by Mandy Baggot
‘Someone put a penguin in Louis’s room.’
‘A what?’ Maybe pretending he didn’t even know what a penguin was a little over the top.
‘You know exactly what my mother is talking about.’
Louis’s face was reddening even more considerably now, but Ethan suspected that was down to anger rather than a second strain of the reaction.
‘Sit down, Louis,’ Ethan urged. ‘Take the weight off your feet. Ease your…’ He paused briefly. ‘Boils.’
‘This was you!’ Louis said. ‘I know it was you!’ He wasn’t sitting down and he was pointing now. Ethan stood his ground, trying to look a little overwhelmed by the reaction.
‘You knew that I was allergic to penguins,’ Louis continued, ‘So you arranged for one as a welcome committee.’
Ethan put a hand to his throat and set his face to aggrieved. ‘I do not know what you mean.’
‘You came,’ Louis said. ‘Back then, that day we all went to the zoo as a family. We fed the penguins and then…’ He stopped talking like the topic of conversation was becoming too much for him.
‘Then?’ Ethan urged. He didn’t remember Louis being allergic to the creatures, only that he had run away from them, slipping and sliding on the ice, his gloved hands over his ears. Ethan had laughed. Ferne had laughed too. Until Silvie had told them both to stop. That had been a little after Monsieur Durand had died. At that time, the laughs were few and far between. Pierre Durand had been tough but fair. The man had a hard exterior that was instantly off-putting, but when someone had earned his trust he had slowly let himself ease open like an obedient clam. Ethan couldn’t say, even now, looking back, that Pierre had ever welcomed him, but the man had seemed to accept his presence – and Ferne’s desire for it – in a way Louis never had. Ferne’s father had been motivated by money, exactly like his son. Retiring from his fast-paced career running his executive chauffeur service hadn’t suited him and the moment he tried to relax, switch off, embrace this slower pace of life, a heart attack had claimed him.
‘You did this,’ Louis repeated. ‘I know you did.’
Ethan scoffed, shaking his head. ‘Come on, Louis. I am twenty-eight years old. You speak of such childish things.’
‘Childish things that you would commit! Like you always have! You are like… Peter Pan!’ Louis snapped.
‘OK,’ Silvie broke in. ‘That is enough. Quite enough.’ She raised a hand, taking the fabric of Louis’s coat between her fingers and encouraging him to sit down.
‘Well,’ Ethan began, dropping into a chair too, ‘I had no idea the meeting was to begin this way. Compared to a fairy-tale character. How very grown up.’ He straightened his waistcoat. ‘I was thinking we were getting together to establish plans for Christmas at the hotels. You will see I have made a start and—’
‘We are here for that,’ Silvie agreed.
‘But it is more,’ Louis piped up, reaching for the coffee pot and squinting his good eye in an attempt to focus on the pouring.
‘Louis,’ Silvie said. ‘Let us order some breakfast and have a little coffee first.’
‘So sentimental,’ Louis whispered, shaking his head. ‘That has always been to your detriment, Mother. Father always said that business must be done with the brain and the brain should never be connected to the heart.’
Ethan felt like he was watching rather than participating now. That Silvie and Louis were privy to something he did not know about. And he did not like that. ‘What is going on?’ He looked from Silvie to Louis then back again. Silvie opened her lips, but it was Louis who voiced the next words.
‘I told my mother that I am here to help shape the future of Perfect Paris but, well, I lied,’ Louis said, full of nonchalance.
‘Louis,’ Silvie attempted to interrupt. ‘We need to talk about this a lot more before anything is firmly decided.’
‘No, Mother, we need to make decisions to secure your comfortable retirement.’
Now Ethan really disliked this turn in conversation and, again, he felt like the bystander, the fly on the wall, the child at the top of the stairs at the orphanage listening to the beatings. He pushed his teeth into his tongue and willed the iron taste of blood on his taste buds. How much damage to Louis would two penguins have done?
