Up the Seine Without a Paddle Page 14

  “I’ll run these up to the bellstand,” I said.

  “They charge three euros for an under-the-door delivery.”

  “Per room? The program can’t incur the cost when it was my fault. I’ll do it myself.” I glanced over at the gift basket. “That won’t fit under the door. How much will it cost to deliver?”

  “Not much more. I’ll drop it on my way up and master bill it.” Declan held out a hand. “Give me half. I bet I’m back before you.”

  I smiled, dividing the notices between us. “You’re on.”

  He always made the best of a bad situation.

  “See, look at how well you solved that challenge.”

  Unlike our last meeting, where many of the mishaps that had involved me weren’t directly my fault, this was. At least I’d come up with a solution without Declan’s help. Another step toward professional independence!

  * * *

  I beat Declan back to the office. Recalling that Rachel, as a lead planner, always insisted on being in the loop, I e-mailed Heather about the room-delivery debacle. If Al questioned her about it, I didn’t want her to be blindsided. I confessed I’d left the office unlocked. A simple mistake looked better than if I’d failed to give the bellman instructions, which could be perceived as lack of knowledge or experience.

  Declan walked in. “Guess you won.”

  “So you get to buy dinner.” Or at least pick up the check and expense it back to Butler and McDonald.

  “Looks like the pub served Irish cuisine.” He gestured to my bag of Taytos on the table.

  “I stocked up.”

  A Guinness sounded great, but no way was I going home without having a glass of wine at a Paris café.

  “My hotel’s internet is sketchy, so I was thinking I’d go to the café next to it, which has Wi-Fi. Want to help me with my ancestry research?”

  He smiled faintly, looking like he might decline. He was totally avoiding me after the muse thing last night.

  “I’m also hoping they have pumpkin pie. It’s weird not being home for Halloween. And it’ll be my first Parisian café, since the Turkish restaurant doesn’t really count.” And that had been his suggestion, and I’d been a good sport about it…

  He swept a hand toward the door. “Let’s go find your granny.”

  * * *

  We sat at a quaint cane table with matching chairs under a red awning. Dusk was settling in, and the streetlamps and café’s outside lights came on almost simultaneously. Waiters were dressed in black slacks and vests with white collared shirts and aprons tied around their waists. They balanced round trays on their palms, carrying carafes of wine, bottles of Perrier, and an occasional café au lait. Just like in the movies.

  Not located in a tourist area, the restaurant’s menus were solely in French. Declan was impressed I was able to translate most of the items for him, having to refer to my dictionary only a few times. My conversations with Madame Laurent gave me the necessary courage to place our order in French. Although our waiter raised a questioning brow, I assured myself it wasn’t due to my poor French, but rather my bizarre dinner combo and my disappointment at the menu not listing one pumpkin item. Since I was starving, I’d also requested he bring everything at once, including a carafe of red wine, cheese tray, French onion soup, crème brûlée, apple tart, and chocolate mousse.

  Our waiter returned ten minutes later with merely the cheese plate and the wine. He assured me the entire order would not fit on the small table. I agreed. I celebrated my first Paris café dining experience with a sip of wine. The flavor of cherries filled my mouth. Luckily, it was good, since I didn’t know French wine.

  I booted up my laptop and connected to Wi-Fi. “Researching my grandma has brought Rachel and me closer. I don’t know if we’ll ever be as close as we once were. I hope so.” I took a sip of wine and nonchalantly brought up Declan’s sister. “Does it bug you that you and Zoe have grown apart?”

  “Yeah, I miss her.” Staring into his wineglass, Declan massaged a finger against the base, causing a wave of heat to rush up my neck and onto my cheeks. He slowly raised his gaze to mine. “I gave you the wrong e-mail for her. Didn’t mean to. I obviously need to e-mail her more.”

  It made me feel good that he hadn’t given me the wrong addy on purpose and that he wanted more contact with Zoe.

  He nodded at the raindrops sprinkling the sidewalk. “We should get some research done before we get rained out.”

