Return to the Little French Guesthouse

22

Up ridiculously early the next morning, I let the chickens out, roamed the garden with Gloria at my heels, then sat with my espresso on the Adirondack chair in my favourite hideaway corner, the dog’s head in my lap, until Rupert came out to take her for a quick walk while I began on breakfast.

As I chopped yet more fruit – we seemed to have gone through a whole greengrocery department these last few days – I could only be grateful that our lunch provision was at least over with.

And the marquee hadn’t collapsed overnight, which was a bonus.

As soon as breakfast was over, I drove into Pierre-la-Fontaine to collect the cake. With Jonathan’s words still prominent in my mind, I couldn’t help glancing up the street towards Alain’s office, but I would gain nothing by bothering him at his place of work again. Besides, he’d already made it clear that he would like us to be together. The ball was in my court… and I simply didn’t have time to play right now.

When the woman at the counter showed me the cake, I gasped. It wasn’t a cake – it was a creation. Simple but elegant, with tiny gold rosebuds and delicate swirls and ribbons. So tasteful and so beautiful. I paid the balance with Rupert’s credit card, wincing as I entered the pin number, and took charge of the boxed treasure with nothing other than complete trepidation. It was market day out there, which meant crowded streets and jostling people and a longer walk than usual back to my car.

I held the box in front of me as though it would break, gripping the ribbon handle like my life depended on it – but I needn’t have worried. Everyone who passed me guessed there must be something special in that box, and I was given a wide berth. In the car, I placed it in the boot and stuffed old jumpers and a rug around it so it couldn’t slide around, then drove home at half the usual speed.

La Cour des Roses was deserted when I got back.

‘Where is everybody?’ I asked Rupert when he’d duly praised the cake and my careful driving.

‘The families with kids have gone to the zoo for the day. Tire them out a bit before the party. The rest have gone off sightseeing.’

‘Crikey. Peace and quiet for us, then.’ I let out a huge sigh of relief, making Rupert laugh.

‘I’ll take advantage and go to see Jonathan this afternoon, if that’s okay with you,’ he said. ‘I should be back in time for the caterers coming.’

‘No problem.’

Figuring I could spare an hour or so before starting to make sure everything was ready for the party, I took a lounger down the garden and sat amongst huge, floppy-headed, deep pink roses. I closed my eyes and breathed in their scent and dozed and woke and dozed again, the dog stretched out behind me in the shade, half in and half out of a flowerbed. Ryan would not be pleased at the dog-shaped dent in his flowers, but I figured she could do with an hour off from being nagged, too.

My bones melted in the sunshine, my blood warmed, my brain allowed thoughts and worries to buzz without stinging. And when I finally came out of my doze and allowed my senses to reorientate themselves before fully opening my eyes, I had come to understand that what mattered most to me about being here was the people. Rupert, Jonathan. Ellie, Sophie. Ryan, Bob. Alain.

I’d been concentrating so hard on my new role, desperate to improve La Cour des Roses, boost profits, pull us out of every difficulty that had come our way and anticipate future ones. To build my reputation in the community as a woman who could do that stuff, and do it well.

But the truth was, it didn’t matter if La Cour des Roses hadn’t made quite enough money this season. There was always next year. It didn’t matter if the odd guest gave us a crap review. We would get good ones – far more of them. It would matter eventually if I couldn’t get my business off the ground, and if I used all my savings. But I would have to ensure that didn’t happen. Somehow.

Right now, what I cared about was Rupert not driving himself into an early grave after the stressful months he’d been through. Helping him come to terms with the aftermath of Gloria. Making sure I made time for all my new friends, just as they had made time for me. Finding a way, if it was at all possible, to reconcile Rupert and Alain, so that I could be with the man I wanted to be with, without feeling like I was betraying my best friend at the same time.

My much-needed break was ended by Ryan’s arrival. He’d been roped in to string fairy lights around the patio and amongst the hedges and trees around the garden, depending on how far he dared stretch the tolerance of the electricity supply.

‘How’s Jonathan?’ he asked me immediately.

‘Stable, and a little better. I hope… No, I think he’s going to be okay.’

‘That’s good.’

I went into the house to start dragging wine and soft drinks through to the kitchen from Rupert’s lounge.

When Rupert got back from the hospital, he was a little pale, a little jittery.

‘Is everything all right?’ Alarm made my spine prickle. ‘Is Jonathan okay?’

‘Jonathan’s fine, Emmy. Quite chatty, in fact.’

