off-putting, but when someone had earned his trust he had slowly let himself ease open like an obedient clam. Ethan couldn’t say, even now, looking back, that Pierre had ever welcomed him, but the man had seemed to accept his presence – and Ferne’s desire for it – in a way Louis never had. Ferne’s father had been motivated by money, exactly like his son. Retiring from his fast-paced career running his executive chauffeur service hadn’t suited him and the moment he tried to relax, switch off, embrace this slower pace of life, a heart attack had claimed him.
‘You did this,’ Louis repeated. ‘I know you did.’
Ethan scoffed, shaking his head. ‘Come on, Louis. I am twenty-eight years old. You speak of such childish things.’
‘Childish things that you would commit! Like you always have! You are like… Peter Pan!’ Louis snapped.
‘OK,’ Silvie broke in. ‘That is enough. Quite enough.’ She raised a hand, taking the fabric of Louis’s coat between her fingers and encouraging him to sit down.
‘Well,’ Ethan began, dropping into a chair too, ‘I had no idea the meeting was to begin this way. Compared to a fairy-tale character. How very grown up.’ He straightened his waistcoat. ‘I was thinking we were getting together to establish plans for Christmas at the hotels. You will see I have made a start and—’
‘We are here for that,’ Silvie agreed.
‘But it is more,’ Louis piped up, reaching for the coffee pot and squinting his good eye in an attempt to focus on the pouring.
‘Louis,’ Silvie said. ‘Let us order some breakfast and have a little coffee first.’
‘So sentimental,’ Louis whispered, shaking his head. ‘That has always been to your detriment, Mother. Father always said that business must be done with the brain and the brain should never be connected to the heart.’
Ethan felt like he was watching rather than participating now. That Silvie and Louis were privy to something he did not know about. And he did not like that. ‘What is going on?’ He looked from Silvie to Louis then back again. Silvie opened her lips, but it was Louis who voiced the next words.
‘I told my mother that I am here to help shape the future of Perfect Paris but, well, I lied,’ Louis said, full of nonchalance.
‘Louis,’ Silvie attempted to interrupt. ‘We need to talk about this a lot more before anything is firmly decided.’
‘No, Mother, we need to make decisions to secure your comfortable retirement.’
Now Ethan really disliked this turn in conversation and, again, he felt like the bystander, the fly on the wall, the child at the top of the stairs at the orphanage listening to the beatings. He pushed his teeth into his tongue and willed the iron taste of blood on his taste buds. How much damage to Louis would two penguins have done?
‘We touched on this at our lunch last week, Ethan,’ Silvie said softly, leaning forward a little as if to draw his attention away from Louis for a second. ‘If you had stayed I would have explained further but—’
‘You told me at lunch,’ Ethan began, the blood rushing through him powering every word, ‘that you were meeting the person who has Ferne’s kidney.’ He could barely bring himself to say the sentence, rage threatening to consume him. ‘After that announcement, I am afraid that there was nothing else I wanted to hear.’
‘Ethan, I—’ Silvie started.
‘We’re going to be selling the brand, Ethan,’ Louis said bluntly. ‘By the beginning of next year, I want all the hotels gone.’
Eighteen
Arc De Triomphe, Paris
‘Your fat finger is over the lens, man!’
Keeley quickly adjusted her grip on her phone and tried to hold it still, over the view, as the wind swirled around her. It was freezing, but the chill wasn’t quite getting deep into her bones because they had climbed up all the steps to the very top of the Arc de Triomphe. The vista was phenomenal though. The highly sculpted stone archway depicting French battles – with all the wide-eyed horses and battle-weary soldiers – was basically the ornate centre piece of a roundabout. Paris cars were circling quickly, then stopping still as traffic built up, horns blaring. Tree-lined roads led off from the circle including what seemed the longest and widest, the Champs-Élysées. Rach had already told their tour guide, Noel, that no matter what tourist hotspots he had planned for the rest of their morning they definitely wanted time to look in the designer stores.
‘Is that better, Erica?’ Keeley asked. There was