Chapter 7 – Hotel d’Ecran

The train station in Laurent was always crowded with people. Enzo sat in a café with a good view of the entrance, waiting for his family to arrive. When the clear, long chime rang from the bell tower, the gas lamps lining the avenue began to light up one by one. Enzo checked his wristwatch again.

A loud whistle sounded, and people poured out of the newly arrived train. Enzo quickly stood, placed money under his empty cup, and left the café. Amid the packed crowd, a girl with a pea-green ribbon waved her hands like an excited puppy.

“Enzo!”

The girl rushed over and hugged Enzo before he could stop her. It was Sasha, who had recently turned fourteen.

“It’s been a while, Sasha. But where’s Father?”

When Enzo pointed this out, Sasha finally looked around. Mr. Vinoche, swept up in the crowd, arrived a step late.

“There you are, you rascal. Good thing you found Enzo. You almost got lost.”

Mr. Vinoche, startled, scolded Sasha for running out as soon as the train stopped, pinching her nose. After their safe reunion, they took a shared carriage from the station to the hotel where Enzo was staying.

The lady sitting beside them complimented Sasha’s hair, saying it matched her ribbon well. Sasha played with the baby in the lady’s arms, then gave the ribbon as a gift when Enzo said it was time to get off.

Enzo led them past the illuminated fountain toward Laurent’s most famous spot. In front of Hotel d’Ecran, luxury cars and carriages were lined up. Beautiful ladies descended gracefully, escorted by gentlemen. Sasha rolled her eyes and looked at Enzo, asking skeptically,

“You don’t mean this is the hotel, do you?”

“This is it. Let’s go in.”

Enzo, leading the way, headed straight for the building without hesitation. Sasha and Mr. Vinoche hurried after him. Inside, beyond the golden embossed bronze doors, was even more grand and splendid than it appeared from outside. Under a dome ceiling painted with frescoes, a gigantic crystal chandelier hung down, scattering light in all directions and overwhelming visitors. In front of the vintage amethyst-hued lobby elevator stood the Minister of Foreign Affairs with the composer considered the best of the era.

Sasha was speechless at the scenery, feeling she’d stepped into an entirely different world. This was another kingdom within Laurent city. Even before entering their room, Mr. Vinoche, intimidated, tried to straighten his hunched shoulders.

“This way.”

Enzo guided them confidently. After passing through dazzling corridors and climbing the stairs, they reached the room where they would stay for two nights. It was incomparably more luxurious than their house in Manolie. Mr. Vinoche, flustered, couldn’t even set down his bags, stammering,

“Are we really allowed to stay somewhere like this?”

“The Royal Academy invited its scholarship students. The hotel belongs to the Guienne family, so maybe they lent rooms to the Academy. Everyone says in a few years the Duke of Guienne and Princess Deborah will get married.”

Sasha, who was curiously inspecting the marble bathtub, turned at the mention of the Duke of Guienne. Enzo explained that the Duke owned several hotels besides this one.

“When we visited the Guienne Castle four years ago, didn’t the Duke have an illness? How can someone like that run such a huge hotel?”

Mr. Vinoche asked, confused. He’d only been to Lorthez once, but remembered well that the Duke was bedridden at the time.

“The old Duke of Guienne died three years ago. The young Duke inherited the title after returning from Borona. He’s the hotel’s owner. Probably the richest man in Laurent.”

“Richer than Her Majesty the Queen?”

Enzo shrugged at his father’s naive astonishment. After the war ended and the restoration of the monarchy, the eldest daughter of Earl Truffaut was crowned as Queen Anaïs.

“The restored monarchy won’t last long. A hundred years at most.”

“Enzo!”

“Father, even if it’s not me, the republicans in Laurent say it every day. The Queen has already lost real power, and the conflict between royalists and republicans deepens daily.”

It was an era where wealthy bourgeois could lord over poor nobles. The young Duke of Guienne, only twenty, was not satisfied with the vast wealth accumulated by his ancestors and kept increasing his fortune. If he soon married into the royal family as people said, no one would dare challenge his position.

If that happened, Brissen might become not the Truffaut royal family’s country, but the Duke of Guienne’s. Enzo pondered what to do after graduating from the Academy.

At that moment, there was a suspicious sound from the bathroom. Sasha, out of curiosity, had tasted bath salts and was now spitting them into the sink after turning on the faucet. Enzo, pressing his forehead, rushed into the bathroom.

On Sainte-Marie Street, only upscale restaurants could be found, so the Vinoche family had to go quite far to find a reasonably priced café for dinner. Fortunately, they found one before all the shops closed.

