just as I step closer to the table, placing the hamper down where everyone can see it, Mandy’s eyes zero in on me, her nose twitching like a bloodhound’s.
‘Amber, you’re… you’re covered in something. It looks like pastry flakes. Have you already eaten?’ she asks accusingly.
See, this is why I was worried, about having pre-breakfast breakfast, because Mandy clearly has a tone.
Ah, shit. I forgot to dust myself off after my croissant. Honestly, pastries, Greggs sausage rolls – it’s always the same deal. I always have to do that awkward dance to shake off the crumbs.
‘Oh, you know what, it was the weirdest thing,’ I start, hoping inspiration will strike. I am a storyteller, after all. ‘This bird flew over me, a big one, and it was carrying something in its mouth – it looked like a croissant – and it just sort of rained bits of pastry down above me, like snow. Wow, I thought I’d dodged it. Thanks for letting me know.’
I brush myself down, trying to look as dignified as possible, hoping that they believe my frankly ridiculous story. Mandy narrows her eyes, clearly unconvinced.
‘A bird?’ Mandy repeats in disbelief.
‘What sort of bird?’ Bette chimes in, her brow furrowed in confusion.
Honestly, I couldn’t even guess at what kind of birds they have here. We’re in the mountains, surrounded by snow. If we were in London, I’d say it was a pigeon and no one would bat an eye, because everyone knows pigeons have the audacity, but here… do they even have pigeons?
‘It was just so fast, I didn’t get a chance to see what kind of bird it was,’ I reply, hoping that will put an end to the interrogation.
‘And yet you saw what kind of pastry it was,’ Mandy points out, her tone as sharp and knowing as ever.
‘Well, it did land on me, it turns out,’ I say with a shrug, trying to sound casual.
I mean, it sort of did land on me, just, you know, in my mouth.
Mandy purses her lips but doesn’t press further. I can see the gears turning in her head, like she knows I’m lying, she just isn’t sure why.
‘Anyway, come on, show us this hamper,’ Gina says, leaning in with eager curiosity. ‘Get you, spoiling yourself.’
‘I know, it’s naughty of me, but sometimes you need little treats to make you feel good on the inside,’ I say, trying to sound like I do this sort of thing all the time, as I open the hamper.
I throw the lid back, and I can feel every pair of eyes in the room zeroing in on it.
‘Bloody hell, that will make you feel good on the inside,’ Gina says through a snort, clearly trying to suppress a laugh.
All I can do is stare at the contents. Right on top is a big purple dildo. And not just any dildo – it’s huge, and detailed, and flecked with sparkles for some reason. It’s giving Edward Cullen from Twilight … I’d imagine.
And that’s not all. There are random bottles of body oils, flavoured lubes, nipple tassels, and more types of condoms than I even knew existed before today.
I finally muster the strength to flip the lid shut, my cheeks burning. Bloody hell, France, is this what a romance kit includes here? What happened to a massage and a cuddle?
‘Okay, wow, I must have picked up the wrong hamper, or been given the wrong one because, yeah, no, that’s not what I wanted,’ I babble, hoping they believe me. It’s hard to sound like you’re telling the truth about one thing, when you’re lying about something else.
‘There’s no shame in it,’ Gina insists, patting my hand. ‘If you’ve read one of my books, you’ll know I’m all about the self-love.’
‘What did you think you were going to do with the condoms, alone?’ Mandy asks, eyes narrowing with faux innocence. ‘Unless… no! Is this all to woo Henri? Wow, you are taking this competition seriously.’
She lowers her voice as she says this. Even though there are no staff members currently in the room, she is in touch with reality enough to know that, to other people, there’s something very weird about her ‘race to shag the caretaker’ wager.
‘No, God, no, nothing like that, it was supposed to be bath stuff,’ I insist, trying to salvage what’s left of my dignity.
‘Oh, you can use those in the bath,’ Gina informs me earnestly.
I place the box on the floor – out of sight, out of mind – and take my seat. I pick up my coffee and take a big sip. Right now I wish mine was Irish, it might help me feel less mortified.
‘You’re a dark horse, aren’t you?’ Bette teases, waggling her eyebrows, refusing to let it go.
‘No. No, I’m not,’ I insist, shaking my head so vigorously it gives me a headache. ‘In fact, I was hoping I could speak to you ladies about it.’
‘About your sex life?’ Mandy exclaims, her fork hovering in front of her mouth like she’s suspended in time.
‘No, about my book,’ I reply quickly, feeling my cheeks flush – or flush more, I guess, because I’m still bright red from showcasing a dildo on the breakfast table.
‘What are you having trouble with?’ Gina asks.
‘Jen wants me to write spicy scenes,’ I tell them. ‘I’ve never done it before. In fact, I always tend to favour the com over the rom. But Jen thinks it’s important, and she wants me to try, but I just don’t know where to begin.’
