‘As you can imagine, having worked here for several years, I have lots of experience in running Hôtel Benjamin! But I have little experience of the wider sector. You will be the ideal person to smooth the way for us. Your knowledge and insight will be invaluable.’
‘Insight in?—?’
Claudine flapped her hand as if it were not important. ‘Hotel Club, as you know, are an exclusive brand, and they like their hotels to offer something extra. Hotels must go above and beyond for guests, in terms of their offering, in order to qualify. And those who do,’ she paused, ‘can expect their revenue to jump by at least 10percent.’
Bella nodded knowingly.
‘That is where you come in. I want you to work on developing the brand, adding extra touches and importantly, preparing a presentation for June when two delegates will come to visit and make their recommendation. And if it goes well, there should be a permanent position for you.’
Something prickled over Bella’s skin. Because she wasn’t just out of her depth – she was swimming above an abyss. She’d imagined she’d be doing a bit of filing, perhaps making a few phone calls. Her mouth felt dry, her teeth too large for it. She opened and closed it like a fish, wondering what to say.
‘We discussed salary before, I think. But I wanted to explain a little more,’ Claudine continued. ‘You will of course receive the salary discussed, but should the hotel succeed in obtaining “Hotel Club” status, then you will receive a bonus.’ She slid a piece of paper across the desk like a lawyer offering a settlement to a divorcee.
In the weeks that followed, Bella would come to see this moment as her chance to do the right thing. She could have told Claudine that there had been a mistake. Graciously bowed out of the whole thing. But when she turned over the paper and suppressed a gasp at the amount, she realised that this job might just be her lifeline. The equity in the property was reasonable, but this additional money could help to set her up in something new. It would give her time and space to work out her next steps.
She thought about Kitty, how her sister had always taken life in her stride, had always strived for success. Her impressive achievements, both personal and academic, had always seemed to eclipse anything Bella had accomplished. But maybe this was it – Bella’s one chance to prove she had what it took.
People have blagged their way into jobs far above their actual abilities for years and got away with it. Mostly men, admittedly, but still. They seemed to make it work. Plus, if she told Claudine that she’d made a mistake, let someone else take her place, who’s to say the person they’d end up recruiting would be any better than her? Perhaps this was just a sign from the universe that she needed to step into her power.
By the time she’d run through all her hypothetical get-out clauses in her head, there were none left in any case, as Claudine was talking about the event she’d need to arrange in three months’ time, and about accounts and merchandise and catering and overheads and other things that rattled from her mouth as if they were a third language between French and English that Bella also needed to learn.
She was sweating by the time Claudine had finished. She hadn’t thought to take notes, instead spending most of the time wrestling with her conscience. Claudine abruptly stopped talking, and when Bella looked up, she realised her new boss was regarding her intently.
‘Is everything all right?’ Claudine asked.
‘Oh. Yes. Just thinking about getting started!’
Claudine nodded as if confirming to herself once and for all that she had landed a good employee. ‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘Well, Yves is yours for the duration – use him as you will.’
‘Um… Thank you.’
There was a brief, awkward silence before Bella realised that this was clearly the end of the meeting. She stood up, straightening the front of her black trousers. ‘Well, thank you.’
‘No, thankyou,’ Claudine said warmly. ‘It was good to meet you, Isabella.’
That name again. Her given name that didn’t feel like hers.
She was reminded of a time at school when she’d allowed a teacher to call her Stella for the whole of the first term, too tongue-tied and awkward to correct him. Now, it seemed, she had done it again. But perhaps if she was going to transform herself, this new name could be part of the package. She was Isabella – the high-flying, executive hotel manager, on course for a large bonus and future success.
‘So, you are ready for the tour?’ Yves materialised at her side like an apparition, his smile wide.
‘Oh. Yes please!’
He nodded and turned on his heel. Once again, she scuttled in his wake, cursing her new high heels. The balls of her feet burned and she began to fantasise about how good it would feel to slip her shoes off under her desk and apply them to the soft carpet as soon as the tour was done.
The corridors of the hotel were pleasingly decorated in a light cream, which was clean and bright if a little impersonal. Yves showed her an example of each of the rooms available: the Superior, with a large king-size bed, a little walnut desk and leather chair, a free-standing bath; the standard room, which was almost identical except for the bed being a little smaller and the bath being replaced by a shower in the en suite. Then the basic room which was decked out with a twin or double bed and small en suite. All rooms were painted in a light, inoffensive cream colour and had prints of Paris on the walls.
It struck Bella that if she’d been a tourist visiting the hotel for the first time, she might have been disappointed. The outside was all Parisian – faded grandeur and carved stone detail. But inside, the hotel, while clean and bright, felt generic. More like a hotel from a chain than something individual.
She didn’t know a lot about Hotel Club, but she’d heard of the group and had the impression that the hotels it offered tended to be quirky, original. No wonder Claudine wanted someone on board to add to the offering before the decision was made.
They were just exiting the final room – a standard, but with a view of the street outside – when Yves grabbed her arm and almost pulled her into the wall.
‘Wha—’ she began, but he put a finger to his lips.
‘Shhh,’ he hissed. ‘Wait.’
He stood with his back to the wall, slightly concealed by a brick pillar as a door halfway down the corridor opened fully. A small woman dressed in a tartan suit complete with hat came out, holding a string of some sort. No, not a string. A lead. She pulled it to reveal a small white dog, the type that looks as if it is permanently scowling, an impression unmitigated by the fact it was sporting a pink bow.
