‘Look,’ I say, indicating to a small queue of people, shuffling to keep warm.
‘What are they waiting for?’
‘You’ll see.’
When it’s our turn, we move to the portal-like window and peer in.
‘Ah! I see!’ says Manon.
‘This is known as the secret apartment. Gustave Eiffel used the space as an office. It’s been restored back to its original layout. Back then he’d invite notable guests here, or would conduct science experiments.’ Now there’s a tableau of wax sculptures featuring Gustave Eiffel, his daughter Claire, and guest Thomas Edison, who gifted the engineer the first sound recording device ever made. The display features a piano, desks and sofas. The secret apartment is one hundred square metres, but some of the space is obstructed by the elevator chute and stairwell.
‘This has to be the best apartment in Paris. I can’t believe I had no idea this existed.’
The queue grows behind us, so it’s time to move on. ‘We can do this too, Manon. With the secret library.’
‘Ooh la la!Giving our guests a sneak peek into what effectively is a room where time stopped a hundred years ago. You’re a genius, Anais.’
‘Perhaps not only our guests but the public too?’
We hold off discussing it as we make our way down in the elevator, but, once we’re deposited on the ground floor, we resume our excited chatter.
‘Would you make it like Gustave Eiffel’s secret apartment? With a portal window? Or…?’
‘Why not remove the door and put a three-quarter partition up? That would prevent guests from walking into the suite itself, but not obstruct their view. And…’ My words come out thick and fast as I picture how we could best honour our mysterious writer, not just for our guests but for literary fans alike.
‘There’s also suite twenty to contend with…’ Could we make it a museum exhibit of sorts? Displaying her clothing, her trinkets? There are so many options, but most important is to preserve the legacy of our mysterious writer and Lily-Louise and celebrate them in a way that is respectful.
JP pours us each a glass ofvin chaudand plays Christmas carols from his phone, the tinny sound reverberating around Library Anaïs. ‘We’ll need a proper sound system in here, won’t we? Background music for the guests.’
‘I’ll make a note to do that tomorrow,’ Manon says, reaching for her phone. The more I consider Manon wanting to stay working at the hotel, the more I’m tempted. My cousin never sticks with anything. There’s always a new hobby, new career; dare I say it, new man around every corner. She’s fully aware of her fickle nature and makes no efforts to curtail or change it, so for her to share those feelings of finally fitting in somewhere, having a place like the hotel that feels right – it does make me consider it from her perspective. What if this is meant to be – for Manon?
I’ve never seen her focused and in control like she is here. I’m suddenly the nutty distracted one making mistakes, hoping to god it all comes together, but the truth is that it’s only going to because Manon has upped her game and picked up the slack.
‘Why don’t we invite Noah to help decorate the tree?’ Manon asks, putting her phone on the table, and picking up her mulled wine to take a sip.
‘Sure,’ I say.
‘I’ll invite him over.’
A few minutes later, she returns with Noah, whose hair is mussed like he’s just woken up.
‘Did we interrupt a nap?’ I ask and hand him a glass of mulled wine, the scent of the orange and star anise perfuming the air between us.
‘I prefer to call it a power nap. It’s been hectic with one Christmas function after another.Merci,’ he says, holding the glass aloft.
Manon opens a box of ornaments. ‘Anais has decreed the tree should be decorated ombre-style, which means we go from colour to colour cascading down the tree. She’s quite pedantic about placement so make sure they’re equidistant or we’ll never hear the end of it.’
I laugh. I am a stickler for symmetry. ‘Go wild; who cares what distance they are?’
Her forehead wrinkles. ‘And you won’t sneak down at midnight and redo them?’
‘Of course I will, but have your fun now.’
Noah and JP laugh. We gather around the tree, each holding an ornament.
‘OK, so you’re both lucky to be included in our annual Christmas tree tradition, and with that responsibility comes question time. I’ll start with you, JP. Tell me, what makes the perfect Christmas gift? Novelty socks that sayAll the JingleLadies, or a more heartfelt gift like homemade gingerbread and a handwritten card?’
JP loops a Santa ornament at the top of the tree. ‘Why not both?’
