So no pressure then? ‘OK. Two months though, Margaret. It doesn’t seem like enough time, not with the hotel renovations and…’ I really should shut my trap because there’s every chance Margaret will change her mind and, really, she’s being more generous than I expected.
‘I’m not asking you to write a bible-length book, I’m asking you to write a first draft. Make it messy but make it happen. Don’t overthink it butdoget that word count up each and every day.’
I sigh, but I’m glad for the reprieve no matter how impossible it sounds. I’m lucky really. Margaret has dropped clients for a whole lot less than missing deadlines. ‘So what is the official deadline date then?’
‘December thirty-first. Ho. Ho. Ho.’ And with that, she screeches at someone and hangs up.
That’s less than two months, being that today is 7 November, but I know Margaret is being more than fair.
Coffee. Everything will be better once I’ve had coffee.
In the kitchen I bump into Juliette. ‘Bonjour,’ she says.
‘Bonjour.You look bright-eyed today.’
She grins. ‘We’ve got a private tour booked and paid. It’s a relief. It’s been far too quiet of late, and I’m worried we’re going to burn through our savings if things don’t pick up.’
‘If only you were staying for good once the hotel was open and at capacity; you could offer tours to our guests.’
‘Ah!’ She holds up a finger. ‘That’s a great idea, Anais! Perhaps I could make some brochures and drop them into hotels?’
‘Why not?’
‘Merci!’ She goes to the fridge and holds up a carton of orange juice.
I shake my head. ‘Only caffeine can fix what ails me this morning.’
‘You didn’t sleep? Ooh, was it that loud crash in the middle of the night? I heard it but fell back asleep because I couldn’t rouse Timothee to go and check.’
‘Oui, a mirror on the third floor fell down.’
‘I hope you’re not superstitious!’
I laugh as Kiki comes to join us. ‘Non, but I’m very happy I wasn’t the one who broke it, therefore my luck remains intact.’ And just in case, I tap on wood.
9
7 NOVEMBER
Once the backpackers leave to meet their tour client, Manon and I dash upstairs to the third floor. For some reason, I wasn’t yet ready to share with Juliette what we found. It feels like a delicious mystery that I want to preserve until we know what lies beyond those doors.
‘You just wanted to wield a sledgehammer, didn’t you?’ I say to Manon, who is dressed in black overalls and has a plastic visor covering her face as she holds the hammer over a shoulder, body vibrating like she can’t wait a moment longer to swing it.
‘Oui!But because I’m a considerate cousin, I’ll allow you to do the honours. It’s your hotel, after all.’
‘That’s generous of you but it’s best if I protect my so-called delicate writer hands,non?’
She shrugs and turns to the wall, throwing the hammer with all her might, taking out large swathes as she goes, all the while screaming bloody murder as if she’s a rage-fuelled beast.
‘Manon!’ I admonish, but she can’t hear me over her own animalistic caterwauling. Next minute, Noah’s going to stomp over and let us know we’re breaking yet another cardinal rule – making too much noise. And, I mean, I’d probably have toreluctantly agree with him because Manon’s screaming loud enough that I worry my hearing will be permanently damaged.
A few minutes later, the wall and support beams are demolished – nay, disintegrated. Gone from this world.
‘Are… you all right, Manon?’
She drops the sledgehammer by her side. ‘I’ve never felt so ALIVE! What else needs to come down? WOO!’
I prise the weapon from her hands. ‘Ah – that’s enough destruction for one day.’
