Return to the Little French Guesthouse

17

Rupert was slumped in his doorway, his face ashen.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ I asked him doubtfully.

‘Will you be mortally offended if I say no?’

‘Of course not.’

‘I appreciate that. If you need me, I’ll be in here.’

‘Okay. I... I’m supposed to be meeting Sophie and Ellie for coffee at lunchtime, before I go to the supermarket. Is that still okay?’

‘Yes. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye out for the arrivals.’ He hesitated. ‘Perhaps you could set off the village grapevine for me, Emmy? If you start with Madame Dupont, it shouldn’t take long.’ He took the dog in with him, closing the door, so I left her to comfort her master as only a faithful hound could and set off to find Madame Dupont.

‘Bonjour, Emie. Ça va?’

‘Bonjour, Madame Dupont. I...’

She frowned. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine. Madame Hunter... She’s gone.’

The old woman’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. ‘Gone? For good?’

‘Yes.’

‘But that is marvellous news!’ She clasped my hand in hers. ‘Why aren’t you happy?’

I managed a wan smile. ‘Because...’ My French really didn’t stretch to this kind of thing. I placed my hand across my heart. ‘For Rupert.’

‘He will be fine. You will see. Where is he?’

‘In his room. Please don’t disturb him.’

‘I wouldn’t think of it! And the dog?’

‘With Rupert.’

‘Then we shall get to work!’

I think that was her answer to every problem in life. I’d expected her to gloat about Gloria’s departure as we set about our business, but she didn’t, and I was grateful.

I took five minutes out to phone Alain, but it went straight to voicemail, so I left him a message, knowing he would be immensely cheered by the news.

‘Do you mind if I leave you to finish off?’ I asked Madame Dupont soon after midday. ‘I’m meeting friends for coffee.’

‘No problem, Emie. That is good. You work too hard. You should slow down. Make time for yourself and your friends. Time to sit and enjoy the sun and the flowers and each other. I will see you next time.’

As I drove into town to pick up Ellie and Sophie, I was dismayed to see that the roadworks had been set up a quarter of a mile from the turning onto our lane. I couldn’t tell yet how much disruption they would cause, but I did know we could have done without them.

With Sophie and Ellie in the car, they directed me towards Saint-Martin. Along the road leading into the town, posters were tacked up on every available pole and surface. I slowed the car as we approached the town centre and pointed to a large field where a covered bandstand was half erected. ‘What’s that?’

‘I believe the ticketed events are held in there,’ Ellie told me. ‘People sit on rugs or bring folding chairs.’

‘And pray it doesn’t rain?’

She laughed. ‘I imagine so. And there are free little gigs in town, too – bands set up in the main square and take slots playing to whoever’s passing or wants to listen.’

We chose a café in the square, with a covered terrace where we could sit looking out at more posters and the platform to be used by the performers. I could imagine relaxing over a coffee, listening to the music.

Ellie and Sophie were both predictably ecstatic at the news that Gloria had left – and especially that Rupert had been the one to make the decision.

‘Well, thank heavens for that!’ Ellie announced. ‘Rupert did the right thing.’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘Cheers!’ Sophie chinked coffee cups with us. ‘To Rupert!’

Ellie and I echoed the sentiment.

‘I wonder what Gloria will do now,’ Ellie mused.

Sophie frowned. ‘She has... What is that expression? Something about a mattress?’

‘You mean she’s made her own bed and now she has to lie in it?’

‘Yes! That’s it!’

‘You know, I could almost feel sorry for her,’ Ellie said quietly. When Sophie and I gaped at her, she explained. ‘I don’t like the woman. Never have. And God knows she goes about everything in the worst way possible. But as we’ve said before, La Cour des Roses was never what she wanted. It was a recipe for disaster from the minute Rupert bought it.’

‘Rupert does feel responsible for the way things went sour,’ I admitted. ‘When she left, she was so upset, it made me think she really did care. But maybe she just doesn’t know how she’s going to survive without him. And I can’t say I’m going to miss all the barbed comments.’