‘We touched on this at our lunch last week, Ethan,’ Silvie said softly, leaning forward a little as if to draw his attention away from Louis for a second. ‘If you had stayed I would have explained further but—’
‘You told me at lunch,’ Ethan began, the blood rushing through him powering every word, ‘that you were meeting the person who has Ferne’s kidney.’ He could barely bring himself to say the sentence, rage threatening to consume him. ‘After that announcement, I am afraid that there was nothing else I wanted to hear.’
‘Ethan, I—’ Silvie started.
‘We’re going to be selling the brand, Ethan,’ Louis said bluntly. ‘By the beginning of next year, I want all the hotels gone.’
Eighteen
Arc De Triomphe, Paris
‘Your fat finger is over the lens, man!’
Keeley quickly adjusted her grip on her phone and tried to hold it still, over the view, as the wind swirled around her. It was freezing, but the chill wasn’t quite getting deep into her bones because they had climbed up all the steps to the very top of the Arc de Triomphe. The vista was phenomenal though. The highly sculpted stone archway depicting French battles – with all the wide-eyed horses and battle-weary soldiers – was basically the ornate centre piece of a roundabout. Paris cars were circling quickly, then stopping still as traffic built up, horns blaring. Tree-lined roads led off from the circle including what seemed the longest and widest, the Champs-Élysées. Rach had already told their tour guide, Noel, that no matter what tourist hotspots he had planned for the rest of their morning they definitely wanted time to look in the designer stores.
‘Is that better, Erica?’ Keeley asked. There was no immediate answer from the FaceTime in the UK and she wondered if the connection might have been lost. She didn’t want to move the phone to disturb the view if not though.
‘Erica?’ Keeley queried. She hadn’t collapsed or anything, had she?
‘I… can’t believe you’ve done this for me.’
Erica’s voice sounded so emotional it caught Keeley in a tender spot that straightaway caused her eyes to tear up. She swallowed the emotion back and took a glance over her shoulder. Rach was busy snapping pics and Noel had some kind of iPad he was tapping away at.
‘I said I would,’ Keeley said, moving the phone a little to capture as much of the ambience as possible. And she had said she would because this was her chance to be there. To hold Erica as she fell.
‘I know you said you would. But I told you, my whole life, people have said shit like that to me all the time and they haven’t meant it.’
‘I mean it,’ Keeley said, tears pricking her eyes.
She could admit it to herself that when she first met Erica at the hospital she had seen taking her under her wing and supporting her through her treatment as trying to make up for feeling there was more she could have done for Bea. That fateful Saturday night out – a few bars, a band, the taxi that never reached home – it had all been Keeley’s idea. And she did blame herself. What if they hadn’t gone out? What if they had gone somewhere else? Why hadn’t they got the Tube? It didn’t matter how many times Keeley told herself – or the counsellor reassured her – that those thoughts weren’t logical and were in fact unhelpful in terms of her recovery – it didn’t stop the mindset arriving now and then. Erica, she had a spark about her, just like Bea had. Both women had a complete and content vision of their place in the world and a fierce nature that everyone else should accept it. But Erica was Erica. A one off. Not Bea. Instead, Erica was someone who had saved Keeley. With her uncomplicated friendship even amid her medical struggles, Erica had been there when everyone else in Keeley’s life thought perhaps the path to recovery had already been fully
travelled.
Keeley took a breath and smiled to herself. ‘All in, remember? Every time.’
‘OK, so, flip the view around, I want to see your face.’
‘The Paris scenery is much better than my face,’ Keeley insisted. ‘It’s cold here and windy and my hair is still leaking. I think the dye might have even stained the tiles of the shower in the plush bathroom we have at the hotel.’
‘Let me see you, man!’
Keeley pressed the screen of her phone and greeted a smiling Erica. She didn’t look too bad today. Yes, her skin had taken on a bit of a waxy sheen, but her eyes were animated, focused. She looked better than when Keeley had last seen her just before she travelled here.
‘You look different,’ Erica announced.
‘What?’
‘You don’t look weighted down and you’re smiling.’
‘I… don’t know what to say to that,’ Keeley answered.
‘Meeting that woman whose kid gave you the kidney has worked a makeover miracle.’
‘Well,’ Keeley began, ‘I haven’t actually met her yet.’
‘What?’
