Paris Lights Page 9

  All I hoped in that instant was that he hadn’t seen me. My eyes peered over the top of the Vogue magazine I was reading as I slunk down in my chair in the lounge. I had a clear view to where he stood in reception.

  ‘Bonjour, Monsieur—’

  ‘What is this?’ Louis snapped, motioning to the bell he had just rung.

  Cecile’s mouth was agape, her eyes darting to the gold bell on the counter top.

  Philippe quickly took the lead. ‘That is for guests to ring if the reception is unattended.’

  ‘Why would you leave the reception unmanned?’

  ‘Well, sometimes we need to go and help other guests and sometimes there is only one of us at the desk and, and—’ Philippe was flailing, and I felt so bad for him I just wanted to give him a hug.

  ‘This reception is never to be left unattended, do you understand? I don’t care if a fire burns beneath your feet: during business hours you are here to welcome and greet guests always.’ Louis scooped up the bell and chucked it into the waste basket behind the counter. Even Philippe looked impressed. ‘No more bells,’ he added with a no-nonsense intensity to his voice.

  Cecile gathered herself again, continuing as if nothing had happened. ‘Welcome to Hotel Trocadéro, if you could please fill in this form, I will have Gaston collect your bags and show you to your room.’

  ‘Are you not going to tell me about the hotel facilities?’

  Oh my God, give her a bloody chance.

  Cecile faltered. ‘Oh, facilities?’

  Louis scribbled his details on the paper manically, not even looking up as he spoke. ‘What time is breakfast? Is there room service, wifi, a turn-down service, laundry, minibar?’

  Cecile seemed flustered; it was as if I could see the inner workings of her mind, and it was screaming at her for being so stupid.

  Louis violently signed his name and passed the form back over to Cecile. ‘Let’s make one thing perfectly clear,’ he said, his eyes shifting between Philippe and Cecile. ‘I don’t want to be your friend.’

  Whoa. I couldn’t clearly see their reactions, but if they were anything like mine, I’m sure they would have wanted to hide behind a magazine too. I had absolutely no intention of apologising, not to this version of Louis. This was the ruthless businessman I had seen on those frightening YouTube clips, and although he wasn’t being a screaming tyrant, he was nevertheless extremely blunt and severe. I swallowed, gripping the edges of my magazine with a white-knuckled intensity.

  Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me.

  Mercifully, Gaston lingered anxiously, if ever so patiently, behind Louis. He picked up his luggage and took him to his room. The Hotel Trocadéro had officially checked in Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.

  I watched Louis disappear from sight and let the clock tick over a few minutes before I left the sanctuary of the lounge and headed to the foyer. I exchanged looks with Cecile before heading to the lift and pressing the button, waiting for the agonisingly slow numbers above the door to click down. Just as the lift dinged its arrival, the door to the small office opened, and out came a flustered Gaston.

  ‘I will bring your luggage up as soon as you are settled,’ he said, turning to Louis, who followed him out to the foyer, only to pause when he saw me standing there. The lift’s door had barely opened before I jumped into action, diving inside, pushing the button incessantly for the doors to close. It made no difference – they closed oh so slowly, as they always did. I exhaled in relief as the strip of light across my face diminished as the door closed me off in the relative safety of the tiny lift, ready to lock me away from those eyes. Until of course an arm jammed itself into the gap.

  I yelped at the unexpectedness of it and the door retracted, revealing Louis. He quickly pushed into the lift, standing by my side. So fast did it all happen he even beat me to selecting which floor to hit, making me blink and shoot my hand out to hover over the lit button. Louis had selected the sixth floor, the very same floor I was staying on.

  Oh shit.

  I pulled my hand away as if I had been electrocuted.

  ‘Coming for a ride?’ he said.