‘You shouldn’t have put up with that,’ said Ellie.

‘I could hardly fight back with full guns blazing, could I? Rupert had enough on his plate.’

‘You are very good, when she is the one who wronged you,’ Sophie said kindly. At that, her perfect brows knitted together. ‘Although I don’t understand why she dislikes you so much. You’ve done nothing to her. It’s the other way around.’

‘Jealousy,’ Ellie supplied, drumming her mint-green nails on the table. ‘She’s jealous of Emmy because of her friendship with Rupert – a natural friendship that I’m not sure Gloria and Rupert had as a couple. And she felt threatened. She didn’t want Emmy taking over at La Cour des Roses. Taking her place. Influencing Rupert’s decision.’

‘Well, I am glad I never met her,’ Sophie declared. ‘She must have used a different salon in town, but for once I am not sad at this loss of business.’

Ellie and I both laughed, and I decided it was time for a change of subject.

I turned to Sophie. ‘A certain hunky gardener was asking about you the other day,’ I told her mischievously.

Her cheeks turned pink. ‘Really?’

‘Really.’

Sophie’s dimples flashed, even though she shrugged her shoulders. ‘Well, that’s nice.’

‘I’m going to be the old maiden aunt at this rate,’ Ellie murmured.

Sophie gave her a stern look. ‘Then you shouldn’t be so unromantic. It’s your choice.’

‘Yes, it is.’ Ellie smiled, stretching back in her seat. ‘And it’s a choice I’m perfectly happy with, thank you.’

I wasn’t sure that Rupert felt the same way about his own choices. I thought he’d made the right one, and I was sure most people would agree with me, but that didn’t mean it had been an easy one for him to make.

But as I sipped my coffee, looking out across the square and listening to Ellie and Sophie joking with each other, I reckoned that if I could see Rupert through this, life was looking pretty good.

Alain and I had something special, I was sure of it, and with the weight of coming clean about Ryan off my mind it was looking even better.

And with Gloria gone, my future at La Cour des Roses was now secure. I felt a burst of enthusiasm at the thought of how I could make it work, getting stuck into the things I wanted to change. I needed to make sure that La Cour des Roses was an ongoing success, able to financially support us both (and Gloria’s divorce settlement, no doubt) in a way that kept Rupert happy and healthy... Although with the Thomson weekend looming, it would have to be a case of first things first. Once they were out of the way, I would also renew my efforts at chipping away at my agency until it was up and running.

The only cloud on the horizon was the flat in Birmingham, but for now that was out of my hands. All I could do was try my best to make things work here in France, hope my savings lasted with regard to mortgage payments, and that I could make the money back somewhere down the line. I would be using my grandmother’s money for the right reasons – to enable my dreams.

I dropped the girls back in town, and as I pushed a trolley around the supermarket I thanked the heavens that I’d galvanised Rupert into placing several online orders to cover us for the next few days. Still, he’d forgotten to order a few bits and pieces, and there were some things he didn’t trust the supermarket staff to pick out for him.

Five days’ worth of breakfasts for over thirty people, and three days’ worth of lunches... and the barbeque. Urgh. He’d wanted to place the meat order with the local butcher and get the breakfast pastries from the bakery who usually delivered, but the simple fact was that half of this food wasn’t even being paid for by the booking. I’d persuaded him that we couldn’t afford loyalty this time, but I felt pretty bad about it.

I was so preoccupied, I was already halfway around before I remembered to phone Jonathan to see if there was anything he needed.

‘Hi, Emmy. I haven’t got out yet this week. Can I give you a little list?’

‘No problem.’ I scrabbled in my bag for pen and paper. ‘What do you need?’

Jonathan’s ‘little list’ wasn’t so little, but he was grateful for the errand.

‘Thanks, lovey,’ he said when I got there, helping me in his limited way – getting under my feet – to bring it from the car to the kitchen.

‘Have you been to see the doctor about that cough?’

‘No. It seems to be getting better.’

‘You sound awfully wheezy.’

