A Perfect Paris Christmas

by Mandy Baggot

  He nodded, at last feeling nothing but the deepest pride in what he and Ferne had achieved over the time they’d had together. ‘It is.’ He swallowed. ‘Is it… what you imagined?’

  ‘Gosh,’ Keeley said. ‘I don’t know what I imagined. I suppose I thought it might be a little like the hotel I’m staying in. Although things there have changed a little bit over the past few days.’

  ‘They have?’ He held his breath, wanting her to say the changes were all for the better.

  ‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘The bread is much much nicer and the too big Christmas tree in the lobby has gone. Now it’s one a little less dramatic.’

  She did approve. But he didn’t want to say anything yet. He wanted the interior of this hotel – the one he had put his heart and soul into today – to be another complete surprise to her… together with his proposal.

  ‘So,’ he said, spreading his arms wide, ‘a good surprise? A garden in the city, a little red wine and a game of petanque.’

  She was smiling. ‘I’ve never played before. You are going to have to teach me.’

  Her words thrilled him. He wanted to teach her many things. She had taught him a few things last night. She had taught him that sex could be so far removed from anything he had experienced before that it was almost another act entirely. There had been moments during the day when he had recalled a snapshot from their night together and his own lack of self-preservation, the freedom of his heart, had astounded him all over again. He had loved longer, harder and deeper last night than he had ever thought possible. And their lovemaking had most definitely been as much about the togetherness of their minds, hearts and souls as it had been about their bodies. Maybe even more so…

  ‘But of course,’ Ethan told her, stepping towards the sand. ‘Come.’

  Fifty-Seven

  ‘Yes! Yes! I win! I win!

  Keeley laughed as Ethan threw his hands into the night air and began to dance around the boules arena like he had just scored the winning goal in the World Cup. This was the third time he had won. Despite his expert tuition – that had involved much close contact she had absolutely enjoyed more than the game itself – Keeley just wasn’t skilled at the art of ‘chucking’. In fact, she was almost worse at petanque than she was at darts.

  ‘You are not celebrating with me,’ Ethan said, finally putting his arms down and stilling his moves. ‘You are a bad loser.’

  ‘Oh, no, hang on a minute,’ Keeley protested, all smiles. ‘That is very unfair.’

  ‘You are not congratulating me on my victory,’ Ethan continued.

  ‘You haven’t actually given me much of a chance,’ Keeley said, still laughing at him. ‘Anyway, it’s not the British thing to go around congratulating others who have beaten us by waving our arms in the air like we’ve won ourselves.’

  ‘Non?’

  ‘No,’ Keeley admitted, taking steps towards him. ‘We might get a little sour at having lost primarily, but then we always give a firm “well done” handshake even if we’re still not quite satisfied with the result.’ She held her hand out to him.

  ‘You are sour?’ he asked her, one eyebrow raising.

  ‘No one likes losing,’ Keeley said. ‘Particularly if you’re someone who hasn’t ever felt you’re very good at anything.’

  She watched his face morph into a deep-set frown then. ‘You do not think you are very good at anything?’

  Keeley shrugged then, realising perhaps this conversation about winning and losing had suddenly got a little deep. ‘Well, you know, some people are naturally good at things and some people just aren’t. And those people, they have to work a little harder to achieve good things.’

  ‘Oh, Keeley,’ Ethan breathed.

  She almost felt his exhalation inside herself and it was as heartening as it was confrontational. She shivered as he took her hand.

  ‘What I am about to show you,’ he said so gently. ‘It is all your doing.’

  She swallowed, trying to read the emotion in his eyes. What was he going to show her?

  ‘Come,’ he said, gently tugging her hand and heading for the glass-paned door to the inside.

  Once inside the porch area, Ethan drew them to a halt and Keeley tried to look over his shoulder to the interior of this hotel. He barricaded her view, smiling at first and making a joke of shifting a little this way and that. Then he stilled and that seriousness was back on his face again.

  ‘Before we go inside,’ Ethan began. ‘I want you to know that… it is not perfect yet.’ He sighed. ‘That is, not in the way I want it to be perfect.’ He took what sounded like a nervous breath, his free hand going to his hair and briefly edging it backwards. ‘But with the small amount of time I had… it is better than I could have imagined.’