‘Do you have anything I can read?’ Gina asks. ‘I could give you some pointers?’
‘I can’t even get anything on the page,’ I confess. ‘Or, if I do, I delete it. Everything I write is just so cringey. It feels like spice for the sake of it, I don’t know how to do it authentically. Does that make sense?’
‘Well, you’ve come to the right place,’ Gina says with a confident smile. ‘Spice is my thing. First, you need to connect with the feelings yourself. If you can’t feel the love, neither can your characters.’
‘So, what do you suggest?’ I ask, feeling a bit desperate. Presumably she isn’t going to tell me to get a boyfriend because, believe me, sis, I would if I could.
‘Take one of my books upstairs and woo yourself,’ Gina says, her eyes twinkling with mischief. ‘Get in touch with your own feelings, and your own body. If you can’t turn on yourself, how are you going to turn on your readers?’
I wince. I think that pretty much sums up the problem I’m having. How am I going to turn anyone on?
‘So your homework is to turn yourself on,’ Gina tells me.
I blink at her, unsure if I’ve heard correctly.
‘You mean…?’
‘Yes, exactly,’ Gina says, completely unfazed. ‘Take this box of goodies up to your room, light some candles, run a bath, read some steamy scenes, and just let yourself go. Woo yourself.’
Sorry, it’s just that it sounds a bit like she’s telling me to go upstairs and have a wank. She’s not telling me to do that, is she? Oh, she is. Oh, boy, I feel awkward. I’d rather go back to looking at the dildo together.
‘Trust me,’ Gina insists.
‘You won’t know until you try,’ Bette chimes in. ‘It’s all in the name of research. Gina’s advice worked wonderfully for me.’
Bette has Gina levels of spice in her Summer at the Seaside books? I’ve read Gina’s spicy scenes, and it’s hard to imagine any of Bette’s characters getting their back blown out behind a beach hut.
‘Right,’ I say slowly. ‘Research.’
‘Just spare us the details,’ Mandy insists, which is funny, because that’s the opposite of what I’m supposed to do in the book.
‘Maybe I’ll give it a go,’ I tell them, almost certain that I won’t. I mean, I guess I could set the scene, and hope that it inspires me, but… oh, I don’t know.
‘That’s the spirit,’ Gina says, clapping her hands. ‘Trust me, if you can tap into those naughty thoughts, your writing will be so much stronger. And who knows, you might even learn a bit more about yourself along the way.’
Bette leans in, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
‘So, guess who I saw on my way to bed last night,’ she starts, her voice low and breathy.
‘Go on,’ Mandy prompts her.
‘Henri,’ she announces triumphantly. ‘And I decided to conduct a little experiment.’
‘Oh, do tell,’ Mandy says, her interest piqued.
Bette grins, clearly relishing the opportunity to share her story.
‘Well, I may have… pretended to trip and fall, to see if he would rush to my aid,’ she tells us. ‘I thought that, if he likes to be a knight in shining armour, then I would throw myself at his mercy.’
‘And did he?’ I ask, unable to contain my curiosity.
Bette’s grin fades slightly.
‘Not exactly,’ she admits. ‘There I am, sprawled out on the floor, waiting for Henri to come rushing over with his charming smile to gallantly offer his big strong arms in assistance. But instead, he looks down at me and says, “Oh, my grandmother falls all the time. I’ll get a couple of the female staff to help you” – his grandmother, can you believe that?’
I can’t help but laugh at the image of Bette sprawled on the ground, only for Henri to be kind and caring, rather than taking advantage of her while she’s on the floor. She’s old enough to be his mum, at least. Did she really think that would work? He was probably just worried she had broken her hip, rather than instantly horny.
‘So I suppose I’m going to have to change strategy again,’ Bette concludes.
‘Do you think he’s grumpy or sunshine?’ Mandy wonders out loud. ‘I can’t tell, because he’s French, I think, but if I can work out which, I’ll play the other. That’s what I’m going to try first.’
‘I’m going for a combination of holiday romance and forbidden love,’ Gina announces with a sly smile. ‘I’m going to make him think he can’t have me, then that he can’t have me for long…’
‘And Amber is going for seduction, it turns out,’ Mandy adds.
I laugh, shaking my head.
‘No, no, no seduction,’ I protest. ‘The only person I’m planning on seducing here is myself, it turns out.’
Right on cue, a server walks into the room to check on us, overhearing what I just said. Her cheeks flush bright red, and she quickly mumbles an apology before darting out of the room again.
Awkward. So awkward.
Gosh, this whole thing has put me right off my second breakfast. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll still eat it, but it won’t taste the same.
Is Gina right? Will setting the scene for seduction really work? Is the only way to find out to give it a go? I suppose it is, but how?
Wow, I guess I really am out of practice, if I don’t even know how to seduce myself.