Paris Lights

by C. J. Duggan

  ‘I know, I know, open the curtains wide and get on with it,’ I said bitterly.

  ‘Perhaps, but I was thinking more along the lines of burning down his favourite pub. Opening curtains is easier.’

  I burst out laughing, which earned me a lopsided grin. I don’t know what was more unexpected, my deep-bellied laughter or his smile.

  ‘That actually is the best idea ever. He would be lost without the Gloucester Arms.’

  The banter ended, and silence fell; it felt strange to have shared a moment like that with this aloof man, to have made him smile.

  ‘Your turn, show me your view,’ I said, stepping back into the room, waiting for Louis, who took one last breath of air before returning inside. I shut the balcony door behind him, pausing as my hand instinctively went to reach for the curtains. I could feel his eyes on me as my fingers fell and I let the curtain be, leaving them open. Without looking at Louis I went to the door, proud of my little victory.

  Chapter Twenty

  There wasn’t a thing out of place in Louis’s room: the bed was made; his shirts hung in the wardrobe with his neatly tucked-away suitcase; his toothbrush, razor and Matador Louis Feraud cologne were all set out, perfectly aligned on the marble counter in the bathroom. If it weren’t for those items you would think no one had checked in at all. Louis was a perfectionist and paid attention to the detail of every aspect of his life. And his curtains were definitely open. The room itself was similar to mine, though with more masculine art selections and scatter cushions, not to mention one very obvious difference: the renovation in Louis’s apartment had been completed, no half-painted walls or rogue wires. It occurred to me that Louis hadn’t had anything negative to say about the general décor or arrangement on the sixth floor, which was a good sign, but I knew that wouldn’t be the case on the other floors.

  ‘Can I use your phone for a minute?’ I asked, not waiting for the response as I picked up the receiver and dialled for reception.

  ‘Bonjour, Monsieur Delarue, how can we help you?’ said a cheery Cecile. She was faking it well because I knew that after this morning’s events she would be anything but cheerful.

  ‘Oh, um, Cecile, it’s Claire.’

  There was a long pause at the other end of the line. She was no doubt wondering what I was doing in Louis Delarue’s room.

  ‘I forgot to ask you which rooms were available to show Louis?’ It felt strange referring to him like that, considering everyone usually called him Monsieur Delarue while bowing before his feet. The fact I could also see him watching in my peripheral vision was a bit unnerving too.

  ‘There are only three rooms available: four, fourteen, and twenty-three, two of them are our worst.’ Cecile’s voice had altered somewhat. ‘I would start with twenty-three, that is the least worst.’

  Oh goody, it was all downhill from here, and then I remembered my own advice. Just be honest.

  I hung up and thought better of trying to get out of what we had to do. Louis wouldn’t be kept away forever.

  I turned to face him, taking in a deep breath. ‘Okay. There are three rooms to show you, and they are not going to be the best; in fact, they are pretty rundown, so before you go screaming and ranting about how awful they are, I just want to give you the heads up.’

  Louis blinked. ‘Well, I was going to skip the rooms but now I really want to see them.’

  Fuck.

  ‘Look, I know you’re here to ultimately help the hotel, so I think seeing the worst will be for the hotel’s benefit.’ Wow, I even surprised myself with how diplomatic I sounded.

  Louis cocked his head. ‘How long have you been working here, Claire?’

  Uh oh. ‘Not very long.’ I tried to word it in a way that sounded better than ‘Oh, about, three days!’

  ‘And you know much about the hotel industry?’ he asked, working his way casually around the room, his hands in his pockets. Holy crap, my greatest concern was him seeing the rooms and now I was in the spotlight.

  I lifted my chin. ‘I have worked in hospitality.’ After-school part-time job at the corner store and a stint pouring beers at the local, but surely we didn’t need to go into specifics. ‘I was an events manager for about two years. I might not have a Wikipedia page, but I like to think that I have a good head on my shoulders.’

  Louis paused, his mouth twitching. ‘So, you have read my Wikipedia page, have you?’

  Oh, kill me now.

