Return to the Little French Guesthouse

4

I woke the next morning full of new hope. After my ‘date’ with Alain, I’d curled up with my laptop on the chaise longue in the soft glow from the standard lamp and written up my impressions of Chenonceau, choosing a few photos to go with it. I liked the idea of giving my own account of a place and what I’d particularly liked about it. I could leave all the facts and figures and opening times to the official sites that already did it so well, by providing links to them. Why reinvent the wheel? My job was to entice people to the Loire region to stay in one of the properties I featured.

It occurred to me that there was nothing to stop me writing about my day at the zoo with Alain weeks ago (minus the personal interaction) when I got chance, and I already knew Pierre-la-Fontaine quite well.

It seemed that, between them, Alain and Sophie had unwittingly done a pretty good job yesterday, convincing me I’d made the right decision by moving out here. I already had three good friends in Rupert, Sophie and Alain... and the potential of more with Alain. There were wonderful places to visit, I had my business to work on, and although La Cour des Roses was turning out to be more of a challenge than I’d anticipated, at least I wouldn’t get bored.

My phone pinged with a text as I started on breakfast. It was from Alain.

Hope you got some beauty sleep (not that you need any) and that you have a good day today. I enjoyed ‘seeing’ you last night. Can we do it again tomorrow?

I texted back a big, fat Yes.

To add to my good mood, Clare and Gladys were leaving today. Clare had sported a smug expression ever since Geoffrey and Mary’s unexpected departure the day before, whilst Gladys’s sparkle had continued to wilt. I didn’t expect to see them again.

As for the other couple who were leaving, would they be back? Would they recommend us? A lot of Rupert’s bookings were down to repeat business and word of mouth, and I didn’t want to lose that.

I was clearing up when Ryan poked his head around the patio door. ‘Emmy, hi!’ When I went across to him, he enveloped me in a friendly hug. ‘Welcome back!’

‘Thanks. How are you?’

‘Fine. Busy time of year. Everything insists on growing at a ridiculous rate. I can barely keep up with it. How do you like your room?’

‘I love it. Thank you.’ It was Ryan who Rupert had strong-armed into doing the work on it. ‘It must have nearly killed you, doing that on top of all your gardening jobs!’

Ryan leaned against the doorframe, a clear blue sky behind him, a light breeze ruffling his blonde hair. ‘Rupert was obsessed with getting it done quickly. I didn’t want him to stress. He... He told me about his angina.’

‘Well, thank you. For my room, and for looking out for Rupert.’

‘You’re welcome.’ His lips twitched. ‘Rupert tells me you’re currently involved long-distance with a certain accountant?’

‘That man is such a gossip!’

Ryan grinned. ‘Alain’s a decent bloke, Emmy – and God knows, you deserve one, after that idiot, Nathan.’

I smiled as I watched him head off to his green-fingered jobs. Our few days of romping after Nathan deserted me had been therapeutic at the time – but at that point, I’d assumed I was unlikely to see him again. I’d been worried about things being awkward between us when I came back, but I’d clearly been worrying for nothing. It seemed our friendship was intact, and as casually comfortable as I could wish for it to be.

I went to find Rupert. He was in the den, a coffee at hand as he riffled through papers on the desk, the breeze from the window occasionally trying to lift them off altogether and forcing him to use the brass paperweight.

‘Did you have a good day with Sophie yesterday?’ he asked.

‘Fabulous. It’s an amazing place.’

‘Yes, it is. You should make sure you get out and about a bit.’

I nodded my wholehearted agreement, then laughed. ‘Did you know that Sophie and Ellie have become friendly lately? It sounds like they’re as thick as thieves.’

‘Really? I wouldn’t have imagined it, I must admit.’

‘You’d think they’d be such opposites.’

‘Maybe that’s why they get on – they complement each other, bringing different sides to the friendship. Although that theory didn’t work out with Ellie and Gloria. They started opposites and stayed opposites.’

‘Ellie and Gloria?’

‘Indeed. We got to know Ellie through buying this place, and as you can imagine, she was helpful with all sorts of practical advice. Ellie’s only a few years older than Gloria, so Gloria homed in on her as a potential best mate. But after a year or so, they stopped meeting up – although we still had mutual social circles. I was sorry it didn’t work out.’

