A Perfect Paris Christmas

by Mandy Baggot

  ‘I am here looking for things that matter,’ Ethan continued, stepping in under a canopy. ‘Or rather, things that have mattered.’ He wandered under the ceiling wound with vines and ivy then picked up a mirror that was lying on top of an oriental-style chest of drawers. The wood was old and cracked in places and the glass was smeared and dotted with blemishes. ‘I want to redesign my hotels and make them all about the comfort and all about the story.’ He held the mirror up to their faces so they could see their reflection. ‘Touch. Taste. Feel.’ He carried on. ‘I want the hotels to evoke memories and create new stories, inspired by old stories.’

  Keeley could feel her insides reacting to what he was saying. His words were everything she felt about how she wanted her own interior design business to go. She wanted to get to know her clients, understand exactly what their vision was and then dig a little deeper. She carried on looking into the mirror with Ethan.

  ‘You have brought everything into focus,’ he whispered.

  Their framed reflections in this old mirror was like looking at an old photograph, its edges blurred, slightly rumpled, but the two people were knitting together so easily, so perfectly.

  ‘Can I help you? Look for things?’ Keeley asked as her heart thumped in acknowledgement of how she was feeling here with him.

  ‘You do not know how much I was hoping you would say that,’ Ethan replied.

  His phone bleeped from the pocket of his coat and he put down the mirror. ‘Excuse me,’ he said to Keeley. ‘Things with the hotels are busy at this time of year. It might be—’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Keeley answered. ‘I’ll make a start.’

  He watched her walk further into the depths of the makeshift shop all corrugated sheeting and wood that looked like it might fall down at any second. Smiling, he took his phone from his pocket and saw it was a message from Silvie.

  Please come to dinner tonight. No talk about Perfect Paris and Louis will be on his best behaviour. I would really like you to meet the girl Ferne was able to help. X

  Ethan shuddered. The girl Ferne was able to help. So the person who had his best friend’s kidney was a girl. He thought about Jeanne, just for a few seconds, and then he put his phone back in his pocket. There was no way he was going to go.

  Forty-Six

  The Durand House, Neuilly-sur-Seine, Paris

  ‘This looks like something from a film set,’ Rach remarked later that evening as the car that Silvie had sent for them pulled up outside a substantial property with a large paved driveway. ‘It’s almost as big as the town hall and the chateau we went past.’

  There were four columns lined up along the front almost like sentries waiting to confirm their invitation to the house. It was a little imposing in its grandeur and Keeley wasn’t sure what was going to come from the inside. The very large Christmas tree was slightly more welcoming in its appearance. It was as broad as it was tall, and it was covered in perfectly organised lights, baubles and tinsel. Keeley opened the door before the driver could get there to do it for her and she almost expected a choir to appear to regale them with carols. Boots crunching down onto another layer of snow she took a deep breath, stilling herself and acknowledging the surroundings. Snow was wispy in the air now, nothing to cause a concern of getting stranded later, but, with the plummeting temperatures, it meant the ground was still crisp and white.

  ‘Keeley! Rach! Come in! Come in!’

  Expecting a servant, Keeley was surprised to see Silvie standing at the entrance, beckoning them towards the house, wearing no coat. Keeley stepped up her pace, wanting the woman to get back inside and out of the wind.

  ‘Are you glad we bought the expensive red wine now?’ Rach whispered in Keeley’s ear as they both made steps towards the house.

  ‘I wish we had bought the larger round of brie and those vintage plates with the birds on them,’ Keeley said with a gulp. Was this really the house her kidney donor had grown up in?

  ‘Don’t mention birds,’ Rach begged. ‘It always gives me a nasty Mr Peterson flashback when one time he was mounting a crow.’

  Keeley smiled as they reached Silvie’s front door and she offered out the wine and cheese. ‘Hello, I know you said not to bring anything but… we did.’

  ‘Oh,’ Silvie said. ‘There was no need… but thank you so much.’ She took the gifts and looked appreciatively at them both. ‘I do love a good vin rouge.’

  Rach was already nudging Keeley that her choice was spot on and Keeley gave her an elbow back.

  ‘Come in, please, it is so cold tonight even the Christmas tree wants to come inside.’ Silvie smiled and led the way into the home.