  I suddenly felt hot and claustrophobic in the tiny space with Louis’s arm touching mine and that same, undeniably decadent, cologne in the air. I had to remind myself to take deep, calming breaths so as not to totally freak the fuck out as the pained screeching of the lift shuddered its way upward. This could not be happening, he could not be my new neighbour; I had wanted to avoid him, not as good as shack up with him.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the lift shunted to an abrupt halt, opening its door to release me from my holding cell. We both stepped onto the landing. I’d thought the opening of the doors and stepping out into a vaster space would kill any awkwardness between us, but I was so wrong. I knew that in order to get to his door – directly opposite mine – Louis would have to walk the same long, narrow hall. A long, long walk – was it too late to jump back into the lift?

  I thought Louis might extend his hand and offer a gentlemanly ‘After you’, but he did no such thing, and why should he? He was no gentleman, and as far as being wooed by custom-made, designer staff uniforms, I think perhaps Cecile was a bit overexcited. After all, that hadn’t been from the kindness of his heart – this was business, something he intended to rule with an iron fist. It was evident from when he had stormed in here this evening that there was no Mr Nice Guy, if there had ever been a glimmer of such a man.

  I don’t want to be your friend was as warm as he was going to get. And if I was going to be working alongside him, practically living beside him for the next couple of weeks, then maybe I would use some initiative and try to get off on the right foot, because all other attempts had certainly been a disaster.

  Louis walked past me, but instead of going down the hall, he stood in front of the window that led out to a tiny terrace with a view of the buildings across the way. There he stood, seemingly not even giving a single thought to me lingering awkwardly in front of the lift as I stared at his back. His arms were crossed, his stance wide as he glowered down at the street. A king overseeing his kingdom, his mind ticking over with all the thoughts of a business proposal and the trauma that he was no doubt planning to put everyone through. Yep, I definitely had to start this off right.

  I tentatively went to stand at his side. A silence hung in the air, interrupted only by the sounds of a distant siren and traffic. I almost let myself get lost in the view, almost completely forgetting what I was standing there for. I breathed deeply to calm myself before gathering enough nerve to turn my head and look at his strong, manly profile, his brooding stare emphasised by the darker lines of his concentration.

  This is it, this is the moment you’ve been looking for, and now is the perfect time to redeem yourself. Do it, Claire, and then you’ll know that you’ve done the right thing.

  That one inner voice cut through the others screaming at me to run to my room and lock the door, I shut the fear down and dug my nails into the palm of my hands, no doubt leaving half-moon crescents in my flesh.

  Now or never.

  ‘Louis … I’m sorry.’

  Louis’s head snapped around so fast it took all my willpower not to break into a smile. I couldn’t help feeling completely smug at the sheer surprise in his expression as he stared down at me. I had never felt more powerful.

  He seemed confused but didn’t ask me any questions; I guess based on our exchanges you wouldn’t have to be a genius to know why the word ‘sorry’ was coming out of my mouth. He also looked annoyed, which wasn’t the easiest thing to pinpoint because that’s the way he always looked, like he had a bad taste in his mouth.

  ‘Who knew an apology could be taken so badly?’ I said, thinking maybe I should have just kept it to myself. I don’t know what I expected really, maybe a curt nod of acknowledgement, or him waving my words away. I certainly didn’t expect barely any reaction at all.

  I don’t want to be your friend. That’s what he’d said
to Cecile and Philippe – clearly it went for everyone. Right. Got it. I had said my piece. I wouldn’t push it while I had my pride semi intact.

  I peeled away from him, making the journey along the narrow hall, thinking at least there wouldn’t be an awkward walk together to our bedroom doors, until of course I pulled up in front of mine to take out the room key and noticed Louis approaching. Mercifully there wasn’t a trick jiggle and twist with this door, but still, the quicker I tried to slot in the key and turn it, the more clumsy I became. It wasn’t long before Louis was at my back, sliding in his own key and unlocking the door with ease. I couldn’t help but glance at him, smugly pushing through his door, a knowing smirk the last thing I saw before he let the door slam behind him just as my lock clicked open.

  Bastard.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It now made sense that rendezvous was a French word. It was made specifically to describe the way terrified staff of hotels assemble in secret. The staff of the Hotel Trocadéro called it a ‘crisis meeting’.