‘Oh? Why?’

He chuckled, sipping at his coffee, then blotting a drip on the desk with a loose receipt. ‘I was hoping Ellie’s no-nonsense approach would be a good influence on Gloria, but it was not to be.’

‘Hmm. Shame.’ Doubt Ellie sees it that way, though. ‘Any joy on the Thomson front yesterday?’

‘As far as I can tell, Gloria hadn’t done anything about anything.’ He gave me a direct look. ‘I think she didn’t realise what it entailed when she took the booking. And by the time she did, Nathan was here and... Well, I’ll contact some caterers today. At least it’s for a Monday night. I don’t think we’d have stood a chance at such short notice if it was on a Friday or Saturday.’

‘Okay. I’ll send an e-mail to Julia, and I’ll see what I can do about the double bookings.’

Rupert made a face. ‘Good luck.’

Luck was half on my side. One set of guests was initially irate – naturally enough – but because they were retired, they were flexible and willing to alter their crossings by a few days at our cost. The other set were livid, tied in to the dates they had booked off work, and would be taking their custom elsewhere. I tried offering a compensatory discount if they booked with us next year, but it was clear from the conversation that they had no intention of ever booking with us again.

Feeling sick at heart but unable to help myself, I checked Geoffrey Turner’s blog for anything damaging. Nothing... yet. The suspense was killing me.

When I came to e-mail Julia, I noticed she’d used a business e-mail address, and it occurred to me I might be better armed to fight the good fight if I knew more about her, so I did a little nosing around on the internet. Very interesting. Julia Cooper ran a business that specialised in organising residential leisure courses; painting, crafting, writing, cooking – you name it, they could find you a course to attend.

My initial reaction was to be daunted. It meant that Julia Cooper would be exacting, critical, demanding... I stared at my screen, tapping a pencil against my lips. Hmm. That would be one way of filling gaps in low season at La Cour des Roses next year, wouldn’t it? And it certainly wouldn’t do any harm to ensure that Julia’s booking ran as smoothly as possible after its rocky start; impress her with the location and accommodation and hospitable hosts. Food for thought, anyway. I would have to make a few changes around here, to make sure La Cour des Roses was the best it could be in the time available before the Thomsons landed.

I was upstairs in the middle of my daily room check when Pippa came haring along the landing in a bikini as though her life depended on it.

‘What’s the matter?’ I asked her with some alarm.

‘It’s out on the roof terrace!’

‘What’s out on the roof terrace?’

‘A dead bird! I went to sunbathe, and there it was.’

‘Oh. Er. Okay.’ Maybe she had a bird phobia? ‘I’ll come and move it for you.’

She shuddered. ‘Thank you. I... I’ll go out on the patio instead.’

Shaking my head, I went along to the end of the landing, where the door opened onto the roof terrace on top of Rupert’s private single-storey extension. In the doorway, I hesitated. This was the one place I hadn’t yet surveyed with improvements in mind. I hadn’t been out there since the fateful night I’d caught Nathan and Gloria at it like bunnies.

Nothing had changed. The view across the countryside was still spectacular. The tiles still absorbed the sun so that they warmed your feet through the soles of your sandals. There were pots of flowers – presumably tended by Ryan, since I suspected Rupert no longer ventured up there, for the same reason as me – and an old wrought-iron table. The sun loungers lounged in their usual spot.

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, wishing away an image of Nathan and Gloria laid out on the nearest one. Crumpled clothing and murmurs of illicit lust.

When I opened them again, I saw the source of Pippa’s misery. A large bird – possibly once a pigeon, but no longer recognisable – was spread across the tiles in a mass of feathers and bones and blood and guts. Perhaps it had fallen foul to a bird of prey of some kind? A bird of prey with no table manners, that was for sure.

Feeling sick, I went to fetch rubber gloves, newspaper and something to scrape off the remains, then brought up a bucket of soapy water to wash down the tiles. The experience did nothing to improve my opinion of that roof terrace at all.

When I got back downstairs, Madame Dupont was pressing bedlinen in Rupert’s private lounge, where he kept his super-duper industrial-looking steam machine. As I ferried the newly pressed items upstairs to the gigantic wooden armoire up on the landing, I wondered why all the clean linen was stored up there. It was hardly convenient for the gîtes.

