A Perfect Paris Christmas - Mandy Baggot Page 0,147

– as an alternative – intimate family dining experiences went well, she had suggested to Silvie and Louis that they purchase three more of the structures. Not only could they charge money for these extras, it also fitted very well with people’s desire to still be a little socially distant. One table, one tent, one dinner to remember. ‘Thank you for being my guinea pig. Not, you know, a guinea pig like they have in the petting zoo barn but—’

‘Come on! I want to see the inside of the yurts with the elaborate drapes and the map of the sky and the Christmas trees with a gift to take home.’ Rach grabbed Keeley’s arm and pulled her towards the door.

*

Ethan couldn’t believe the transformation. It wasn’t like the small changes he had made in a corner of the hotel at Opera, this was a completely different dynamic. It was almost as if he were walking into someone else’s establishment, one he did not know at all. But that lack of initial familiarity became a lead-in to a whole host of flashes from the past. With every footstep further into the bowels of his hotel he was bowled over by the Christmas décor – the real tree decorated with tiny gingerbread men, trains, wooden eggs, stars, toy soldiers, wrapped gifts with baskets of snow-topped logs at its base, bells and garlands of fir over picture frames and mirrors. Gentle festive music played but it wasn’t an interference, it drew you in, made you feel as though you were part of a world that was going on undisturbed inside what was definitely going to be Welcome Paris. Stress was floating away, no one was without a smile, the traffic and inclement weather outside could be a mile away. Even if he hadn’t known already, he could feel that this was all Keeley.

‘Monsieur Bouchard,’ Antoine greeted him as he headed towards the door to the restaurant.

Ethan cleared his throat. ‘Good evening, Antoine.’ It felt like it had been weeks since he had been here last.

‘Your table is this way,’ Antoine said, sticking out a hand and directing.

‘I am meeting Madame Durand,’ Ethan began.

‘Yes,’ Antoine answered with a nod.

‘She is outside?’ Ethan asked. ‘Are we having dinner in this animal barn I have heard so much about?’

‘You may laugh,’ Antoine began. ‘But for a moment, until the leaflets from the animal shelter began to arrive, Chef thought the sheep were for him. He was keen in creating lamb navarin.’

Ethan wasn’t quite sure if Antoine was joking or not. He followed his directioning though, heading for the door to the garden.

A few paces later and they arrived in the area usually reserved for a few benches and racks to safely keep bicycles. The large wooden barn was at the very end, twinkling lights around his doorway, but here, now, in the foreground sat the most unusual tent he had ever seen. He paused, just looking, taking it all in. The garden was lit by flaming torches – far enough away from structures not to be a hazard – lanterns swung from the branches of the trees, illuminating the layer of crisp snow on the ground. And the tent itself – thick cream material in a circular shape, wooden struts poking out from its top – it looked like it was a dollop of thick clotted cream complete with chocolate flake that had been dropped into the centre of Paris.

‘Please,’ Antoine said. ‘Come this way.’

‘The tent?’ Ethan asked, stepping onto the snow.

‘For the brochure, it is intended to be called a “boutique boudoir”.’

‘I…’ Ethan began.

‘Very much can happen in five days,’ Antoine said, smiling.

‘So I am finding.’

Ethan stepped forward, moving up to the entrance, then tentatively he parted the curtain of fabric.

*

‘Great!’ Rach exclaimed. ‘Right on time!’

Keeley span round to face the doorway and there was Ethan, standing on the coir matting a few short metres away. Her heart was in her throat before she could attempt to do anything to stop it and she felt like she didn’t quite know what to do with herself. She drew her handbag towards her like it was a security blanket.

‘Our work here is done,’ Antoine stated, beckoning Rach towards him.

Suddenly, somehow, her best friend and her best friend’s new boyfriend managed to leave the yurt and neither she nor Ethan had moved one centimetre.

‘I… cannot believe it,’ Ethan said finally. ‘This… boutique boudoir.’ He stepped closer then, his eyes roving over all the work she had put into