‘I get mild asthma, on and off.’

I let it go for now. ‘Any chance of a quick cup of tea?’ That should give me long enough to assess this so-called asthma of his.

When I told him about Gloria’s departure, he looked over the moon and terribly sad for Rupert at the same time.

‘You will look after him for me, Emmy, won’t you?’

‘You know I will.’ As for his asthma, I wasn’t happy. ‘Have you got your mobile on you?’

‘Yes. Why?’ He dug it out of his pocket.

‘Phone your doctor to make an appointment.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘No, you’re not. You’ve had that cough for days, and now you’re wheezing. I’m not going until you do what you’re told. I mean it.’

‘Hmmph. Bossy little bag, aren’t you?’

Under my glare, he gave in, made the call and managed to get an appointment for Monday morning.

I got up to go. ‘That’s all very well, but if that chest of yours gets any worse, I want you to call us, okay?’

‘Okay.’

Stubborn old sod. I’d get him sorted if it killed me.

When I got back to La Cour des Roses, I noticed the delightful addition of a portable toilet in the corner of the courtyard.

Rupert came out to help with the bags, and I gestured towards it. ‘That adds a certain je ne sais quoi, don’t you think?’

He shook his head in despair at the eyesore. ‘You’ve been gone a while.’

‘Sorry. I got caught up with Jonathan.’ I explained about the shopping and the doctor.

‘Good girl. It’s about time he got that chest seen to. Probably something and nothing, but he is getting on a bit.’

‘Are you okay? After this morning?’

He grunted. ‘I’ll live.’

My phone rang and I dug it out of my bag. It was Alain. ‘Hi. I got your voicemail. I can’t believe it! What happened?’

‘I can’t talk about it right now.’

‘Ah. I assume Rupert’s there. Do you still want to come round tonight?’

‘I don’t think I should. I... have a lot to do here.’

‘Don’t worry, Emmy. I’d rather you looked after Rupert.’

But the subject of our discussion butted in. ‘Is that Alain?’

I nodded, and he gestured for me to hand him the phone.

‘Alain? Do you remember when your wife left you and you came here and I got you horribly drunk? It’s time for you to repay the favour. We’ll see you here at seven. Don’t eat. I’ll shove some supper together.’

I took the phone back. Alain was chuckling. ‘I’ll see you at seven, then, Emmy, by the sounds of it.’

‘Are you sure, Rupert?’ I asked him as I ended the call.

‘I’m sure I need to drink, and I can’t think of two better people to do it with. Now then. Down to business. Jess and Steve have left a day early, I’m afraid.’

‘Damn.’

He shrugged. ‘Didn’t surprise me. I’m not refunding him the night lost. I’m not in the mood. And the first of the Thomson guesthouse lot are here. Donald and Patricia. Donald is Frank’s brother.’ He smiled. ‘Delightful old chap, but he has dementia. When they arrived, his wife explained to him in great detail what was planned for the week ahead, but he asked her again when I took them up to their room, and again when I took them a pot of tea out to the garden. That poor woman is going to be exhausted by the end of the stay! She told me they’d deliberately come a day earlier than Frank and Sylvia, so he could get acclimatised to his surroundings before all the excitement starts. And then...’

We were interrupted by the arrival of the first of the caravans, a dinky thing containing an amiable, retired couple – Annie, a younger cousin of Sylvia’s, and her husband, Fred. We let them get on with setting up in their corner of the courtyard, took them a welcome pot of tea, and settled down at the kitchen table for our final planning session.

‘Right.’ I dragged the lists towards me. ‘Another caravan arriving tomorrow.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘Those roadworks are underway. I hope they leave enough access. Then the tent. And the rest of the house guests, too. It’s going to be quite a day.’ We looked at each other in trepidation. ‘Food all sorted?’

‘Yep.’

‘When’s the marquee due?’

‘Just after lunch on Sunday.’

‘I assumed you’d have it delivered on Monday.’

‘There’ll be plenty of other things to worry about on Monday, what with the caterer and the band. Is that all in hand, still?’

