A Perfect Paris Christmas - Mandy Baggot Page 0,141

days. Having been picked up off the floor inside Passage Jouffroy, Keeley had spent the first twelve hours or so bundled up in bed only sitting up to take the sips of water Rach offered at regular intervals or actually getting out from under the covers to visit the toilet. Then, the following day, the phone call had come, Nurse Walters informing her that Erica had passed away. It had hurt. So much. Even though she had known it was coming. Through Keeley’s fresh tears, the nurse had assured her it had been as peaceful as it could have been and that someone had been with Erica, holding her hand. Even the slightly gruff health care worker who witnessed death on a daily basis had sounded emotional. After that phone call she remembered vividly the promise she had made Erica. All in. Every time. That was a mantra for life and not reliant on anyone else’s thoughts and feelings on the subject. It was then she had finally got out of bed. She’d washed and dressed and she’d begun a new day here in Paris with a list of things she wanted to do.

And during the days that followed she had got Silvie’s go ahead to get stuck into a transformation of the hotels. Silvie had seen how areas at Opera had altered and what a difference it was making to the overall ambience of the place. Plus, the woman had also eaten some of the new simplified yet flavourful dishes on the menu and agreed they were to be immediately introduced. The jury was still out on the rabbits…

From the moment Keeley had taken that après-meltdown shower and no dye had leaked from her hair she had told herself this trip could still be all she wanted it to be and more. She didn’t regret coming to Paris. She didn’t regret meeting Silvie, or travelling around the gorgeous city, or learning more about Ferne. Whether she was meant to be here for Silvie, for herself, for Erica, or maybe even for Bea, it had been the right decision to come, despite the broken heart she was nursing. Because although her heart was crushed and possibly would never be fully mended, so much of the rest of her had started to heal.

‘Well,’ Rach said, her fingers prowling across the desk towards the slimline tie of the beaming concierge, ‘my clever friend, Keeley, has sourced some lovely hand-painted wooden Christmas eggs on strings that we can fill with sweets for the tree.’

‘As long as the sweets are allergen-free,’ Keeley reminded, ticking an earlier completed task off her list.

‘These,’ Antoine said, producing the bowl from underneath his workstation. ‘Are almond nuts.’

‘Nuts,’ Rach said long and slow.

Keeley shook her head again. ‘I’m trying to get a hotel ready for Christmas over here.’

She swallowed, realising what she had just said. What was it she was doing exactly? Taking a job that had vaguely been offered her before the person that offered it had realised she had been holding back quite an important piece of her life from him. And neither of them had known quite how intertwined that had all been. Put simply, she was keeping busy. And she hoped she was doing good. Because Ethan had gone to ground. Well, not exactly gone to ground, Jeanne and Noel – who was far more Ethan’s assistant than he was tour guide she had discovered – were reporting on the movements they were observing. Apparently, Ethan slept in his bed, but left early in the morning for who-knew-where. All Jeanne knew was that he left food for her but that there was no evidence he was eating anything himself. He made the briefest of appearances at the hotel in the Opera District, but only to delegate to his staff or, if the particular delegation was above their paygrade then he was passing the responsibility to Louis. Jeanne also said there were still no other festive decorations in the apartment except the paper, cardboard and tin foil chains she had made.

Keeley put her hand to one of the drapes she was hanging above the archway that led from reception to restaurant. She had thought about Ethan while she was drawing every brief outline plan for the communal areas of the hotel. He was in every idea and thought as she tried to carry on with what he himself had started. The hotels were going to become a home from home, just like the new slogan suggested.