I shake my head. I’ve killed my hero. Again. In the second sentence. What is wrong with me?
18
22 NOVEMBER
We give Giselle’s apartment a quick tidy before we pack up our belongings ready to return to the noise and progress at L’Hotel du Parc. The brief reprieve has done wonders for us. Manon’s figured out how to revamp the website for bookings, and despite us not having a new name yet, she restructured it, so it’s inviting and modern. Guests can’t book as yet, but if they click on the link there are posts about our progress and an expression-of-interest form they can fill in, to be informed when bookings become available for Christmas. We can’t do much more with the site until we figure out the perfect name. No matter how much we brainstorm, nothing sounds quite right. Manon likes L’Hotel des Buveurs d’Encre, which translates to The Ink Drinker Hotel. It’s another word used to describe a bookworm in French, but I feel it doesn’t quite hit the mark.
I’m hoping the right name will appear, just like I hope the writing fairies will pay me a visit.
My romcom is still stubbornly refusing to write itself. Nevertheless, I’m hoping once I get back to my own space things will improve.
Back at the hotel, JP takes us through the work they’ve done, which is an incredible amount considering it’s only been a week. The leaks have been detected and repaired and the mouldy ceilings replaced. The delicate cornice work he’ll do later as it’s not a noise-producing job. JP takes us right around, pointing out what they’ve accomplished and what’s coming next. Without all the retro seventies décor, the place already appears cleaner, tidier, like a blank canvas.
‘OK,’ JP says. ‘Follow me.’ We walk to the second floor and stop by the door of suite three. ‘Here’s the first suite we’ve started on.’
‘Ready?’ I ask Manon. The idea of a clean slate and imagining what the suiteswilllook like is a heady thing indeed. Be gone, avocado-green drapes!
‘Ready,’ Manon confirms, giving JP a salacious wink. He frowns as if confused by such an action. Honestly, the guy is handling her well, considering.
I open the door and gasp. While it’s an empty shell, it’s so much lighter and brighter without the dingy brown rug and dusty thick drapes. They’ve cleaned the windows, and the room is bathed in natural light and ready for us to paint. ‘Manon, look how well the floors have shined up!’ The herringbone-style parquetry has been sanded and polished.
‘We could tap dance, it’s so shiny.’
And she probably would. I can see Manon in a leotard and tap shoes for some reason.
I get the first inklings of happiness. Such a small rejuvenation has produced such dramatic results. JP and his team have replaced the mouldy ceiling and fixed the crumbling cornice in this guest room. There’s still more to do but, for now, it’s a great start. ‘This is lovely!’
Even JP cracks a smile at our enthusiasm. ‘Now to the bathroom,’ he says.
And… back to reality. I scrunch my eyes closed as I open the door, not wanting to be disappointed, that the vision isn’t quite what I hoped for. While the bathrooms are spacious, there’s only so much salmon a person can handle. JP agreed on a simple fix of switching out the mirrors, sinks and tapware. The salmon tiles will stay for now, but I’m hoping they look more glamorous with golden hardware in the form of taps and soap and towel holders. Once we add thick fluffy white luxurious towels and bathmats, it should complete the look.
‘Mon Dieu!’ Manon says. ‘Anais, look. The gold accents are just beautiful. It complements the salmon colour.’
I give her a wide smile. The new extra-wide mirrors hide the bulk of salmon tiling as you enter the bathroom, and the salmon ceiling has been painted a vibrant white, which helps to calm down the previous intensity. ‘We just might make this renovation work.’ It’s a huge energy boost, expecting the worst and being pleasantly surprised. We shut the door and survey the bedroom area once more. ‘What about drapes, bedlinen, rugs? We need to decide what colours are best. I like the sheers we got for the guest lounge, but the drapes in here will have to be a blackout type.’
Manon takes her phone from her pocket and opens the notes app. ‘Well, we’ve painted the bedside tables navy, but we’re yet to switch out the handles, so we should stick with whatever matches that.’
‘Right.’ We have so much on the go, my to-do list is pages long. ‘What about simple white bed linen with a textured throw at the end of the bed, navy-blue blackout drapes with white sheers? We can go back to Marché Saint Pierre. Maybe you can use your haggling skills and do a deal with them for ready-made drapery?’
‘Oui,easy.’
‘But will those colours suit the salmon bathroom?’
‘Let’s check on Pinterest.’ Manon brings up the website and a page of colour swatches appear. ‘Those colours are great together.’ She points to the photos on screen and, somehow, they do work. The overall effect is sophisticated.
‘Gold bedside lamps. A curated selection of books.’
JP points to a space by the door. ‘We’ve added electrics to that area for your coffee station. Did you want a shelf hung there, or…’
‘A shelf would be great, and we can buy those inexpensive trolleys for mugs and coffee and tea.’
‘Before I get back to it…’ JP coughs clearing his throat. ‘There’s one other thing. Suite seven.’
‘AKA the crime scene suite!’ Manon says with a grin.
‘Manon!It is not. Is it, JP?’ Why does he stay silent?
He leads us down the hallway, and I can’t help stiffening, preparing myself for bad news. Surely he’d have called me if therewasindeed a dead body buried there. Wouldn’t there be caution tape? Detectives? Reporters out the front? I shake myself back to reality. Manon’s true crime chatter is obviously getting to me.
