A Perfect Paris Christmas - Mandy Baggot Page 0,28

Rach… wasn’t. ‘I apologise, Antoine. Let me start again. My name is—’

‘I know who you are,’ Antoine told her. He began clicking with his mouse, eyes dropping to the screen of his computer. ‘You are guests of Madame Durand.’

‘Yes,’ Keeley answered. ‘That’s right.’

‘You are in one of our best suites on the top floor. Here are your room cards and all the information you need for your stay will be in your room.’ He placed two key cards on the desk.

‘Is there a bell in our room?’ Rach asked with a grin.

Keeley poked her in the ribs with her elbow. ‘Thank you,’ she answered Antoine, picking up the cards.

‘The lifts are over there.’ He pointed with flair. ‘I will arrange for someone to bring up your luggage. Madame Durand has booked you in for our world-renowned afternoon tea at 3 p.m. Do not be late. It is very popular.’ He set his expression to deeply serious and Keeley prayed that Rach didn’t laugh. ‘Breakfast is from 6 a.m. until 10 a.m. on weekdays and from 7 a.m. until 11 a.m. at the weekends. Dinner is 6.30 p.m. until 9.30 p.m. every day. I hope you enjoy your stay.’

‘Oh, we will,’ Keeley replied. ‘Thank you.’

‘Thanks, Antonie,’ Rach said.

‘Come on,’ Keeley ordered, grabbing Rach’s arm. ‘Let’s get to our room before you upset anyone else or get your hair caught on something.’

‘Like on Antonie’s stiff upper Poirot moustache?’ Rach whispered.

‘It’s ANTOINE!’

Eleven

‘This isn’t a hotel room,’ Rach announced, throwing open the balcony doors and letting in a blast of frosty air. ‘This is like an apartment!’

Keeley couldn’t deny it. This suite was as palatial as it got. Not that she was one to judge hotel suites as she hadn’t actually ever stayed in one before. The hotels she had stayed in were usually either something cheap and cheerful her dad had managed to get at an even cheaper price thanks to collecting tokens from the newspaper, or they were not really thought about as destinations themselves, more for practical purposes. Like when she had travelled up to Birmingham to an expo on home design. Bea had gone with her. They had eaten all the free biscuits in their room and Bea had encouraged the drinking wine out of the hotel mugs. And they had eaten pizza and chips at midnight, watching Naked Attraction and being horribly judgemental about the contestants’ body parts while mozzarella grease got all over the duvet covers. Bea had always gone with her to shows when she wasn’t working – which wasn’t often when you were someone in charge of designing bridges and roads. Her sister had been clever and brilliant and often Keeley had felt pride oozing from her when Bea talked about her career. Those weekends with Bea were the ones Keeley had looked forward to the most. Arriving at an exhibition, Keeley would always look at everything from a home interiors angle – smooth arches and fluffy cushions – whereas Bea would be there eyeing up a standard lamp and telling Keeley how bright a wattage you could get away with before the shade would catch fire. Bea had always been as practical as Keeley was creative. Not that Bea wasn’t creative, they just went at things from different perspectives… and Keeley missed that. She shivered, in the midst of her unpacking.

‘Rach, could you close the doors? It’s not really the weather for letting the air in.’

‘We’ve got a balcony though! With the most amazing view of the Eiffel Tower!’ Rach was shouting from the balcony where she seemed to be leaning out over the railings and embracing the Paris skyline. Keeley put down a burgundy jumper she didn’t even remember packing and stepped towards the outside.

And the vista blew her away. There was that grand lady of Paris, a little to their right, its feet planted just behind two buildings ahead of it. It wasn’t quite close enough to touch, but it was near enough for Keeley to feel even more awestruck from this position outside. She was already wondering exactly how much more spectacular it was going to look at night.

‘Brilliant, right?’ Rach asked, nudging Keeley. ‘I’ve already taken a million photos. You can help me pick the best one for Instagram. I’ll tag Roland and the firm in it, try and get him a bit of attention so he isn’t pissy with us when we get back.’

‘He was pissy, wasn’t he?’ Keeley said with a sigh. ‘Maybe coming here now was completely the