A Perfect Paris Christmas

by Mandy Baggot

  Keeley added the photo to Erica’s message stream and watched the picture send and be delivered. Those three bubbles immediately appeared and then, eventually, came Erica’s reply: a single red heart.

  Keeley’s own heart swelled and she leaned against the window of the patisserie to try and steady herself. The shopping arcade was starting to spin a little.

  ‘Keels?’

  Rach’s voice brought Keeley back to. ‘Oh, Rach, I—’

  ‘Has he not turned up?’ Rach snapped.

  ‘I…’ Keeley checked her watch. She hadn’t really noticed how fast the minutes were ticking by. 11.30 a.m. For whatever reason, Ethan wasn’t coming.

  ‘Come on,’ Rach said. Once she had coordinated shopping bags, she put an arm around Keeley’s shoulders. ‘Let’s go in here and have a cake or something.’

  ‘I… can’t eat anything,’ Keeley said, still feeling a little wobbly on her feet.

  ‘Coffee then and you can watch me eat something.’

  A familiar bark halted their advance into the café and before Keeley could move, Bo-Bo was there, up on his hind legs and leaping to lick her face.

  ‘Bo-Bo! Down!’

  ‘Bloody dog!’ Rach remarked. ‘It needs to learn a little social distancing.’

  Keeley looked to Jeanne who was wearing a coat a few sizes too big for her with the buttons done up wrong. It was like she might have put it on in a hurry.

  ‘Hi,’ Jeanne said, pulling Bo-Bo’s lead a little tighter in her fist.

  ‘Hi,’ Keeley greeted, her voice almost failing her. ‘Is Ethan OK? Is something wrong?’

  Jeanne shook her head. ‘He is not coming. But, I am positive… given a little time he will…’ She didn’t finish the sentence.

  Keeley didn’t understand. Ethan had been so desperate to speak to her last night. And this morning, in reply to her message, he’d said he would be here. Why wasn’t he here now when she so desperately needed to tell him her truth?

  ‘Well, where is he?’ Rach demanded to know. ‘Because standing someone up isn’t cool.’

  Jeanne pulled Bo-Bo to heel again and the mutt sat down next to her. ‘He knows,’ the girl said softly. ‘About… your connection to… his best friend. To Ferne.’

  Keeley crumpled, her fingers finding Rach’s bag-filled arm and her body listing. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. She wanted to be the one to tell him. How did he know? Who had told him before she could? Surely not Silvie…

  ‘How does he know?’ Rach asked the question, gathering Keeley close to her and letting the bags drop to the floor. ‘It’s OK,’ she whispered to Keeley. ‘It’s going to be OK.’

  ‘Someone called… Louis?’ Jeanne said. ‘I heard it all… from the top of the staircase and, well…’ She sniffed, then wiped at her nose with her sleeve. ‘So, I came because I wanted you to know that… I am going to look after him, the way he has looked after me and… when he has had time to think… he will want to see you. I know he will.’

  Keeley couldn’t concentrate on what Jeanne was saying to her, all she could feel was the bottom falling out of her world again. Erica. Ethan. Everything. She felt her body slide down to the floor.

  Sixty-Four

  L’Hotel Paris Parfait, Tour Eiffel, Paris

  Five days later

  ‘Antoine,’ Rach purred. ‘Do you have any more of those sugar-coated sweeties that were on your desk?’

  ‘Are they for the general festive decoration? Or are they for your own consumption?’ Antoine asked.

  Keeley looked up from her clipboard and focused on her best friend leaning across the desk and displaying more than the probably accepted level of cleavage for the cold weather. She shook her head at the conversation, but all the while she was smiling. Rach’s budding relationship with their concierge was a bright spot in an otherwise turbulent few days. Having been picked up off the floor inside Passage Jouffroy, Keeley had spent the first twelve hours or so bundled up in bed only sitting up to take the sips of water Rach offered at regular intervals or actually getting out from under the covers to visit the toilet. Then, the following day, the phone call had come, Nurse Walters informing her that Erica had passed away. It had hurt. So much. Even though she had known it was coming. Through Keeley’s fresh tears, the nurse had assured her it had been as peaceful as it could have been and that someone had been with Erica, holding her hand. Even the slightly gruff health care worker who witnessed death on a daily basis had sounded emotional. After that phone call she remembered vividly the promise she had made Erica. All in. Every time. That was a mantra for life and not reliant on anyone else’s thoughts and feelings on the subject. It was then she had finally got out of bed. She’d washed and dressed and she’d begun a new day here in Paris with a list of things she wanted to do.

