Hotel Pastis (43 page)

“I think we should tidy up the last of the champagne,” Ernest said, getting up and going to the refrigerator. “It’s that sort of night.” He poured three glasses. “It’s a funny thing, but we always seem to be in kitchens when there’s a decision to be made.” He looked at Nicole. “This all started in a kitchen, you know, when I nagged him into taking a holiday.”

“
Santé
, Ern.” Simon raised his glass. “You’ve been a good friend.”

“Let’s hope there are a few more years to go, dear. Now, you’ll have to forgive me for being honest—the kiss of death to many a friendship, I know, but there we are.” Ernest sipped his champagne and frowned over his glass. “The truth is, running a hotel is mostly maintenance work, and you’re just not cut out for it. I know what a dreadful fidget you are. Once something’s done, you want to move on, and if you can’t, you get grumpy.” He looked at Simon beneath raised, accusing eyebrows. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“That bad, is it?”

“Absolutely frightful. How poor Nicole puts up with you when you start sighing and tossing your curls, I don’t know. And while we’re on the subject of Nicole—” he turned to her and smiled—“you’ll have to forgive my talking like this, but I’ve seen them come and go in my time, and he won’t find another one like you.” Ernest stopped for another sip. “And if he drives you away with his nonsense, he’s a very silly man.” He sniffed. “So if you ask me, dear, you should take Mr. P.’s offer.”

“What about you?”

Ernest studied the bubbles racing up from the bottom of his glass. “Well, this is everything I always wanted, I suppose. I’m just an old sergeant-major at heart. I love organising people and making things run properly. I’ll carry on here.” He poured some more champagne and winked at Nicole. “I can’t tell you what a relief it will be not to have him under my feet all day long.”

Simon reached across the table and took Nicole’s hand. “I think he’s kicking me out.”

She blinked and nodded and said nothing.

“And I very much hope,” said Ernest, “that you’ll take a few days off. You look like something the cat brought in.”

Simon rubbed his eyes. “We’ve been talking about a holiday. No kidnappers, no detectives, somewhere nice and quiet like New York. Nicole’s never been.”

Ernest nodded, smiled, and raised his glass. “You’ll be back, I dare say.”

“Yes, Ern. We’ll be back.”

The plane swung out over the Mediterranean before picking up the flight path that would take them to Paris. Simon had made reservations at L’Ami Louis for dinner, and one of those rooms at the Raphael with a bath the size of a young swimming pool. They’d catch the morning flight to New York.

He felt in his pocket for the envelope that Ernest had given him when they said goodbye, and passed it to Nicole.

“He said you should open it.”

She took out a key with a brass tag. “Hotel Pastis” was engraved on one side, the figure 1 on the other—
the top room, with the best view of the Grand Lubéron. There was a card, and Ernest’s handwriting:

Yours whenever you want it.

Love,
The Management