‘How can you say that if you haven’t tried?’ I can’t help but tease.
‘Anais.’
From memory, the photos on the website showed the bathrooms were all the same colour, but I struggle to recall whatthat was. I send a prayer up that they’re not avocado-green or sunshine-yellow.
I open the bathroom door and am greeted with an explosion of salmon. Salmon-coloured ceilings, walls, tiles, bath and floor.
‘Wow… Salmon wasnoton my bingo card.’
‘It could be worse,’ Manon says cheerfully.
‘Oui, it makes a nice change from avocado-green. At least it’s sort of… calming. And while it’s not super chic, they’re clean and tidy so we can get away without having to fully overhaul the bathrooms if they’re all like this one, which is a relief.’
I close the bathroom door and we turn back to the suite itself. The rooms are a modest size, but big by Paris standards. The bed is heaped with pillows and linens. I rifle through to find they’re mostly ripped and frayed and can’t be salvaged. So why they’ve been dumped here is a head scratcher.
‘The balcony is nice,’ Manon says.
It’s just the right size for a table and chairs for two, for those who want to breakfast in fresh air, although the wrought iron is bent out of shape and will need repairs.
‘I’ll take this suite,’ Manon says, her tone brooking no argument.
‘Why this one?’ I ask.
‘It’s close to the stairs, which are close to the kitchen if I want to go down for a late-night snack.’
‘Good plan. I’ll take the suite opposite for now.’ Really, it makes sense being close to the lobby end of things in case our guests need us on short notice. Manon’s suite has a view of the Jardin du Luxembourg, the high black gates with golden spears and a canopy of bushy green trees.
We check out the remaining suites on the second floor, which are largely identical, save a few different wardrobes and bureaus, and are laid out dependant on where the windows are situated. However, some suites are cluttered with broken furniture: oddlegs of chairs lie marooned, and various-sized drawer inserts are stacked as if someone kept a junk pile hoping one day these bits and pieces would come in handy. In one suite there are a heap of overflowing rubbish bags, whereas a few are relatively neat as if waiting for guests.
Inexplicably, suite eight is home to an avalanche of old kettles and toasters. The room is fragrant with the smell of burnt toast. Why not ditch them if they don’t work? We peek into the two remaining rooms at the end of the hallway, which the backpacker couples have claimed as their own. We quickly check their bathrooms to make sure no extra repairs are needed and leave their suites, one of which is pristine while the other looks like a tornado has whipped through and no piece of clothing was left unscathed.
‘Why don’t we unpack our things and tidy our suites? We can check out the third floor tomorrow.’
‘Unpack?’ Manon scrunches her nose in distaste.
‘I’ll unpack, you throw your suitcase in a corner.’ My suite needs a deep clean if there’s going to be any chance for me to relax into this new life. My space has to be organised so I feel like I’ve got a handle on things, whereas Manon will most likely change her bed linen and that’s it. Oh, to be free of hang ups like she is, able to assimilate into a new environment easily.
‘Right,’ she says. ‘But what about all the stuff that’s been dumped on my bed? Do you want to keep any of it?’
‘Non, not for guests, but perhaps we can use some of it for cleaning rags or something. Throw them in the laundry for now. Meet back for dinner later?’
‘Oui.’
Once I’ve dragged my suitcase upstairs, I light a peppermint Christmas candle and place it on the shelf of the window. The minty scent helps disguise the stuffiness in the air and makes the place feel more like home as I clean and make the space my own.
4
2 NOVEMBER
After breakfast, we dispose of the rubbish we cleared from our suites the day before and tidy up the entrance to the lobby so there’s no trip hazards and we can get in and out without having to navigate trails of junk.
A few hours later, we walk up the winding staircase to the third floor to explore the six deluxe suites. The staircase itself could be a showstopper with its ornate balustrading once we rejuvenate it and bring the gold back to life. The stairs are covered in a muddy brown carpet that peels away at the edges and is damp with the distinctive smell of mould. I bend down to pull at it to see what’s underneath.
‘Manon, look! There’s marble under this brown monstrosity!’
‘Ooh la la, why would they cover up such pretty flooring?’
‘I suppose the hotel has been through many a refurbishment and had many different faces over the years. If only the walls could talk…’