‘Madame Dupont, why do we keep the linen for the gîtes upstairs?’ I asked her when I went to collect another armful.

‘Perhaps Madame Hunter thought my poor old legs needed the exercise.’

‘Well, I don’t think it’s very...’ I wanted to say sensible, but didn’t know the word. I settled for ‘very good.’

‘But there is nowhere else, Emie. There is not enough space in the gîtes.’

‘Hmm.’ Out in the hall, I pointed to a large wooden bench chest. ‘What’s in there?’ I opened it and rooted around. I didn’t know the French word for ‘old tat’ but when I held up a broken flip-flop and a doormat with a large hole in the middle, my message was clear enough. ‘It’s not near the gîtes, but it would save you climbing the stairs if we had some up there and some in here. What do you think?’

She patted my arm. ‘I think you are very thoughtful, Emie.’

I emptied the chest out onto the hall floor, made an executive decision about its evicted contents – bin, bin or bin – and lined it with a clean sheet. When she’d finished with the pressing machine, we both went upstairs to pull everything out of the armoire in an untidy heap, ready to divide it up.

Something crackled at the back, and I tugged out a polythene clothing bag.

I gasped. Could it be... Gloria’s wedding dress? And if so, was this how much sentimentality she felt for it, to leave it crumpled and musty at the back of a cupboard?

Exchanging a glance with Madame Dupont, I pulled it out of the polythene and hooked it over the cupboard door. It was tasteful, understated and clingingly skinny. A pale coffee colour, silky soft, no fuss.

Staring at its soft folds, I wondered what I would have chosen if Nathan had proposed, but I stopped that train of thought as soon as it started. If we had got married, no doubt my wedding dress would also be languishing at the back of a cupboard as our relationship deteriorated and finally imploded.

‘It’s very beautiful,’ I murmured. So beautiful that even I had to admit that Gloria must have looked spectacular in it.

Madame Dupont harrumphed. ‘It is a shame the lady who wore it was not beautiful in here.’ She placed a hand over her heart.

‘What should I do with it?’

‘You must show Monsieur Hunter, Emie. Ask him.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I will help you put all this away, but then I must go.’

I gave her a talk-about-rats-leaving-a-sinking-ship look, but she ignored me and set off downstairs with an armful of sheets for the hall chest.

Once she’d scuttled home, I went to find Rupert. He was in the garden playing with the dog, who seemed to have an endless capacity for ball retrieval, as did her master.

‘Rupert. Have you got a minute?’

Over they trotted, a man and his dog, already inseparable. I gestured for him to follow me upstairs, pleased to see that the canine half of the duo waited patiently in the hall.

‘I found this. What do you want to do with it?’

A heavy silence surrounded us as Rupert stared at the dress. He reached out to touch it, but changed his mind and drew his hand back. ‘Gloria looked stunning in this.’

‘I can imagine.’ I waited politely as he drifted off into his memories.

It lasted all of sixty seconds. ‘No use to either of us now, though, is it?’ He unhooked it and took it downstairs, leaving me to follow.

‘What will you do with it?’

When he turned, I was relieved to see a twinkle in his eye. ‘Ceremonial burning? Shredding? We could take a pair of scissors to it each – you have as much right as I do, I reckon.’

‘That’s a gorgeous dress, Rupert. I couldn’t do that.’

‘I’ll stick it in the back of my wardrobe for now. It’ll give it a change of scene. Got a minute?’

I followed him into his lounge, where he flung the dress across the sofa. Crossing to the bookshelf, he plucked out a cream photograph album, opened it and handed it across to me.

Gloria on her wedding day. She had looked stunning. The dress accentuated her skinny frame, and she had been in her mid-thirties then, ten years younger than when I’d met her. Her hair was still bleached blonde, but in a trendy, choppy cut, with a simple headdress of coffee-and-cream rosebuds. No flounce, just utter class.

‘I can see why you fell for her,’ I said gently, then turned the page to a photo of the two of them. ‘And her for you. You scrubbed up pretty nicely for a middle-aged duffer. How old were you? Fifty?’

‘Hmmph. Fifty and foolish.’

