She’d been in Versailles for almost three months, but it almost felt like a lifetime. And everything she’d done had been building up to this, this special night. Once she’d stepped out of the taxi a couple of streets away from the hotel, she stood for a moment, looking up at the sky, beyond the buildings and the lamp posts and the visible signs of the city. She focused on the golden sheen of evening on the edges of the clouds, the still deep blue of the sky beyond. Closing her eyes momentarily, she tried to steady herself before everything started to move in fast forward again.
When she opened her eyes, as if she’d conjured it, she noticed a small, white feather a few paces in front of her, moving slightly along in the evening air.
She picked it up, swallowing back the tears that threatened almost every time she thought about her mother. The only person in her life who’d been able to quiet her just by being there, at whose side she’d felt completely protected. She knew it was an illusion; something from childhood. That her mother had just been a woman, not a superhero. But she still craved that sense of sanctuary.
So much was riding on tonight, not for her as much as for Claudine. She knew how much her boss, her friend, needed this to work. Claudine would be doing the lion’s share of the presenting, but Bella had her part to play too. And the rooms, the brochures, the slides that would appear on the PowerPoint were all hers.
‘Here we are,’ she said to herself as she started down rue des Arbres. Hôtel Benjamin was visible, halfway down. The flowers Bella had asked staff to place outside the entrance were there, gorgeous greens and whites in ceramic pots. The door was open, throwing a little yellow light out into the early evening air. As she neared, she could hear music – the string quartet had already arrived. She picked up the pace.
Inside, everything looked perfect. Wait staff moved silently among the guests with silver trays laden with champagne or elderflower fizz; delicious-looking finger food was arranged on small tables scattered through the room. At the front, there was the stage and behind it, a screen where the presentation would take place.
Claudine was at her side immediately. ‘Bella!’ she said. ‘You look amazing.’
‘Thank you. You too.’
Her friend looked at her for a moment, her eyes full of something Bella couldn’t read. ‘We will speak more tomorrow,’ she said. ‘But I wanted to say that I’m sorry. For doubting you.’
‘Claudine, I burned down your Superior rooms.’
‘Yes, but look what you were able to achieve in such a short time. I should have always given you that chance.’ Claudine flicked at the corner of her eye, swiping away a threatening tear. ‘But I must stop. I will cry. And it will not be good for business.’ She took a deep breath, then smiled. ‘Ready?’
‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’
There were around thirty people in the room – alongside the Hotel Club representatives, there were friends of the Hôtel Benjamin, local business delegates, some representatives from themairie. The men wore muted, corporate suits, but the women in dresses or wide-legged trousers were a riot of colour. The sound of laughter and chatter filled the air.
They made their way up to the back of the stage and began running through their lines one last time. Then Claudine gripped Bella’s arm. ‘This is it,’ she said.
Bella felt her stomach constrict. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘This is it.’
Ten minutes later, she was seated on stage, watching Claudine deliver the presentation seamlessly. Her own introduction had been fine – she’d stumbled a little over her words but overall felt pretty pleased with what she’d achieved. Not bad for a dropout.
With no more lines on the script for her and the audience watching Claudine, seemingly rapt, she allowed herself to relax a little. After they got off this stage, she’d reward herself with the first glass of fizz she’d had all evening, try to enjoy the party a little more in the knowledge that whatever was decided, she’d done the very best she could.
And then her eyes caught his.
It was surreal seeing him in this context and so unexpected that she was momentarily dazed. What was he doing here? Why was he dressed like this?
Why hadn’t he said anything?
She almost didn’t recognise him in a neat corporate suit, buttoned waistcoat, white shirt. His hair had been professionally styled, combed back with some sort of product making him look a little as if he’d stepped out of a Brylcreem advert from the fifties.
He was sitting with a group of much older men, holding a leaflet on his lap. But while everyone else’s eyes were fixed on Claudine, his were focused on her. Henri. Was it her imagination, or did he, briefly, give her a wink?
She thought about when he’d met her for lunch at the hotel, about how he’d told her about his father’s wealth and position, but never details of his business. She remembered now how he’d told her he’d promised his father he’d attend an event. She remembered the moments when he’d hesitated, shaken his head, decided not to speak.
An older gentleman whispered something in Henri’s ear and Henri nodded. And as the realisation dawned, she didn’t know whether this was terrible or the best possible news: Henri’s father was Michel Martin, the head of Hotel Club.
Her hands had begun to sweat, and she shifted in her seat. She tried to take in what Claudine was saying, to fix a smile on and pretend to be as impressed and rapt as everyone seemed. But she had a horrible feeling that with Henri involved, things might be about to get personal.
* * *
The moment the applause died down, the delegates began to stand and mingle, and Bella flew to Henri. ‘Henri!’ she said. ‘I?—’
He gripped her arm and shook his head, a warning look in his eyes. ‘No,’ he said, ‘not here.’
He led her by the elbow out of the room into the corridor carpeted in reds and browns.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she whispered, not wanting to be overheard.
