From Paris With Love This Christmas

by Jules Wake

  He dived into the bathroom, so full of steam he could barely see a thing. Blessed relief. Now he could think straight. What the hell was she talking about? He shook his head and climbed into the shower, promptly slipping on the fragrant suds all over the shower tray and banging his knee hard on the tiled wall. Christ alive, she was a liability. A job? Doing what? Smelling people?

  Stepping out of the shower he went to pluck the towel from the hook. Pushing wet hair out of his face he tried again, his hand scrabbling against the back of the door.

  What? No bloody towel. No doubt the one wrapped turban style around her head. He’d kill her. Swear to God, he would.

  Still dripping, he grabbed the hand towel, which was about as much use as a hanky. Sourly he rubbed a section of the mirror clear of condensation which promptly fogged over again. She couldn’t even open the damn window to get rid of the steam. His knee throbbed and he managed to nick himself shaving. Not even eight o’clock and this day was turning out shite.

  ‘Would you like some coffee? The real deal?’ Siena beamed at him and sipped at her mug with a beatific expression on her face as he stomped into the kitchen.

  Unfortunately the rich smell of real coffee addled his brain and when he would have asked her what the hell was going on, all he could do was nod.

  And bloody hell it was good coffee. Seriously good.

  ‘Not a morning person, are you?’

  Clutching the coffee to his chest in case she turned nasty and took it away again, he glared at her.

  ‘You’ll find most men aren’t when the morning routine they’ve enjoyed uninterrupted for the last six months is hijacked by someone who doesn’t understand the concept that there are only sixty seconds in a minute and not three hours, and they’ve been left without a towel.’

  ‘I wasn’t that long. You’re exaggerating.’

  ‘I needed a pee.’ How did she manage to make him feel slightly inadequate?

  ‘Seriously?’ She looked incredulous.

  ‘Siena, may I remind you, there’s only one loo in this house. I’m sure you’re used to an en-suite for every day of the week but if you could remember that we need to share facilities and what’s this about a job interview?’

  ‘For a job.’

  ‘I get the concept of a job interview. What I don’t get is why you would want one.’

  ‘Gosh, is that the time?’ Siena darted around the table.

  He blocked her exit, feeling a faint sense of unease when she tensed and a flash of something flitted across her face. ‘Not so fast. Job?’

  ‘Yes, I rang them on Saturday. In fact today’s more of a training day than an interview.’

  Jason closed his eyes. Proper jobs did not fall out of the trees. What the hell had she signed up for?

  ‘A training day?’ He tried to sound interested. ‘Training to do what?’

  ‘I’ll be representing the company. Telling people about their home improvement products.’ She trotted out the phrases parrot fashion. ‘How they can make their houses look better. Offering them discounts. Today I’ll be learning about drawing up quotes. You never know, I might suggest they do this place.’

  Jason pinched his lips together and stared hard at the wood grain of the kitchen table, fighting the snigger. It wasn’t for him to burst her bubble.

  ‘So you get paid for this job?’ he asked, the strain of not laughing showing in his voice.

  ‘Of course I do, silly. I wouldn’t be doing it otherwise. It’s commission based, twelve per cent on your first fifty thousand then fifteen per cent on your second. There’s the potential to earn up to one hundred thousand in your first year.’

  ‘What happened to the trust fund? Hang on.’ He shook his head as if trying to clear it. Once again she’d managed to distract him from his initial chain of thought. ‘More importantly. Why? Why have you got a job? Here?’

  Siena’s perpetual smile slipped momentarily.

  ‘I’ve decided to stay for a while. I’ve cleared it with Laurie. It’s my room. This was my dad’s house. I’ve got every right to stay here. Besides we can share bills.’ She spat the words out so quickly, it took a minute to catch up. Good coffee or not, his brain was still in wake up mode.

  ‘Run that by me again.’

  He watched as she rearranged her face into a smiling utterly-reasonable-won’t-this-be-fun expression.

  ‘I spoke to Laurie. It is my house too, sort of, and the room is mine. So I’m going to stay a while. I’ll keep out of your way. You won’t even know I’m here.’

  At that he raised a deliberately sceptical eyebrow.