Keeley drew in a breath and walked slowly to another section of the rooftop. There were other tourists here, all wrapped in thick coats, taking pictures, some on fully guided tours. Noel had given them lots of information of the history of the landmark while they admired the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at ground level until Rach had said he was overdoing the dates and details a little. Rach’s idea of a tour was more finger-pointing and finding out what celebrity had visited than it was delving into the archives of yesteryear.
‘I thought we were meeting her yesterday, for afternoon tea, but that was apparently a treat for us on our arrival. And then this morning, when we were at breakfast, this tour guide turns up and says that Madame Durand has asked him to show us some of the Paris sights today.’
‘That’s weird as shit,’ Erica offered.
‘It is, isn’t it?’ Keeley sighed. ‘She brought me here. She said she wanted to meet me and now… it’s a little bit like she’s hiding from me.’
‘Maybe she is,’ Erica suggested.
‘Well, why would she do that? She was the one who wanted this.’
‘I don’t know. Because, like, she’s scared? Because she’s got you in France and now she’s wondering whether meeting you is gonna be too hard. It’s gotta be hard. Bringing it all back that she lost her kid.’
Stupidly, Keeley hadn’t really thought about that. She had presumed the email exchange they had shared meant Silvie was definite about her intentions. That smart, strong and sassy power-woman she had envisaged wouldn’t be fazed by anything. Surely, if Silvie had had doubts, was having doubts, she would have called or messaged, said something. Keeley, if she was truthful, had the jitters about it too, but she was going to meet her. She had done all her pros and cons before she got on the Eurostar.
‘You could call her,’ Erica said. ‘Arrange a time to meet.’
‘No,’ Keeley said swiftly. She couldn’t, could she? Take control of this situation herself and drive things? It somehow seemed safer if someone else was calling the shots. She hadn’t really done taking ownership of much lately.
‘Well, if you don’t do that then you have to play to her rules and she can take her own sweet time about things.’
‘OK,’ Keeley replied. She looked sincerely at Erica and nodded. ‘You’re right. I need to stop worrying. She might be taking her time because she feels a little unsettled about it all. Or she might think I’m feeling a little unsettled about it all and—’
‘And now you can tell me what’s really got the colour into your cheeks if it isn’t the donor-mum.’
It was as if Erica had got hold of a window into Keeley’s time here and knew there was something she wasn’t telling her about. Except it wasn’t anything really, was it? A chance meeting with a hot guy she had chased a penguin for. Everyday stuff…
‘I… met a penguin called Pepe,’ Keeley blurted out, turning her back on the area Rach was standing in. She hadn’t told Rach about Ethan yet. She didn’t know why. Probably because there wasn’t really anything to tell. Or the fact Rach would latch on to this potential mating opportunity and order fireworks and cheerleaders or perhaps courier over discount party poppers from Price Squash.
‘Right…’
‘And… Pepe’s owner was quite, you know… good-looking.’ She could feel herself blushing. Did anyone say ‘good-looking’ anymore? She sounded like Grandma Joan referring to Monty Don as ‘dishy’.
‘How good-looking?’ Erica asked, eyes serious now.
‘Better than Nick Jonas,’ Keeley suggested.
‘Shut up!’
Keeley laughed at Erica’s reaction. He had been terribly handsome. Almost too handsome. But somehow different. Quirky. A little rough around the edges despite his smart attire…
‘Well, what’s his name? Where’s he from? And is he single?’
‘Ethan,’ Keeley whispered. ‘I don’t know anything about him. We just… met on the street and I helped him and…’ She paused before carrying on. ‘He said he would give me a map of Paris with undiscovered gems on. Things tourists might miss because they don’t know they exist.’ And there had been precisely nothing waiting for her at reception this morning. He hadn’t made a map. Meaning, she probably hadn’t made an impression on him at all. Perhaps he offered off-the-beaten-track Paris to everyone he bumped into.
‘But he hasn’t left me anything so it’s unlikely I’m ever going to see him again.’
