Manon’s busy drawing a design for the library layout when I go to the reception desk to look for the set of master keys the realtor gave us. The keys are various sizes and shapes and none of them are marked or numbered.
I head up to the third floor and down the long skinny hallway to the locked door. I peer into the keyhole as if I can discern on sight what kind of key it might be. Which it turns out, I cannot. There’s no other choice except to try each one and see which fits.
Ten minutes later, I get to the last key and still no luck.
I head back to my office and email the realtor to ask if she knows if there’s any other spare keys lying around on the off chance she was given an antique bunch and popped them in a drawer or something. A girl can dream! I don’t mention thesecret suites; after all, how do I know she won’t report back to Francois-Xavier?
She replies a few minutes later telling me there is a key safe cabinet behind the reception desk. When I find it, I smile. It’s so old fashioned. These days most hotels have electronic keys, but not L’Hotel du Parc. In a way it’s charming, although perhaps I’ll have to make sure there are plenty of spares in case of any losses. There are keys hooked for suites one to eighteen. A dead end. I crank Christmas carols on my phone and spend the afternoon singing as I sort behind the counter, ditching old paperwork and tidying up, but I don’t come across any extra keys.
Why is suite nineteen locked? What’s behind that door?
10
8 NOVEMBER
The next day, the first building contractor, a big burly thirty-something man named JP, arrives to quote. He wears a bright yellow hard hat and reflective vest. Probably sensible, what with the falling objects around L’Hotel du Parc. With clipboard in hand, he scribbles notes as we go from room to room.
He assures me the lobby, library and other shared guests’ spaces are mostly cosmetic to fix at first glance. The idea puts a spring in my step. Maybe the renovations will come in under budget? I motion for him to head upstairs to the suites. ‘This is the first of eighteen guest rooms?’ JP asks, tapping the clipboard with his pen.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him about the secret suites nineteen and twenty, knowing he’ll have to fix the damage we did bringing the wall down, but as we’ve been unable to locate keys, I want to keep the discovery of those rooms quiet for now. I send Manon a warning look, to keep her mouth closed.
‘Oui, eighteen in total. For our soft launch we’re hoping to get three or four suites completed to start with, plus the ones we’re staying in, but ours don’t need the full treatment. Perhaps youcan advise us as to which suites need the least amount of work and we can focus on those for our Christmas opening?’
‘Bein sûr.’ He pushes the door open to Manon’s suite to find her lacy underwear strewn from one side to the other, including a pink G-string that hangs from the bedside lamp.Mypink G-string. I take stock of the lingerie on display and blush when I realise it’s all mine and she’s staged this scene to embarrass the poor guy. Manon gives me a wicked grin. ‘Ahem. Ah.’ His cheeks pink as he drops his gaze, as if willing himself away.
‘Sorry, Manon is a slob.’ My cousin has never grown out of these sorts of high jinks.
‘It’s notmyunderwear,’ she says faux innocently. ‘Personally, I don’t understand the practicality of wearing a piece of material so thin it disappears up your…’
‘Anyway,’ I say, giving him a bright smile. ‘If you look past the, erm, clutter, we were hoping to get our rooms done first so we can settle in more comfortably. The bathrooms will need a little updating, perhaps new sinks, new tapware, as I’m hoping the budget’ – the very mediocre budget, I might add – ‘will mostly be to cover a few suites, lobby and guest lounge with a focus on the library. Manon and I can pitch in wherever you see fit, so we can save money.’
He does his best to swallow a sigh but fails. I guess us pitching in is more of a headache than helpful to him. ‘Right, but you’ve got mould on the ceiling here, which means there’s a leak of some kind. We’ll have to investigate and determine the cause. Repair and replace, and paint.’
I grimace. ‘Sounds… expensive.’
He shrugs as he jots notes. ‘It can be.’
I survey the ceiling, looking for mould, and can’t see any black or green spots. There are just some small swirls of discolouration where the crumbling cornice meets the ceiling. Surely that’s easy to fix? ‘OK, let’s continue.’ We go from suite tosuite and JP examines every room up close like he’s a detective hunting for clues. I respect a man with an eye for detail – it’s a tick in the box for JP – but as usual Manon finds the pace tedious and lets out numerous exaggerated yawns. I shoot her a glare, but it bounces right off her.
We get to suite seven and I go to open the bathroom door with JP a step behind me and Manon trailing after. ‘So what do you—’ The words die in my throat, truly die, as we tumble backward and bang into one another in our hasty attempt to retreat while we’re hit with a stench so malodorous that it will outlast time.
‘Mon Dieu,’ JP says, his eyes bulging like he’s been poisoned as he covers his mouth with his clipboard and coughs and splutters like a man possessed.
Even Manon grimaces and doesn’t burst forth with any sarcastic comments. I rally, giving him a sunny smile, implying all is well. I don’t want him scared off. ‘I hope it’s easily fixed!’ In my mind my budget explodes and is replaced with all those zeroes Manon thought were missing.
‘The only thing that could fix this would be anexorcism,’ Manon unhelpfully adds, recovering. The poor guy flinches at her comment and I fire her my best cease-and-desist glare, which she duly ignores.
JP peeks behind the shower curtain and gasps. That can’t be good.
‘I know salmon-coloured… everything can be a little overwhelming at first, but you get used to it.’
Whatisthat smell? To say it’s overpowering would be an understatement, but the bathroom appears just the same as the others. Mostly neat and tidy with a layer of dust from being empty for so long.
‘It’s not the design per se, it’s thereek. Whatever’s causing it, it can’t be good.’
Manon takes a great big sniff and nods to herself. ‘Is someone buried under the bath itself?’ she asks. ‘I mean, it’s possible. With my wealth of experience as a true crime podcaster, I hate to say but these things happen all the time and are often unearthed during renovations.’
‘Itcouldbe a dead body, I can’t rule it out,’ JP says. ‘But, in all likelihood, it’s probably decades worth of mould. Bacteria growing faster than inflation ever could.’
