Return to the Little French Guesthouse

14

Jonathan seemed to be of the same opinion as Madame Dupont when we met him at the café. The market had been hard going: Rupert was distracted and we were hampered by the dog. We’d never brought her with us before, but I assumed he hadn’t wanted to leave her at La Cour des Roses with a wicked animal hater.

Bob was with Jonathan, and when she’d greeted them both, Jonathan held her close to his leg, fondling her head and ears whenever she nudged at his hand. We sat out on the terrace with her, lucky enough to grab a table under the awning, and my mind wandered back to Ryan and Alain. Would Alain be upset if he knew about Ryan? Should I tell him? I wished he’d known from the start, so I didn’t have to worry about it or make a decision.

The café owner brought the dog a bowl of water along with our coffees, and I shook myself out of it.

When Rupert told them about Gloria’s return, Jonathan didn’t mince his words. ‘I can’t believe she came back! Of all the cheek! She just waltzed in and expects you to take her back?’ His onslaught turned into a coughing fit.

‘In a nutshell.’

‘And will you?’ It was obvious from Jonathan’s tone of voice that he hoped for better from his friend.

‘Don’t know yet.’

Bob studied Rupert in his understated way. ‘And what does she think of this beauty?’ He indicated the dog.

Rupert’s expression was downcast. ‘She hates her.’

The dog gave a pitiful whine and pushed closer into Jonathan’s hand.

I decided it was best to change the subject. ‘Bob, did you take those photos of La Cour des Roses that Rupert sent me when I was updating his website?’

Rupert laughed. ‘He did indeed. I tried myself, but then Bob brought Jonathan round for a beer and I thought what the hell am I playing at? I’m friends with a freelance photographer. Might as well get the job done properly. Bob wouldn’t charge me for them, silly sod. Said he’d drunk me out of house and home over the years and intended to continue doing so.’

Bob grinned. No wonder he appeared to be wearing the same jeans he must’ve been wearing twenty years ago. The only thing new and shiny about him was his motorbike.

‘Do you take other photos, besides those for Ellie and Philippe?’

‘I do some landscape photography. I have a website, but I can’t say I sell much from it. Sometimes I take a stall in market towns in the summer, selling mounted photos to tourists.’

‘Hmm.’

‘And there it goes again,’ Rupert muttered. ‘I can hear the whirring when your brain takes off on a spin cycle, Emmy. What are you thinking?’

‘How to fix the Silver Fox’s criticism of dreary pictures on the walls. Why not get Bob to do you some framed photos for the hall and lounge, instead of those boring prints?’ I turned to Bob. ‘We’d pay, of course.’

Bob raised an eyebrow at Rupert. ‘Spending your money freely, isn’t she?’

‘But,’ I went on, ‘I was wondering if you’d be willing to provide some for free – one for each bedroom and gîte.’

‘And why would he do that?’ Rupert demanded to know.

‘We could tuck his business card in the corner of each. We get a professional regional photo in each room, and Bob gets to show off his wares to a targeted audience without lifting a finger.’ I turned to Bob. ‘You could leave a portfolio in the guest lounge, too, with a price list in the back. Holidaymakers falling in love with the region might want to purchase a memento.’

Bob exchanged a look with Rupert. ‘Is she always this bossy?’

‘Always,’ Rupert said with a resigned expression, making everyone laugh – although Jonathan’s turned into a cough again.

‘Where has that cough come from?’ I asked him.

‘Had it a couple of days,’ Jonathan mumbled. ‘Nothing to worry about. It’ll go.’

Bob gave me an encouraging smile and jerked a thumb at Jonathan, who had been looking fit to bust throughout the change of subject. ‘Perhaps we can discuss landscapes between us, and leave those two to battle it out over Gloria’s merits or otherwise.’

Ten minutes later, Rupert looked a little shaken. No doubt Jonathan had given him some not-so-tactful advice regarding Gloria. He stood, ready to go.

‘Emmy, there’s a Scottish couple with a holiday home a couple of miles from me,’ Bob said as I finished my coffee. ‘I bump into them sometimes in the next village. I told them about your agency and they said they’d love to try it. They’re not getting enough business through the one they use.’

‘That sounds promising. Do I need to contact them?’

‘They’re going to Scotland for a couple of weeks, but they’ll let me know when they get back.’

‘Thanks. Oh!’ I delved into one of the bags for the bunch of leaflets I’d collected from the printer. ‘Could you give them one of these when you see them?’

‘Give me a few. You never know.’

‘Can you still come round later this week?’ Jonathan asked me. ‘Or have you got too much on?’

‘You mean would I rather scrub every inch of your bathroom and toilet with a toothbrush or would I rather spend quality time with Gloria?’

Jonathan smiled. ‘Does tomorrow suit?’