  There was another tree over the threshold, this one slightly smaller, but just as tastefully decorated, if your taste was regimented and covered in gold. It was a world away from anything Keeley had looked at with Ethan that afternoon. As a maid took Keeley’s coat, then offered the same service to Rach, Keeley thought about her time at the marché with Ethan. They had rummaged! At one point, they had each been holding one of Jeanne’s legs while she climbed into a mammoth Arabian-style basket to retrieve a wooden trug that had caught Ethan’s eye. And they had laughed so much. Sleeves rolled up, hands on items while they closed their eyes and tried to feel an aura the certain object might be offering up. Although Keeley had talked about the memories décor could evoke, she had never actually held something to see if it projected a certain vibe. But, in some cases this afternoon it had. And Ethan said he could feel it too. Sometimes there had been a warmth, sometimes not, but being mindful while you were cradling a coat hook or a collection of hand-painted wooden nutcrackers definitely helped the purchasing process. And Ethan had purchased a great deal that was, this evening, being collected.

  ‘You have a lovely home,’ Rach remarked, eyes on stalks at the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and the stair banisters through which wound gold and red ribbons with fir cones and bells dangling from them.

  ‘Thank you,’ Silvie answered. Keeley thought their host sounded suddenly a little subdued. Perhaps it was the word ‘home’. She knew herself that home didn’t really feel quite the same without Bea there. She suspected Silvie felt exactly the same without Ferne.

  ‘Good evening.’

  It was Louis, appearing in the entrance hall. He was wearing smart trousers, a white shirt with a pale lemon-coloured jumper over it. He smiled at them both and Keeley watched Rach look a little nervous, her fingers going to the hem of the dress she was wearing that she bought from the market.

  ‘Hello,’ Rach replied.

  ‘Come through,’ Silvie insisted. ‘There is much more to my house than the hallway.’

  *

  There was a great deal more to the Durand’s home than the elaborate hallway. The house flowed under archways and into a reception room where chaise longues hung out with large urns full of festive flowers and bright red berries, fir cones drizzled with silver. Then it was a lavish sitting room with elaborate floral-patterned sofas straight out of the pages of a magazine and fur rugs that hopefully weren’t as real as they looked. They’d had canapes in this room, just the four of them, plus two very attentive staff filling up their glasses with a rather crisp, clean white sparkling wine. Then they have moved into a dining room fit for royalty. The table was huge for four. It would have been huge for ten. And it was beautifully laid out, a dramatic miniature fir tree in the centre spot, around which was a ring of candles creating a warm glow.

  Keeley had a warm glow on her cheeks now and it was most definitely the wine. A dry, rich, white that was meant to complement the goose they were eating. It was actually a Christmas Day spread from the giant bird to the roasted potatoes and mix of legumes.

  ‘Tell me,’ Silvie said, pausing in her eating for a moment. ‘What did you do today?’

  ‘Well,’ Rach began, enthusiastic after more glasses of wine than Keeley had indulged in, ‘I did my very best to wear Keeley out taking her on a tour of all the best boutiques and then she wanted to g
o to a flea market. I thought that sounded pretty un-chic until we got there and I saw how ginormous it was and… I found some designer bargains amid the old stuff.’

  ‘We went to Les Puces,’ Keeley elaborated. ‘In Saint-Ouen.’

  Louis and Silvie shared a look, both smiling a little as if Keeley had said something in secret code.

  ‘Ferne liked to go there,’ Silvie remarked, smiling as one of her staff came and topped up her wineglass.

  ‘Really?’ Keeley remarked. Despite the things she had learned about her donor, she had envisaged Ferne being more on the Rach side of shopping, except maybe with more Parisian flair than bootleg bargains.

  ‘Ferne always thought she could detect an heirloom from a million miles away. Something that had been discarded as rubbish,’ Louis told the table. ‘I remember one time she arrived home with the most hideous clown. It was a wooden puppet, almost life-size, with the most crude artwork.’ Louis shook his head. ‘What did she call it, Mother?’

  ‘Augusto,’ Silvie jumped in. ‘And she said it with such an Italian accent.’

  ‘Augusto!’ Louis proclaimed, his hand gesturing out in front of him as he sat, like he was introducing the dessert as a dinner guest. It was funny but Rach laughed a little louder and harder than anyone else, eventually having to cover her mouth with a napkin.

  ‘Even at eleven years old, Ferne was determined that this puppet was the first work from a great modern-day sculptor…’ Silvie began.

  ‘Or, at the very least, one of his toys,’ Louis added.

  ‘Did you have it valued?’ Keeley asked, finding herself sitting forward on her chair.

