‘You don’t know?’ Juliette’s eyes had widened.
‘Not exactly.’
‘And you didn’t think to ask?’
She’d looked at her friend. ‘How could I? I wanted to sound interested in it!’
Juliette had thrown back her head and laughed. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she’d said afterwards, grinning at Bella. ‘But I love it! You have accepted a job, but you could be cleaning the toilet, or perhaps running the whole enterprise! You don’t know! It is funny,non?’
Bella had smiled, although her own good humour was skating on a deep sea of anxiety. ‘Ha. Yeah.’
‘You will be fine, you know,’ Juliette had said, perhaps sensing Bella’s mood. She’d linked her arm through her friend’s. ‘You are more than capable.’
‘Of the toilet job?’
‘Ofanyjob. Although I still don’t fully understand why you would take a job in Paris over spending time with your sister. No rent, no job. It sounds wonderful!’
Bella had sighed. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘Oui, I can see this.’
‘I mean, she’s only four years older than me. But after Mum… well, she became almost like a surrogate mother. Even now she has this kind of pull over me. And I’m afraid that I’ll give in. Things have been so, so hard. I hate being alone and she’s offering me an out…’
‘But surely this is kind of her?’
‘It’s just… if I go back, I feel that—I’m not sure I’ll ever have the courage to return.’
‘Ah bon?’
Bella had nodded vehemently. ‘Yes. And it terrifies me. Because coming to France – living here – was something I always dreamed of. And I’m afraid that if I leave… France is the place I’m happiest. It’s where my life is now.’ It would be complicated too, she’d realised; right now she had thecarte de séjourafforded to expats who’d come over pre-Brexit. Things would be more difficult if she had to forfeit that. ‘I know the job situation isn’t ideal, but like you said, I just need a way to… survive, I suppose. To keep going while the house sells. Give me some breathing… thinking space.’
Over coffee, she’d told her friend about the house share she’d secured in Versailles, the cheapest she could find. ‘I’ll be living with students, commuting to Paris,’ she’d said. ‘But it might be fun?’ She hadn’t told Juliette that, in order to secure her room, she’d allowed the agent to assume she was a student herself. Juliette would only worry, would offer her money she didn’t want to take. This way she could afford to live close to the capital without falling into more debt.
‘Well, this is wonderful news,’ Juliette had said firmly. ‘A whole new adventure.’
Bella had tried to smile. ‘I just… I’ve never even been to Versailles. I’ve never met these people. Haven’t even seen the hotel. It’s… I’m dreading it, if I’m honest.’
‘Pah! You will have a blast. It’s exciting.’ Juliette had fingered the four-leaf-clover pendant she wore.
‘Maybe I should take your pendant, for luck.’
‘Ha! Then what wouldIdo?’ Juliette was superstitious about the necklace, given to her by an aunt when she’d taken her baccalaureate exams at seventeen. ‘No, you do not need luck. You have everything you need.’
‘I guess you’re right.’
Still, it felt strange to have accepted a job without being sure exactly what she’d be expected to do. She’d scoured the hotel’s website, but they were advertising vacancies in several departments, so there was no clue there.
She’d considered writing an email asking exactly what the job might entail, but she’d been too afraid to do anything that might jeopardise this opportunity: it was her only chance to stay in France, stand on her own two feet, and she had to see it through, no matter what came of it.
The email had addressed her as Isabella – her full, given name and the one she’d used on the application as it sounded so much more serious. She’d always hated it, but if Mum were still alive, she’d probably be delighted. She’d always insisted on calling Bella by her full name, especially when she was in trouble. Bella remembered the way Mum would call her down for tea as a child: ‘Isabella! It’s getting cold!’ Then, as was often the case when she thought about her mother, she felt the welling of threatening tears. As the train continued its way towards Versailles, she forced her mind to focus on something else.
* * *
The street where the house was situated looked better than it had on Google Earth. A couple of shops that had been derelict and covered in scaffolding in the online images were now shiny, new, and open for business. There was a restaurant, and something that looked like a laundrette. As she walked on, the buildings became residential, with rows of bells outside, bikes leaning against railings, curtains in the windows. And then she was there: No.12.
She paused, looking up at the building that would soon become her home. It was a pretty terraced house, probably nineteenth century – three storeys with two windows apiece – each with an ornate, black balconet. The powder-blue shutters on the first and second floors were thrown open, revealing wooden windows in cross-hatched white. The front door –herfront door – was curved and split in two, and painted a deep blue.
Hesitantly, she climbed the two front steps, lifted her hand and knocked.
