A Perfect Paris Christmas

by Mandy Baggot

  With that said, Jeanne snatched the note from between his fingers and was off, sprinting fast, with Bo-Bo in hot pursuit.

  Ethan turned around quickly. He was suddenly scared that Keeley would no longer be there and that all they had shared in that brief moment where life had felt so incredibly heightened would be unable to be recreated. But… there she was, still standing in exactly the same spot. Her hair was gently tickling around her jawline as flakes of snow danced down from the sky. He didn’t want to wait a second longer. He couldn’t wait a second longer. But was this right? Was it OK to feel this way about someone he had only really just met? By pure coincidence. Or was the time for all thinking overrated? What? Or What if? Maybe everything was meant to be not regretting things you should have taken a chance on…

  He strode forward then, wanting to close the distance between them as rapidly as he could. He only stopped when he was right in front of her, so close he could feel her delicate breath on his face. She was so beautiful. She was so intelligent. So real. He wanted to palm her cheek, feel the weight of her face in his hand…

  ‘I am feeling braver now,’ Keeley whispered.

  Ethan watched her pupils dilate as the connection of their gaze deepened further still and slowly, but deliberately, he made his move. ‘Moi aussi.’

  He touched her hair with his fingers and gently edged her face towards his. It was, he hoped, subtle, yet left no room for misunderstanding. He wanted this connection, this moment with her, possibly more than he had wanted any other connection he had had in his life before. And then, finally, Keeley’s lips met his, her intentions completely transparent and he found himself unable to hold back any longer as the depth of his passion took over. This was a kiss he had never known existed. This was every romantic movie scene he had ever watched… and all the ones he had yet to see. He wanted to live this kiss forever.

  It was Keeley who broke the connection first, their mouths finally parting. But she kept her body unmoved, it was there so comfortably rested next to his.

  ‘I’ve… never done that before,’ Keeley breathed.

  Her eyes were crisp and alive, her lips a little fuller from their kiss perhaps… and he knew exactly how she felt because it was mirrored in him. He went to make a reply but she continued. ‘I mean… I have obviously done something like that before but—’

  ‘It was not the same,’ Ethan interrupted. ‘This… was…’ He was caught between saying ‘different’ or ‘special’.

  ‘It felt comfortable,’ Keeley told him.

  The biggest smile erupted on his lips as his heart took flight. Anyone listening in to their conversation, a voyeur to their kiss, might have been mistaken in thinking the moment had just been described as the least exciting, under-valued and boring meeting of mouths that had ever existed. But Ethan knew what ‘comfortable’ meant to her and his insides were dancing.

  ‘Keeley,’ he addressed her. ‘Would you like to go to the circus?’

  Forty

  L’Hotel Paris Parfait, Tour Eiffel, Paris

  ‘They’ve moved me to the death room.’

  Keeley swallowed back the tears as she looked into Erica’s eyes on the screen of the FaceTime call. Her friend wasn’t looking well at all. Her breathing was slow and laboured and each edged-out word was wrapped in a throaty rasp that told a story all on its own.

  Keeley was sitting on one of the little iron chairs on the suite’s balcony, wrapped up in her coat, looking out at the Eiffel Tower and feeling a whole mix of emotions. When she’d arrived back at the suite, Rach had been still fully dressed, some bottles from the minibar opened and empty on the nightstand, eyes closed and snoring, lying on top of her bed covers. As much as Keeley wanted to share what had happened with Ethan and find out what Roland’s call had been about, she also didn’t want to disturb her friend. So instead she had decided to step out into the moonlight and try Erica again. The first few moments of their call had been Keeley showing the Parisian cityscape. She hoped it had been a feast for her friend’s senses. Twinkling festive lights strung over rooftops and awnings of brasseries, the sound of mopeds and church bells, the buzz of the metropolis so unlike the quiet of the hospice. But now Erica, at least, seemed ready to talk reality.

  ‘There’s no such thing as the death room,’ Keeley said quickly.

  ‘Room nine,’ Erica answered. ‘Everyone knows the death room is room nine.’