  I wasn’t going to push my luck and continue discussing Zoe and have him back off like he had last night over Shauna. At least I’d convinced him to take a step toward reconnecting with family.

  Declan suggested I try a worldwide free search site. There were scads of Bridget Dalys. Knowing Grandma’s hubby’s name or where they’d lived in Ireland would help. I spread Camembert on a sliced chewy baguette and nibbled on it while reviewing Ireland’s marriage records. Despite trying various spellings, marriage years, and County Westmeath locations, no record came up that I thought might be hers. I took a gulp of wine to ease my frustration.

  “Be patient,” Declan said. “It took me a long time to find documents piecing together my granny’s family.”

  After another glass of wine, I came across a Bridget M. Coffey and Michael Daly, married 1934 in Lancashire, England, two years before Grandma had immigrated to the US.

  “How’d I go from searching Ireland to England’s records? This can’t be my grandma. Even though this woman’s father’s name was also Patrick Coffey, and my grandma’s middle name was Mary, and my grandma would have been eighteen like this woman… My grandma’s naturalization record stated her last foreign residence was Killybog, Ireland, not England.”

  “Doesn’t mean she couldn’t have been married in England. These records belong to the Church of England. The bloke was Protestant. Was your granny Catholic?”

  I nodded. “I assume she’d always been Catholic. However, we’d also assumed she’d never been married.”

  “She could have been Catholic and married a Protestant. A big issue at that time, even is now for some Irish families. It ultimately contributed to dividing the country.”

  Had it also separated Grandma from her family?

  * * *

  I returned to my hotel, excited about possibly uncovering another clue to Grandma’s past and motivating Declan to begin rebuilding his family ties. Mariele was checking in a group of young women. I said good night, gave Esmé a pat, and zipped up to my room. Romantic music once again played from the apartment across the courtyard. I peeked out the window at the couple dancing in their living room. After spying on them for several moments, I realized the woman was taller and her hair grayer than the night before. Was the old man a player or a dance instructor? That could be Declan in fifty years, making moves on every widow in town. Or rather, every married woman, since he wouldn’t want a relationship. Even though his relationship phobia was likely due to Shauna’s death, that didn’t justify him sleeping around.

  I snapped the curtains shut.

  Internet access was strong, so I checked my credit card account to discover a credit equivalent to ninety-six euros. Yay! My buddy Marcel was likely to thank for that.

  My troubleshooting today hadn’t really provided me with any new qualifications for my résumé. However, I felt more confident about it. Confident enough to send a few to Declan’s clients.

  I updated the cover letter I’d submitted for executive admin assistant positions, keeping several of the transferable buzzwords and abilities, such as strong communication and problem-solving skills. I also mentioned Declan’s name. I sent a résumé off to one of his clients.

  I dropped back against the chair with a sense of relief over taking this step forward, and a bit of anxiety, worried about living up to my résumé. However, it could be months before his client responded, let alone hired me to work a program. I’d have more experience by then. Hopefully…

  I needed money to pay bills now and add to my Killybog fund. I h
ad to suck it up and say Have a very dairy holiday for a month until Rachel’s Dublin meeting. I was optimistic that I’d be working it. Cheesey Eddie’s hourly rate was likely equivalent to the price of a bag of cheese curds, but seasonal employees worked fifty- to sixty-hour weeks, a lot of overtime. I’d take full advantage of the discount. Everyone was getting cheese for Christmas. Determined to do whatever it took to keep working as an event planner, I completed Cheesey Eddie’s application and e-mailed it.

  Mom would be ecstatic. I found an e-card with singing daisies, her favorite flower. I wrote a brief apology and told her I’d applied at Cheesey Eddie’s. That should get me a response. I shot Rachel an e-mail about Grandma’s possible marriage record, then went on Facebook. Zoe had commented on Declan and my photo.

  Lovely pic. Hope you two are on holiday and not working.

  As if we were a couple and not coworkers. She surely knew Declan didn’t date. Had she made the comment to spite Gretchen, or was she hinting that Declan should be dating? How was he going to react to her comment? Gretchen would be livid. I couldn’t stop smiling. I loved Zoe, and I’d never even met the woman. I sent her a friend request. This was the first time I’d sent a request to someone I’d never met. Yet I felt like I did know Zoe. Even if our common bond was we cared about Declan and thought Gretchen was a bitch.