‘Yes, well, hindsight’s a wonderful thing.’ I handed back the album. ‘How about lunch?’

We raided the fridge for cheese, fat olives and plum tomatoes, and had them with the ubiquitous French bread, enjoying the airy cool of the kitchen. So far, I’d resisted having a glass of wine with lunch – I suspected it could be a slippery slope – but after the wedding dress episode, I decided to make an exception. Rupert settled for sparkling water. He seemed to have cut back a bit on his drinking lately, and I was grateful – for the sake of my liver as well as his.

‘Could try selling it online,’ Rupert mused.

‘Well, it’s not specifically a wedding dress. It could be a bridesmaid dress or an evening dress, but...’ I busied myself with slicing a peach.

‘Spit it out, Emmy.’

‘What if Gloria wants it back?’

Rupert spluttered, spraying me with breadcrumbs. ‘Emmy. When my wife walked out with your spineless boyfriend, she took every last thing of value that she could fit into that sports car of hers. Jewellery, designer dresses, the lot. What she left behind, I assume she didn’t want. If she thought so little of our wedding that she left that dress stuffed in the back of a cupboard...’

‘I’m sorry. That she did that.’

He shrugged, his anger spent. ‘She built up a lot of resentment the last few years, and some of the blame for that has to lie with me. We were happy at first, flitting between London and Majorca. The rot only set in with La Cour des Roses.’

I looked around at my new home: paradise. ‘She never liked it here?’

‘I think she only went along with it because she could see that I was getting bored and needed something to occupy me. She once told me she’d assumed it would be temporary. That the novelty would wear off.’

‘But it didn’t.’

Rupert shook his head, tearing off a great hunk of bread. ‘No. And I began to make good friends here.’

‘But Gloria didn’t?’

‘No. She tried, but the kind of people we were mixing with are the kind of people who have no other side to them, who don’t like pretence.’

I nodded as I thought about the people I’d met last time I was here - Ellie, ageing hippie photographer Bob, Alain, laid-back Ryan, loveable old Jonathan. I couldn’t imagine any of them meshing with Gloria in any meaningful way.

‘Gloria has spent her life putting on a front,’ Rupert went on. ‘For customers at the restaurant she managed, putting a brave face on things when her first marriage failed.’ He leaned back and shook his head. ‘When we bought this place, I hoped she would relax and realise there are good things in life that don’t involve spending money.’ He gestured around us and towards the open patio doors to the lawn, where colourful blooms burst from every flowerbed. ‘But for her it was just another excuse to put on a front as mistress of the house.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t think anyone seriously disliked her – not until her spectacular departure, anyway – but they didn’t love her. She was all sweetness and light when she first met people, so by the time they got to know us both, they put up with her for my sake, I think. Jonathan’s a prime example. The reason we started to meet in town on market day is because he didn’t want to bump into Gloria here. When she was away in London or Paris, I couldn’t budge him from lounging around in the garden with a beer or two.’

I thought about what he’d said before, about Gloria trying – and failing – to make friends with Ellie. ‘Do you think she might have been lonely?’

‘Maybe. And I was complacent enough to believe that our marriage was enough for her.’ He gave me a direct look. ‘I was shocked when she went, but I wasn’t surprised. Does that make sense?’

‘I think so.’

I didn’t know what to say next, and when the telephone rang, I answered it with relief.

‘Emmy? Julia Cooper here.’

‘Good afternoon, Julia. How can I help?’

Gathering who it was, Rupert scuttled off, grabbing the full bag out of the bin on the way as a valid excuse, and left me to it. Coward.

‘Thank you for your e-mail this morning,’ Julia said. ‘But as I was reading it, I realised there was no mention of the tent and the caravans.’

Thank God this wasn’t a video call. My face must have been quite a picture. ‘Tent? Caravans?’

‘Indeed. Didn’t you... Didn’t you know about them?’

‘I’m so sorry, but no. I don’t remember seeing anything on your e-mails.’ Not that it’s my fault you didn’t mention them when I asked you to go over all the details. When the silence stretched awkwardly between us, I decided it was time to be semi-honest and hope that Rupert would forgive me. ‘I’m afraid relations were a little strained before Gloria left La Cour des Roses, and not all information was properly shared. I apologise that it’s having this impact on you. But I would be grateful if you could get me up to speed on the... On the caravans.’