  ‘Well, that’s not strictly true,’ Keeley countered. ‘I think, if you compare statistics, you will find that many people have also died in other rooms.’ What was she saying? They all died. It was a hospice. There was no hope for anyone. The medical team’s job was to help make their patients’ final journeys as comfortable as possible. Erica had never been under any misconception that she was going to get better. There had been hope to begin with, when Erica had started her second round of treatment and had, finally, started to let Keeley in a little. Erica wasn’t the type of person to give her heart easily but once you had it, you had it for always.

  ‘Keeley… I know I’m dying,’ Erica said bluntly. ‘You know I’m dying. You know I know I’m dying. We both need to face up to the fact it’s happening soon.’

  ‘Not soon,’ Keeley said. She simply couldn’t bring herself to verbalise it. ‘Just… someday.’

  ‘Listen,’ Erica began. ‘I have Henry here with me. And I… named the other poodle in the picture, Sandra.’

  ‘Sandra?’

  ‘What’s wrong with the name Sandra?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing at all. Does the name mean something special?’ She didn’t recall Erica mentioning a ‘Sandra’ being dear to her in all the time they’d known each other.

  ‘It’s the name of that Nurse Walters,’ Erica responded tartly. ‘She’s rough with the bath sponge. I did it to spite her.’

  ‘O-K.’

  ‘And I’m holding on to Nick with my left hand by the way.’ Erica took a deep breath. ‘And I don’t care how dirty that sentence sounds.’

  Keeley smiled.

  ‘So… why are you calling me now?’ Erica asked. ‘The view is something else, but was it just to check I wasn’t dead already?’

  ‘No,’ Keeley said. ‘Of course it wasn’t that.’

  ‘Then it’s… the hot dude,’ Erica said, stifling a cough. ‘Is it the hot dude?’

  Immediately, despite the freezing temperatures, Keeley’s cheeks took on a glow and it was as if she was back down on the street below, reliving every heart-thumping second of that kiss with Ethan. It made her shiver all over again. ‘It’s the hot dude,’ she found herself whispering.

  ‘Oh, man!’ Erica exclaimed, voice even more breathy. ‘You need to start talking.’

  How did she even start to explain it? The memory of his mouth on hers wasn’t something she could easily begin to define, even to herself. And perhaps it was better to keep the depth of feeling internal and muted. Because being quite this emotional towards someone she had only just met might seem strange to Erica. It was strange to Keeley. Or perhaps ‘unexpected’ was a better word.

  ‘We spent some time together,’ Keeley said, knowing she was already smiling. ‘We bonded over a half-dead dog and—’

  ‘What did you say?’ Erica exclaimed. ‘A dead dog?!’

  ‘He’s fine now. More than fine. He was… stunned somehow… for a few hours… anyway, we met up again and I introduced him to Rach and we… kissed.’

  ‘Hallelujah! There is a God!’ Erica shouted. ‘He might not have been able to spare this sister but he’s looking out for you.’

  Keeley rested into her coat a little, letting the collar raise up and cosset her like a sleeping bag as she sat back in the chair. ‘It was…’ Her lips were about to spill the truly insane sentiment about her connection with Ethan whether she was apparently ready for it or not.

  ‘It was what?’ Erica asked. ‘Don’t leave me hanging.’ She coughed. ‘Not when I’m in the death room here.’

  ‘It was…’ The only word Keeley c
ould think of using was the word she’d told Ethan. The word he had understood the meaning of, but Erica definitely wouldn’t. ‘It was… comfortable.’

  ‘It was what now?’ Erica asked, bringing her face really close to the screen.

  Keeley could see every blood vessel in her eyes, but she could also see that her gorgeous, flawless complexion had somehow returned even at this lowest point in her health. Keeley had always been a little envious of her friend’s perfect skin. She smiled at Erica’s confusion.

  ‘It’s kind of a thing we have together.’ They had a ‘thing’ with each other. How bizarre was that? But the thought of sharing something like that with this enigmatic man warmed her all the way through. It was almost like somehow they had known each other all along…

  ‘I need to see a photo,’ Erica said, her voice a little weaker.

  ‘I will get you a photo,’ Keeley promised as Erica’s eyes began to close. ‘But, Erica, you have to promise me one thing.’

  ‘Sshh… I want to have sweet dreams of Nick Jonas.’