  The look on my face must have completely given my guilt away.

  He broke into a broad smile. ‘You googled me.’

  ‘Only because I didn’t know who you were.’

  He folded his arms and shook his head in disbelief. ‘Such a stalker.’

  ‘I wouldn’t get too big an ego about it – like I said, I had never heard of you before.’

  ‘Sure you hadn’t.’ His words were laced with sarcasm.

  ‘I did some research and I have to say that, yeah, you have an impressive curriculum vitae.’

  Louis smiled, seemingly pleased by the admission.

  ‘But apart from that, your attitude kind of sucks.’

  His smile fell away as his arms dropped to his sides, the same thunder returning to his face. Yep, that would be my usual ‘not knowing when to shut up’ problem that had followed me around most of my life.

  ‘Do you think I have gotten where I am and achieved all that I have through being nice and agreeable?’

  I shrugged. ‘I just don’t know why you can’t be both.’

  Louis scoffed. ‘This isn’t about making people happy, this is business, and if you can’t separate the two and make the hard calls, then you might as well have dated rooms and stained carpets and bad reviews, and yes, I have read them all, and seen the photos.’

  ‘I just think that there is a better way to do things and get the same results.’

  ‘So you would have taken Philippe for a coffee and then let him down gently, passed him a tissue and a week’s wage for the inconvenience?’

  ‘It’s not just that; it’s everything. It’s like a dark cloud sweeps over a room when you enter it. How much more responsive people would be if they felt like they could approach you.’

  ‘I don’t want to be approached!’ he yelled. He stepped forward, staring me down. ‘Do not blow into this place and think that you know what’s best; it will be done my way, or no way.’

  I glowered back at him, hating every part of his stubborn, black soul. ‘Yes, chef,’ I said.

  ‘If you worked in my hotel, you would be following in the footsteps of Philippe,’ he warned.

  ‘Well, what’s stopping you? You fired him without so much as blinking.’

  ‘I didn’t make that call, Claire. Cecile did.’

  ‘Then why didn’t she fire him?’

  ‘Because it was me who wanted to make a point.’

  ‘It’s always about the fear tactics with you, isn’t it?’

  His eyes bored into mine; his jaw was clenched so tight.

  ‘Well, here’s a newsflash, Monsieur Delarue,’ I said, getting in his face. ‘I am not afraid of you.’

  ‘You won’t be saying that after I am finished with this hotel.’ His voice was dark, and the threat made my traitorous heart beat hard.

  ‘This is not a Michelin-starred establishment,’ I said.

  ‘It most certainly is not.’

  ‘And thank God for that,’ I said, a bit too quickly. I saw a flicker of something in Louis’s eyes, and although I was adamant not to be afraid of him, I’d obviously touched on something that hit a nerve in him. I knew that I had pressed back enough.

  ‘Here,’ I said, holding up the key. ‘Rooms four, fourteen and twenty-three: you can call a staff meeting and rake us over the coals later if you like, you don’t need me for that.’

  He took the key from me, looking at it with interest as I made my way to the door.

  ‘Does this mean I have won this round?’

  I opened the door, pausing to look back at him. �
�This is not a game,’ I said.

  Louis’s mouth spread into wolfish smile. ‘Well, as with everything, I guess we will have to agree to disagree about that.’

  My answer to that was simple: I slammed the door behind me.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I had spent way too much time with the most infuriating human being – wait, in order to be called that he would at first have to be in fact human, and I wasn’t quite sure he was. How could someone go from almost endearing and normal, to the egotistic monster who ruled the restaurant world with an iron fist so quickly?

  With the fear of running my mouth off any more than I already had, I asked Cecile if I could go out for a bit. While Louis set about having one-on-one interviews with staff, I needed to slip into tourist mode. I wanted only to think about getting lost in this beautiful city. And I did just that, taking an outside table at the Café du Trocadéro and watching the world go by.