  And during the days that followed she had got Silvie’s go ahead to get stuck into a transformation of the hotels. Silvie had seen how areas at Opera had altered and what a difference it was making to the overall ambience of the place. Plus, the woman had also eaten some of the new simplified yet flavourful dishes on the menu and agreed they were to be immediately introduced. The jury was still out on the rabbits…

  From the moment Keeley had taken that après-meltdown shower and no dye had leaked from her hair she had told herself this trip could still be all she wanted it to be and more. She didn’t regret coming to Paris. She didn’t regret meeting Silvie, or travelling around the gorgeous city, or learning more about Ferne. Whether she was meant to be here for Silvie, for herself, for Erica, or maybe even for Bea, it had been the right decision to come, despite the broken heart she was nursing. Because although her heart was crushed and possibly would never be fully mended, so much of the rest of her had started to heal.

  ‘Well,’ Rach said, her fingers prowling across the desk towards the slimline tie of the beaming concierge, ‘my clever friend, Keeley, has sourced some lovely hand-painted wooden Christmas eggs on strings that we can fill with sweets for the tree.’

  ‘As long as the sweets are allergen-free,’ Keeley reminded, ticking an earlier completed task off her list.

  ‘These,’ Antoine said, producing the bowl from underneath his workstation. ‘Are almond nuts.’

  ‘Nuts,’ Rach said long and slow.

  Keeley shook her head again. ‘I’m trying to get a hotel ready for Christmas over here.’

  She swallowed, realising what she had just said. What was it she was doing exactly? Taking a job that had vaguely been offered her before the person that offered it had realised she had been holding back quite an important piece of her life from him. And neither of them had known quite how intertwined that had all been. Put simply, she was keeping busy. And she hoped she was doing good. Because Ethan had gone to ground. Well, not exactly gone to ground, Jeanne and Noel – who was far more Ethan’s assistant than he was tour guide she had discovered – were reporting on the movements they were observing. Apparently, Ethan slept in his bed, but left early in the morning for who-knew-where. All Jeanne knew was that he left food for her but that there was no evidence he was eating anything himself. He made the briefest of appearances at the hotel in the Opera District, but only to delegate to his staff or, if the particular delegation was above their paygrade then he was passing the responsibility to Louis. Jeanne also said there were still no other festive decorations in the apartment except the paper, cardboard and tin foil chains she had made.

  Keeley put her hand to one of the drapes she was hanging above the archway that led from reception to restaurant. She had thought about Ethan while she was drawing every brief outline plan for the communal areas of the hotel. He was in every idea and thought as she tried to carry on with what he himself had started. The hotels were going to become a home from home, just like the new slogan suggested. But right now she was working on them being a home from home with the added enhancement of Christmas. She was thinking not along the lines of Santa’s grotto, but more that cosy log cabin vibe she had got the night Ethan had
showed his changes to her, with a touch of comfort displayed in heavy, luscious fabrics and rustic detailing.

  She sighed, working out a crease in the drape. She had tried to call Ethan. She had sent him a dozen messages. But, so far, he had yet to reply to any of them. It was as absolutely infuriating as it was upsetting. It seemed Ethan had simply decided to walk away with only the barest of facts and that hurt the most. All she had ever wanted was a chance to explain and it seemed he couldn’t yet give that to her.

  Keeley’s phone began to ring and she stepped back from the curtains to remove it from the pocket of her jeans. It was her mum.

  ‘Mum, hi.’

  ‘Where are you, Keeley?’ Lizzie asked, her voice on that very edge of frantic usually reserved for moments before curtain up on the latest book club meeting.

  ‘I’m—’

  Lizzie didn’t give her the chance to reply. ‘I will tell you where you’re not, shall I?’ she thundered on. ‘You’re not at the train station.’