As we headed back down to the main square, Rupert kept glancing around in a furtive manner.

‘What are you looking for?’ I asked him, trying not to trip over Gloria as she wound between our legs, sniffing at the sausages in the bags, undeterred by Rupert’s admonishments.

‘Nothing, Emmy. Nothing at all... Oh, now, look there.’ He lifted a hand in greeting and went over to the café by the fountain.

‘Monsieur le Maire! Vous allez bien?’ he asked, greeting a man, forty-something and definitely on the handsome side, vacating a table. ‘Emmy, I’d like you to meet the mayor of Pierre-la-Fontaine, Patrice Renaud. Patrice, this is Emmy Jamieson, my manager.’

‘Enchanté. How do you like your new home and our town?’

All this in French, of course.

I took a deep breath and did my best. ‘I love Pierre-la-Fontaine and La Cour des Roses, thank you.’

‘I hope Monsieur Hunter is not making you work too hard?’

I smiled, lifting my bags to illustrate. ‘Monsieur Hunter has no choice, but that means business is good.’

‘Emmy has plans to set up her own business,’ Rupert chipped in, much to my annoyance.

‘Oh? What kind of business?’

Oh dear. My French wasn’t up to that kind of discussion. But Rupert came to my rescue, giving a brief outline that I could follow, even if I couldn’t have said it myself.

‘I would be happy to see you succeed in something that brings visitors and business to the town,’ Monsieur Renaud declared. ‘If you need any help or information about how to proceed, please let me know. I spend half my life in there.’ He jerked a thumb at the town hall behind us. ‘Do you know Alain Granger, the accountant?’

Rupert smothered a smirk.

‘Yes, I do.’

‘That’s good. He will look after you with all the forms you need. I have a couple of gîtes on the outskirts of town myself. Perhaps when you are properly set up, you could get in touch?’

I smiled. ‘Of course. It’s nice to meet you.’

‘You, too.’

‘What was all that about?’ I demanded of Rupert as we went to the car.

‘What was all what about? We bumped into the mayor, that’s all.’

‘We did not bump into him. You engineered it. You were looking out for him.’

‘Yes, well, that’s true. It’s time you met him on an informal basis. You need to get to know who’s who in the town, Emmy. And you definitely want to be on the right side of Patrice Renaud in particular, and the Mairie in general. He’ll be happy to know that Alain is your accountant. He knows Alain won’t cut corners, so you’re in his good books already.’ He cast me an annoyingly smug smile. ‘No need to thank me, Emmy.’

‘Are you okay?’ I asked him as we drove back. ‘Was Jonathan a bit too... honest with you?’

‘He didn’t say anything I didn’t expect. And as a good friend, he’s entitled to express an opinion, after all.’

‘Not if it upsets you so much.’

‘I’m already upset, Emmy. I hadn’t expected to see Gloria again, other than within some kind of legal setting, and now she wants me to take her back. It’s a bit of a turnaround in one weekend.’ He paused as he negotiated a busy junction. ‘I just don’t know what to do.’

Staring out at the tree-lined street, I tried to think of something to say that didn’t come out of my obvious bias. ‘What about that good old standby, gut instinct? Does it feel right, having her back?’

He puffed out a breath. ‘The honest answer is “not really” – but that’s understandable after what happened with Nathan.’ He glanced across at me. ‘I’m no spring chicken, Emmy. And Gloria is the only woman I loved enough to marry. If I turn her down now, I figure that’s me done in the relationship department for good.’

I frowned. ‘I don’t think that’s necessarily true. But if you take her back, it should be because you want to be with her, not because you’re scared of the future.’

We fell into silence as I consulted my own gut instinct, which was currently screaming at me that there was a very real danger that Rupert would indeed take Gloria back. And as much as I didn’t want to bring my own situation into the equation, I couldn’t ignore the knowledge that if he did, I would be out in the cold.

I thought about my hostile exchange with her this morning, and it occurred to me that it was a good thing Rupert hadn’t been around to hear it. Gloria’s attitude to me was crystal clear, but I was descending to her level with my side of the conversations – if you could call them that. Not only did I not want to be that person, I didn’t think Gloria and I sniping at each other like fishwives would help Rupert in making his decision. And it was stretching my already-stretched nerves to breaking point.

And if I wanted to be really grown-up about all of this, Gloria may have done some pretty shitty things, but if it hadn’t been my boyfriend she’d run off with, and my job in jeopardy, would I be this set against her? Yes, she could be poisonous, but Rupert had shown me a different side to her. It wasn’t her fault the man she married swapped their swanky, jet-setting lifestyle for a place she didn’t like, in the middle of nowhere. It was hard to understand her perspective, because her hell was my heaven, but the truth was La Cour des Roses was not what she signed up for. I let out a big sigh. I was never going to like Gloria, but maybe I was letting my bias blind me to the complexities of the situation.