‘Yes, thanks to Alain.’ I sat back, smiling. ‘We’re going to do this, Rupert. Despite all the hassle. It’s going to work.’

‘Hmmph. Yes, well, don’t jinx it by saying something like that.’

I hesitated, wondering if I should use the moment to ask him about Gloria. But he’d seemed calm since I got back from Jonathan’s. Settled. He had colour back in his cheeks, and he’d showered and shaved. If he’d found some equilibrium, I didn’t want to jeopardise that. And in the time I’d known him, I’d learned that he preferred to talk about things when he was ready. I let it be.

Instead, I quickly checked reviews in the hope of cheering us both up, but unfortunately it had the opposite effect.

Four stars: Loved our stay. All our needs catered to. One star knocked off as the resident dog can be bouncier than we would have liked.

‘You’re going to have to have words with that dog of yours,’ I told Rupert sternly.

And a one star: A disgraceful establishment that allows adulterous couples to flaunt their relationship in front of all and sundry with no respect for the sanctity of marriage.

Rupert and I looked at each other and said in unison, ‘Steve’s wife.’

By the time Alain arrived, the newly-decorated middle gîte had been appropriated by a family with four children ranging from three to ten. As the gîtes were only designed to sleep four, this meant a couple of airbeds in the lounge, but they all seemed determined to treat it as some kind of indoor camping exercise, and the two older kids were happy to be taking an illicit few days off school, for which their parents would no doubt be lambasted – unless they’d inventively phoned in a sudden outbreak of chicken pox or impetigo and were making sure the kids didn’t get too much of an obvious tan during their stay.

Alain shook hands with Rupert, as he always did, but then drew him into a brief hug. ‘I’m sorry, Rupert. About Gloria.’

Rupert patted his back, then pulled away. ‘A valiant attempt at sincerity, Alain, but unconvincing.’

Alain smiled. ‘But I am sorry you had to go through it.’

‘Me too.’

We settled out on the patio with large glasses of wine and a tray of whatever Rupert had lurking in the fridge that he needed to clear out before the full Thomson invasion, the dog lying proprietorially across Rupert’s feet and no doubt hoping for scraps.

‘All set for your big weekend?’ Alain asked politely.

We both groaned and took large gulps of wine, making him laugh.

‘My private lounge looks like the headquarters of some kind of humanitarian food bank,’ Rupert told him. ‘The delivery of a rather sizeable online grocery order proved to us that the kitchen at La Cour des Roses is not as large as we thought, despite the commercial-sized fridge and freezer.’

‘That sounds like a lot of catering over the next few days.’

‘At least we’re not catering for the party as well,’ Rupert told him. ‘I think that would kill me. Talking of catering, when we’ve finished eating, could you help me with the barbeques for tomorrow, before we get too pissed?’

I continued to nibble and sip, watching the boys with their toys as they wheeled them out of the shed, set them up on the patio, decided which bits belonged where, and cleaned them off. They seemed happy enough, as was I. My two favourite blokes in France, working side by side, laughing and joking together. You wouldn’t have guessed that Rupert had irrevocably split up with his wife that same day.

But as the level of the wine went down and another bottle was opened, Rupert slumped a little more in his chair – and it wasn’t only due to the alcohol. He’d been putting on a front all day, and now he was allowing it to drop by degrees. I sensed it, and I knew Alain did, too.

‘I know everyone will be saying good riddance to bad rubbish,’ Rupert finally muttered, staring out across the darkening garden.

‘That’s not true,’ Alain told him sternly. ‘Everyone has an opinion, but they all want what’s best for you.’ He tried a wry smile. ‘It just so happens that Gloria leaving is what they think is best for you.’

Rupert took another large gulp of wine. ‘It was so hard. To decide.’

Alain topped his glass up and winked at me. We would deal with the hangover in the morning. Rupert needed to do this.

‘When she left me for Nathan, that was her decision. I didn’t have to do anything, make any choices. Her coming back here, wanting another chance... For the past few days, it’s like someone was holding a balancing scale, but they kept taking weights off one side and piling them on the other and then changing it back again. Every two minutes.’