  Silvie laughed. ‘No! Of course not! You only had to look at it to see the stallholder must have thought all his Christmases had arrived when someone actually wanted to take it from his hands.’

  Keeley felt aggrieved on Ferne’s behalf. However, she supposed, if it was found to be worthless in monetary terms that might have broken a little girl’s heart more than the never knowing. But, still, perhaps the puppet might have been a treasure of some kind. It obviously already had been to Ferne.

  ‘If you saw the horror you would know what we are talking about,’ Louis said.

  ‘I still have it,’ Silvie announced, sipping her wine.

  ‘You do not!’ Louis said.

  ‘I do,’ she insisted. ‘It is in Ferne’s bedroom. Hidden in the cupboard so it does not scare the staff.’ She smiled a little then. ‘Ferne and her strays.’ She shook her head. ‘And now the animal charity having a say in how we run the hotels.’

  ‘You run hotels?’ Rach asked, eyes out on stalks. ‘A chain of hotels?’

  Already Keeley could see that Louis was about to go a few rungs up the ladder as far as romantic suitability was concerned.

  ‘Oh!’ Silvie gasped. ‘Did I not say? Not over lunch?’ She pressed her napkin to her lips.

  ‘You told me that Ferne was in hospitality but…’ Keeley began.

  ‘We are… Perfect Paris!’ Louis announced. Keeley half expected him to do jazz hands to highlight the point. So, the hotel they were staying in was owned by Silvie and Louis?

  ‘Are you for real?’ Rach asked. ‘That’s amazing. I mean it’s… spectacular! The gourmet food and the… animatronic festive things… I might have thought Sleeping Beauty on ice was a bit out there on a rink the size of a postage stamp but… it’s artsy, isn’t it? People love artsy, especially at Christmas time.’

  ‘Keeley,’ Silvie said softly. ‘Is everything OK?’

  Keeley knew she had gone a little quiet but she was processing. Somehow it felt a little odd that they had been staying in the hotel where Ferne had worked. Had Ferne actually worked there?

  ‘I’m… fine.’ Keeley took a sip of her wine from her glass. ‘Did Ferne work at the hotel? The one we are staying in?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ Silvie replied. ‘Although her office was at the flagship hotel in the Opera district. Perfect Paris was her dream after she stopped buying puppets. She wanted to create a haven of luxury in the middle of the city.’

  ‘And it is luxurious,’ Rach agreed, smiling at Louis.

  ‘But times are changing,’ Louis said. ‘One of the reasons I am here was to arrange the sale of the hotels. We had a number of larger brands interested in buying the chain but, there is now an obstacle to overcome and—’

  ‘And we do not need to talk about such boring matters as business at the dinner table,’ Silvie interrupted.

  ‘What was the other reason for you being here?’ Rach wanted to know.

  ‘To meet Keeley, of course,’ Silvie said softly. ‘Tell me, how was the ballet the other night?’

  Keeley’s heart arrested. Had Louis not told Silvie that Rach had met him at the ballet instead of her? Now she didn’t know quite what to say and she hurriedly filled her mouth with food so someone else had to answer on her behalf. The goose wasn’t slipping down quite so easily now.

  ‘Ah,’ Louis spoke up. ‘Unfortunately Keeley was…’

  ‘Not feeling well,’ Rach chipped in. ‘A temperature and a sore throat. Only a slight one. Nothing major.’

  ‘You are sick?’ Silvie questioned, putting all her focus on Keeley. Her concerned look forced Keeley to munch until she had to swallow.

  ‘No, she’s fine,’ Rach said. ‘She’s fine now. But she was a little, tiny bit, under the weather for the ballet. So, I met Louis in her place.’

  Silvie’s expression was suddenly a mix of disappointment and upset and the woman reached for the wine bottle before any of her staff could get there to do it for her. Topping up her glass she looked to Louis. ‘You did not tell me.’

  ‘I…’ Louis started, sounding flummoxed. ‘I told you the ballet was wonderful and that we had a very nice time.’

  ‘Yes,’ Silvie hissed. ‘But I presumed you had gone to the ballet with Keeley!’

  ‘I thought the ballet was wonderful too,’ Rach jumped in. ‘I even cried. And I don’t really cry at stuff like that. You know, I’m more of a “got my finger caught in the coffee machine” kind of crier than the emotional kind.’

