A Perfect Paris Christmas - Mandy Baggot Page 0,23
the premises, his entry bringing a gust of icy draught to the comforting warmth. Noel’s usually perfectly tamed hair was everywhere and his bright purple scarf had come out from the confines of his wool coat and was only just clinging on to his neck, its length trailing to the floor. Ethan waved a hand before shovelling in more pancakes.
‘It is eight in the morning,’ Noel greeted, peeling off his scarf and coat and sinking down into the banquette seat opposite Ethan. ‘I should be at the hotel. I have four tours arranged this morning. Then there is Francois, he is having so much of a crisis about his latest quiche creation he telephoned me at 3 a.m. talking about the consistency of his onion ganache. And we are down three chambermaids. Three.’
Ethan smiled at him. ‘Relax, Noel. Take a breath. Have some pancakes. I will get another fork.’ He had to blot out everything else and maintain a little bit of upbeat.
Noel raised an eyebrow. ‘What has happened? Are you sick?’
‘No,’ Ethan replied. ‘I am invigorated.’ It was more like single-mindedly determined for Ferne’s brainchild to continue to honour everything she had been.
‘That is why you came here? To a café that looks like an ancient bookshop with graffiti on the walls outside?’ Noel indicated the bookshelves that lined the interior of the café.
Ethan felt insulted on the café’s behalf for Noel’s words. They were here because Ethan loved this place. La Barbouquin was almost his fantasy of what a home should look like. From the bright graffiti art on the outside of the building, to the eclectic style inside. The café was a hodgepodge mix of mismatched chairs and tables with an assortment of different styles of lampshades hanging from the ceiling. There was a multitude of reading material – hardbacks, paperbacks and magazines – most dogeared and pre-loved. There was retro wallpaper and papier mâché heads, jars and plants, teapots and art. You could imagine it as the living space of a close-knit family with every decoration and ornament there for a reason. Nothing went together, except somehow maybe it actually did.
‘I like it here,’ Ethan said, picking up his sandwich and taking a bite.
‘I do not,’ Noel answered. ‘And I almost lost a shoe sliding on the cobbles.’ Ethan noticed then that his assistant was not fully sitting on his seat. His weight was balanced as if in the hope not to catch anything – dust motes, germs, history – from the slightly worn fabric. ‘Plus, this place feels like it holds the breath of a thousand forefathers.’
Ethan smiled. Yes, Noel was right. But he liked that. The café felt like it had origins, a tale attached to every piece of furniture. Ethan had somehow always felt comforted by the age as well as the well-worn state of the things here. It was relaxed. It did not conform. No one asked questions of it. He drew his focus back to Noel. ‘I want you to tell me who does Christmas the best here in Paris.’
Noel looked at him a little strangely. ‘You know that our biggest competitor is Marriott.’
‘That was not what I asked,’ Ethan said. ‘I want to know who you think does Christmas the best.’ He thought about his own question. ‘I do not mean only hotels. I mean, think of everywhere. The stores… the markets… restaurants.’
Noel seemed to then muse on the question, staring into the mid-distance and moving his head a little to the left, then a little to the right, then back to centre again.
‘Well,’ Noel began, his voice even and thoughtful, ‘Galeries Lafayette is always the most exuberant. In my humble opinion, they have all of the bright and ostentatious, with that giant Christmas tree decorated like they have piled up hundreds and hundreds of multicoloured macarons and sprinkled them with stardust. Or, one year, the tree was made to look like a gigantic cupcake version of Candy Crush, with doughnuts and lollipops and pretzels…’
‘Do you think something like that would work for Perfect Paris?’ Ethan asked. ‘A large centrepiece that will immediately catch the eye?’ Ferne would have approved of that, wouldn’t she? Something the press would talk about. Something different and flamboyant. Something others would follow in the wake of…
‘No,’ Noel said crushingly. ‘Where would we put it in the Opera hotel? Last year we removed the flower display in the foyer because it was not amenable to wheelchair users.’