  ‘What is it?’ Keeley asked him.

  He smiled like he was wearing his whole heart in his expression. ‘I only hope that you like it.’

  Pressing his back to the door, he leaned into it, opening it, and, still holding her hand, he steered her inside.

  Keeley’s feet met carpet and then the most sumptuous rug that her boots sunk down into in the best of ways. Tiny glowing droplets like strings of sparkling rain hung from wooden beams and along every wooden surface. And there, right in front of her, was an open fire, in a snug sitting area, logs crackling, woollen stockings hanging from nails on a broad chunk of mantle on which rested berry-red baubles, pinecones and silver stars. A Christmas tree covered in a mish-mash of ornaments was in one corner, wrapped presents under its branches. Immediately Keeley recognised the chairs ahead. She stepped forward, into this large yet cosy room, festive tunes playing from an old radio and stepped up to the mismatched chairs. One was a russet-red, the other a moss-green, both their backs covered by plaid rugs that brought every nuance of shade in the room together.

  ‘You bought these at the flea market,’ Keeley said, running her hand over the velveteen fabric.

  ‘I did,’ Ethan replied. ‘And the radio… and some of the decorations and… quite a lot of other things in many other parts of the hotel I will show you.’

  ‘You did all this?’ Keeley asked, stopping in front of the fire and turning to face him.

  ‘Non,’ Ethan answered. ‘You did this.’

  *

  Ethan could see that somehow she still didn’t fully understand. He had to tell her. He wanted to make it absolutely clear.

  ‘What you said to me…’ He paused, wanting to get the words absolutely right. ‘What you have been saying to me from the moment we first met. About “moments” and “feelings” and “memories”.’ He swallowed. ‘I listened. And finally, I understood what I had to do for the hotels.’

  ‘I… don’t understand,’ Keeley said.

  Ethan took her hands in his. ‘I have been hiding for the past year, Keeley. I have been… swimming through honey, er, walking the wrong way up an escalator… not knowing how to carry on, not even knowing if I should carry on… until I met you.’ He laced his fingers through hers, loving how her skin felt next to his. ‘You showed me the way,’ he breathed. ‘You reminded me of all the things that make life important. You taught me again that being special is not about having the cleanest contemporary lines or the most expensive champagne on the menu, it is about the individual. People. People are what matter.’

  ‘Ethan… I don’t know what to say. I—’

  ‘Say you will help me,’ he asked her. ‘Because this… this is what you are naturally good at. Amazingly good at.’

  He watched Keeley’s eyes move from his and his gaze moved too, looking around at the room he had entirely made over today in a style she had brought him to. A style that said ‘home’. A style that he hoped had ‘comfortable’ written all the way through it.

  ‘This is beautiful,’ Keeley breathed. ‘It really is.’

  Ethan could see the sheer wonder in her eyes now and it was bringing out every internal reaction he owned. He wanted to please her. He wanted to make her smile so he could indulge in
looking at the cutest of dimples that appeared on her face when she did.

  ‘But it could be better,’ he said quickly, wanting still to elaborate. ‘With your help it could be so much more, I know it.’ He put a hand to his chest then. ‘I feel it.’

  ‘You want me to help you re-model this hotel?’ Keeley asked him as if only now realising what he had meant.

  ‘Not just this hotel,’ Ethan said. ‘All of them.’ He tried to temper his enthusiasm just a little. It was a big ask, he knew. But he had never wanted anyone’s answer to be yes so much.

  ‘I—’ Keeley began.

  ‘Don’t say no,’ Ethan said, his words jumping in. ‘Please, take your time before you give me an answer but please, do not say no. Not yet.’

  ‘Ethan, I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Do not say anything,’ he pleaded. He knew she was not here for very long, but he also knew he wanted that to change. He hadn’t completely thought through the logistics of it, but there was only a tunnel separating them and hopefully no tight border restrictions in their future. It could be done, couldn’t it? ‘Maybe only tell me now… that you like the beginnings of what I have done. Tell me that you do not think my new vision is completely off the mark.’

