La Brat (6 page)

“Ah, yes, I have the information. Please, follow me.”

Eugenie trailed after the vibrant receptionist, who disappeared behind the long desk to rummage beneath it for a sheaf of papers. She found what she was after and laid the documents on the shining counter.

“I will need your passport, if you please, Mademoiselle d’André.”

“Of course.” Eugenie handed it over and waited patiently while the necessary formalities were dealt with. It took a few minutes, but soon she was on her way up to the eighth floor where a suite had been reserved for her.

The porter, who insisted on carrying her bag and pressing all the elevator controls, explained that the hotel had four award-winning restaurants and food and refreshments would be available twenty-four hours a day. She would find menus in her room. There was a spa she could use, a lounge bar where she could enjoy live entertainment, a movie theater for the use of guests, a fully stocked library and, of course, two swimming pools, one indoor and one on the rooftop. Eugenie had read up on the hotel before she’d set out and was fairly familiar with the amenities offered but still listened with care as the porter waxed eloquent about the casino and the gym. His pride in this establishment was obvious, and Eugenie wondered if all the staff felt similarly engaged and committed. If so, this was a good sign, hinting at skilled leadership and enlightened management. More than ever, she wanted to make her future here.

As the porter guided her along the hallway on her floor, her sandals sinking into the plush carpeting, he informed her that hotel transport was available to take her wherever she might like to go, whether she wished to explore the city, or to shop perhaps. Or maybe she would prefer to make use of the hairdressing salon, or enjoy a manicure? Or, if it would be more convenient, the hairdresser or a masseuse would come to her room. The usual housekeeping services were available, complimentary drinks were provided in her suite and the flowers would be changed daily.

As they entered her suite, muted classical music greeted her, which the porter explained she could turn off via a concealed console. Or she could make other selections if her tastes ran to something raunchier. A whole system of home entertainment was provided, including a plasma screen television that seemed to take up most of one wall, and naturally Wi-Fi was available throughout the hotel. As if this were not enough, she would find facilities to charge any electrical items she might have with her.

As he bustled about the room, opening windows and stacking her bag on the neat trolley provided, he assured her that Totally Five Star hoped to anticipate any needs she might have. Even so, if there was anything at all that she needed and could not find, she was just to phone down to reception who would be delighted to oblige.

Eugenie thanked him and held out a ten-euro note. He offered her a respectful bow and declined, inviting her instead to leave any gratuity she felt might be appropriate when she checked out. The staff who had served her would share it. He wished her a very pleasant and comfortable stay then slipped back out into the corridor.

Eugenie sank onto the bed, somewhat in awe at her surroundings. She’d known this place was smart, upmarket, the best of the best. But she’d assumed it all applied primarily to the physical environment, the superbly appointed rooms, the elegant architecture, the graceful pieces of French art displayed in the public areas. And, of course, to the Michelin-starred excellence of the food they would serve, as well as the quality of the entertainment to be enjoyed here. She was impressed to learn that Totally Five Star excellence extended to her personal needs and comfort too. It included the understated but efficient welcome, the speedy transition through reception, her questions answered before she even thought of them.

Eugenie lay back and stared at the ceiling, her head a pleasant jumble. She was here. She was really here. This was actually happening. Now all she had to do was make it last.

Chapter Four

Eugenie spent the next few minutes unpacking her bag, not an arduous task given she’d only brought a couple of outfits with her. By this time tomorrow, she’d be checking out. But she wanted her interview outfit to be fresh and uncrumpled, so she hung it carefully on the front of the wardrobe before setting off to explore the suite.

The marble tiled bathroom was fabulous, the complimentary toiletries all neatly arranged on the vanity and stamped with the Totally Five Star crest. She found a fluffy bathrobe and slippers inside a large closet, along with a huge pile of towels and a hairdryer.

