Past Perfect by Karen Zelas

Author:Karen Zelas [Zelas, Karen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mortality, the meaning of life, France, family history, family tree, children, marriage, Fiction, love, Akaroa, affair, prose, New Zealand fiction
ISBN: 9781922120311
Publisher: IP (Interactive Publications Pty Ltd)
Published: 2013-03-06T16:00:00+00:00

15.

The Métro took Sue and Jayne to within two hundred metres of their hotel, a small private hotel, little more than a pension, which Jayne had found on the internet. It bore the grand name of Hôtel Royale for no reason that Sue could identify. The patronnes were two elderly sisters who could have stepped off a canvas by Toulouse-Lautrec.

‘Do you think we’ll look like that in a few years?’ Jayne whispered to Sue.

‘No chance for me,’ said Sue, eyeing their tall thin figures and the manner in which their gowns draped elegantly from shoulder and hip. She smiled at the mesdames, whose crinkly red mouths returned her smile in unison.

‘Bonjour, Madame,’ said the redhead.

‘Bonjour, Madame,’ said the brunette, a beat behind. They addressed Sue, as the older woman.

‘Bonjour, Mesdames.’ Sue summoned her undergraduate French as Jayne perused a small stand of brochures and maps. ‘Ma soeur a fait des réserves – a reservation for two nights,’ she said in French, her confidence building.

‘Mais, oui. Quelle nom, s’il vous plâit?’ The redhead was clearly in charge and had the reservation book open, running an arthritic finger down the column of names. ‘Anglaises?’

‘Oui, Madame. Kiwi.’

Jayne reached over Sue’s shoulder, taking charge. ‘Celui-là – Wilson. C’est moi.’

‘Weel-sonne,’ said Madame Redhead, the slash of red mouth displaying a row of yellowed-ivory piano keys, too full for her face. She nodded to her sister.

‘Weel-sonne,’ echoed Madame Brunette, as Jayne signed the register.

‘I am Suzanne Spencer. My husband might telephone.’

‘Spens-aire,’ they managed in unison.

Sue doubted the request had registered. ‘Please put the call through to my room, if my husband calls.’ Her French was becoming less halting. ‘Merci beaucoup,’ she added.

‘Vous parlez très bien le français, Madame,’ tittered Madame Redhead. ‘That is convenient,’ she continued in French. ‘My sister and I, we do not speak English. A little German, yes, but no English. We have Room Six for you. Away from the traffic. The front door is locked at ten o’clock. Please use this key if you are late.’

Madame Brunette tittered behind her hand, as if you could never know what to expect of les Anglaises in Paris.

‘No gentlemen in the room, please,’ added Madame Redhead.

Sue avoided Jayne’s eye to save giggling.

‘Le petit déjeuner is served from seven in the morning,’ said Madame Redhead.

‘Ici.’ Madame Brunette gestured through glass doors to a small, dark dining room. They made a wonderful double act.

Jayne and Sue climbed the narrow carpeted stairway to their room in preference to negotiating their luggage into the miniscule cage-lift. “Away from the traffic”, as Sue had suspected, was a euphemism for a back room overlooking a light-well between buildings. At least they would be able to leave the window open at night for a little breeze – air-conditioning, in other words. The air was sultry and Sue was pleased to wash and change into a cool blouse and skirt. Before she was through, Jayne had produced a sheaf of maps and brochures.

‘Right. A planning meeting,’ she announced, opening a map and spreading it on Sue’s bed.

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