  Nothing really seemed to trouble me until my mind drifted back to the hotel. I was clearly in over my head, and no amount of googling would get me up to speed on what was to come in the next few weeks. Clouds gathered in the sky and a light rain fell, but I was set perfectly under an awning so I welcomed the break in the weather. I didn’t exclusively need sunshine to enjoy the solitude, I just needed to concentrate on inhaling and exhaling.

  Cathy’s words played in my head: You could leave at any time.

  However true that was, there was no part of me that wanted to chuck in the towel yet; as strange as it was to argue with Louis, it also gave me a slight thrill to challenge him. I had never been able to challenge Liam, so after years of pent-up emotion I was finally able to open my mouth, even though it was by far my most lethal weapon and the very thing that got me into trouble the most. But I would not back down or run, I would see these weeks out even if it killed me – or Louis.

  The café was in a large square that incorporated a number of museums and dominated by the Palais de Chaillot, a neo-Classical building dating from the 1937 Exposition Universelle, and designed in two wings with a gap between to frame views of the Eiffel Tower across the river. The palais incorporated the Théâtre National de Chaillot and four museums, although only two were open: the Musée de l’Homme and the Musée National de la Marine. As much as I wanted to explore them, I gathered my things and made my way across the curving intersection toward the Esplanade du Trocadéro, which most people used as a platform for its great view of the Eiffel Tower.

  Despite trying not to make the tower dominate my time in Paris since it linked me to the ghost of Liam, I had to admit that Trocadéro Square was pretty magnificent. On a clear day it would offer the perfect view of the tower: not too close, not too far. I even took the time to sit and enjoy the tower for a little while, not letting any of what had happened taint my experience.

  Leaving the museums for another – rainy – day I descended a series of stairs away from the square, and walked through the beautiful gardens of the Jardins du Trocadéro, which led to the Pont d’léna on the Seine. The centrepiece of the gardens was the famous Fontaine de Varsovie, a long basin with twelve fountains creating columns of water twelve metres high, and another twenty-four smaller fountains and twenty powerful water cannons. Oh, how I wished the sun would come out. I stopped short of the Pont d’léna, thinking I had tested my emotions enough today. A strange power kept me to one side of the Seine; crossing over would be too hard and I wasn’t quite ready to go there just yet.

  By the time I had wandered back to the hotel I was completely zen. Something about the rain and the beautiful historical buildings all lined up like beautiful ladies had left me feeling completely sated, almost free. I carried the bits and pieces I’d got from the local store, feeling I could meet any challenge. Well, almost any.

  Gaston met me at the front door with an anxious smile. ‘Louis wants to meet with you.’

  I sighed. ‘Did he say why?’

  ‘It’s a part of the staff interviews. You’re the last one. He’s been waiting for you.’

  I knew I should have ventured farther. ‘So how did yours go?’

  ‘It was good but … intense,’ he said.

  I laughed. ‘Yep, sounds about right, where is he?’

  ‘He’s in the lounge,’ Gaston said, before offering to take my bags.

  ‘Oh, thanks, I’ll grab them off you when I’m done.’

  I walked through the foyer feeling strangely anxious, but not afraid, never afraid, remembering my declaration to Louis that he didn’t have that effect on me. I said hello to Cecile as I passed. She was back to her normal, bashful self and I wondered how her interview went. She smiled and nodded her head toward the lounge.

  Ugh, lucky last, I thought, rounding the corner to see Louis sitting on one of the blood-orange chairs, sipping on a coffee. He looked particularly menacing in his black suit; his gaze was on a paper he was reading, and despite me walking around the lounge to sit right before him, he never lifted his eyes once.

  ‘How did you find the rooms?’ I asked in an even voice.

  ‘Dated, dirty and depressing.’

  ‘See, you didn’t need me to add to that experience.’

  Louis closed the paper with a sigh. ‘After I finish here with you, I am going to do an evaluation of the kitchen and the menu. I think that, as with everything, is probably in need of some work.’

  ‘No doubt.’ I swallowed hard – the restaurant was the most dreaded place of all. I could only hope he wouldn’t fire Gaspard and Francois as well – there would be no staff left. ‘So have you worked on a solution for Philippe’s replacement? Now that we are a person down there will need to be a—’

  ‘The new replacement will start tomorrow morning.’