She clicked her tongue. ‘I asked Gloria if it would be okay for two groups to come in their caravans. Three people in one, two in another. There will also be a tent with four people – which will need to be pitched on grass, obviously. I hope you’re not going to tell me any of that will be a problem?’

‘If Gloria agreed to it, then naturally, we will honour that.’ My mind raced. I thought about how many factions were now coming, and how many vehicles that would mean. ‘Parking might be an issue. Some of you might have to use the lane, and some of you might have to block each other in. But as you’re all from the same party, I’m sure it will work out.’

She murmured agreement. ‘Don’t forget they’ll need access to an outside tap for water. And somewhere suitable for chemical toilet waste.’

Toilet waste? I stared helplessly through the kitchen window at the sun glaring off the gravel in the courtyard. ‘We’ll sort something out. I’m so glad you called. And once more, apologies for the communication issues. If you think of anything else, please feel free to ring any time.’

I took a deep, calming breath as I hung up, but dread settled upon me. That made it thirty-four people, including kids, and where exactly were we going to put a tent and two caravans? Feeling a bit sick, I risked pushing myself over the edge, checking Geoffrey Turner’s site on my phone. Still nothing. I thanked God for small mercies.

Rupert was at the back of the house, inspecting shutters and flicking off peeling paint while the dog pranced around, chasing butterflies. He indicated the paint flakes showering the ground beneath the windows. ‘These are beginning to go. I wonder if Ryan might want some extra work at the end the season before he goes back to the UK. He should prefer doing these in the balmy autumn months here, compared with freezing his arse off on a rainy British building site. What do you think?’

‘I think we have bigger problems than repainting the shutters.’

As I relayed the phone conversation to him, his jaw fell by degrees.

‘What the hell does she think this is, a ruddy campsite? Bloody Gloria.’ When the dog pricked up her ears, he said, ‘Not you, you daft mutt.’

We trooped round to the courtyard, where he eyed the space. ‘The tent will have to go on the grass, maybe in the orchard, but there’s no stretch of grass with access directly from the courtyard for the caravans. They’ll have to stay on the gravel. One on either side of the exit, I reckon. That way, they can use the outside tap around your side of the house. As for chemical toilet waste, I’m at a loss.’

‘What about hiring a portable toilet and putting it in that corner of the courtyard? It would be perfect for the tent, and the caravans could use it for disposal?’

‘I’ll look into it.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘That nice big figure we looked at the other week? It’s diminishing by the minute. So far, we’re down by five new duvets for the airbeds, and a ruddy toilet.’

As I helped Rupert prep for the guest meal that evening, my phone pinged. A text from Alain.

What are you doing?

I texted back. More chopping vegetables. It’s all he trusts me with. Meringues are beyond me.

They’re beyond me too. Any progress today?

One double-booking pacified. The other a lost cause, I’m afraid. Julia’s added two caravans and a tent.

Should be interesting.

What are you doing?

Promised my niece and nephew I’d read to them before bedtime.

I smiled as an image of Alain curled up reading to small children came into my head. It wasn’t something I’d thought about before. Do you enjoy that?

They’re sweet, cuddly and still relatively innocent. Can be monsters, but not too manipulative yet. I can hand them over if they won’t go to sleep afterwards. Best of all worlds.

Rupert looked across at me, pointing at my chopping board with his spoon. ‘Will those vegetables be finished before midnight, or are you going to carry on sexting all evening?’

I glared at him and turned back to my phone. Sorry. The boss is getting cross. Got to go.

Say hi to Rupert from me. Speak to you tomorrow.

‘He says hi,’ I dutifully told Rupert.

‘All that, just for a “Hi”?’

That evening’s guest meal was a darned sight pleasanter than the previous one – not that that would be hard.

Our two sets of new arrivals were happy not to have to schlep out to find a restaurant after their long journey – especially when provided with something like tonight’s prawn-and-salmon terrine, pork tenderloin in Dijon mustard and lentil sauce with vegetables, and homemade meringues drizzled with raspberry coulis. My waistline was only grateful that Rupert didn’t offer such delights every night of the week.

