The warmly lit piano bar with its moody aesthetic makes me feel like we’ve truly travelled back in time to the Roaring Twenties. Outside, rain patters down, blurring the windows. I have the strangest sensation as I pause at the bar in front of the plaque bearing Hemingway’s name. It’s as though they’ve been holding his spot for all these years, hoping one day he’ll return with his cheeks ruddy from cold, extolling patrons about why he’s been missing, what he’s been writing, as he takes a drink at the bar, all eyes riveted to him.
Unless he never left. Maybe his lively spirit hovers here in the ether, in Paris, in La Closerie des Lilas where he wrote, read, swapped manuscripts and debated with fellow wordsmiths. Celebrated and commiserated with them on the long, blustery days inside, out of the rain, with a shot of his favourite tipple of rum to warm his body.
‘You sit in Hemingway’s spot,’ Manon says. ‘You’re all starry eyed, as if he’s really here.’ She brings me back to the present with a bang. ‘Why you’re suddenly so rapt thinking about long-dead writers is mystifying, unless… it has something to do with a certain neighbour, who reminded you of a young Ernest.’ She waggles a brow suggestively. I should never have admitted thatto her. But Noah does remind me of Hemingway, not only in looks. It’s also his verve, his soulful eyes, the way he takes charge. A man who knows his mind. It’s a heady thing, and I must avoid it at all costs.
I heave a sigh and order a Kir,a French aperitif of crème de cassis and white wine, while I peruse lunch options. I don’t point out to Manon that even the menu has a nod to the writer whose barstool I’ve taken, with a pan-fried fillet of beef cooked ‘Hemingway’ style. For an American, he’s part of the fabric of Paris, then and evermore.
Manon is waiting for a response, her hunger seemingly forgotten, so I say, ‘It’s got nothing to do with Noah, and more with the idea of helping future guests find these hidden gems all over Paris. Really, we’ll need to offer them more than just stacked bookshelves if we’re to call ourselves a boutique literary hotel.’
‘You keep telling yourself that. I don’t believe a word of it.’ Manon takes the menu and we place an order for sea bream tartare for me, and duck foie gras for my cousin.
‘Isn’t that Noah now? It’s like you wished him here!’ Manon says, and she points to a man storming down the avenue, eyes ablaze as our drinks are deposited on to the mahogany bar.
‘Is he coming in here?’ I ask as my phone beeps with a text from JP.
Your neighbour Noah is on his way to you. Says it’s urgent. JP
17
18 NOVEMBER
‘Ugh, JP told him where to find us.’ Noah locks his eyes on mine through the rain-dashed window. By the set of his jaw, it’s obvious he’s not happy. He swaggers inside, as if he owns the place. No surprise there; it tracks with his massive ego. Noah points in our direction as the waiter gives a lackadaisical shrug, leaving him free to stomp towards us.
‘You didn’t think to tell me renovations were starting today!’ Noah says, his voice tight. Just who does he think he is? He doesn’t own the entirety of Rue de Vaugirard, so it’s none of his business.
Not wanting to rush my retort, I take a sip of Kir, the alcohol instantly warming me. ‘Oh? I didn’t realise I had to run everything past you.’ While it might be good manners to warn the neighbours, I didn’t want to get into a slanging match with Noah about it. Looks like that avoidance tactic has backfired.
He sighs and gazes up to the heavens as if he needs guidance from above. ‘They’re already banging about, making enough noise to wake the dead.’
‘I’m not sure if there’s a way to bang noiselessly, but I can ask.’ How else does he think I can change the ‘desolate’ hotelthat’s bringing down the entire 6th arrondissement without creating any noise?
‘I have a literary event in the bar today. How are my patrons going to hear the guest author with that sort of carry on going on next door?’
I frown. ‘Obviously renovations aren’t silent for the most part.’
He huffs and puffs like the big bad wolf. ‘Can you tell your builder to stop the noise between two and fourp.m. at least?’
‘I mean, I could, but isn’t it best for all involved if we get the work done as fast as possible?’
Noah scrubs his face as impatience radiates off him. ‘Oui, faster is better, but there are so many of them. The place is heaving. There are trucks going up and down the length of the street. It cannot continue like this.’
I bristle at the way he talks to me, as if I should be conferring with him for permission like I’m some underling.
I’m about to retort when he says, ‘And why would you get that huge industrial-size skip deposited right out the front of the hotel? It’s an eyesore. Every time they throw something in it, a layer of dust coats my freshly washed windows.’ This man is obsessed with clean windows!
I fold my arms across my chest to stop myself poking a finger in his face. I have to force myself to remain composed because I’m at my limit with men who think they’re the supreme voice in every matter, even matters that aren’t their concern. ‘When you renovated your wine bar, where did your skip go?’
Noah has the grace to blush. ‘How is that relevant?’
‘How is it not? You know there’s no room at the back of the building for the skip, Noah. If there was, we’d have put it there. It’s double standards, is what this is.’
He unravels his woollen scarf as if he’s overheating. I’m not sure if it’s from his temper or the warmth in the restaurant.‘There’s plenty of room out the back, further down the side street.’
I arch a brow. ‘And your skip went all the way down there, did it?’
A muscle works in his jaw as if he’s trying to stop the truth leaking out, but I can see right through that. Typical alpha-male behaviour. ‘Well…non, but my renovations were on a smaller scale, and I discussed it with the previous hotelier first. We can work together, Anais, if you keep me informed.’
The hide of this man. The wannabe king of Rue de Vaugirard. ‘I’m acting under accordance of city rules and regulations and with the guidance of my building supervisor. There’s going to be some disruption, noise, and mess for a month or so, but we’ll keep it to daytime hours as is standard practice. Your bar is usually closed during the day, so I can’t see this being an ongoing issue for you.’