  Okay, impressive.

  ‘There will be coverage while staff get fitted for their new uniforms and my team will come in to strip rooms four, fourteen and twenty-three.’

  Wow, he isn’t mucking around.

  This felt less like an interview and more like he was using me as a sounding board for his plans.

  ‘So Cecile seems to believe that you are an excellent maître d’, and do wonders for the front of house,’ he said, looking at me pointedly.

  I could feel myself running hot, shifting in my seat. I knew Cecile meant well, talking up my worth, but I had never been more serious than when I’d asked people to be honest; something told me someone like Louis had an excellent bullshit detector system going on.

  ‘She is very kind. I’m all right.’

  ‘“All right” is not good enough. I want the best.’

  Well I certainly wasn’t that. ‘Things are a little different here to how they would be at home, so—’

  ‘Keep your evening free tomorrow.’

  ‘Um, okay,’ I said, waiting for him to elaborate but he packed up the notepad and pen that sat on his side table. This meeting was over and I was ready to move, but didn’t dare until Louis looked back at me with surprise that I was still sitting there.

  ‘Is that all?’ I asked.

  ‘Oui,’ he said.

  At no stage had he asked me to be involved with the kitchen evaluation and I had no real interest in helping. As I walked away, I saw Louis make his way through the restaurant to the kitchen. I hadn’t been there to suffer the wrath of the bedroom reviews and I wouldn’t be there to see the shakedown of the kitchen; so far, so good. But when I returned to reception, curiosity got the better of me.

  ‘Do you have any idea why he wants to keep my evening free tomorrow?’

  Cecile shrugged. ‘Uniform fittings?’

  ‘Maybe, but I can’t be sure; that wouldn’t happen in the evening, surely?’

  ‘I have never had any luxury fittings, so I cannot say.’

  I smiled. ‘Do you need me for anything else today?’ I had no real hours or shifts, I was merely a shield for Louis Delarue damage control and even with that I was doing a terrible job.

  ‘Just come down before breakfast starts and we can take it from
there,’ she said.

  As far as I was concerned that sounded rather glorious, until the sound of swearing and the clanging of pots came from the kitchen.

  ‘Oh God,’ I said.

  ‘What was that?’ said Cecile.

  ‘That, Cecile, is the sound of all hell breaking loose.’ And with that I quickly grabbed my bags from Gaston and headed up to the sixth floor.

  Not that I was afraid.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I had begun the day most pleasantly, chatting and pouring juice for the early-rising tourists. The restaurant wasn’t a big space, and it seemed that the busiest time of day was breakfast, people filling their bellies up with sustenance before pounding the pavement to see the sights. I watched as an older couple from the US flipped through images on their expensive camera. If I thought my pronunciation of the local attractions was bad, theirs was downright woeful. Still, they were all set and excited for a new day’s adventure, with their knee-high socks and bumbags. I kind of envied them – for their carefree spirit, not their bumbags.

  Cathy had set up the station with cereals, juices and breads, doubling back with a fruit platter and setting it on the breakfast bench.

  ‘Did you want me to help with anything?’ I asked, looking over her shoulder to glance through the kitchen window.

  ‘I wouldn’t go in there if I were you, not just yet,’ she warned.

  My heart sank. ‘Did the meeting with Louis not go so well?

  Cathy shook her head. ‘That would be an understatement,’ she said quietly, peering over her shoulder as if double-checking no one was listening. ‘He made Francois cry.’

  ‘What? That’s not cool,’ I said, my heart aching for young Francois.

  Cathy looked grim. I felt she was keeping something from me, that she was holding back on the dramatics, and that worried me.

  ‘He wants me to keep my evening free, whatever that means,’ I said. I was eagerly telling everyone what Louis had had said to me in the hope that maybe someone knew why, but no one did. They were too busy looking after their own areas of the hotel. The sudden dismissal of Philippe yesterday had really lit a fire underneath everyone.