When we got back, Madame Dupont had left a note explaining that she’d only had time to press the bedlinen and hadn’t got to the rooms. Whether this was because she’d cut short her stint due to Gloria’s presence was unclear.

‘I need to do the rooms straight after lunch,’ I told Rupert, flapping the note at him.

‘Ah. I meant to speak to you about that. You need to be careful with Jess and Steve’s.’

‘Why?’

‘I think they’re “afternoon” people.’

‘Afternoon people?’

‘Yesterday, when you were out at Alain’s, and Saturday when you were busy with the gîtes, they were enjoying a... siesta.’

‘Maybe they were tired?’

‘If I was his age, with a girlfriend her age, I’d be exhausted! But I don’t think they were getting much sleep.’

‘Urgh. It’s like the Jacksons all over again, except at a different time of day.’

‘We’re here to provide a service, Emmy, and if that means guests accessing their room at any of time of the day for sex, then so be it. People bonk more on holiday. It’s a natural phenomenon. Surely you’re not embarrassed because we have frisky guests? Anyway, it’s your fault.’

‘My fault?’

‘If you didn’t make the rooms so welcoming, people might be inclined to spend less time in them. Just make sure you let Madame Dupont know, in case she goes blundering in there, will you?’

‘Okay.’

As I headed for the den, I bumped into Gloria.

‘Emmy. Fun day at the market?’ Sarcasm dripped from every word.

Here we go again. ‘Yes, thanks. Er – could I have a quick word, Gloria?’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘If you must.’

We went into the den, where she stood waiting for whatever diatribe I was about to spew. The startled look on her face almost made me laugh when I said, ‘I’d like to call a truce.’

‘What?’

‘Gloria, you and I are both harbouring a lot of resentment towards each other. I’m not going to forget what you did to me in a hurry, and I know you see me as a threat here at La Cour des Roses. But I need you to understand that I’m not.’

At that, she snorted with derision. ‘Oh, really?’

I reined in my temper. ‘All I’ve done is to provide an understanding ear if Rupert needs one, and I won’t stop doing that, but I’m not trying to influence him. And I don’t think you and I being at each other’s throats is helping him. Can we try and be civil?’

A stunned silence. She finally opened her mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it. A simple nod.

Well, wonders never ceased.

When she’d gone, I took out my phone to get on to the letting agents again. I wanted to know if the couple who had been ‘interested’ had been suitably persuaded yet. But when I saw a missed call from Sophie, I called her first.

‘Hi, Sophie. Did I miss a call?’

‘Yes. I promised Ellie I would phone you. Are the rumours true? That Gloria’s back? Ellie heard from Philippe who heard from Martine who heard from the owner of Rupert’s café who heard from Jonathan.’

I couldn’t help but smile. Half of Pierre-la-Fontaine was in on the act. ‘Yes, it’s true.’ I filled her in on Gloria’s reappearance.

She tutted sympathetically. ‘Is it awful for you? Having her back, after what she did to you?’

‘I’ve called a truce, but I doubt it’ll last.’

‘Do you fancy a coffee on Wednesday lunchtime with Ellie? We could drive to Saint-Martin for a change?’

‘I’d love to.’

My conversation with the letting agents did not go quite so well.

‘No, I’m sorry, Ms Jamieson, but of course, there’s no point in showing any prospective tenants around the flat at the moment anyway.’

‘Not showing? What do you mean?’

‘Due to the damage. That will all need to be fixed before we could even consider—’

‘What damage?’

‘Well, I – er – I assumed you knew about it. Your partner told us he would e-mail you. We would have done so ourselves otherwise. Although I would add, Ms Jamieson, that we don’t appreciate acting as go-betweens between two... differing parties.’

‘That’s fine,’ I snapped. ‘Thank you. I’ll deal with it.’

I clicked off the phone and checked my e-mails. One from Nathan, sent mid-morning while I was out in town.

Emmy

I thought it best to stick to e-mails, as our phone calls inevitably end acrimoniously. I’m writing to let you know that there is no prospect of tenants in the flat for the next few weeks. The flat above has had a slow leak in the bathroom for weeks, which has flooded under their floorboards and now down into our ceiling, causing serious damage.

The good news is that their insurance will pay for all repairs, replastering, redecorating etc.

The bad news is they won’t compensate us for lost income, as we had no tenants signed.

I’m not happy about taking sole responsibility for this. I’ve had to take time off work to go up to Birmingham and deal with it, aside from the many phone calls and e-mails. I will follow this through, Emmy, but if anything else major happens, it will have to be you who deals with it, whether you’re across the Channel or not. There is a limit to what you can expect.