  Keeley closed her eyes and squeezed them up tight, the colour draining from her face. ‘You’re at St Pancras?’

  ‘I’m at St Pancras,’ Lizzie replied. ‘And your father insisted on driving instead of getting on public transport so he is still looking for somewhere to park. And it’s snowing.’

  ‘It’s snowing?’ Keeley clarified. ‘In London?’

  ‘Keeley!’ Lizzie exclaimed. ‘That is not the most important part of what I’m trying to say to you. Where are you?!’

  Keeley took a deep breath. She had only mooted to her mum in their last conversation that she and Rach might be back in London today. But since then she and Rach had talked at length. There was no rush to get back to London. Rach was managing her VIP client online and Keeley knew that they were both somehow wanting to stay a little longer to see what might transpire here before Christmas Day. Rach was taking things slower than she had ever taken things before with Antoine but Keeley knew her friend was hoping there might be a chance to spend the night together before she got on the Eurostar back home and was forced to think about a distance between them.

  ‘I’m still in Paris,’ Keeley told Lizzie.

  ‘As if I hadn’t guessed!’

  ‘I didn’t say I was actually coming back today, it was a thought, that’s all.’

  ‘You said you would let me know if you weren’t coming back today. And you didn’t.’ Lizzie gasped. ‘Tell me, honestly, is Silvie keeping you against your will?’ she asked. ‘And if she’s there, blink twice if it’s yes.’

  ‘This… isn’t FaceTime,’ Keeley answered. ‘How will you know if I’m blinking?’

  ‘A code word then,’ Lizzie whispered. ‘Say “formaldehyde” if you’re in trouble.’

  ‘Are you still working at Mr Peterson’s?’ Keeley asked, mouth falling open.

  ‘Roland and I have made tremendous headway with Mr Peterson. I’m confident we might get a sale of his place before Christmas.’ Lizzie sniffed. ‘There was one single lady who came round and said she actually liked the robins he’d stuffed for the church that he’d left on the dining room table.’

  Keeley closed her eyes. That man was never going to change. But her mum actually sounded like she was enjoying the work. ‘How is your squirrel injury?’

  ‘Better. I don’t need another vaccine for a year unless things take a turn.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘So, when are you coming home?’ Lizzie asked. ‘If it’s not today.’

  Keeley paused, listening in to the sound of London traffic and trying to imagine the city with snow. Suddenly her parents and everything she knew seemed so far away. Was staying longer really the right thing to do?

  ‘Keeley?’ Lizzie asked.

  The sound of Rach’s laughter rang out from behind her and she turned her head to see her friend kiss Antoine’s cheek before he got back into professional mode and started to serve some new guests.

  ‘I’ll… let you know,’ Keeley finally told her. ‘I’ll let you know for definite when we are back on the Eurostar and on our way. I promise.’

  ‘And everything is OK?’ Lizzie asked. ‘With Silvie.’

  ‘Yes,’ Keeley reassured. ‘Everything is fine, Mum. Please don’t worry.’

  Lizzie tutted. ‘Asking me not to worry is like asking your father to take down Joan’s infuriating decorations! Did you know I actually had bits of 1970s gossamer fairy wings in my sherry trifle last night! Luckily I spotted it before Juliet Honeydale dipped a spoon in. Those bloody awful outdated things!’

  Keeley smiled. It sounded like things were exactly as they should be in England. ‘Mum, I have to go now. I’ll call you again soon. Bye.’

  Sixty-Five

  L’Hotel Perfect Paris, Opera District, Paris

  ‘Good afternoon. Merry Christmas.’

  Ethan was speaking and responding to guests and staff in the hotel, but it was as if his functions were being controlled by someone else. It was robotic. It was going through the motions. It was getting by. And that was what he had been doing for the past five days already. A replication of how he had been after Ferne’s death.

  He pushed the door to the boardroom and stepped inside. Today’s mission, before he fled back into the anonymity of the city, was to ensure Noel was completely across the festive party bookings. Office workers, groups from construction, schoolteachers, they were all excited for the end of their working year and wanting to celebrate in style with dinner and dancing late into the night. It was a good money-maker as long as everything ran smoothly.

