‘We’d hear some juicy tales.’
I make another note in my phone. ‘We can pull the carpet up and find a navy stair runner with a gold trim, keeping the edges of the marble exposed.’
‘Very regal,’ Manon says. ‘Or we could do everything in black and make a statement that way.’
I roll my eyes. Manon wears only black. Black jeans and jumpers. Black eyeliner. Black boots. Even in summer, but she’ll swap to black form-fitting dresses. What can I say? She’s edgy. I tend to wear bright colours and have a capsule wardrobe that can be easily mixed and matched. My clothes are already hung neatly in the closet, whereas Manon’s clothing is still in her suitcase and will eventually be discarded in messy heaps around her room as time goes on, much like one of the backpacking couples, who no doubt Manon will gel with.
‘How much will a fancy stair runner cost though?’
‘I’ll research.’ I jot that into my notes app.
At the top of the stairs is an ornate wrought-iron double door with gold accents, but it’s marred by touches of rust. I’m not quite sure how to spruce up wrought iron but I’m sure it can be done. We check out two of the suites as we go down the hallway. They’re a lot bigger but still have the same colour scheme. The furniture is of a higher quality, although slightly shabby and scuffed from age. ‘These are more sumptuous and definitely deluxe. We need to be mindful how much it will take to refurb these bigger spaces.’ The photos on the website hadn’t shown the width and breadth of just how generous the third-floor suites are. The hotel doesn’t have an elevator, which is more common in Paris than people think, so I’m glad we can avoid having to carry heavy pieces like wardrobes and sofas up and down stairs, and instead we can make the best with what we’ve got and dress the rooms with some extra bits and pieces like rugs, artwork and lamps if we can find them on the cheap.
‘Oui,’ Manon says. ‘Why don’t we makeover one deluxe suite for the soft launch and do the other five at a later date?’
‘Great idea, Manon. We can decorate each suite for Christmas too, which can distract from the fact they’re not as fancy as we’d like right now.’
The last suites we peer into are even bigger, apartment-sized with kitchenettes for large groups or families. My mind whirls with how we’ll manage scheduling the renovations and which suites to complete first to appeal to our Christmas holiday guests.
The suites that have the view onto Rue de Vaugirard and the gardens are probably the ideal candidates, rather than the opposite side, which has a view to the buildings behind. I shut the door and wipe my hands on the front of my jeans. Dust has taken up residency on every surface, especially on the third floor where the backpackers clearly haven’t explored and disturbed it, as it clings to our clothes, our hands.
‘That mirror is gorgeous,’ Manon says, pointing to a gold floor-length arched mirror that hangs on the wall at the end of the hallway. ‘But it looks like it’s going to fall off.’
I check behind the mirror. It’s secured only by a thin bolt that bends under the weight of the baroque gilded frame. ‘We’ll have to rehang it with a stronger fixture.’
We need a professional for the renovation work but I hope we can teach ourselves DIY for jobs like securing the mirror. ‘We’ll have to hire a builder for the more laborious aspects and see how much we can save by doing some things ourselves. Then we’ll have to tally figures for each room, even if we only keep three or four suites for the soft launch. At a minimum, rooms will need fresh bedding, mattresses, bath towels, bedside tables, lamps, Christmas decorations…’
I don’t have the budget for such luxuries; I’ve only budgeted for the builder, so even the bare necessities might be a stretch. I guess part of me was hoping to find a neat, clean hotel ready to add a magic touch to elevate it andvoilà. My ex-husbandhas really put me in a bind with the hotel, and that same wave of panic washes over me. How can I manage this and not lose everything?
‘I’ll have to consider increasing the loan, even though that’s the last thing I want to do.’
‘Or you could borrow from your parents? Or mine? They’ll loan you money, me not so much. They’re still upset about me totalling their Audi. They think the wild boar story was a lie.’
‘Itwasa lie.’
‘That’s beside the point. Anyway, all I’m saying is your parents aren’t holding a grudge against you so will most likely be amenable to a loan.’
I sigh. ‘But I’d never hear the end of it, would I?’ Nothing is sacrosanct in our family. Gossip runs hot and with the advent of WhatsApp family group chats, there’s no avoiding it. It’ll be splashed online and dissected by every family member. I’m still recovering from the Francois-Xavier chat, where the conversation descended into talk of revenge, and for a moment I was truly suspicious of my family, recalling that we’d never seen or heard from Aunt Odette’s husband after it was discovered he’d been selling off our family heirlooms to fund his gambling habit and had a woman half his age stashed in a Parisian pied-à-terre. I’mstillsuspicious. Even if their hearts are in the right place. I’m not brave enough to ask Manon about her involvement in a possible missing person’s case, because, let’s be honest, if someone had to do the disappearing, the job would be given to her.
‘Non. You’d never hear the end of it.’ Manon blows out a breath. ‘But is the payoff worth it? Probably.’
I throw up my hands, surrendering to this feeling of fear. Fear I’ll lose everything. Fear I’m not experienced enough. All I can do is face those fears head on and keep the faith. ‘We’ll do as much as humanly possible, and I’ll avoid borrowingmoney unless there’s no other option. Maybe the builder will be remarkably affordable, and all this worry will be for nothing.’
‘I can see blisters in my future. Scrubbing, painting, cleaning, backbreaking labour. Why did I ever agree to this plan? I was happy working three menial jobs so I could afford my rent in the 20th arrondissement.’
‘You hated all three jobs, and you love me and know this is a good plan.’
She cocks her head as she surveys me. ‘Is it love though or just a familial bond? And how strong is that bond? That’s the debate raging inside my head right now.’
I laugh, the first proper laugh I’ve had in ages. I moved in with Manon after negotiations turned sour in the divorce and Francois-Xavier was granted permission to live in our apartment in Le Marais while we finalised everything. There was no way I was going to cohabit with him again, no matter how they spun the benefits of such a preposterous notion. And really, that was probably their game plan, to ensure I’d move out. My cousin welcomed me with open arms and gave me a place to stay until we were able to move into the hotel. Once the sale of the hotel is complete, we plan to rent an apartment together. Although living in close proximity with Manon has its challenges, it’s preferable to living alone, and, despite our differences, we’re a good team.
‘Everywhere I look there’s a wall to paint, and if I have to do the high bits, the low bits and the middle…’
‘Let’s break for lunch. You’ll feel more inspired after that. We’ve got to come up with a new hotel name… something literary. Something that all bookworms will recognise and then you can get onto the branding side of things.’
‘Ooh la la,what will the name be?’
Later that night, I slip into my freshly made bed, prop my laptop on a pillow and open my Word document. It’s been a long, tiring day and my nerves are shot, but I must write, even though every part of me wants to sleep.
