‘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.’