  In the four hours that Louis had been in the building, he had gone down to reception three times, and rung down six; needless to say, Cecile was a bit frazzled. I hoped they planned to enjoy their designer uniforms, because something told me that you got nothing for nothing when it came to Louis.

  ‘Claire, why are you subjecting yourself to this madness? You can leave at any time,’ Cathy asked. Her question seemed a logical one.

  ‘I suppose I should be out seeing the sights, being a tourist,’ I agreed, as I glanced around the cramped office. Francois was biting his nails. Gaspard rubbed his belly, his white T-shirt stained with something orange. Philippe ran a trembling finger along his monobrow, attempting to smooth away his stress, I suppose. Even Gaston’s lightheartedness was noticeably absent. There were other faces I had not seen before, the cleaners. The whole atmosphere was enough to give anyone a stomach ulcer, so why was I here when I could be cruising down the Seine?

  And then I realised.

  ‘I guess I have nowhere else to go.’ My words may have sounded sad, but I was okay. The distraction of all the drama had me not so much worried like the rest of the staff, but somewhat … entertained. Yeah, I was a bad person. Not to mention I loved a good challenge, something I hadn’t really been faced with recently, and when it came to degrees of difficulty, Louis Delarue was a bloody eleven out of ten.

  ‘The man is mad!’ Gaspard declared.

  ‘The man is a genius,’ corrected Francois.

  Gaspard slashed a hand through the air, wiping Francois’s words away. ‘So, he’s a mad genius then, I don’t care.’

  ‘I don’t know about any of that, but he scares me,’ said Sophie, one of the cleaning ladies.

  ‘Well, try being neighbours with him, that’s not much fun,’ I said.

  ‘I told you not to put her on the sixth floor,’ Cathy said to Cecile.

  ‘Wait, is that the reason why? Because he was going to stay on the sixth floor?’

  Cecile’s mouth became a grim line.

  ‘Okay. That makes sense,’ I said. Then I thought of the care they had taken to make the world-renowned chef comfortable – they renovated the sixth floor but couldn’t clean out the bloody cool room? It seemed the staff of Hotel Trocadéro had gone all out only in some aspects to reduce the fallout from Chef Louis, but as far as I could see they had a long, long way to go.

  It was then I knew what the challenge was, why I was here in this tiny, claustrophobic room instead of wandering the streets of Paris and Instagramming my adventures. I had something far more valuable than anything anyone in this room had: I was a tourist. Staying in the hotel, experiencing every aspect of service before I became a part of the team. I could pinpoint it all, and if I was to help them, I knew exactly how. I had to make them aware of the things they could not see.

  I smiled to myself, revelling in the wicked way my mind worked.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Cathy asked, nudging my arm.

  All anxious eyes turned to me, intrigued at how well I was handling the pressure.

  I gave them a knowing smile. ‘Madames and monsieurs, if you bear with me, I think I might have some game-changing advice.’ I grabbed a pen and notepad. I couldn’t have had any more power even if I’d had a pointer and overhead projector. I was in the zone, scribbling profusely.

  ‘Now the main objective will be to work with him, not against him. Agree with kindness and acceptance.’

  ‘Does that go for you too?’ mused Gaspard, earning him a snigger from everyone surrounding me at the desk.

  I couldn’t help but smile. ‘Yes, even me.’ I looked down at my paper with its growing list of dot points. ‘He is probably going to want to see all the rooms. Are there any that are really bad?’

  Sophie said, ‘Rooms eleven and fourteen are our worst, the air conditioner leaked and stained the carpet in eleven, and fourteen has hole in the wall behind the door.’

  ‘Okay, well, he is going to be asking why it hasn’t been fixed, so we all need to know the answer, and we all need to have the same answer. Nothing will infuriate him more than a blank look.’

  ‘So what else can we do to not make him so angry?’ Cathy asked.

  ‘We can’t redo his first impressions, unfortunately, but I can tell you what my first impression was when I came here.’