  ‘Promise me you’ll hold on a bit longer,’ Keeley begged. She knew it wasn’t fair to ask this and immediately hated herself for it. She was thinking selfishly, about her fear of losing her friend, not about Erica’s pain and her fight.

  ‘Get me a photo,’ Erica breathed, the phone screen dropping a little as her grip loosened. ‘I want to see who’s making you smile that way before I kick the bucket.’

  Erica’s eyes closed shut, her breathing slowing even more and Keeley knew she had fallen asleep. She ended the call and looked out over the view again. Had more than Silvie Durand brought her here? Could it be that actually the universe had a plan?

  Forty-One

  L’Hotel Paris Parfait, Opera District, Paris

  It was morning and Paris was coming alive. From the inside of the boardroom Ethan could see the light snowfall that had swept over the streets like the pearlescent train of a bridal gown. Last night he had worked on a new menu for the hotels, in between catering for either Jeanne or Bo-Bo. Jeanne needed toiletries. Bo-Bo needed the toilet. Jeanne wanted to sleep with the light on. Bo-Bo wanted to sleep with Ethan. Surprisingly, despite the interruptions, when he had eventually managed to shut his eyes, it had been the best sleep he had had in some time. He had left for the hotel early, leaving croissants for Jeanne, dog biscuits for Bo-Bo and the instruction that the girl was not to sign up for any premium television services in his absence.

  Now, Ethan watched Noel’s lip curl as his assistant read the email on his tablet out loud.

  ‘Daube de boeuf Provençale.’ Noel cast his eyes upwards. ‘Beef stew.’

  ‘Yes,’ Ethan answered, nodding. ‘Served with thick fresh bread.’

  ‘Cassoulet.’ Noel said the word with a scoff. ‘With mutton and sausage. Excuse my candour, Monsieur Bouchard, but all these new dishes for the menu, the cuts of meat you are suggesting… they are…’

  ‘Yes?’ Ethan knew what was coming but he wanted to hear his assistant say the words aloud. He was relishing the feeling that would come when the word he was expecting floated into the boardroom atmosphere.

  ‘Food of the… poor,’ Noel stated.

  Ethan grabbed his own chest in a theatrical play, leaning back in his chair and gasping for air. ‘Oh… oh… I cannot seem to catch my breath.’

  Noel shook his head and put down his tablet. ‘Monsieur Bouchard, we are a well-respected establishment. We have five stars. Customers expect a certain level of excellence.’

  ‘I realise,’ Ethan told him. ‘And we are going to provide them all with excellent traditional French dishes with a layer of a memory from their childhood. Think of it,’ he continued. ‘All those heart-warming times that their grandmother made them a rich hearty meal and shared stories from long ago.’ He smiled at Noel, getting up from the table and elongating his stride across the breadth of the window, making the pigeons lined up on the chimney pots outside suddenly take flight.

  ‘We do not have that style here currently,’ Noel reminded. ‘Remember the science behind the menu that Miss Durand had created.’

  ‘Delicate and refined,’ Ethan stated, remembering the watchwords that had formed the basis of Ferne’s vision for the hotel’s food. ‘A whisper on the taste buds.’

  ‘The very opposite of this,’ Noel said, pointing to the tablet he had discarded on the table.

  ‘Yes!’ Ethan said, widening his arms. ‘The exact opposite is exactly right! It is also the exact opposite of most five-star establishments in Paris if my research is correct.’ This wasn’t about stamping over what Ferne had created. What Ferne had designed for the brand had been right at the time. This change was what Ethan thought was needed now. Whether he was proved right or not would be determined by the customers’ response to it. But first he had to make it fly with Silvie and, he supposed, Louis.

  ‘This is not the food for a five-star customer,’ Noel told him.

  ‘Says who?’ Ethan asked. ‘And, Noel, tell me, what exactly is a five-star customer?’

  ‘A customer who will be able to pay our room rates,’ Noel answered.

  ‘Once? Or every day?’ Ethan swung back to the table, placing flat palms against the wood.

  ‘What?’ Noel asked, not seeming to understand.

