‘But we’re not in a movie, are we? And he lives in France and I live in England.’
‘Details.’
‘Pretty significant details.’
‘We got here in a couple of hours.’ Rach gasped. ‘Or you could go completely retro and be pen pals like in the olden days. My mum used to get French letters.’
‘I’m not in love with him.’ But even as she said the words, Keeley knew, whether it was love or not, it was definitely something more than a passing infatuation. It was the way they seemed so in tune with each other’s thinking. How things always flowed so easily since their very first meeting. It was how she felt when he held her hand… ‘Squirrels,’ she blurted out. ‘Tell me about the squirrels now.’
‘You have to promise not to be mad.’
Keeley dodged around the huge wheel of a Pennyfarthing bicycle and led the way towards a stall selling a selection of artwork, dust still on the frames. ‘Why would I be mad about squirrels?’ And then realisation seemed to sink in. This story could only be about Mr Peterson’s property.
‘Oh, God. What’s the demented taxidermist done now?’ Keeley asked.
‘Promise you won’t be mad,’ Rach said for the second time. Now Keeley was a little bit concerned.
‘Tell me, Rach.’ Her best friend made big eyes that seemed to say she wasn’t going to crack unless the declaration was made. ‘I promise I won’t get mad.’
‘OK,’ Rach breathed. ‘Your mum has been working on the Peterson place since we left. That’s why Roland signed our holiday forms without too much of a grumble. I was sworn to secrecy and… please don’t hate me.’
Keeley watched Rach close up her eyes and grimace as if in real fear of her reaction to this news. This was typical Lizzie. Even when Keeley wasn’t in London, wasn’t there doing her job at House 2 Home, her mum was in the background, managing life for her.
‘You should have told me,’ Keeley said, sighing.
‘I know,’ Rach said, opening her eyes. ‘But I knew it would unsettle you and you were already dealing with coming here and everything so…’
‘So, what has that got to do with squirrels?’
Rach sighed, repositioning her fingers around the handles of her bags of goodies. ‘A trio of them burst out of Mr Peterson’s airing cupboard, got caught in Lizzie’s hair and one of them bit her. She had to go to the hospital for a tetanus shot and some Steri-Strips.’
Keeley was already reaching into her bag for her phone. No matter how irritating her mum was with her need to protect her, she didn’t want to see her in harm’s way.
‘She ordered me not to tell you,’ Rach said quickly. ‘She said, if I did, she’d tell her book club friends not to buy from Price Squash.’ She blinked. ‘Adie has six children, Keeley. And they all eat like Eddie Hall doing a food challenge.’
‘Go and find us some coffees,’ Keeley ordered. ‘I’m phoning her right now.’
Forty-Three
‘What are we here for? Bo-Bo is bored.’
Jeanne said the sentence through a mouthful of the biggest brioche Ethan had ever seen. A man had been selling them near the Porte de Clignacourt metro station. They had alighted there and Jeanne’s lips had started to quiver at the sight of them. Her small but strong hands had tugged at his sleeve like he had been completely oblivious to the stand and then she had given him those dewy, slightly piteous eyes she was obviously well practised at pulling out when necessary.
‘We are here to find inspiration.’ Ethan breathed in, drawing the cold air into his lungs like he was determined to also suck inside every nuance of the ambience of the enormous, sprawling flea market. It did always feel to him that it was a living, breathing beast, each stall owning its own pulsing heart of speciality.
‘You are in charge of props for a period drama series on TF1?’ Jeanne asked, pulling Bo-Bo away from a toy crib where he was sniffing around a quite disturbing-looking old-fashioned doll with half her porcelain face missing.
‘It is for the hotel,’ Ethan said, stepping towards a large dresser housing many oddly shaped lamps.
‘Which one?’ Jeanne asked, chocolate now smeared over her top lip. ‘Because I now know there are five hotels.’
‘All of them,’ Ethan told her. ‘But I will start with Tour Eiffel.’
‘But,’ Jeanne began, still munching, ‘according to your website, that is not your “flagship” hotel.’
The kid was smart. Always smarter than he gave her credit for. And she had most obviously been making full use of his Wi-Fi today.
‘Is it because Keeley is staying at that one?’ Jeanne asked. ‘And you want to impress her? Even though she does not know that you own it?’ She screwed her petite features up, wrinkling her nose. ‘I think there is a flaw in your plan to excite her.’
Ethan looked at the girl then, expertly tightening the lead on her dog while pushing the giant brioche into her mouth. ‘You think everyone is impressed by money?’
She shrugged, the neck of her too big T-shirt almost swallowing her head. ‘Are they not?’
‘Does money impress you, Jeanne?’ Ethan asked. He wanted to know the answer, because whatever she said would give him an even deeper insight into her mind. This child from the street with all her brashness was, in his opinion, as vulnerable as she was intelligent. Jeanne seemed to quieten a little then, chewing but also looking like she was wholeheartedly considering her reply.
‘Money buys you opportunity,’ Jeanne said finally.
‘How so?’ Ethan asked her. ‘Because I believe most people would say that perseverance and determination really make for opportunity.’
‘I show up in the reception of one of your fancy hotels and the first thing the evil man behind the counter wants to do is call me a thief. Just because of the clothes I am wearing.’
Ethan couldn’t deny that was the case. He had spoken to Antoine about being judgemental on a few other occasions. ‘Antoine likes neat and tidy. He has very high, possibly unreachable standards. He is too quick to react to those.’
‘How different would his reaction have been if I had say… styled my hair pretty, put on some make-up, a new dress perhaps, cleaned underneath my fingernails, worn shoes with a heel and… arrived to apply for the job of a chambermaid?’ She nodded with satisfaction at her answer. ‘I would need at least some money for the dress and the shoes and the make-up, for me just to be taken seriously and be given the opportunity.’ She nodded. ‘Money equals opportunity.’
‘You do not think you can be yourself and find success in life?’ Ethan asked.
‘I do not think it,’ Jeanne carried on. ‘I know it.’
‘I cannot believe that is true.’
‘Hello! I live on the street and have to beg for food to survive. No one wants me to be myself. Nobody wants me to exist at all.’ She gave a piece of brioche to Bo-Bo. ‘People turn away from people like me. They think if they cannot see me then I do not exist. Not all of them are bad people. They just do not want people like me on their conscience.’
Her words rained down on him. He had thought the same thing over and over so many times before. His heart ached for her but it also ached for himself too. He had been so lucky. He’d had Ferne back then. Her kindness, their friendship, the bond they shared that never seem to acknowledge their difference in class. It had been everything.