  ‘And just think, we can share the bills. That will help won’t it?’

  ‘Share bills?’ He had a horrible feeling her hot water consumption alone would double the bills.

  ‘Yes. You told me how expensive they all were. I’ll be able to help. Great isn’t it?’ she said with the confident sunny smile he was rapidly realising was her default. The real world was a concept she had yet to grasp. Her world seemed to roll along on sunshine and roses. ‘I’m sure it’ll be nice for you to have a woman’s touch about the place.’

  The coffee sliding down his throat at that moment almost went west and he choked back a cough.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You know, a woman’s touch.’

  He closed his eyes, counted to five. Surely no judge in the land would send him down for strangling her.

  ‘What, the woman’s touch that means I can’t even find my own shaving gel in the bathroom anymore?’

  ‘My, you are a grumpy Gus in the mornings aren’t you?’ She stuck her tongue out at him, with a cheeky grin. ‘See you later.’

  As she walked off, leaving his scrambled brain still trying to work out how he now had a lodger, he realised his eyes were glued to her backside, perfectly outlined in some smooth fabric and not a panty line in sight.

  ‘You lucky sod.’ Ben stopped for a second, lowering the sack of barley to rest on his knee. ‘She’s staying.’ Then he pulled a face of horror. ‘Claire’s not going to like that.’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with Claire.’ He regretted that drunken kiss on Saturday. She seemed to be very good at seeking him out at the wrong or right time depending on which way you looked at it. He shouldn’t have but it had been a while and when an eager, pliant body was offering, it seemed easy to take what was on offer.

  ‘You’re doing that protesting thing again.’

  ‘So would you if you’d had a morning like I’ve had.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound so bad. She made you coffee.’

  ‘She also decimated my bathroom.’ He shuddered.

  Ben shrugged. ‘So, no one died.’ There were occasions when Jason admired the younger man’s horizontal approach to life; this was not one of them. When Jason got stressed about fulfilling an order, that bacteria might have tainted a brew, or the gravity wasn’t right, Ben’s calm ‘there’s always tomorrow’ attitude was an asset.

  ‘But the mess …’

  Ben shrugged his wide shoulders, lifting the sack of grain.

  Will wasn’t much better. He laughed. ‘She’s what?’

  ‘Selling double glazing.’ Jason stared morosely down into his pint, when he took a break at lunchtime.

  Will pushed a ciabatta BLT over the bar towards him.

  ‘What’s the problem? You said yourself she won’t last five minutes.’

  Jason brightened. ‘Yeah that’s true. But why? A job suggests she’s staying long term.’

  Will sobered for a minute. ‘Seriously mate, a) is she that bad? and b) like you said she’s so flighty, she could get back to Paris under her own steam. She’s not going to stick around here. Paris. Cannes. New York. Leighton Buzzard? She came to see her sister. Her sister’s not here. She’s not going stay. Doesn’t know anyone … apart from you … and I think you’ve made your feelings clear. Transparent actually. Girl like that is hardly going to want to live with a baboon like you.’

  Jason chucked a slice of to
mato at Will, who promptly caught it and stuffed it in his mouth.

  ‘And how was the date with Claire?’

  ‘How the hell do you know about that? It was lunch.’

  ‘Jungle drums. You’re fresh meat round here. A lunch date is a considerable coup in someone’s campaign. She’s on a mission, that one. You want to watch yourself.’

  Jason clapped him on the arm. ‘If you want the truth, I did it more to get out of the house on Sunday and away from her royal highness. I’m not about to get myself ensnared. Claire’s a nice enough girl but one lunch doesn’t make an engagement. I like her. I’m happy enough to take it slowly and if it goes anywhere, fine. I’m not in and out of girls’ knickers like some I could mention. ’

  Will gave him a good natured punch on the arm. ‘Mate, I can’t help it if I’m a babe-magnet. They can’t get enough of me.’

  After lunch Will walked back across the cobbled courtyard with him.

  ‘I love this smell.’

  Jason agreed. One of the best smells in the world. Finest Kentish hops boiling in the large copper kettle. ‘I know what you mean.’