  I opened Sadie’s letter. After scads of handwritten drafts, I’d decided it’d be more efficient to type the rough draft and handwrite the final one. I only had a few paragraphs detailing how we were related. Did she know that Grandma had been married to Michael Daly and what had happened between them?

  A scratching noise sounded at my door. Esmé?

  I rushed and opened the door. The dog shot into the room and hopped up on the bed.

  I smiled. “Did you want to stay here tonight?”

  Esmé was better than sleeping meds, and I really needed another good night’s sleep. But Madame Laurent would be worried sick about her. I finally managed to shove her butt off the bed. She padded down the red-carpeted steps behind me. Madame Laurent glanced up from where she was wiping down the credenza, preparing it for breakfast. She scolded Esmé for disturbing me. I assured her that I loved Esmé’s visits. I gave the dog a pat good night and turned away with a frown.

  “Arrêtez, s’il vous plaît,” Madame Laurent said.

  Assuming she was commanding her dog to stop and not to follow me back up to my room, I kept walking.

  “Arrêtez, s’il vous plaît,” she repeated.

  I turned to them. She walked Esmé over to me and asked if I’d mind keeping her for the night, that if the dog was determined to visit me, she’d spend the night pacing or barking. I had the feeling the woman was doing it for my benefit, not hers. I smiled wide, nodding enthusiastically.

  Madame Laurent was becoming like a grandmother to me. Grandma Brunetti had died when I was seven, Grandma Shaw when I was fifteen. I missed having a grandma. Madame Laurent undoubtedly wasn’t on social media, but since I was bringing back the art of letter writing, I vowed to stay in touch with her and Esmé.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I had an awesome night’s sleep, thanks to my bed partner. I was going to visit my second castle. Rachel agreed I’d indeed found Grandma’s marriage certificate. Heather had recovered and would be working today. She was also very understanding about my room-delivery snafu. Nothing was going to spoil my day. Not even the fact that Mom hadn’t replied to my cute apology card.

  I entered the office to find Heather at her desk, looking much better, despite her orange T-shirt. Why was I the only one who looked sickly in this shirt? We exchanged good mornings as Al walked in with a chipper hello and his boxed wineglasses.

  Please don’t demand an explanation for the misdelivery.

  He handed me the box. “When can I pick up ours?”

  “We asked everyone to bring them down before the tour, so we should have them organized and available this afternoon when we get back.”

  “Thanks so much for arranging everything last night. The gift basket and restaurant were perfect. Linda said it was her best birthday ever. I appreciate you taking so much time putting the basket together. Can you ship it home for me?”

  “Absolutely,” I said, using Heather’s go-to word.

  International shipping sounded complicated and expensive. Maybe Marcel could help me.

  Al peered at Heather. “I want to thank you guys for everything. The trip is going great. Henry Payton is happy with all you’ve been doing for him. I don’t have full say as to which company plans our meetings, but I definitely have some pull and will put in a good word with my boss. As long as your bid is competitive, I think you’ve got our business.” He gestured to our shirts. “Make sure you guys take those home. They’re our best ones yet.”

  What hideous-looking shirts had the staff worn in previous years?

  He left once again without cracking a morbid joke. He’d obviously forgiven me for the whole nickname thing. His appreciation and promise to recommend Heather’s company for future business seemed sincere. Maybe discovering how others perceived him had inspired him to turn over a new leaf.

  Heather stifled an excited squeal. “Yay! We’re going to keep the business. Al’s happy.” She peeled off her T-shirt, revealing a red blouse. “I’m not going to Versailles. I want to get this bid done ahead of schedule. You guys can handle it.” She smiled wide, then glanced over at the wineglasses. “Sorry you had to pick up my slack yesterday, but sounds like you did a super job. That was a great way to handle the glass exchange.”

  I shrugged. “It wasn’t bad. You know, the usual stuff.”