  Keeley reached out and put a hand on Silvie’s arm. ‘I’m so sorry I didn’t go to the ballet. I was going to. I thought about it, maybe even a little too much and then, I don’t know, it all suddenly felt… a bit too much. And I know that sounds incredibly selfish when you’ve invited me here and everything but… I thought you would understand.’ She took a breath. ‘I hoped you would understand.’

  Keeley waited then, watching for Silvie’s reaction. She hoped she hadn’t upset her host and irrevocably changed the dynamic between them. Silvie had said there was no pressure. But perhaps she hadn’t meant that quite as sincerely as she said she had.

  ‘Mother—’ Louis began.

  ‘It is alright,’ Silvie breathed, offering Keeley a small smile. ‘When we have finished the goose, shall we go to see Ferne’s room?’

  Keeley nodded. ‘Yes. I would really like that.’

  Forty-Seven

  ‘Voila,’ Silvie said later, opening the door of one of the rooms upstairs.

  They had finished the main course and were waiting for the chef – yes, Silvie had a chef – to arrive with the dessert. While Rach seemed slightly wine-besotted with Louis, Keeley was now eager to see inside Ferne’s space.

  The door swung back and revealed the kind of sized room most people would kill for their central living space, let alone a bedroom. It was so vast it could easily have been sectioned off into a sleeping area, a sitting area with even room for a full bathroom if required. It was like a whole apartment, something Keeley envisaged sharing with Rach when they began their accommodation search. Keeley hesitated on the threshold for a moment, until Silvie urged her forward. ‘Please, go inside.’

  Keeley stepped inside the cavernous area, eyes roving, picking out this and that and trying to capture everything there was to learn about her donor. This bedroom seemed pristine, like maybe time had stopped. For some reason she could envisa
ge drawers being open, clothes with sleeves draping down from the units, open make-up pallets with stray brushes, music in the air…

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Keeley breathed. Maybe it wasn’t to her own taste, but it was divine in design. With its flocked wallpaper – a pink and silver embellishment that seemed to speak of the liking for both finery and girlie – the bed a king-size with a mattress so thick you might need a step to launch yourself onto it and cushions – silk, fur, feather, sequins – it was, without a doubt, a perfect boudoir.

  ‘Ferne was a little spoiled,’ Silvie admitted. ‘She was my only daughter. And she was really… how do you say in English? A daddy’s girl.’

  Keeley smiled. ‘My mum would say the same about me.’

  ‘Would she be right?’ Silvie asked.

  ‘No,’ Keeley admitted freely. ‘But my mum has always been the one to hand out the tough love. While my dad is the one Bea and I could sweet talk into anything.’

  Silvie smiled then as they edged further into the room. ‘Pierre was always sweet-talked by Ferne. If it had been up to him, our house would have been filled with dogs and candy floss, with members of Ferne’s latest boy band obsessions coming on weekends.’ She sighed. ‘He was always a little harder with Louis.’

  Keeley stepped on into the room, her feet sinking into the soft pile of the carpet. This was the suite of a princess. At first glance it could be the sleeping palace of a child, but there were touches of Ferne the young woman too. A pin-board of photographs on one wall, a map of the world with pins in it – destinations she had been or ones she would now never get to? – a computer station with an Apple Mac lying dormant, a coffee mug full of pens, unopened letters, a cactus plant…

  ‘When Pierre died I went through everything and only kept what we really needed to save. But with Ferne, somehow, I… could not bear to let anything go,’ Silvie admitted, her voice tight. ‘She had her own apartment but she almost always stayed at home.’

  ‘I understand,’ Keeley breathed. ‘Bea’s room at home… well, before… we lost her… she was always talking about changing her décor. She wanted me to help her and we had looked at hundreds of magazines and style brochures I’d ordered and she never could make up her mind on furnishings. Bea liked to be surrounded by practical and calm. The only thing she had settled on was knowing she wanted it painted a light, soft shade of aqua.’ Keeley shook her head. ‘I remember my dad arriving at the door of her room in the summer, a huge tin of aqua paint in his hand, telling my mum he was going to paint it the colour Bea had always wanted it.’ Tears were gathering in her eyes now. ‘My mum went mad. It was change. It might have been what Bea had talked about and planned out, but it wasn’t the same now she wasn’t around. My dad thought it would help us move on, remember Bea by turning her room into how she wanted it but… my mum… and I… wanted to hold on to everything of Bea that was left. Just the way she left it. Her finger marks on the door frame, the sheen of hairspray across the mirror, the last pillowcase she lay her head on that my mum presses her nose against even now.’