Nathan

I sat staring silently at the screen for a few long minutes while my stomach slowly relocated itself somewhere higher than my feet.

Nathan had made no mention of Gloria leaving. No mention of where he was staying now. Was he still at Rupert’s flat? Surely not! But my curiosity was dampened somewhat by my panic over the mortgage.

I thought about my small inheritance, and what Alain had said about it. That my grandmother may well have approved of me using it this way. I hoped she did. Because that’s what I was going to do. There was no point going at this whole life-in-France thing half-cocked. I wanted it, and I would do what I had to do to keep it. I had to avoiding wallowing and do something constructive.

Checking the rest of my e-mails, I saw one from Ellie, forwarded from one of her former clients who had replied to her round-robin e-mail about my agency. He had converted his property into a complex of gîtes and was interested in listing with me. Could I phone him to make an appointment?

I did. Jerry Barnes sounded most keen – so keen, in fact, that I arranged to go round the next day.

I texted Nick. Could we chat about the website some time?

He phoned back five minutes later. ‘Hi, sis. Taking a break. What can I do for you?’

‘I don’t want to hassle you, but I’m starting to get some genuine interest.’

‘That’s great!’

‘Yes, it is. And I know we won’t be ready to go live for quite a while, but I wondered if there was any chance of some sort of prototype – you know, sample pages so I can show people how it might look when I go to see them?’

‘That’s what I was hoping to do for you. I can probably send you the page with La Cour des Roses on it, although I’m still working on an availability facility. And maybe that page with the château? And your home page. Would that do for now?’

‘That would be brilliant. Thanks, Nick. Er... any chance of that by tomorrow?’

I smiled at his good-natured but unrepeatable response. It was good to know that I was making progress with something, and it reminded me that I needed to put the things that I couldn’t do anything about to the back of my mind and focus instead on the things I could do something about.

Early evening saw the first arrivals of the Thomson brigade. Obliged to fly halfway across the world, Chris Thomson was Julia Cooper’s younger brother. He had in tow his wife Michelle and three teenagers. Chris’s English accent stood out like a sore thumb compared with his very Australian family, making me smile. All were tall and tanned and excited about their holiday. Chris hadn’t been to France since he was a kid, and Europe was a complete novelty to the rest of them. I hoped they would have a wonderful time.

Lacking an airbed until it was brought over by someone driving, they had planned for the two girls to share a single bed for the first night, but Rupert wouldn’t have it, so he and Chris carried one of the single mattresses from the twin room in the guesthouse to use temporarily.

They’d only been there an hour when Julia phoned to double-check that everything had been okay for their arrival, and to triple-check all the arrangements we’d already double-checked.

I held my irritation in check. This woman had gathered together ten separate family groups and put together an event to remember, all whilst doing a full-time job. She obviously cared about her parents very much, and was willing to make a huge effort to get this right. Patiently, I went through her concerns. Again.

‘Well, Emmy, I know I’ve not been entirely happy at times, but I must say that you and Mr Hunter have done your best to ensure that everything goes as smoothly as possible. I do appreciate it.’

‘You’re more than welcome.’

Once I’d put the phone down, it belatedly occurred to me that Gloria could have answered that phone call just as easily as me – and then heaven knew what havoc she might have wreaked. As Rupert walked past me, I grabbed his arm.

‘Have you spoken to Gloria about this Thomson thing?’ I whispered, not knowing whether she was in earshot.

‘No. I thought it was best left alone. We have enough stuff to argue over, without bringing up her total lack of interest in our livelihood.’

He had a point. ‘That’s fine by me.’

I hadn’t been off the phone two minutes when Alain rang to ask if I’d like to go round that evening.

I was torn with indecision. Truth be told, I was still feeling out of sorts after his encounter with Ryan that morning. Should I tell him? Shouldn’t I? Why should I? Why shouldn’t I? Urgh.

I took the coward’s way out for now. ‘Alain, I’m sorry, but I’m feeling a bit under the weather. I could do with a quiet night.’ And that wasn’t an outright lie.

He took it at face value. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

Feeling guilty at my pathetic avoidance tactic, I laid it on a bit thicker than I might have done about the latest developments with the flat in Birmingham.

‘Damn, Emmy. That place is jinxed!’

‘I know.’

‘Don’t worry. It might not take too long to fix. And the agents could still be lining up interested parties, I reckon. It sounds like Nathan’s on top of it, anyway.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Get some sleep.’

‘I will.’

As the evening wore on, I worried more and more about my reasons for avoiding him. It was ridiculous. I needed to make a decision and stick to it.

I needed Kate.

But when I texted her to ask if she could chat, she texted back to say she was out with friends – could it wait till tomorrow?

Ah, well. What was one more night of panic and introspection to the queen of these things?