  “And thanks for being a team player. A lot of staff would have bitched and moaned about having to babysit some kid. My February meeting confirmed this morning. I’ll send you guys a contract once I book the hotel, in the next week or two. It’s the last part of February, if you’re available.”

  I was available the entire year.

  Outside my elf jobs, this was the first job I’d landed solely on my own. My mom had helped me get my first job out of college and my job with Rachel. Declan had landed me this gig by lying about my qualifications. I’d landed future work by proving I could do the job, living up to Heather’s high expectations of me.

  And I’d exceeded my expectations of myself.

  “They’re considering Monte Carlo, Venice, the Canary Islands, a slew of places. Have you done any of those spots?”

  I gazed off into space, as if trying to recall the destinations on my extensive travel résumé, as if I knew where the Canary Islands were located. I finally shook my head. “No, haven’t been to any of those.”

  After finishing with Heather, I raced up to the front drive and shared the wonderful news with Declan.

  “I’m already booked.” Declan wore an apprehensive look. “Gretchen will probably work it though. She usually does Heather’s programs.”

  That burst my bubble.

  Something had told me I hadn’t seen the last of that bitch.

  Despite Declan not being on the meeting, and Gretchen being on it, I had to work it. I needed the money and experience.

  Little Henry came running up, puppets on his fingers, and Mickey Mouse ears on his head.

  “Guess what I did yesterday?”

  I tapped a contemplative finger against my lips. “Hmm…”

  “Disney! Look!” He swept his arm out from behind his back, revealing a pair of Mickey Mouse ears. “Abracadabra!” He handed them to me. “A present. I picked them out all by myself.”

  A glassy haze filled my eyes. “Thank you so much. This is the best souvenir ever.” His mother took for granted I’d watch him, but Henry appreciated our time together.

  “Put them on.”

  Touched by the gift, I placed the ears on my head without arguing.

  “Take our picture, Dad.” Henry sidled up next to me. I crouched down and slipped my arm around his shoulders, drawing him against me. “Say Mickey Mouse instead of
cheese.”

  We said “Mickey Mouse” in unison, and Big Henry snapped a pic. I couldn’t believe the top sale’s guy was taking a picture of me in mouse ears.

  “We returned the costume to Heather,” Brooke said.

  “But I still got my puppets.” Henry smiled, curling the puppets on his fingers.

  Brooke wore a strained smile.

  Was she still jealous about the puppet show and Henry having so much fun with me? If it meant she would spend more time with her son, then great. It reminded me of The Nanny Diaries. Except, I wasn’t a nanny. I had no desire to be a nanny. Henry’s parents hadn’t fired me. No teddy cam was involved. And it appeared Brooke was becoming a more attentive mother.

  So nothing like the movie.

  However, I now had a much higher tolerance for kids. If I had to work the elf temp job again, which I wouldn’t, I’d likely allow a kid to sing the wrong lyrics to a Christmas carol.

  * * *

  Twenty Malahide Castles would fit inside the Palace of Versailles. No wonder the French people had revolted against King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. The cost to decorate the Hall of Mirrors could have fed the country’s peasants for a lifetime. Seventeen large gilded mirrors, comprised of 357 smaller ones, reflected the sunlight shining through the windows on the opposite wall, overlooking the 250-acre garden. Crystal chandeliers ran the length of the arched ceiling, painted in colorful frescos depicting the king’s life and achievements.

  “Kind of into himself, wasn’t he?” I said to Declan.

  He nodded. “Most impressive castle or palace I’ve ever seen though.”

  Good to know if I only saw two castles in my life that I’d seen the best.

  I peered out the window at people strolling through the gardens. The geometric-patterned landscape and colorful trees with red, yellow, and green leaves lining dirt paths looked like a refreshing break from the palace’s gilded decadence.

  “Let’s check out the gardens.”

  We passed by the gift shop on our way out and popped in to browse, even though my parents’ anniversary present had drained my souvenir fund. Any money I could scrape up would go for a Renoir print. I wasn’t leaving Paris without returning to the Musée d’Orsay.