‘Love your confidence for someone promising to be all in.’ Erica’s tone was pure scalding. It sounded just like the time when Keeley told Erica she was never going to be able to eat popcorn again because it reminded her too much of Bea. Erica had ordered her to ‘take a look herself’ and the next time they saw each other Erica was accompanied by half a dozen multi-flavoured bags of popcorn and a Blu-Ray of Boyz n the Hood. Popcorn still reminded her of Bea but now it also reminded her of gangsters, Erica’s celebrity crushes before Nick Jonas and feeling sick to her stomach.
‘I’m working on “all in”,’ Keeley answered. ‘Slowly.’
‘Why didn’t you ask for his number, man?’
‘I… don’t do that.’
‘What d’you mean you don’t do that?! How do you and Rach meet men?’
‘At the pub. Badly.’
The last time Rach had struck up conversation with two guys in the pub and plonked one of them down in front of Keeley, the very first thing Keeley had said after a weak ‘hello’ was ‘nice nuts’. Not even pushing the small bowl of pistachios towards him helped with the shame factor…
‘So, you’re gonna let a sexier-than-a-Jonas-brother walk out of your life?’ Erica queried really really loudly.
Keeley turned around, checking to see if Rach had heard anything. Rach was looking at her now, distracted from the view. Keeley waved a hand at her friend, then pressed at the volume keys on her phone.
‘Are you turning the volume down?’
‘No.’
‘Maybe Rach should hear me. I’ll call her. Rach! Rach!’
‘Erica! Stop it!’ Keeley begged. ‘Please!’ She really didn’t want to have to mute her completely. And apparently her brain was still telling her she didn’t want Rach to know about her street-meet…
‘I’ll stop if you promise to start,’ Erica demanded. There was heaps of determination in her friend’s eyes now, despite her frailty.
‘Start what?’ Keeley asked.
‘Start living,’ Erica ordered. ‘Someone gave you a second chance, remember? You need to take it.’
Keeley swallowed. She really should start embracing the world a little harder.
‘Go after this guy! Chase him! Hunt him down! Nail his arse to the floor and—’
Keeley did mute Erica then and waved a goodbye to the screen as Rach stepped across the roof towards her.
‘Everything OK?’ Rach asked. ‘That wasn’t Rolan
d, was it? I had a missed called from him this morning and I ignored it.’
‘Everything’s fine,’ Keeley insisted, linking her arm through her friend’s.
‘Good. So, I was thinking we’d get Mr Dates and Times over there to show us the best place to find hot chocolate and then hit the shops.’
‘That sounds good,’ Keeley agreed. ‘Watch out, Morgan and Gucci.’
Rach smiled, squeezing Keeley’s arm. ‘Now I know you’re invested! You’ve researched.’
‘Maybe a little.’
‘Well then, I’ll let you break it to the guiding guru again that the next stop is definitely going to be fashion and not… ancient and Agincourt.’
Nineteen
Canal Saint-Martin, Paris
At this moment, Ethan felt a little like he had right after he had lost Ferne. It was as if he was caught in a riptide, struggling to surface, the water dragging him down deeper and further away from solid ground. He could hear her, talking to him, telling him over the phone all about the things she had seen in London, filling his mind with the sights and sounds of the English capital preparing for December. Ferne had wanted to branch out from Paris. But not into other cities in France, no, Ferne had never wanted to do things in half measures, she always wanted to go big. Her idea, the first seed of a new arm to their small empire, was ‘Luxe London’. A boutique, high-spec, contemporary hotel in the centre of the city. He remembered her words, the energy in her eyes, the thrill of a new challenge rippling through her, the way she tossed her blonde hair around when she got too excited. Why stop at Paris, Ethan? Why not London too? Why not the world?
Ethan still didn’t know hotels. But he had known Ferne. So he had done what he had always done. He had supported the dream and promised not to breathe a word about the purpose of the trip to Silvie. Silvie didn’t even know now and Ethan wanted to keep it that way. What good would it do to tell her that her daughter had been thinking about leaving France?
Blinking over his half-filled glass of Calvados, the only voice he could hear was Louis’s, repeating what it had said earlier. We’re going to be selling the brand, Ethan. By the beginning of next year, I want all the hotels gone.
