Page 84 of You Had Me at Chateau
‘It’s a long story,’ I say quickly, hoping to brush past him.
‘Oh, I’d love to hear it,’ he replies, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
‘I just need to get changed first because… yeah.’ I gesture down at my body.
Henri follows me into my room, ignoring any semblance of personal boundaries.
‘You don’t need to do that on my account,’ he says with a wink. ‘And you don’t even need to explain. Sometimes, the imagination is better than the reality.’
I can’t help but think to myself that sometimes it’s the other way around.
‘Sorry for bailing on you last night,’ I say, trying to steer the conversation away from my attire, as I pull on an oversized jumper that more than covers my maid clobber. ‘It was for work, and I definitely feel like I’ve learned a lot, so…’
‘It’s okay, I understand,’ he replies, nodding. ‘I work hard too. In fact, I’ve been busy with a secret project, but I can tell you all about it, I’m sure. We had a big influencer here, from London, who didn’t want to stay for free in exchange for promotion. It would have been great publicity for us, too great to miss out on, so I had to leak that he was here, to have photographers show up, so that the world would know he was staying here. It’s incredible, how good it is for business.’
My heart sinks. So, Henri is the kind of guy who would use his guests for money and publicity, not only without their consent, but even after they make clear that they want privacy – and I thought this place advertised privacy? And he looks so, so proud of himself. He clearly has no idea what kind of mess he’s made, and how it’s going to affect me. Suddenly, Henri is the last person I want to be around – and to think, I was feeling so guilty, when I thought I had stood him up to be with Caleb.
Boy, am I glad I’m going home tomorrow.
‘How about we grab some breakfast?’ he suggests, looking hopeful. ‘I don’t mind what you wear.’
‘I’m really tired,’ I tell him, yawning for effect. ‘Maybe I’ll catch you later.’
‘It’s your last night here,’ he reminds me, ‘and I’ve got some work to do later today…’
‘I have work to do too,’ I say, forcing a smile. ‘Maybe next year.’
Though I know full well I won’t be back next year.
Henri looks disappointed but nods.
‘Okay. See you around, Amber,’ he tells me.
I mean, he seems disappointed, but he doesn’t seem bothered. I’m getting the feeling that he does this sort of thing often. No wonder he’s a live-in caretaker, he’s having the time of his life.
I close the door behind him and finally exhale. My amazing day and night with Caleb seem like a distant dream now, replaced by the harsh light of day and the realisation that I need to leave all this behind, only now things feel like even more of a nightmare than they did before.
I strip off the French maid outfit (which only reminds me of last night) and throw on some comfortable clothes. Flopping onto the bed, I let out a deep sigh. I’ve gone from sky-high to rock bottom in record time.
Oh, and to top it all off, inspiration has once again been totally drained from my body.
The holiday really is over.
44
I’m all washed up – I was going to say ‘so to speak’ but, now that I think about it, maybe I’m as washed up as a girl can be – and dressed in my own, regular clothes, finally feeling like myself again. Well, that girl last night was not me, and neither was the French maid’s outfit, and neither was my brief stint pretending to be a cleaner. I’m Amber Page, writer, and all-round dull person, and that’s just the way I like it. All of this chaos is not for me. I’m not enjoying it, I’m not good at it, and I’m not playing these games any more.
Sitting at my laptop, I skim over the draft of my book. It’s a mess, full of deliberately awful writing, cringey clichés, and plot holes the size of craters. This is what I wanted, right? The whole point is for my editor to hate it so much that she’ll terminate my contract. I still can’t believe this is the plan – trying to lose a book deal after it took me so long to get one in the first place, but sometimes you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.
I lean back and sigh. I’m really not sure if I’m failing or succeeding right now.
My thoughts are interrupted by the familiar ringtone of my phone, and my mum’s name popping up.
‘Hello, Mum,’ I say, trying to hide my sigh, but I’m expecting another round of complaints about what my dad is up to now.
‘Amber, darling, how are you?’ she asks, her voice sounding unusually bright. Suspiciously, even.
‘Yeah, I’m okay, thanks,’ I reply. ‘How’s it going?’