Her balcony was small, but offered a view of the Champs-Élysées, and she could just make out the top of the Eiffel Tower, well within walking distance. Maybe later, she’d take a stroll around the city. Tomorrow, perhaps, before she left for the station. Tonight was her chance to soak up the atmosphere of this sumptuous hotel, make sure she was as prepared as she absolutely could be for her interview.

She splashed cool water on her hands and face, retied her hair in a soft pile on top of her head and pocketed the key card. She left her room, intending to visit the guest facilities. There would be nothing quite like a spot of mystery shopping to get a proper feel for the hotel and the Totally Five Star experience. A tour of the conference and banqueting facilities was part of her itinerary for tomorrow so she would concentrate elsewhere this evening. Maybe she could even find some aspect where she might actually suggest improvements, though she somehow doubted that. This whole place was the epitome of perfection.

She glanced through the door of the main restaurant, La Maison, first. She knew this already had three Michelin stars and the hotel was hoping to be awarded a fourth soon. It was usually necessary to book at least three months in advance. The staff was preparing the dining room for evening service, the atmosphere one of sedate and controlled industry, everyone knowing their job and performing it to perfection.

Two further eateries offered a more relaxed, informal ambiance, and their all-day service offered the traditional staples of French cuisine, a range of quiches, steaks, seafood and crêpes. One was decorated in an art deco style that Eugenie loved, the other more modern with stainless steel furniture, the walls and flooring tiled in bright primary colors. But it was the fourth restaurant that made Eugenie catch her breath. This was situated on a shady patio surrounded by a leafy, lush garden. The food was simple and understated, but she knew it would be exquisitely prepared and presented. Eugenie found a free table and took a seat there, intending to enjoy the floral and slightly woody scents of the honeysuckle trailing up the wall beside her. In moments, a waiter appeared with a jug of ice water and a glass. He offered her more refreshments if she wanted them, but assured her she was welcome to just sit and enjoy the evening sunshine.

The aroma of spicy tomato soup proved irresistible, and the next hour or so passed in peaceful enjoyment of her meal. Eugenie usually felt self-conscious about dining alone, but this place made her feel so at home, so relaxed she barely gave it a thought as she ordered her meal. After the soup, she opted for a main course of chicken chasseur and a half bottle of crisp Chardonnay. She declined the desserts but accepted the offer of a
café au lait
to round it off. She surveyed her fellow outdoor diners over the rim of her cup, noting the ready attention of the staff who hovered around the edges of the patio. They were discreet, unobtrusive, but alert to any signal or gesture, rushing across to tend to each and every need.

A family with two young children were having difficulty choosing. The burger, which the eldest boy wanted, seemed not to be on the menu. Nevertheless, one was produced, followed by plain and simple ice cream.

An elderly gentleman requested a newspaper, and his waiter procured one. Nothing was too much trouble. Eugenie was impressed and more than ever, she wanted to be a part of this.

She signed the tab, thanked the staff for her meal and moved off to continue her excursion. She strolled around the intimate little garden, loving the serene, shady nooks as well as the bright tinkling fountain gracing the center of a manicured lawn. The garden wasn’t large, but she hadn’t thought such an oasis could ever be found in the heart of Paris, not a ten-minute walk from the Place de la Concorde. She adored it.

Back inside the Totally Five Star, Eugenie made for the main lounge bar where a pianist and singer were providing soft background music to accompany the subdued chat of the few guests there at this time. She ordered a sparkling water and perched on a barstool to savor the relaxed mood. As in the terrace restaurant, the staff was attentive, but without the pushiness she so often experienced. No one seemed overenthusiastic, there was no hard sell, but whatever she wanted would be provided.

She left her empty glass on the bar and strolled off in search of something more vibrant, and discovered it in the form of the live bar. Here a comedian was just concluding his set, a performance that seemed to have gone down well with the guests. This room was crowded, the piped music loud, the voices raised over it. Eugenie settled herself at an empty table to wait for the next show to start—a troupe of dancers who did something astonishing and clever with lights. These, too, were popular with the audience, and the bar was full to overflowing by the time Eugenie decided to move on. Her final stop, before turning in for the night, was the library. She hadn’t come across such a facility in a hotel previously and was intrigued to see what they might stock.