  He entered, eyes to the floor, fingers clamped around a coffee he hadn’t yet touched. ‘Noel, can we make this quick so I can get back to other things?’

  ‘Hello, Ethan,’ Silvie’s voice greeted.

  He looked up then, the coffee cup falling out of his grasp. Around the boardroom table was Noel, Louis, Jeanne, Silvie and Bo-Bo was even sitting on his own chair looking like he might be about to start a presentation. ‘What… is this?’ Ethan gasped, hurriedly plucking the cup from the wood floor.

  ‘This is a family meeting,’ Silvie told him coolly. ‘Please, sit down.’

  ‘Family,’ Ethan said shaking his head.

  ‘Yes, Ethan,’ Silvie said. ‘Family. We are all here because we want the very same thing here. The best for our family. The Durand Family. And the best for Perfect Paris.’

  Ethan’s eyes went to Jeanne. How was she here? How was she sitting next to Silvie like she might be about to have lunch with a much-loved grandmother? Had he been so completely blinkered these past few days that he had missed significant developments. He was suddenly flooded with a worry that he hadn’t left any food for Jeanne last night…

  He put a hand on a chair and debated whether to drop into it or go running back out the door. What made him stay was the feeling of deep exhaustion he was carrying. He was so so tired.

  ‘Ethan,’ Louis said, appearing beside him and resting a hand on his shoulder. ‘Come on, please, sit down.’

  Ethan nodded, too tired to put up any sort of fight. If he didn’t like what was about to be said he could always bury his head back in the snow later. He pulled out the seat and sat down, eyes dropping to the table. Bo-Bo let out a low whine.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Silvie asked him.

  ‘Like I am the subject of a social experiment right now,’ he answered.

  ‘I will… order some more coffees.’

  Ethan raised his head at the sound of his assistant’s voice and Noel offered him the smallest of smiles that very much said this meeting was not so much about business as it was about an intervention.

  ‘Shall we start by talking about the hotels?’ Silvie suggested.

  Really? This was about the hotels? Then perhaps he could engage a little although… ‘My assistant has left the room to make coffee. Perhaps we should…’

  ‘I like the new concept for the hotels.’

  Ethan turned a little in his seat at the sentence coming from Louis. The man was lookin
g at him, a softness to his expression, the kind he had worn on the doorstep of Ethan’s apartment before he dropped the bombshell that had altered the course of everything.

  ‘I do not like the new concept,’ Silvie said.

  This was more like it. But Ethan had no fight left in him to counter.

  ‘I love the new concept,’ Silvie exclaimed in sheer excitement. ‘Welcome Paris. Your home from home.’

  His body responded before his brain could close it off. He was sitting more upright and he couldn’t seem to settle his shoulders down again. It appeared his movement was no longer under his control.

  ‘I think you have come up with an idea that will absolutely move the brand forward and it embraces everything a traveller needs as we look to a new year.’ Silvie inhaled. ‘The things we have missed most have been hugs. And I do not necessarily mean hugs from human contact, although, when we all had to be apart I did miss that. I mean the feeling of being supported… of being looked after and cherished…’

  Comfortable. The word was in Ethan’s mind immediately. Everything still ached from the revelation of five days ago. And still, every second of every day he was thinking only of Keeley.

  ‘And… there are going to be more animals at the Tour Eiffel hotel,’ Jeanne blurted out. Bo-Bo barked.

  ‘The one thing we weren’t quite sure about was rabbits in reception areas, despite the handwashing stations,’ Silvie continued.

  ‘Mother agreed,’ Louis said, as if believing blame was likely to be levied in his direction. ‘Even the animal shelter agreed.’

  ‘So, there is now this cool barn in the garden!’ Jeanne said, kneeling up on her chair and making pictures with her hands. ‘There is a donkey and two sheep and the rabbits, plus some really cute little guinea pigs.’

  ‘It is all being professionally overseen,’ Louis continued. ‘The animal association have helped with that – and they are hoping to raise awareness about animal kindness through the barn initiative. They will be giving out leaflets, collecting donations as the children staying at the hotel spend time in the petting zoo.’