  ‘Ethan, it’s completely perfect, it really really is. And, no one has ever… listened to me and… done something like this. I mean, in my job I would provide detailed ideas and swatches of fabrics and mood boards but…’

  ‘Your words gave me a mood board all on their own,’ Ethan told her.

  ‘It reminds me of Christmas at my Grandma Joan’s but with… much better decorations and none of the awful liqueur chocolates,’ Keeley said. ‘Or one of those beautiful log cabin hideaways you could be tucked away in when it’s snowing outside on the mountain.’

  She sounded so enthralled and her expression was telling him everything else he needed to know. Except he didn’t really need Keeley to tell him he had got this right. He’d known he had succeeded because when he had stood back and admired for himself before they had met up tonight, he had felt it was right. And that feeling, that utter joyous, riotous feeling was still very much running through him now.

  He held her hands again, joining them together as the fire crackled and popped and the festive music sang of cold winter nights and starlit skies. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever set eyes on. But what attracted him even more was the fact she was just as stunning on the inside.

  ‘Keeley,’ he breathed, his face moving towards hers.

  ‘Ethan,’ she answered, her lips dwelling a little on his name.

  He was going to kiss her now and he wanted to carry on kissing her for the longest time…

  ‘Woof!’

  Before Ethan could connect their lips, a brown wiry four-legged creature bounded into the snug and began leaping up at Keeley.

  ‘Oh! Bo-Bo!’ Keeley exclaimed, trying to pet the dog but also looking like she was trying to stop his claws grazing her legs.

  ‘Down Bo-Bo!’ Ethan ordered. He looked to the door, a little unhappy that their moment had been interrupted. But then he saw Jeanne. He swallowed and instantly his mood lightened. She was finally wearing one of the tops he had bought her and some jeans that actually fitted her frame. Completing the picture of alteration was the fact that her long dark hair was down and brushed and it was not covered by a hat.

  ‘Jeanne,’ Keeley breathed. ‘I… didn’t realise you were here.’ Bo-Bo started turning happy circles, his loud barking ceasing and a joyful yelping taking its place.

  Ethan knew Keeley had wanted to say something else, something about Jeanne’s change in appearance but she had stopped herself. Keeley knew, like him, that any attention brought to the matter would only turn the girl angsty all over again.

  ‘Of course I am here,’ Jeanne answered, taking hold of Bo-Bo’s collar. ‘I wanted to see what you thought of the new place. I helped to decorate the tree and I helped Noel tell the guests that this area was off limits for tonight.’

  ‘Oh,’ Keeley said. ‘You stopped your guests coming in here for me? Now I feel incredibly guilty. It’s so lovely, everyone should be able to enjoy it.’

  ‘And they will,’ Ethan assured her.

  ‘Monsieur Bouchard!’

  It was Noel calling him from the corridor, beckoning like there might be a problem. Ethan felt the tension in his shoulders. ‘Excuse me for a moment.’ He turned away. ‘Yes, Noel.’

  *

  Keeley watched Ethan leave, walking swiftly out of the room towards someone who looked a little familiar. Noel. Could it be? Their tour guide? The person Silvie had organised to show them around the sights of Paris. She swallowed. Noel worked here. At Ethan’s hotel… Warning signposts were starting to pop up like unwanted pimples before a party. It had to be coincidence. Maybe it wasn’t that Noel. She had only caught a glimpse of this man. It could have been someone who looked a little like him. OK, a lot like him… Keeley glanced down the corridor again to where the two men were conversing. She could only see Noel’s back. Perhaps it was him. Perhaps he worked at numerous hotels. That had to be it. He was a tour guide unconnected to any one place. It was natural he would spread his expertise across many establishments. She felt a little better, better enough not to feel cross when Bo-Bo started to lick her leg.

  ‘I knew you would like it,’ Jeanne said with confidence. ‘I love it. It is like the complete opposite to anywhere I have ever spent time. Apart from my auntie’s house.’ She sniffed. ‘If she even was my real auntie. Who knows?’

  Jeanne was touching the decorations on the tree now. Keeley joined her and watched the girl caressing the wings of a rather sparkly angel, albeit with a bit of a tarnished face.