Alice and Duncan, Hugh and Bronwen were friends who had booked together – a foursome who were up for a laugh. And Pippa and Angus kindly refrained from mentioning recent events, bless them.

The table was set with matching cloth and napkins – although I thought the white linen was brave, with bottles of white and red wine in the middle. The wine glasses gleamed in the soft lighting that was keeping the dusk outside the windows at bay; the mingling aromas of Rupert’s cooking lingered in the air, tantalising our taste buds between each course.

‘I wish we weren’t leaving soon,’ Pippa said wistfully. ‘It’s so nice here. Heaven knows we’ve stayed at some strange places over the years.’

My heart lifted at the thought that she wasn’t holding the recent Turner shambles against us.

‘Angus, do you remember that weird one in Fort William?’ she went on.

‘Do I? The bedframe, headboard and built-in bedside tables were all red leather. When we were... you know... it felt like we were in a porn film!’

Pippa slapped him, but she was smiling. ‘The mirrors along the entire wall of fitted wardrobes didn’t help. Angus was convinced they were two-way, with a hidden camera behind them.’

‘Didn’t dare do it again once I’d got that idea in my head. Made me feel rather inhibited.’

Everyone laughed, Pippa looking both embarrassed and delighted with his confession.

‘We were once in a place in North Wales that was like an undertaker’s,’ Hugh told us. ‘The room was chock-full of artificial flower arrangements. One was even free-standing on a pedestal in the corner.’

Bronwen wrinkled her nose in disapproval. ‘You wouldn’t think it would be so distressing, but it was, and I couldn’t put my finger on why. Then I realised they were like those formal arrangements you get in funeral parlours.’

Hugh shuddered. ‘I could barely sleep. I kept expecting a headless corpse to jump out of the wardrobe in the middle of the night. And it didn’t help that the owner was really tall and thin, with dark hair in a widow’s peak like some kind of vampire.’ His expression was sheepish, but his eyes twinkled at the memory.

Alice smiled. ‘We stayed in a place where the heating consisted of something made out of a length of plastic pipe that you plugged in.’

Rupert shook his head. ‘How do these places get away with that? I have regulations coming out of my ar— I mean, out of my backside. Can’t move for ’em.’

‘Ah well, we’re going back a bit,’ Duncan explained. ‘But even so.’

Alice started to laugh. ‘I hand-washed my knickers and spread them over it to dry. It got so hot, it singed them!’

When the others expressed alarm, with deep laugh lines fanning out from the corners of her eyes she explained, ‘They were cheap nylon. We were happy with cheap thrills in those days, weren’t we, Duncan?’ She gave her husband a cheeky grin.

‘Yes, well, those cheap thrills weren’t so funny when I ended up on the floor,’ he grumbled, his balding head gleaming under a nearby wall light.

‘The mind boggles!’ Rupert muttered drily.

‘It was a twin room. Being young and keen, we pushed the beds together, only they were different heights. Some time in the night, they drifted apart – and muggins here had been lying in the middle, over the join.’

‘Ha!’ Alice could barely speak for laughing. ‘He got stuck right down the gap, both arms and legs still up on the bed and the rest of him firmly wedged on the floor in the middle!’

‘I think I can top that one,’ Rupert joined in. ‘When I was a youngish bachelor in my first flat, I decided to impress the ladies with black satin sheets.’

Pippa snorted with laughter, causing wine to shoot up her nose and making everyone laugh before he’d even got started.

Rupert wagged his finger reproachfully at her. ‘We’re talking mid-eighties here, Pippa. Things like that were the height of sophistication back then. Anyway, there they were, smooth and shiny on the bed. And I was wearing red satin boxers to further impress.’

There was another tipsy giggle from Pippa and an inelegant snort from Hugh.

‘My quarry – long-legged and beautiful – was sitting in the bed waiting for me. Full of enthusiasm, I took a run-up to the bed, launched myself onto it, satin met satin, and I went flying right across and off the other side. Concussed myself on the bedside cabinet.’

The sound of delighted laughter filled the kitchen, making me feel ridiculously happy. Whatever happened with Geoffrey Turner, he couldn’t take this away.

It was well after midnight by the time Rupert and I had cleared away. As I was about to collapse into bed, out of habit I checked my mobile on the bedside table before turning it off.

Three missed calls from Nathan.