When they mentioned staying at Hotel d’Ecran, the café staff told them there was one room there not open to the public. No matter how much money you paid, you couldn’t enter—only with the Duke of Guienne’s permission. The name of that room was…

“That’s such a strange coincidence! I love that word too!”

The room’s name was the same as the title of the first painting Sasha completed in Manolie. It was a pleasant coincidence to share the taste of such a beautiful hotel’s owner.

The next morning, Enzo went to the palace to have an audience with the Queen. Sasha and Mr. Vinoche headed to the department store to buy gifts for Mrs. Vinoche and the grandmothers, who couldn’t come.

Not long after Sasha left Sainte-Marie Street, a black car stopped in front of the hotel. A young Duke, buttoning his jacket elegantly, exchanged a brief conversation with the Countess in the lobby, then disappeared upstairs.

* * *

Even after returning to Manolie, Mr. Vinoche remained interested in the Duke of Guienne. Whenever the Laurent newspapers arrived with the Duke’s name, he would often show off his knowledge about the hotels the Duke owned.

“I know a bit about the Duke of Guienne. The newspapers say he’s an incredibly wealthy man.”

According to 『Pouet』, the magazine Grandma Elodie loved to read, the Duke of Guienne was the Queen’s favorite nephew-grandchild. The Duke’s mother being a relative of Duke Eugène, the Queen’s husband, was so well-known that everyone knew it.

After dinner, the adults discussed Laurent’s social circles and bureaucracy, while Sasha went upstairs to prepare for bed.

‘If I’d won that contest, could I have entered the Royal Art School? Would I get to paint every day there? I wouldn’t have to learn math, so that would be nice.’

For some time, Sasha had been painting imaginary pictures on the ceiling at night. Sometimes she stayed up all night doing so. Her ceiling was filled with paintings only she could see. Sasha’s canvas was the whole world.

Sometimes, old memories surfaced. Sasha lay on a yellow checkered mat, watching slow-moving clouds, and thought. The painting she made after visiting the Guienne Castle in Lorthez—the one submitted to the Royal Academy. Who bought that painting?

Whenever that question arose, she wanted to exchange letters with that person, whoever they were. Manolie was peaceful, but sometimes felt a bit dull. The only friend who could talk about art was Grandpa Bertland, the owner of the art supply shop.

‘That person liked my painting, so maybe we’d get along?’

Sasha sent a letter to the Royal Academy asking for the buyer’s identity, but received only a reply that they could not reveal it as per the buyer’s wishes.

* * *

“Of course. It would be an honor to include a piece about such a beautiful hotel in my humble book. But may I ask one favor?”

Pierre-Auguste, the Baron, the top critic of the era, gladly accepted the request to feature Hotel d’Ecran in his book. In return, he asked to see the rumored painting Robert possessed.

Surprised by the request, Robert set down his coffee cup.

“It’s not as impressive as the rumors say. It’s not a famous piece, just something I happened to find at an exhibition.”

But such words only fueled the Baron’s curiosity. Robert offered to show him other famous works from his collection, but the Baron insisted on seeing only the painting by the unknown artist. In the end, after finishing their meal, Robert had the manager bring the key to the room where the painting hung.

Upon seeing the painting, the Baron was amazed.

‘Those in society who claim the Duke of Guienne is obsessed with money and has lost noble dignity and taste are all fools.’

This artist was surely a genius, a pearl buried in the mud, yet to be discovered. The young Duke who recognized that was a true guardian of art.

“Would you sell me this painting? I’ll pay ten times what you paid for it.”

The Baron, excited, offered to buy the painting. Robert simply smiled gently in reply—a sign of refusal. The Baron, desperate, raised the price to a hundred times, but the Duke had no intention of selling.

“How about this? If you visit the hotel whenever you wish to see the painting, I’ll personally show it to you.”

Ah, what a sweet offer. The Baron gladly accepted.

“By the way, who is the artist? Would it be too much to ask for an introduction?”

Escaping from the rapture he hadn’t felt in a long time, the Baron asked. Unexpectedly, the Duke hesitated slightly for the first time.

“I haven’t met the artist yet. The higher my expectations, the greater my disappointment when I finally meet them.”

The Baron marveled again. To know who painted such a wonderful work and yet not rush to meet them—what restraint!

“Of course, that’s understandable. But in my humble opinion, I don’t think you need to worry about this artist. I’ve interacted with many artists, and the higher the quality, the more the artist’s soul shines through. Someone who painted this could not possibly have a tainted soul.”

“Is that so?”

The Duke gazed at the painting. The Baron, full of conviction and passion, requested,

“If you ever change your mind and meet the artist, would you introduce them to me as well? If they’re still unknown, I’d like to sponsor them myself. If you give me a chance to know the artist, I’ll never forget your kindness.”