‘That’s good.’ I registered his emphasis on ‘chatty’ and frowned. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Apparently not,’ he grunted, giving me a hand carrying boxes and bottles through. I stopped him and moved to his little kitchenette to make tea. A bit forward of me, but at least we would have some privacy in there.

‘What are you doing? I thought we were moving these?’

‘We have time for a cuppa,’ I told him. ‘You look like you need one, and I probably haven’t had enough to drink today.’

‘Hmmph. I doubt tea will solve that.’

What on earth was the matter with him? I pushed him onto the sofa and handed him a mug, then sat next to him and nudged him lightly. ‘What’s up?’

‘Nothing.’

I glared at him. ‘Rupert, we have a big event tonight. You can’t be like this. Get it off your chest now, with someone who’s willing to take it and isn’t a paying guest.’

‘Can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s too close to home.’

‘Ah. Well. Makes no difference. I can’t see any other agony aunts around here at the moment, can you?’ When he said nothing, I guessed, ‘Has Jonathan been too honest again?’

‘Beyond honest. He was quite belligerent.’

I smiled. ‘That’s good. Means he might be getting better.’

‘Well, I can’t say I enjoyed it. He gave me a stern talking to. Demanded to know what the hell was going on between us all. Wouldn’t let it drop.’

‘You… You told him?’

‘Yes.’

I felt so relieved that he was finally ready to talk to someone. ‘So what did Jonathan say?’

‘He had to get a fair variety of swearwords out of the way first. That took a good five minutes. Jonathan and Gloria never got on, but even so…’ Rupert stared at his feet. ‘He was very sympathetic, but he was also very cross with me.’

‘Cross with you?’

‘Yes. For being so quick to give up on Alain’s friendship. For what I was putting you through by doing that.’

‘I don’t want you making up with Alain for my sake. It would always be forced and false. If you choose to do that, it should be for your sake, Rupert. For a six-year friendship’s sake.’ When he said nothing, I wondered how far to push it and decided I had nothing to lose. ‘Think about how much that friendship has meant to you. Think about why you’re angry and who you’re really angry with.’

He heaved a huge sigh. ‘What Ellie told me, Emmy… You were right, it did alter my perspective. I remember how cut up Alain was about his wife leaving. I also remember he was pretty out of it that night. That’s why we left him to sleep on the sofa.’

‘But?’

‘But there’s still the fact of it, Emmy. I’m still angry at him for not telling me. For not saving me from… From everything that’s happened since.’

‘Would you have taken it kindly if he had? Would you have believed him? Or would you have believed your own wife? Would you have been happy if it had led to your marriage breaking up?’

‘I know it’s not logical. And I know it’s a hell of a lot of blame to put on one person, but…’ He scrubbed a hand across his face. ‘I can’t… My pride… God knows, Emmy, I have so little of it left where my disaster of a marriage is concerned.’

I nodded, scared to push him any further. He was wavering, I knew it. If I could bide my time, chip away at him…

I leaned in to peck him on the cheek. ‘You’ve had a hard time, Rupert. And now with Jonathan…’

‘Do you know what he said to me when I left?’ he asked. ‘He said, “How many years do you think I’ve got left, Rupert? You’ve been thinking I might die here in this hospital. I’ve thought I might die. Treasure what you have while you still have it, man.”’

‘Was he talking about Alain?’

‘Probably, the sneaky old bugger. But I guess it could apply to a lot of things, couldn’t it?’

And in a signal that the soppy moment and heart to hearts were over, he hoisted himself to his feet and carried on where we’d left off with the party preparations.

The caterers arrived not long after that, with tray after tray of incredible party food – and the dog was immediately banished to Rupert’s quarters for the rest of the evening. When we’d helped them bring it all from the van into the kitchen, Rupert decided we had better ensure the same happened with the labradoodles when they got back with their owners.

His magic with lights achieved, Ryan sloped off before he could be asked to do anything else, as the caterers’ van left and guests began to trickle back from their various trips and went off to shower and change into their glad rags.

Julia came into the kitchen to take a peek at the food and clapped her hands in delight. ‘Perfect!’

‘Where did you take Frank and Sylvia today?’ I asked her.

‘Saumur. Lots of sitting on benches by the river or the castle or the town, and cups of tea. I didn’t want to wear them out.’

But as Frank and Sylvia ambled along the hall towards the staircase, they looked sprightly enough, and up for their big night.

