Page 157 of When We Were Young

Our luggage is whisked away, and we’re deposited at a table in a huge glass atrium with fresh coffee.

‘Who’s Mr Allemand?’ I whisper.

‘The general manager.’ Scott is at home in the luxury surroundings. I’m a fish out of water.

An impeccably dressed man with silver hair approaches.

‘Ah, Emily! It’s a pleasure to meet you. Pierre Allemand.’ As I stand, he clasps my hand in both of his. ‘I’m a huge fan of your work. I’m looking forward to working with you on this project. It will be avrolijk kerstfeest,indeed.’

I have no idea what he’s talking about. I stand dumbstruck as he greets Scott like an old friend.

‘I’m sure you would like to freshen up after your journey. Let’s meet at four o’clock. Ask any of the hosts and they will direct you to the Blue Room. You will join me for dinner this evening as well, I hope?’

He’s looking at me.

‘That would be lovely. Thank you,’ I say.

‘Splendid.’ Pierre gives a slight bow and strides off.

I glare at Scott. ‘How the hell is he “a huge fan” of my work?’

He smiles as we sit down. ‘I showed him your portfolio.’

‘I don’t have a portfolio.’

‘I made you one.’

‘Using what?’

‘Photographs from your exhibition.’

‘Where did you get photographs of my exhibition?’

‘I took loads of pictures on the opening night. Don’t you remember?’

‘No…’

‘Here, I got you something.’ He reaches down into his laptop bag, pulls out a paper bag, and slides it across the table towards me. ‘To say thank you for coming with me.’

‘I should thankyou.’ I peek inside and pull out a leather-bound notebook. It’s been dip-dyed. The top is pale turquoise, and the colour gets richer and deeper towards the bottom. The leather is smooth as I run my palm over it. I unravel the leather tie and flip the pages. There are no lines on the paper – it’s a sketchbook.

‘Do you like it?’ His eyes glint with expectation.

‘It’s lovely.’ I close it and refasten the tie. ‘Thank you.’

‘Maybe you could start keeping a sketchbook again…’

‘Maybe.’ But I can’t go there, not even in my head.

At four o’clock, we go to the meeting room as planned. I’m sick with nerves. Pierre is waiting beside a stack of huge cardboard boxes.

‘Shall we?’ he asks.

We unpack the boxes. Inside, encased in bubble wrap, are the giant baubles I designed. When we visited the workshop last week, I made some last-minute adjustments to the design and came up with the idea of a set of steps, disguised as a pile of Christmas presents, for smaller children to reach the viewing hole.

‘These will look spectacular hanging in the lobby,’ gushes Pierre.

Scott and I hold up the larger bauble for Pierre to peer into the viewing hole where the miniature violins and saxophones dangle inside.