A ROMANCE IN CANNES

Chapter 9

I had been working at the Western Palace for about ten days and I had finally discovered what the mysterious task that I had been assigned was: the inventory.

I had to list all the furniture in the hotel, from the bedrooms to the meeting rooms, from the restaurant to the storage. In short, a titanic job considering that there were no less than four hundred rooms!

Edith who, by her experience, acted as a kind of superior – even if, technically, we had the same position –, had given me permission to take a housekeeper. I had set my sights on Brigitte because, from our first meeting, she seemed to be the friendliest – unfortunately for her. Moreover, she hadn’t been reluctant to assist me and proved to be a great help. She was a little younger than me, she was twenty-nine, and had worked here since she was eighteen. She had started as a maid during the summer, in parallel with her studies. She fell in love with the place and never left.

We were on the fifth floor, in a junior suite. The imposing king-sized bed sat enthroned in the middle of the room decorated with shades of beige. Through the large bay window, you could admire the small shaded terrace, but above all, the exceptional sea view. The Mediterranean sparkled under the rays of the sun, which a cloudless sky revealed. Although it wasn’t the most luxurious room in the establishment, it wasn’t far from heaven.

“Who occupies the room?” I asked Brigitte.

The tenant’s belongings were stored here and there and, since everything was neatly put away in the cupboards, I deduce two things: this person was much more meticulous than me and he wasn’t here for only one night. Also, there were a few small decorative items that had been added by the client.

“This is Mr Schmidt. He’s here for a long stay.”

“Ah! The famous client we were told about last week. Who takes care of this floor?”

I didn’t yet know the distribution of rooms by housekeeper by heart, although I wasn’t far from it.

“It’s Mariana.”

“Okay.”

I didn’t show anything, because it was out of the question that I would give my opinion on one of my subordinates to one of her colleagues. I wasn’t a big fan of Mariana at the moment. And I felt like it was mutual. I was also wondering if she was the internal candidate that Georges had spoken about? If I had stolen the job from under her nose, I understood that she was angry with me.

Speaking of Georges, I had avoided him like the plague for the past few days. During department head meetings, I made sure to always position myself strategically, so that he was neither next to me nor in front of me. Which wasn’t too difficult, since he usually always arrived last. On this point, he hadn’t changed: he was too important to bother to show up early. As soon as the meeting was over, I quickly slipped away or found a question to ask one of my colleagues, which made me unavailable for any other conversation.

I had spent years wondering: if we were ever to meet again, what would it be like? I had imagined several scenarios. The one where he stood outside my door, in the pouring rain, and begged me to forgive him. That was when I still believed in romance. Another, where I met him during a getaway with my husband, handsome as a god, intelligent and obnoxiously rich, in the very restaurant where he worked. I showed him the picture of my absolutely perfect twins, and he had this glint of regret in his eyes. That was when I still believed in the fact that a successful family life was needed to be fulfilled. Finally, another where I ran into him at a party and completely ignored him, much to his dismay, too busy laughing and philosophising with my super interesting friends.

At no time had I imagined that I was going to work again in the same establishment as him.

The sound of the card being inserted into the bedroom lock pulled me out of my reverie. We always made sure to visit rooms that were occupied when their owners were out. Apparently, we weren’t fast enough this time, or maybe he was too fast.

I nodded to Brigitte and, as the client entered his room, we headed for the exit. Of course, I didn’t fail to greet him.

“Hello, Mr Schmidt. Is your stay with us going well?”

“Very well, thank you. And, to be honest, much better since I just found two lovely young ladies in my room.”

His reflection could have seemed inappropriate coming from someone else, but here we were just dealing with a slightly older gentleman who wanted to be a charmer. I decided to introduce myself.

“I’m Danielle Allard, the general housekeeper of the hotel. Is there anything we can do to make your stay more enjoyable?”

“I don’t think so. I suppose if I invited you and your colleague to have tea with me in my room, you would refuse?”

I didn’t really answer, since he already knew it wasn’t possible, but suggested instead:

“You should sit on the pool terrace, it’s sunny and has a selection of teas from around the world. I’m sure you’ll find one that you’ll enjoy.”

Mr Schmidt thanked me and I closed his bedroom door behind us.

“I always feel a little sorry for customers like him,” admits Brigitte.

“Why? He’s in good health, he has enough money to live in a five-star hotel. The situation could be worse.”

“Yes, that’s for sure, when you see it like that. But what I meant was that he looks so lonely. It’s terrible not even having a friend to go have tea with.”

“Just because he has no one to keep him company this morning doesn’t mean he’s lonely.”

“Maybe you’re right. However, there are others who are truly alone.”

I no longer fully listened to what she was saying because my phone was vibrating in my pocket. I took it out and saw that it was, once again, my mother.

“Brigitte, make a start, I’ll join you in a moment,” I said to my colleague.

Once she had disappeared into the bedroom, I called my mother back. It was the third time she had tried to reach me since this morning. Maybe it was serious. She picks up on the first ring.

“Danielle! At last! It’s impossible to reach you!”

“What’s going on, Mom? Has something happened to Papet or Mamée?”

“No, your grandparents are fine.”

From the sound of her voice, I understood that she didn’t feel that pestering me on the phone had made me think there was an emergency.

“I’m at work, Mom, what do you want?”

“I called you to find out if you had received my package?”

“Your package?”

“Yes, I sent you a package. You received it, didn’t you?”

“Uh, no. But, as I just told you, I’m at work now. The postman may have dropped it in the mailbox. I’ll find it when I get home.”

“I don’t think so. It’s too big for the mailbox. But I don’t understand! I got a notification that you got it yesterday!”

If she had received the notification, why was she calling me?

“It must be at the post office and the postman left me the notice in the box,” I tried to reassure her. “I’ll go get it when I have a day off.”

“But when are you off?” she wondered.

“In two days.”

“But it can’t wait two days!” my mother said indignantly.

“Mom, I’m working now, and tomorrow too. So it’s not possible to go to the post office. Besides, I have to…”

“It’s a pie, Danielle! Your favourite, the lemon one!”

“But what are you talking about?”

“The package is a pie. You can’t leave it at the post office for two days! It won’t keep!”

“Did you send me a pie in the mail? But why did you do that, Mom? Are you aware that it has no chance of arriving whole?”

“But no, don’t worry. We did some tests with Mireille. We packed it well!”

“Mom, it’s very nice but…”

“Go get your pie, sweetie. You can think of us while you eat it.”

I could have told her that I didn’t need a lemon pie to think of them, but it was a waste of time. I thanked her instead and promised to get the dessert as soon as possible.