As the two waiting staff the caterers had hired set themselves up at one end of the marquee with glasses and drinks, the van with the band arrived. When we’d greeted them and showed them where we wanted them to go, they began to haul out their instruments. Drums, bass, the whole caboodle… They started to set up at the other end of the marquee.

I turned to Rupert. ‘I thought it was a five-piece band. There’s only four of them.’

‘Maybe the other one’s been held up and will follow on. They didn’t say anything.’ He plucked at the sleeve of my T-shirt. ‘Aren’t you going to put a party frock on?’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Who are you, my grandmother?’ But I dutifully went to change into a dress and slap some make-up on.

As I did so, my heart was a little lighter and a little heavier at the same time. Jonathan had done a good job today – I could never have spoken to Rupert like that and got away with it, and he’d obviously got through to him a little – but it looked like Rupert was clinging on to his stubbornness by his fingernails, and I wasn’t sure whether it was my place to intrude any further into his feelings.

Donald came wandering downstairs as I went back into the main part of the house. ‘Are we having fish and chips?’

‘Er. No, Donald, I’m sorry. It’s party food tonight. There might be a prawn or two. Is that near enough?’

He wrinkled his nose. ‘I can’t find Patricia.’

‘Is she in your room?’

‘Which room?’

I took his arm and led him back upstairs. Patricia was in her robe.

‘Oh, Emmy, I’m so sorry. I only left him for a minute while I had a quick wash!’

‘Don’t worry. I don’t think he’d have got very far.’

‘Used to be the top sprinter at school,’ he muttered as I led him to the bedroom chair. ‘Faster than that Jack Smith.’

I left them to it and went back downstairs. Rupert was outside, talking animatedly with the band. I’d never seen him in a jacket and tie, other than in his wedding photograph.

‘You look very handsome,’ I told him, smiling. ‘What’s going on here?’

‘They’re still one man down. Their clarinet player threw up an hour before they came here. They left him at the campsite and he said he’d follow on if he felt better, but he’s just phoned them. He’s stuck on the toilet and there’s no way he can make it.’

‘How much difference will it make?’

‘They can still play. Apparently it’s not like losing the drummer or the bass. They still have the keyboard and a sax player. But the sound won’t be as good.’ His shoulders sagged.

As did mine. ‘Damn and blast.’ I sighed. ‘I… Sylvia and Frank Thomson have been married for fifty years – how many people achieve that? Ten different factions have driven or flown to France to celebrate it with them, one from halfway around the world. This can never happen again in their lifetime. Enough has gone wrong – or almost gone wrong – already. And we’ve put so much effort into it. I wanted it to be perfect.’

He squeezed my hand. ‘You are such a soft touch.’

‘Yes, well, you can’t tell me you don’t feel the same way.’

When he only grunted in reply, I scanned the instruments. ‘Shame it wasn’t their sax player that’s ill.’

‘What? Why?’

I searched his face. ‘You know why,’ I said gently. ‘Maybe Alain could have played.’

Rupert’s lips tightened into a thin line.

Sensing our despondency, the sax player began talking to Rupert again, lifting up the sax in one hand and the clarinet in the other, the rest of the band all chiming in with their opinions.

Frustrated, I demanded, ‘What are they saying?’

Rupert looked at the ground. ‘He says he can switch instruments depending on the piece of music. He plays sax and clarinet, so he’ll switch to whichever is more dominant for each piece they’re playing.’

‘That’s… Wait! He’s a sax player, but he can play clarinet?’

‘Yes.’

‘So if he plays clarinet, they are down a sax player, after all…’

Rupert just frowned, but I knew he was softening towards Alain – he’d been touched by what Jonathan said about short lives and friendship, and the only reason he had for not making up now was pride.

‘Alain told us he played with these guys a couple of times a few years ago.’ I stood with my hands on my hips, the band looking on bemusedly. ‘We have a chance to make this perfect for Frank and Sylvia.’

I turned to the sax player and switched to French. ‘If we know someone who plays this,’ I asked him, pointing to his sax, since I didn’t know the word for the thing, ‘is that good? And you could play that?’ I pointed to the clarinet.

He answered in accented English to be kind. ‘Maybe, but only if he plays jazz. And he may not know the songs we play.’

‘He does know jazz. You played with him before. Alain Granger.’

The man frowned. ‘Alain?’ And then his eyes lit up. ‘He is very tall, yes?’ He held his hand way above his head to make his point.

I laughed. ‘Yes.’

‘If he could come, we could do something. It would be better than four.’