  Philippe shifted uneasily, almost like he wasn’t prepared for the truth.

  ‘It was really lovely: the décor is dated, the hotel is a bit rundown, but I saw past all that, and you know what the most important thing was?’

  Everyone seemed to shrug.

  ‘It was you guys: the staff were helpful, friendly, welcoming.’ I looked at Gaston, whose chest puffed out a little. ‘It wasn’t enough to avoid being kind of disappointed by my room, but it made a huge difference. The aesthetics of the hotel – the décor, linen, food, all that can change; all that can be fixed, but if you don’t have the right staff with the right attitude, then all the thread counts and fancy wallpapers in the world mean nothing. Let him take you into the twenty-first century, and even point out the things you think will benefit the hotel. Remember, he is going to respond better to passion than fear.’

  ‘How do you know so much?’ asked Gaspard, who seemed rather unconvinced.

  ‘Look, I’m not saying he’s not going to chew you out in every department and tear shreds off us, all I’m saying is be prepared. Don’t fight the obvious or offer excuses. Agree that it’s unacceptable, and move on toward a solution.’

  ‘Anything else?’ asked Francois.

  I thought for a moment. ‘Don’t apologise.’

  Cecile was confused, ready to challenge me.

  ‘Don’t apologise,’ I repeated. ‘Remember, we can reconvene at any time, but just try not to worry, I am so sure everything will be absolutely fi—’

  My words were cut off by the loud, insistent sound of a bell ringing, as if someone was slapping it, again and again and again.

  We looked at one another.

  ‘Who is covering reception?’ I asked urgently.

  Cecile and Philippe stared at one another, their horror paramount.

  Everyone scrambled for the door, pouring out of the small room and into the foyer. Our shoes squeaked inelegantly along the floor, and as soon as we had rushed around the corner into the lobby, our fears were realised.

  There, standing in reception, was an irate-looking Louis Delarue, slamming his hand on the reception bell repeatedly, the very one he had thrown into the wastepaper basket earlier. We stood there, a hovering school of fish waiting to swim into shark-infested waters.

  Cecile marched forward, taking the bell from the counter, and glorious silence fell. ‘I am so sorry, Monsieur Delarue.’

  I closed my eyes, dread sweeping over me as Cecile did the very thing I had asked her not to.

  Opening them, I could see a vein pulse in the side of Louis’s neck, his expression incredulous as his attention skimmed over the rest of us. We dispersed like
rats in an alley, all quickstepping to our appointed places, except for me – I stood in the foyer, being stared down by Louis’s murderous blue eyes. He seemed about to explode.

  Instead, without taking his gaze from mine, he stalked toward a visibly shaken Cecile. He held his hand out to her, but kept his eyes on me. I wanted to look away, but I knew this was not how the game went. Cecile didn’t need Louis to put it into words. She placed the bell into the palm of his hand, waiting for the onslaught, ready to duck when he hurled the bell across the room to smash it into a million pieces. Instead, he finally looked at Cecile.

  ‘I want to meet with all staff in the morning at six, in the restaurant. I wouldn’t want to miss out on anything.’ His words dripped with sarcasm.

  ‘Pardon, Monsieur Delarue, but tomorrow is my day off,’ said Philippe, who stood behind the reception desk.

  Louis looked at him, cutting him down with his eyes. It was almost like a superpower.

  ‘But of course I will be here,’ Philippe stammered. It was the right response, seeing as Louis Delarue seemed less angry and more bored now, turning his attention back to Cecile.

  ‘I’ll conduct one-on-one interviews tomorrow with every staff member,’ he said, stepping away from her and walking past me as if I was invisible, playfully throwing the bell up and catching it like a ball. We were all so relieved and ready to let him go back up to his lair, we thought we might be home free, and relatively unscathed. He pressed the button, and the lift door automatically opened for him, as if it too was afraid to mess with Louis Delarue and dare keep him waiting. He stepped in the lift and turned.