Bordeaux – 48 hours of little catastrophes (2) apartment

The owner of the apartment, I will call her Catherine, was watching out for us, and she let us in to the building. “It’s an eighteenth century original – I chose something insolite,” Thérèse whispered to me as we hoisted our bags up the stairs. Yes, unusual was one word for it; the paint was pealing off the walls and ceilings of the stairwell, although the lines were graceful. This photo shows it in a good light.

Catherine gave us each a set of keys, took our payment, spread a city map on the living room table, explained the highlights, and prepared to depart.

Thérèse glanced into the bedroom. “There is only one bed.” 

“I did offer you the chance to take a second apartment,” Catherine told her. She pointed to the sofa in the living room. “The canapé converts into a very good bed. I will bring you more bedding for an extra charge.”

Thérèse turned to me. “You have the bed. I’ll sleep on the canapé.”

I suggested to Catherine that there was no need to bring more bedding, just  a set of sheets. The queen-size bed had a bolster, two large square pillows and some mohair blankets; Thérèse could share these.

Thérèse and I went out for a late lunch, and on our return I inserted my key into the lock of the large exterior door. It would not budge. “Here. I’ll do it,” Thérèse said. Her key would not turn either.

We waited under our umbrellas while Thérèse phoned Catherine. Ten minutes later, Catherine arrived on foot (she seemed to live just round the corner) and told us, “It’s easy. You are the first people to have trouble with the lock.” She unlocked the door in a trice.

Thérèse and I insisted that Catherine give us a lesson in the subtleties of unlocking the door. I proved incapable of mastering the technique, but Thérèse did so, much to her satisfaction. “Aha! I can lock you out if we have an argument,” she joked.

“Catherine should have told us about the door when we first arrived,” I grumbled. “What if we’d arrived back in the dark?”

I am a lark but Thérèse is an owl, and so it was nearly midnight before we set about opening the canapé. The procedure started well, even though the workings were old and heavy, but there came a moment, after yet another heave, that we realised it was stuck. The bed was fully extended, but it was at a crazy angle with the foot greatly higher than the head. Nothing we could do would move it.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Thérèse said. “I don’t mind.”

Of course I wasn't going to let her sleep on bare boards. Drooping with tiredness, I created a bed on the floor – a thin mattress resting on four padded squabs from the canapé, which I wedged together as best I could, hoping my assemblage would not slide apart during the night. I wondered if I should invite Therèse to sleep with me, but I have not shared a bed with another woman since I was in my early twenties. No, I would see how well the current arrangement worked.

In the morning, both of us sleep-deprived, we noted that it was still raining. We sat at the dining table which was now pushed against the window to allow room for a double mattress plus a wildly extended canapé. Thérèse used her smartphone to search for the website through which she had booked the apartment. “Look. The photos show two bedrooms. Nowhere does it say that these bedrooms belong to two different apartments. C’est une catastrophe.”

I tried to look on the bright side. “In a few months’ time we’ll look back on this holiday and laugh. The most interesting holidays are when things go a little wrong.”

Thérèse did not look convinced. She phoned Catherine who arrived almost immediately, saying, “The bed is easy. It has been used with much success by other guests. Here, I’ll show you.” Catherine heaved at the bed but could not move it a single centimetre.”

“We absolutely did not force the bed when we tried to open it,” Thérèse said.

I decided this conversation did not need me, and went to the bedroom. Through the wall I could hear raised voices, with Thérèse saying repeatedly that we had not broken the bed. I wondered if Catherine would try to charge us for the damage. Then suddenly the tone changed, and the voices were warmer. I rejoined the two women, and was told that Catherine’s husband would come later in the day and try to mend the bed.

During the next few hours, as Thérèse and I wandered round Bordeaux in the rain, we speculated as to what sight would greet us when we returned to the apartment.

“The canapé will be gone,” I said.

“Yes, because other guests are arriving immediately after us.”

“I heard Catherine tell you the floor is very comfortable to sleep on.”

“Yes, but there will no longer be a mattress – it belongs with the canapé.”

“She would not expect you to sleep on bare boards, surely! But if worse comes to worst, you can share my bed.”

“We’ll see.”

When we returned to the apartment later in the day, we paused and looked at each other before entering. What sight would greet us?

We opened the living room door.

The canapé was neatly extended and the bed made up. Perhaps this signified a change in our fortunes?

Blog by Ann Barrie