Rupert looked absolutely exhausted, and I wondered if I’d gone too far. ‘Emmy…’

‘Rupert, we’ve ascertained that they could make a better sound if Alain came. Whether you ring him is up to you.’ I decided to push my luck – what did I have to lose? ‘I’m sure Alain would be happy to do you this favour. That’s the kind of friendship you have. I know you want to see him, really.’

‘And how will that look? Me only speaking to him because I need a favour?’

‘It would look as though you’re willing to speak to him, which would be a step forward.’ A couple of guests appeared on the patio. ‘I need to get this party started. You can decide whether your pride’s worth the loss of a good friend.’

When he stalked off to the house, I turned back to the band.

‘Alain?’ the sax player asked hopefully.

‘I don’t know. I’m sorry.’

‘We will do our best, anyway.’

‘Thank you.’

I wandered across the garden, weaving between the guests starting their special evening, hoping Rupert would see sense – but suspecting he wouldn’t.

I took a deep breath and tried to focus on the moment. Ryan had done a fantastic job with the lights. They made the garden look so pretty. The guests were all dressed to the nines, ladies and girls in summer dresses, blokes and boys in jackets and ties. I got the waiting staff circulating with drinks. Once everyone was served, one of them could begin taking trays of food around, while the other manned the bar.

Rupert came back out, but I couldn’t read his look – sulky or sheepish? He dutifully plastered on a smile as he began to circulate.

Once everyone was outside, the band began to play. As Alain had suggested, it was no cacophony of modern experimentation – just a mellow rhythm that floated across the courtyard and gardens.

Julia came across to where I was hovering near the drinks, in case there was a run at the bar, and gave me a tight hug. There were tears in her eyes. ‘Thank you so much. This is so perfect.’

‘You’re welcome. That’s a beautiful dress.’ She looked a different woman in the floaty, floral number.

‘And the woman in it is beautiful,’ Robert said, joining us. ‘Your eldest nephew wants to know if we can come back here as a family every year, my love.’

Julia laughed. ‘Only if he wants to see me go even greyer than I already am. Where is he? I’ll tell him he can organise it next time…’

They strolled off across the garden, hand in hand, and a pang of loneliness punched me in the gut.

I snuck a glass of wine before circulating, then grabbed a bottle and began topping up the guests, agreeing with their delight over the pink sunset and the sweet scent of the roses. As the band played on, I heard at least two jazz fanatics lamenting the absence of another wind musician.

I gritted my teeth and looked over as the clarinettist took up the sax again. He caught my eye and raised his eyebrows hopefully. I shrugged and shook my head, and suddenly felt that I had to stand back from all of this. I put the empty wine bottle down and made a beeline for the house.

It was cool and quiet, leaning against the bare stone wall next to the kitchen window. Even if everything worked out at La Cour des Roses, was it enough for me any more, without Alain?

As if in answer, I heard footsteps coming across the gravel from the lane and turned. I couldn’t see his face in the bright lights shining from the house, but there was no mistaking his height. Or the instrument case in his hand.

I let out my breath on a long sigh of relief and hope. Rupert had called him. And maybe, just maybe, we could put this behind us, all three of us.

Alain didn’t see me, but Rupert saw him. I held my breath as Rupert strode across the patio to the courtyard, reached out for a handshake, then draw Alain into a quick hug. I hardly dared believe that Rupert had made the call. And that Alain had accepted his plea for help.

As Alain started across to the marquee, I stepped out from the shadows of the house, and as though he sensed it, he turned back. ‘Emmy.’

‘Hi. Thank you for coming.’

‘Did you think I wouldn’t?’

‘Rupert was worried it would look like he only called you because he needed your help.’

Alain shrugged. ‘It’s a start.’

I nodded. ‘I want you to know… He’s already beginning to soften a little, Alain, but it’s taken a lot for him to do it. To call you.’

‘I know. And of course you wouldn’t have had anything to do with trying to persuade him?’

I arranged an innocent look on my face. ‘Who, me?’ I took a long look at his handsome face. ‘And I also know it’s taken a lot for you to come.’

He took his sax out of its case, then dared a kiss on my cheek. ‘Duty calls once in a while. Do I at least get a beer?’

I grinned and went to fetch him a bottle. When I got back to him with it, the band had finished the number they were playing, and there were friendly greetings and a few minutes’ discussion over which numbers Alain felt he could safely join in with before they were back in action. I stood at the bar and watched him adjust to their playing, tentative at first, then growing more confident as he got into it.