  ‘I love it too,’ Keeley told her. ‘It’s everything a great hotel should be and more.’

  ‘Ethan’s going to change the name too, you know,’ Jeanne said. ‘That was his idea. Not mine. And only if his co-owners agree. I cannot see that the animal shelter will disagree. Not now there might be the chance to have an “adopt a dog” area for them here after Christmas. That was my idea. Dogs are so much better than rabbits, do you not think?’

  Keeley frowned, not really understanding much of what Jeanne had just spat out very quickly. ‘Change the name?’

  ‘The name of the hotel chain,’ Jeanne said, eye-rolling quite clearly at Keeley’s inability to keep up with the conversation. ‘It’s going to be hello to “Welcome Paris – your home from home” and goodbye to that awful “Perfect Paris – always excellence”.’ Jeanne blew a raspberry. ‘Aimed at rich people. So pretentious.’

  Keeley’s heart felt like someone had just stabbed it with a poker-hot log from the fire in front of her. It was such a stun she held onto her chest in case it decided to burst out and fall into the embers. ‘What… did you say?’

  All the while she waited for Jeanne to say something else her mind was coming up with questions. Why? How? Those grey eyes in the photo had belonged to a young Ethan. She was so stupid. She should have owned that knowledge and not tried to push it out of her mind. But she had asked if Ethan had been in love and he had talked about someone called Crevette. Not Ferne. This couldn’t be happening. It simply couldn’t. She took hold of Jeanne’s arms in a bid to make the girl hurry up and answer, as well as to steady her quaking body.

  ‘Ow!’ Jeanne exclaimed. ‘You’re pinching!’

  ‘Sorry,’ Keeley said, letting go. ‘I’m sorry.’ Her eyes looked around the room for evidence of the name of the hotel they were standing in. There had been nothing outside. No name on a sign. Zilch. Except the rational side of her mind was telling her quite clearly that the entrance to the garden and the petanque court was not the front and centre of this place. She needed to be calm though. She needed to breathe. Except the heat from the fire was making it almost impossible. Cosy was quickly turning into stifling.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Jeanne asked, curiosity coating her features. ‘You look a bit weird.’

  ‘Jeanne,’ K
eeley said, moving away from the fire and backing towards the glass-paned door. ‘What’s the name of this hotel? The name of Ethan’s hotel?’

  ‘Opera,’ Jeanne said, both eyebrows meeting in the middle of her forehead. ‘Are you having a stroke?’

  ‘Opera?’ Now Keeley didn’t understand at all. Her heart was still racing into blind panic and she really did have to get out of the warm room.

  ‘Yes,’ Jeanne continued. ‘This one is called Opera because it is in the Opera District. And he has four others. All the hotels are named after the districts they are in, plus the brand… Perfect Paris.’

  And there it was in all its finality. The answer Keeley was looking for. The answer she never wanted. It was like her whole body had seized up, except her heart and her brain both now in a battle with each other to see who was going to break first.

  ‘I… have to go,’ Keeley said, the lump in her throat making it difficult to commit the words to air.

  ‘Go?’ Jeanne asked, putting her hands on her hips. ‘Are you not staying for dinner? I thought Ethan was going to treat you to the new menu. The chef has made a cassoulet with sausage. We liked it, didn’t we, Bo-Bo?’

  Keeley’s vision was starting to swim and she needed that fresh snow-ridden air more than anything else. Her eyes went up the corridor to where Ethan was still talking to Noel. Ethan. Gorgeous, enigmatic Ethan she had connected so perfectly with in every single way. She couldn’t see him now. She couldn’t talk to him now. She had to leave. She had to just get out of there.

  ‘Jeanne,’ she said, leaning heavily against the door, her body weight causing it to open a little, bringing the cold air in. ‘Please could you tell Ethan that I’m not feeling well.’

  ‘You are not feeling well?’ Jeanne asked, one eyebrow elevating. ‘Or you wish me to tell Ethan you are not well.’

  ‘I have to go,’ Keeley said. ‘I just have to.’ She attempted a smile at the girl but all the while she was backing away. The very last thing she saw before her feet hit the ground of outside was Bo-Bo dropping into a sit with a whine of displeasure.