  They laughed together. As far as most people were concerned, the smell of hops boiling up was pretty disgusting but Jason knew that to them both it signified a whole world of dreams and ambition.

  ‘Want a hand this afternoon?’ Will had the face of an eager schoolboy; it would have been cruel to turn him down.

  ‘You can’t keep away. Like having your own train set.’

  ‘Man this is way better than a train set. Who’d have thought eh? One minute I’m mashing your face in the scrum, the next we’re building a brewing empire.’

  ‘Empire’s pushing it a bit. Although the Chamber of Commerce have said there’s been some interest from a distributor in France.’

  Will laughed. ‘Cool if you got one in Germany. Coals to Cologne.’

  ‘Apparently the French are going ape for boutique beers. We did win that award.’

  ‘Yeah we could do with winning another award.’ For all his effete, floppy haired, public schoolboy looks, Will had an extremely astute business brain.

  ‘I’m doing my best.’

  ‘You’re doing fine mate. Our second year, five awards. An international gong. Distribution is on the up and we’re almost solvent.’

  Jason raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Almost, I said.’

  ‘As long as we don’t want to eat as well.’

  ‘Mate, you know I’ll loan you anything you need.’

  ‘I’m fine. Just need to be careful. Hopefully this week when I go up to the Lakes I can secure another deal. Keep going like that and in another year those tanks will be paid off. That’ll lighten the load.’ He paused and pulled a face. ‘Providing Stacey doesn’t start up again.’

  ‘I can’t believe that bitch. She sponges off you for three years. Then expects to get a cut of your flat sale. Your flat, man!’

  ‘I think she’s given up now.’

  ‘I should bloody hope so. Cheeky bitch. So when do you head off and when are you back?’

  ‘I’ll leave tomorrow, back Thursday, so I wouldn’t mind some help today. It’s going to be a late one. There was a leak in one of the bags. I’ve had to send Ben in the Land Rover to get some more barley. If you can pitch in for a couple of hours that would be great.’

  ‘I can help out until opening time and then it depends whether Michelle deigns to turn up or not.’

  ‘Still having problems with her?’

  It was unlike Will to put up with that sort of thing from one of his waitresses. The blond ponytail might lull people into the false assumption that his real job was organising a summer music festival, but his was a tight ship. People came from miles around to eat at The Salisbury Arms. The pub itself had won several big food awards and Will had worked in some serious kitchens, with the celebrity chef burns on his arms to prove it.

  ‘Yeah, if she drops a shift again. I’m going have to sack her. I was hoping to hang on for a couple of weeks to get through Christmas. We’ve got a lot of big dos on. I might have to get you and Ben to pitch in.’

  Jason snorted. ‘In your dreams. What went wrong? I thought she was the best waitress you’d ever had.’

  ‘I might have, er,’ despite being nearly thirty, Will pulled his aw-shucks I’m-so-innocent-face.

  ‘You didn’t.’ Will had a dreadful habit of being led by his libido. ‘I thought we talked about this.’

  ‘Come on Jay, she’s hot.’

  ‘She works for you.’

  ‘It was late in the evening.’ He launched into the Ed Sheeran song, doing a more than a passable falsetto impersonation.

  ‘You’re a dick sometimes.’

  ‘She was all over me, man. And no, I didn’t make any promises.’

  ‘You’re still a dick.’

  ‘I know, part of my charm.’

  ‘Being a dickhead is not a charm in anyone’s book.’

  ‘Must be my suave good looks then.’

  Jason gave up at that point.

  ‘This week is all under control. Ben knows what he’s got to do. Once the mash is on it’s a question of maintaining the temperature. Ask him every day how it’s going. He’ll soon tell you if there’s a problem.’

  ‘Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. I don’t know why I keep you around.’

  Jason thumped his arm. ‘Because, apart from giving you advice on your love life, which you clearly ignore, me and the bank own fifty per cent of those gorgeous silver tanks. You and the bank own the other fifty per cent, but you don’t know what the fuck to do with them.’

  ‘OK.’ Will conceded. ‘You stick to the brewery side and I’ll run the pub.’