The room was breathtaking. Carved wooden shelving lined all the walls, and a balcony skirted the room with further shelving above. The titles encompassed a range of international classics in various languages. Signs invited guests to make their selections and scan any books they wanted to borrow into an automated system. They were urged to take books away with them, and if they checked out before they finished to post the book back later. Or if a guest simply preferred to read there, they could avail themselves of the huge leather armchairs and low tables. A coffeemaker was provided for their further comfort and convenience.

Eugenie had the place to herself and settled into one of the chairs to thumb through a book on French antiques of the seventeenth century. She passed a contented half hour or so then felt it was time to turn in. She needed to get plenty of sleep.

Tomorrow was to be a big day.

* * * *

Sleep eluded her. Her brain was whirling, her head full of warring thoughts. She was excited about the coming interview and terrified as well. So much depended on how she might perform in that hour or so tomorrow afternoon. She’d done her homework and was prepared. Why then did she not feel more confident? She was here to carve out a brilliant new career for herself, wasn’t she? This was just the beginning.

It was more than that, though—much more. She so did not want to return to Northumberland and her old life. Here, in Paris, she could make a fresh start. No more La Brat.

As she lay in her queen-size bed listening to the low hum of the air conditioning, her mind drifted back to the man who started her on that path. Aaron Praed.

Eugenie had loved him. She now realized it, though at the time she’d not recognized it. Their relationship had progressed fast from that first delightful encounter at The Basement. After the scene, they’d sat drinking coffee together for perhaps a couple of hours before Eugenie had eventually given in to the urge to yawn. She hadn’t been bored, just bone-weary. The scene had been demanding and she’d needed to sleep. Aaron had driven her home, kissed her forehead as she’d clambered from his car then taken her mobile number. He’d said he’d call.

All the next day—a Saturday—Eugenie’s phone had never been more than a foot away from her hand. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t said when exactly he’d be in touch, but by the time she’d been undressing for bed, she was in despair. She’d loved their encounter and believed he’d had a nice time too, but in the cool light of day, he’d obviously thought better of continuing their acquaintance. She really should not have been so disappointed, but she hadn’t been able to help it. She’d resigned herself to the reality that she had been just a one-off to him. Nice, probably, but not to be repeated.

* * * *

Then

The tinkle of a text was unexpected. She nearly missed it. She checked her phone—an unknown number—and tapped the screen.

Lunch tomorrow? Then my place? A

Eugenie hugged the phone to her chest, forcing herself to take a few minutes before replying. It didn’t do to look too eager, desperate even. Then she replied.

Love to. Where and what time?

He replied swiftly.

I’ll pick you up at twelve. No underwear.

Eugenie sent her response immediately.

Thank you, Sir. I understand.

He picked her up at exactly the time he’d promised and took her to a pub with a beer garden where they enjoyed a leisurely Sunday lunch. Both knew what was to follow, and there was no rush.

Eugenie had considered carefully what to wear and eventually settled on a loose cotton skirt that fell to just below the knee. As she was wearing no panties, she didn’t want any unfortunate wardrobe incidents to occur due to a sudden and inopportune gust of wind. She wondered if Aaron’s no underwear rule extended to her bra as well. She could have texted him back for clarification, but opted for a cautious approach. She was therefore braless too under her tight vest top, and could see his appreciation of that fact in Aaron’s sexy smile.

They left the pub and strolled across the car park in the direction of his vehicle, a sleek, dark gray BMW.

“You still up for this?”

“Yes, Sir, of course.”

He tilted his head in silent acknowledgement as he opened the car door for her. The journey was not long—just ten minutes or so—before he pulled into the driveway of a large semidetached house. Vaguely surprised, Eugenie had expected him to have a flat, as she did.