‘So what was it that tipped the scale?’ I asked him quietly.

‘Steve’s wife, and Violet and Betty.’

‘What?’ I was a little sozzled myself, and that didn’t sound like much of a basis to give up on ten years of marriage to me.

‘I’d been up all night agonising. On the verge of calling it quits. This morning was the final nail in the coffin. It’s funny how it’s the smallest things, sometimes, isn’t it? After Steve’s wife called again this morning, I didn’t blame Gloria for being upset. But she’s never learned to take the rough with the smooth here. Or to try to see the funny side. That’s what I like about you, Emmy. You get stressed, but you’ll always laugh about it if you can. And the way she rounded on you, telling you to sort it out when it was clear there was nothing to be done... And then she was so unfeeling when we were waving Violet and Betty off. She’d made no effort to find any rapport with them, or to see them for the sweet souls they are. To her, they were just another mild inconvenience to be got rid of.’

‘But you would sell up anyway, if Gloria stayed. So none of that would matter.’

‘It would matter to me. The rough with the smooth. Interesting people. Boring people. I enjoy that. Fun times. Problems. I would be so bored, Emmy. I wouldn’t be...’ His voice hitched.

‘You wouldn’t be you,’ Alain supplied quietly.

Rupert nodded. ‘I like the me that goes with La Cour des Roses. I finally found my niche in life. And what was left of my love for Gloria wasn’t enough for me to walk away from it.’

We sat in silence for a long moment.

‘Gloria seemed so upset,’ I finally ventured. ‘I thought she’d be angrier.’

‘I think she was too shocked to be angry, Emmy. She’d honestly expected me to roll over.’

‘Did she say where she was going?’

‘No. We have friends further south. Maybe she’s gone there for a few days. I’ve packed up her things, so they’re waiting for her when she decides to come for them.’

Alain reached out a hand, laying it over the top of Rupert’s in a gesture I found touching. ‘Will you be okay?’

‘I will. With the help of my friends. And now I want to stop being maudlin and tell you about the time my best friend set me up on a blind date in London. You wouldn’t believe how horrendous this girl was...’

It was midnight by the time we staggered back to my room. Donald Thomson had come outside three times to introduce himself to us, and at one point asked us why he was in Italy. The Australians had come over to tell us what a brilliant meal they’d had out in town and to thank Rupert for the restaurant recommendation.

As Alain and I staggered – literally, because we’d been trying to keep up with Rupert on the wine front before we realised we couldn’t – into my room, I started to giggle.

‘What’s funny?’ He was slurring slightly, and it made his accent that bit more pronounced.

‘It’s a bit... clandestine, you sleeping here. Sort of naughty.’

‘Naughty, as in, it turns you on, naughty?’

‘Yeah. And by the way. You sound Frencher when you’re drunk.’

‘Frencher? That’s not a word, Emmy.’

I started to undress, although I needed help with the buttons. Alain was happy to oblige. Maybe the alcohol hadn’t reached his fingers yet.

‘I’m never going to sound Frencher at this rate,’ I whined. ‘We’ve hardly done any French lessons.’

‘I’ll give you a French lesson now, if you like.’ His mouth travelled slowly down the length of my neck.

‘Will it involve grammar?’

‘No. I thought I’d concentrate on technique. I think you require practice on quite a few fronts.’

‘Oh, you do?’ I tried and failed to unbutton his shirt.

‘Lots of practice. Might as well start now.’

‘Mmm-hmm. Where would you like me to start?’

Afterwards, with the light breeze from the window cooling our heated skin, I stretched like a cat, luxuriating as Alain ran his hands lightly across my body. Tracing the heart-shaped birthmark under his ribcage, I’d never felt so easy with anyone, never felt so cherished. And if that was an old-fashioned word, then so be it. When I was with him, everything else melted away until it was only the two of us.

I fit my body against his, his arms tight around me, holding me close, and drifted to sleep.