‘Oh, I know,’ the old lady continued, batting away what she imagined Bella was about to say. ‘I realise that living in a hotel is not exactly independence. But it was a way of living…’ she sighed. ‘A way of living a life that I wanted. Of living alone but not being alone, do you see? But Claudine, she thinks I need nurses. Care. And it is her hotel, so…’
Madame Roux let the last words fade away as she continued her walk along the carpeted corridor.
‘Madame Roux?’ she found herself calling.
‘Oui?’
‘Does she know? Claudine, I mean?’
‘Know what?’ The woman turned, looked at her.
‘How you feel?’
‘I don’t think that really matters,mon petit.’
‘I’m sure it would.’
Madame Roux laughed. ‘That’s because you are young. When you get to my age you realise that people stop seeing you as a person. They start seeing you as a problem. Claudine is a lovely girl, she has given me so much. But she doesn’t really see me. She cares, in her own way. But to her I am simply an old lady she is responsible for. Not someone who is entitled to wants and needs and… Not someone who can add value.’
‘Oh, but you?—’
There it was again, the flick of a hand. ‘Goodbye, dear,’ Madame Roux said firmly. ‘Good luck with your rooms.’
‘Thank you.’
As Madame Roux disappeared around the corner, Bella turned towards Claudine’s office. It was none of her business, but then her problems at work had been none of Brad’s business, yet he had helped her. Saved her, really. Maybe she could help Madame Roux in some way?
But before she could make her way to Claudine, one of the younger office staff turned up, almost breathless. ‘The artwork has arrived,’ she said. ‘Shall I send it up?’
‘Oh. Yes please,’ she said, excited to see the paintings she had chosen in situ.
Soon, a man and a woman, both casually dressed, appeared, carrying a large box. Alongside them was a woman dressed more formally in a black trouser suit. ‘Where do you want them?’ she asked. Bella explained and the couple took the box into the first of the hotel rooms, carefully unwrapping the first painting and securing it onto the wall.
It was the forest painting – oil on canvas displaying such a mixture of greens and blues that looking at it made you feel as if your mind were being washed clean by nature. It was impressionist in style, and here, from her position in the hall, Bella could see clearly the wood of the trees, the light sparkling through the branches. Yet as she approached, she knew she would see individual blobs, brush-strokes that somehow together gave the illusion of space and light and trees and nature.
It was amazing how something that seemed so chaotic and messy could look so together and beautiful from a distance.
Back in her office an hour later, she ran through the list of things she’d tasked herself to prepare. The caterers were booked, the key rooms for Hotel Club associates and delegates reserved. There was a string quartet booked to play in the corner of the room before the presentation as everyone mingled and introduced themselves. The leaflets she’d had produced looked professional and on point.
And for a moment she felt that she was Isabella. Someone capable and ready and professional. Someone who would help this hotel get the recognition it deserved. Not Bella, who’d turned up terrified and had had to lie to get her foot in the door. But someone brand new.
Smiling, she decided to check her emails one more time before leaving for the day. She pulled up her work inbox, but there was nothing new. Then she checked her personal emails to see if Juliette or Kitty had been in touch.
And there it was. A message from Pete.
Suddenly her breathing became erratic. Her hands felt tingly and not fully part of her body. She clicked on the message to read:
The notaire wants us to go to Peyrat to sign the contract. I thought maybe we could go together, sort out the last of the furniture before the house clearance people come. It would be nice to catch up. I’ve missed you!
It was as if someone had reached through and popped the bubble she’d formed around herself. Letting the past back in. The feelings she’d had when Pete had left her resurfaced and she had to work hard not to sob. Why after weeks, months, of no contact would Pete get in touch now? They’d been working through thenotaireuntil this moment and, while it made her sad to know that the B&B would soon no longer be theirs, she’d had no intention of visiting Peyrat again before the sale.
Looking at their house, stripped of its personality, knowing that some of their favourite pieces would be cleared and probably sold for a song, or placed in storage by a remover recommended by their estate agent, would be like identifying the body of a loved one after they’d died.
It wouldn’t be the home they’d loved, that had so much history for them. It would be an impersonal stone shell, ready for the next person to create a life.
And what on earth was Pete saying. That he missed her? Was it a casual comment, or more meaningful? She’d worked hard to put him out of her mind. But the thought of him came now, fresh and urgent. Pete had been her rock for so many years, her family when her own had deserted her. The person she’d confided in and relied upon and built a life with.
She had been so lonely.
