Chapter 19
19
I’m starting to settle a little now but I’ve been letting my imagination play tricks on me, down here in the laundry room.
I made my way down the narrow steps, after asking a member of the kitchen staff for directions, and with each creaky step I took I started to paint a picture of what I might find down here. It’s dimly lit, with exposed pipes running along the low ceiling and walls painted a drab grey that looks even more dismal under the flickering fluorescent light – not very chateau-y at all. Then again, it’s too cold to be outside with a washboard, as my brain is imagining it back in the day.
The whole place reminds me of that scene in Home Alone where Kevin is scared of the basement – dark, slightly musty, and eerily quiet apart from the hum of the washing machine churning away in the corner.
I stare at my underwear, through the little washing machine door, trying not to dwell on what just happened. I think that’s why I’m letting my imagination run away with me, because it’s easier to entertain the idea of a ghost stuffing me into the tumble dryer than it is replaying my most recent bathroom interaction with Henri. Because of effing course there is more than one bathroom interaction to choose from.
Trying to scare myself out of an existential crisis is all well and good, until the door swings open and Henri walks in.
I jump about a foot in the air.
‘Henri! You scared me!’ I blurt.
‘Did I?’ he asks, clearly unable to think of a logical reason why.
Probably best I keep my imagination to myself.
‘I didn’t recognise you,’ I tell him with a smile. ‘I’ve never seen you not soaking wet.’
‘That’s because you keep looking for me in the bathroom,’ he teases. ‘Which reminds me, thank you for the moisturiser. My skin has never felt softer.’
I laugh, because if you can’t laugh…
‘You’re welcome,’ I reply. ‘It was technically massage oil, so hopefully the essential oils calmed you enough to take the edge off the shock. I can explain what happened, all of it, by the way. There’s a perfec— erm, a logical explanation.’
I have to walk that back a little, because it’s definitely not a perfectly logical explanation, but I can explain it.
Henri waves a hand dismissively.
‘No need to explain. Though I am a bit disappointed,’ he says. ‘I thought all the sneaking around was in aid of me.’
Don’t blush, don’t blush.
‘Do guests often barge into your room, in their underwear, and throw themselves at you?’ I ask.
‘It’s what you English call an occupational hazard,’ he tells me cheekily.
Fair enough.
Henri smiles as he glances around the room, stopping when his eyes home in on the washing machine behind me. I follow his gaze and feel my cheeks heat up as I realise he’s looking at my underwear, spinning around in there. I don’t know why but it feels more embarrassing than it did when he saw it on my body.
‘Oh la la,’ he says, raising an eyebrow and giving me a teasing grin. ‘Those were a good choice. Very beautiful.’
‘Are you seriously hitting on my underwear?’ I joke.
He laughs, holding up his hands in mock surrender.
‘Only in the most respectful way possible. I promise,’ he insists.
I shake my head as the mood lightens.
‘I’m not usually the kind of girl to air my dirty laundry in front of people,’ I tell him. ‘You’ve got to let me explain, so that you don’t think I’m a pervert.’
‘I don’t mind thinking you’re a pervert but, okay,’ he replies.
I take a deep breath, leaning back against the wall behind me.
‘It’s just… I’m having trouble writing romantic scenes at the moment,’ I begin. ‘The other authors suggested that if I set a romantic scene to write in, that it might inspire me to write romantic stuff.’
‘Like method acting,’ Henri says, nodding.
‘Yes, exactly,’ I reply, almost excitedly, because he gets it. ‘But I was zero method and all madness. Everything just seemed to go wrong, and I didn’t find myself feeling inspired to write anything but slapstick.’
Henri’s smile softens.
‘Well, perhaps I can help you out,’ he suggests. ‘This is a very inspiring and romantic place, after all. I can recommend some locations that might spark that romantic creativity.’
I perk up at that.
‘Really? That would be great!’ I reply.
Henri nods.
‘Sure. I have some work to do now, but later I can give you the grand tour. Ideally somewhere other than the bathroom.’
I laugh, and practically melt at his cheeky grin.
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ I tell him. ‘Thanks, Henri.’
He gives me a playful salute and heads for the door.
‘I’ll see you later, Amber,’ he says.
‘Bye, Henri,’ I say, feeling a rush of relief to have smoothed everything over. Of course, I still have to try to explain things to Mandy. I can’t imagine her being so understanding.
Okay, I’ve messed around long enough. Time to get on with what I’m actually supposed to be doing today, that might actually benefit me in some way. Meeting Caleb.
I take my phone from my pocket and message him, telling him I want to meet, and that I’m willing to work with him. Well, it’s something to do, and if things go south with my career, well, it’s some money. How long it will last me though, I have no idea.