  ‘Noel, I ask you, who are we to judge our clientele by the amount of money they may or may not have in the bank… or by what car they drive, or the clothes they wear?’ He was striding out again now, every step reinforcing his belief that this was the road he wanted the Perfect Paris hotels to go down. ‘Our customers come to us from all walks of life. Some come here, they stay a few nights and hand over their platinum credit cards. Others they pay with a voucher they have received for a gift.’ He stopped striding and looked directly at Noel again. ‘But all of them. They have one thing in common.’

  ‘They all like a high thread count for their sheets?’ Noel asked in a tongue-in-cheek manner that Ethan would have thought was bordering on insolent if he hadn’t known the man was responding with the hotel’s continued future uppermost in his thoughts.

  ‘They all seek comfort before opulence,’ Ethan said with authority.

  ‘I am not sure—’

  Ethan cut him off. ‘I have checked the customer feedback for the last twelve months. Every positive comment was about how the hotel made people feel. “The mattress gave me a sleep like no other”, or “the views from the room were incredible”. Another one was “Noel understood exactly what type of restaurant I was looking for and gave us the family meal of our holiday”,’ Ethan informed. ‘No one mentioned the food in our restaurants being a whisper on their taste buds. I do not know why we have not looked deeper into this before.’

  ‘With respect, Monsieur Bouchard, for the past twelve months I do not think you have been in a place to look deeper into anything.’

  Ethan mused on his point only briefly. His assistant was right, of course, but he was ready now and it was going to be his aim to strike while the iron was hot, while Louis was still mourning the loss of his chance to immediately sell the hotels out from under him. This was about Ferne. He would ensure her foundations survived and that they continued to build and grew even stronger.

  ‘Well, I am in the right place now,’ Ethan responded. ‘And we are starting with the food of poor people.’

  ‘At Christmas time customers are looking for fine dining,’ Noel said, shaking his head and drawing the tablet closer to him again, taking another look at the menu.

  ‘No,’ Ethan disagreed, moving around the table to stand next to his assistant. ‘At Christmas time customers are looking for full stomachs in a warm and inviting atmosphere.’ Ethan sniffed. ‘Can we get rid of the ice rink? I do not know what I was thinking. Instead, maybe we can have… Santa or… perhaps… animals!’ He held a finger in the air. ‘A turkey… and rabbits. Some things that children can stroke.’

  ‘Stroking?’ Noel said with a tut. ‘As you should be aware, the hotel currently operates a �
�no touching” policy in all its communal areas with regard to artwork, ornaments and for the seasonal period, all the Christmas decorations.’

  ‘I realise there was a real need for this earlier in the year but… I want it lifted,’ Ethan said with a deliberate nod. ‘The time for feeling things from a distance in Perfect Paris is over.’ He made sure Noel was in no doubt that he was serious about this decision. ‘And the menu… I would like it rolled out as soon as Chef has given the go ahead.’

  It now looked like Noel was going to faint.

  Forty-Two

  Le Marche aux Puces, Saint Ouen, Paris

  ‘What do we have to bring tonight?’ Rach asked, leading the way through the famous flea market, her arms already full of shopping bags from the many boutiques they had stopped at on the way. This market was another location on Ethan’s map. It was a labyrinth of hodgepodge stalls selling everything from vintage furniture – antique mirrors all highlighted with festive fayre – to books, shoes and vinyl records some in better condition than others. To Keeley it felt like it was a treasure trove and she was definitely going to be looking for Christmas gifts for her parents here. It seemed like the perfect place to discover something truly unique.

  ‘Silvie said not to bring anything,’ Keeley answered, pausing by a stall that sold jewellery. There were thick silver rings alongside the most delicate bands of gold with stones running around the circumference of them, then brooches encrusted with rubies and topaz. Something like that would be ideal for her mum. Something to wear and show off at book club or to use as a weapon in Krav Maga. ‘But I thought we would take some wine and maybe some flowers. What do you think?’

  ‘I think perhaps I should have answered Louis’s last text message about dinner.’

  ‘He texted you again?’ Keeley asked, looking away from the jewels to her friend.

  ‘It was the one text. I didn’t reply. But he didn’t follow it up with a second one. And he could have called,’ Rach said. She picked up a silver ring and blew some dust from it.