  Go me, thought Siena giving herself a little fist pump as she stood outside the entrance of the Hotel Enigma. She’d successfully negotiated not one but two buses, although how was she to know that five pound notes weren’t acceptable currency on a bus?

  ‘Hi. Good morning. You here for the training for the canvassing job?’

  Siena nodded.

  ‘Welcome to Johnson Home Improvements. Name please?’

  ‘Siena.’

  He ran a finger down a typed list.

  ‘Ah yes, Siena. I’ve seen your name on here somewhere. Like the film star Sienna Miller. No relative then?’

  ‘No,’ she shook her head a little bemused by the question, ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Ah, found you. Siena Browne-Martin.’

  ‘It’s Browne-Martin,’ she pronounced the tin as tan, ‘it’s French.’

  ‘Right, whatever. We’re all equals here.’ He peeled off a label and held it out to her.

  ‘It’s Siena with one ‘n’.’

  He shrugged. ‘It’ll do for today.’ He continued to hold out the label.

  Siena took it and held it between two fingers, looking down while she tried to decide where to put it.

  ‘If you could wear the badge, then the trainer knows your name.’

  ‘Right, it’s … this top is … Gucci. Dry clean only. Do you know what adhesive they use on the labels? Is it water-soluble?

  ‘Ad-what?’

  ‘The glue.’

  ‘Glue?’

  ‘Tell you what, why don’t I introduce myself to the trainer?’

  ‘That won’t be necessary.’ He sounded a bit more certain of himself now.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I’m the trainer.’

  ‘Right. But you know my name.’

  He nodded.

  ‘So I don’t need to wear the badge.’

  His brow crumpled. ‘I suppose not.’ A look of relief crossed his face and he shifted his attention to the person behind her. ‘Ah, good morning, welcome to Johnson Home Improvements. Can I take your name?’ He turned back to her. ‘Do go in. Help yourself to tea and coffee and take a seat.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Taking a seat, she took a sip and almost choked. The brown liquid bore limited relation to coffee, in fact the only relation she
could successfully conclude was that it was wet.

  She’d spent considerable time worrying about what to wear and had aimed for smart and professional. You couldn’t go far wrong with a pair of Joseph trousers, Gucci shirt and a cashmere cardie, especially when you only had a capsule wardrobe to choose from. The Missoni scarf added that jaunty look that stopped her looking really serious like a banker or a doctor.

  The poor woman next to her seemed terribly nervous. She kept picking at a loose thread on her black dress, the fingers with nails bitten down to the quick, worrying at the seam with repeated staccato attacks.

  ‘Hi, I’m Siena. Are you here for the training too?’ asked Siena when the woman looked up.

  ‘I’m not here for a bleedin’ massage lovie. The Jobcentre sent me. That’s a laugh. I come to these things once every six months, to get them off my back.’

  ‘Oh.’ Siena nodded as if she understood but the woman had lost interest already and had gone back to picking at the seam of her dress.

  ‘Hello, earth to airhead.’ Siena looked up at the newcomer. ‘Can you move your bag so I can sit down?’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Siena swept her handbag onto her own knee.

  ‘’S’alright, darlin’.’ He leaned forward in his chair, legs wide open so that one knee nudged her leg. She shifted and he promptly took up the fresh space.

  Shifting again, she perched on the edge of her seat. He seemed completely oblivious. She turned her head away slightly to get away from the pungent smell of stale tobacco. A couple more people shuffled in, helping themselves to the tea and coffee and sat down. No one said a word to each other. It felt a bit like detention at school except without the nuns.

  After a painful fifteen minutes of silent fidgeting, Alan Johnson finally strode in.

  ‘Morning everyone. Just waiting for a few stragglers. There are always a few and quite a few no shows. It’s difficult to get the staff, you know.’ He grinned to show he’d made a joke, which elicited some weak laughter.

  He stood at the table, looking down at a folder he’d brought in for another five blank minutes. Finally he looked up.

  ‘I think we’ll make a start. My name is Alan Johnson, Staff Training Director and I’ll be introducing you to Johnson’s Home Improvements today. I’ll be telling you about our fantastic product range. Some USPs. Promotional tools you can use. Discounts and the like.’