Erica’s eyes closed shut, her breathing slowing even more and Keeley knew she had fallen asleep. She ended the call and looked out over the view again. Had more than Silvie Durand brought her here? Could it be that actually the universe had a plan?
Forty-One
L’Hotel Paris Parfait, Opera District, Paris
It was morning and Paris was coming alive. From the inside of the boardroom Ethan could see the light snowfall that had swept over the streets like the pearlescent train of a bridal gown. Last night he had worked on a new menu for the hotels, in between catering for either Jeanne or Bo-Bo. Jeanne needed toiletries. Bo-Bo needed the toilet. Jeanne wanted to sleep with the light on. Bo-Bo wanted to sleep with Ethan. Surprisingly, despite the interruptions, when he had eventually managed to shut his eyes, it had been the best sleep he had had in some time. He had left for the hotel early, leaving croissants for Jeanne, dog biscuits for Bo-Bo and the instruction that the girl was not to sign up for any premium television services in his absence.
Now, Ethan watched Noel’s lip curl as his assistant read the email on his tablet out loud.
‘Daube de boeuf Provençale.’ Noel cast his eyes upwards. ‘Beef stew.’
‘Yes,’ Ethan answered, nodding. ‘Served with thick fresh bread.’
‘Cassoulet.’ Noel said the word with a scoff. ‘With mutton and sausage. Excuse my candour, Monsieur Bouchard, but all these new dishes for the menu, the cuts of meat you are suggesting… they are…’
‘Yes?’ Ethan knew what was coming but he wanted to hear his assistant say the words aloud. He was relishing the feeling that would come when the word he was expecting floated into the boardroom atmosphere.
‘Food of the… poor,’ Noel stated.
Ethan grabbed his own chest in a theatrical play, leaning back in his chair and gasping for air. ‘Oh… oh… I cannot seem to catch my breath.’
Noel shook his head and put down his tablet. ‘Monsieur Bouchard, we are a well-respected establishment. We have five stars. Customers expect a certain level of excellence.’
‘I realise,’ Ethan told him. ‘And we are going to provide them all with excellent traditional French dishes with a layer of a memory from their childhood. Think of it,’ he continued. ‘All those heart-warming times that their grandmother made them a rich hearty meal and shared stories from long ago.’ He smiled at Noel, getting up from the table and elongating his stride across the breadth of the window, making the pigeons lined up on the chimney pots outside suddenly take flight.
‘We do not have that style here currently,’ Noel reminded. ‘Remember the science behind the menu that Miss Durand had created.’
‘Delicate and refined,’ Ethan stated, remembering the watchwords that had formed the basis of Ferne’s vision for the hotel’s food. ‘A whisper on the taste buds.’
‘The very opposite of this,’ Noel said, pointing to the tablet he had discarded on the table.
‘Yes!’ Ethan said, widening his arms. ‘The exact opposite is exactly right! It is also the exact opposite of most five-star establishments in Paris if my research is correct.’ This wasn’t about stamping over what Ferne had created. What Ferne had designed for the brand had been right at the time. This change was what Ethan thought was needed now. Whether he was proved right or not would be determined by the customers’ response to it. But first he had to make it fly with Silvie and, he supposed, Louis.
‘This is not the food for a five-star customer,’ Noel told him.
‘Says who?’ Ethan asked. ‘And, Noel, tell me, what exactly is a five-star customer?’
‘A customer who will be able to pay our room rates,’ Noel answered.
‘Once? Or every day?’ Ethan swung back to the table, placing flat palms against the wood.
‘What?’ Noel asked, not seeming to understand.
‘Noel, I ask you, who are we to judge our clientele by the amount of money they may or may not have in the bank… or by what car they drive, or the clothes they wear?’ He was striding out again now, every step reinforcing his belief that this was the road he wanted the Perfect Paris hotels to go down. ‘Our customers come to us from all walks of life. Some come here, they stay a few nights and hand over their platinum credit cards. Others they pay with a voucher they have received for a gift.’ He stopped striding and looked directly at Noel again. ‘But all of them. They have one thing in common.’
‘They all like a high thread count for their sheets?’ Noel asked in a tongue-in-cheek manner that Ethan would have thought was bordering on insolent if he hadn’t known the man was responding with the hotel’s continued future uppermost in his thoughts.
‘They all seek comfort before opulence,’ Ethan said with authority.
‘I am not sure—’
Ethan cut him off. ‘I have checked the customer feedback for the last twelve months. Every positive comment was about how the hotel made people feel. “The mattress gave me a sleep like no other”, or “the views from the room were incredible”. Another one was “Noel understood exactly what type of restaurant I was looking for and gave us the family meal of our holiday”,’ Ethan informed. ‘No one mentioned the food in our restaurants being a whisper on their taste buds. I do not know why we have not looked deeper into this before.’
‘With respect, Monsieur Bouchard, for the past twelve months I do not think you have been in a place to look deeper into anything.’
Ethan mused on his point only briefly. His assistant was right, of course, but he was ready now and it was going to be his aim to strike while the iron was hot, while Louis was still mourning the loss of his chance to immediately sell the hotels out from under him. This was about Ferne. He would ensure her foundations survived and that they continued to build and grew even stronger.
‘Well, I am in the right place now,’ Ethan responded. ‘And we are starting with the food of poor people.’
‘At Christmas time customers are looking for fine dining,’ Noel said, shaking his head and drawing the tablet closer to him again, taking another look at the menu.
‘No,’ Ethan disagreed, moving around the table to stand next to his assistant. ‘At Christmas time customers are looking for full stomachs in a warm and inviting atmosphere.’ Ethan sniffed. ‘Can we get rid of the ice rink? I do not know what I was thinking. Instead, maybe we can have… Santa or… perhaps… animals!’ He held a finger in the air. ‘A turkey… and rabbits. Some things that children can stroke.’
‘Stroking?’ Noel said with a tut. ‘As you should be aware, the hotel currently operates a “no touching” policy in all its communal areas with regard to artwork, ornaments and for the seasonal period, all the Christmas decorations.’
‘I realise there was a real need for this earlier in the year but… I want it lifted,’ Ethan said with a deliberate nod. ‘The time for feeling things from a distance in Perfect Paris is over.’ He made sure Noel was in no doubt that he was serious about this decision. ‘And the menu… I would like it rolled out as soon as Chef has given the go ahead.’