The sound was sexy. Alain was sexy, his lips at the mouthpiece, his long fingers at the keys, his shoulders twisting slightly to the music as he played. I didn’t know much about it, but I figured he was pretty good for an amateur.

He was handsome and versatile and kind and forgiving, and I wanted to be with him more than I could ever express.

‘Happy now?’ Rupert was at my shoulder.

I turned to him. ‘Yes. Thank you.’

‘Will you… Will you and Alain get back together?’

I took a deep breath. ‘I hope so. He wants to. I just couldn’t… because of…’

‘Because of me and him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you can feel free to go for it.’ He nudged my arm. ‘You’re a good friend, Emmy. And I need to remember that Alain is, too.’

While I helped with drinks and food, cleared away litter, made sure the band got regular refreshments and took sneaky peeks at Alain playing, some of the family danced on the lawn, especially Sylvia and Frank – with each other, with their children and with their grandchildren. Dusk headed towards dark, and Julia came over to request that the champagne and cake be got ready. She asked for a drum roll and stood on the patio, where the family gathered around her.

Alain came to stand with Rupert and me, his hand lightly on my shoulder, and we hung back, waiting for the correct moment to pop the corks. Julia’s speech was surprisingly short and to the point, thanking her parents for all they had done for their family over the years and wishing them many happy years to come. Her brother Chris told a short anecdote that made everyone laugh. The tent crowd sang a love song in folk style, for which the jazz band cheered and applauded good-naturedly. One of the smaller grandchildren read a simple poem she had written for them.

Already tired and tearful, it threatened to tip me over the edge into an emotional wreck.

And then Frank made a short speech. Struggling a little over his words, but with determination, he expressed his thanks to Sylvia, simply for being his wife. To his family for being a source of pride and joy and for arranging such a wonderful holiday at such a beautiful place. And to me and Rupert, for making it all happen.

The champagne was opened, the cake was presented – and oohed and aahed over – and, sadly, cut.

We had done it, and it had been worthwhile and appreciated. We couldn’t ask for more.

Rupert plucked up a glass of bubbly for each of us and chinked his against mine.

‘To us, Emmy, and to La Cour des Roses.’

‘To us.’

And against Alain’s. ‘And to friendship.’

Alain smiled. ‘To friendship.’

We sipped our bubbles, and then Alain joined the band as they began to play night-time music. I listened to him play, laughed at the antics of the children – now a little giddy or tired or both – and watched the dancing.

Rupert took my glass from my hand. ‘One dance, Emmy?’

He led me onto the grass and held me lightly in a traditional ballroom stance as we moved around the lawn, allowing the music and the relief to wash over us.

I’d never been christened or baptised, so I didn’t possess godparents. And I’d never thought much of it, or thought I needed any. But I figured I had an honorary godfather now, in the form of this man waltzing me around his garden, and I couldn’t be more grateful for his presence in my life – and that his rift with Alain was showing definite signs of healing.

As the number ended, Alain tapped on his shoulder. ‘May I?’

Rupert winked at me and went off to waltz a five-year-old young lady in a frilly party dress around the flowerbeds, much to her delight. We could hear her giggling sweetly, and it made us both smile.

‘Shouldn’t you be playing?’ I asked him.

‘They’re doing a couple of numbers I don’t know.’

‘How convenient.’

‘It is, isn’t it?’ He pulled me closer, and I rested my head against his chest as he guided us around the lawn between the other dancers and giddy children.

‘Emmy, you do know I’m in love with you, don’t you?’

The words murmured in my ear had my feet stumbling a little. I pulled back and looked into his face.

‘I should have said it before, but I didn’t want to scare you off. And then when I thought I’d lost the chance to say it… Well, I’m going to make up for it now. I love you, Emmeline Jamieson.’

His lips came down to meet mine in a kiss that was long and tender, as though he was frightened I would break. Or pull away.

I did pull away, eventually. Long enough to stroke my finger along the light stubble at his jaw, but not long enough to lose my nerve. ‘I love you, too.’

His eyes widened, as though he hadn’t dared hope I would reciprocate, and his Adam’s apple moved in his throat. His hand snaked around the back of my neck to pull me back into a kiss, deeper this time, so it had my head spinning and my limbs weakening.

When we finally remembered we were at a public event – with children present – we shuffled apart a little and continued to dance.

As Frank and Sylvia brushed past us, Sylvia whispered, ‘Looks like a keeper to me.’

I beamed back at her. ‘I think you might be right.’

She lifted her hand to stroke Frank’s cheek. ‘I’m quite a good judge of these things, Emmy, though I say so myself.’