The Little French Guesthouse

22

Arriving back home late Sunday afternoon, I fired up the laptop and checked my e-mails.

Good – one from Rupert. I’d e-mailed him that first weekend to let him know I was home and to thank him for the beautiful necklace. He’d replied to say he was glad I’d got myself back in one piece, but then nothing further.

My intuition told me he was being kind, keeping his distance to give me a chance to settle back into my old life, but after a week, I’d begun to worry whether he was coping. I needn’t have.

Hi Emmy,

Hope your first week back at work wasn’t too monstrous.

Things are going well here. The people Madame Dupont enlisted are doing a good job. Juliette comes in on the days I have to cook, does some shopping for fresh stuff – I finally took your advice and I’m doing one Internet shop a week – and helps me prep. A girl called Émilie comes in on Saturdays to help with changeover day.

Madame Dupont has taken to doing any midweek room changes herself, which is good of her, but to be honest I’m not sure how long she’ll be able to keep it up. Juliette is capable but has no sense of humour, and Émilie is young and nervous. I don’t think she likes me accidentally shortening her name to Emmy, but she’s too shy to tell me off.

To fill my time in the evenings, I’ve been looking at the website as per your instructions, and I’ve made a note of what needs changing. Took some photos, too. I know you’re probably up to your eyes, so no rush.

Missing you.

Love,

Rupert

I imagined him joshing around the kitchen with stone-faced Juliette. He wouldn’t give up until he dredged a smile out of her, which would make her all the more stoical. And poor young Émilie was probably scared stiff of him. I wasn’t happy about Madame Dupont overdoing things, but for now Rupert had the help he needed, and that was all that mattered. He hadn’t mentioned his leg or general health, so either he was improving and hadn’t felt the need to, or he wasn’t but didn’t want to worry me.

God, I missed him. I missed his jokes. His obvious fondness for me. The banter we shared while we were cooking together. Let’s face it, with the crap I’d been eating lately, I missed his cooking, full stop. I even missed his selfish demands – but I comforted myself with the thought that I could go back for a visit soon.

I opened the row of attachments. Wording to change. A copy of the bookings spreadsheet we’d set up, so I could think about an availability page. Several new photos.

At these, tears welled in my eyes. Furious that just looking at La Cour des Roses could make me so homesick, I shoved my chair back and stormed off to the kitchen for a healing herbal brew. As I waited for the kettle to boil, I thought about Rupert’s website and sighed. It had been my idea to update it, after all, and I’d promised to do it, even if that promise had been dragged out of me somehow. Ah, well. Better make a start.

The following week at work was no better than the first, and I started to worry in earnest. I should be getting back into my stride by now.

Inexplicably blaming everything on the inadequacies of instant coffee, I splashed out on a shiny little espresso machine, praying that all my ills would be solved by a decent cup of coffee each morning. The irony wasn’t lost on me that the one effort I’d made to feel more at home in good old Blighty was to replicate one of my pleasures in France – except I didn’t have a huge, high-beamed kitchen in which to make it or a beautiful, lush garden in which to drink it.

I spent my evenings on Rupert’s website, tackling the text and photos first. When I started on the availability page, I realised it would be a pig to do because of all the different rooms and gîtes. I e-mailed him with the complications and possible solutions. He e-mailed back to say he’d think about it and that Juliette was a pain in the arse.

The only bright point of the week was another text from Kate. Germs under control. Thursday eve any good?

I texted back. Absolutely. I don’t give a sod about the germs. I need you!

When Carl called me into his office on Tuesday, my mood was so low, I thought a bollocking couldn’t make it any worse. Despite trying to concentrate on the Kelly account, I knew I’d been on the listless side and hadn’t been grafting at my usual manic rate. Assuming he was panicking about tomorrow’s presentation, I perched uncomfortably on the edge of a chair.

‘Emmy.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I wondered if you were busy this evening.’

‘After work?’

‘Well... Yes.’

Great. More unpaid overtime. Typical Carl tactic – drag me in to haul me over the coals for not working hard enough and then ask me to stay behind, knowing I couldn’t refuse if I wanted to avoid the reprimand. I arranged my features into an expression resembling something like willing.

‘Nothing specific. Why? Are you worried about tomorrow?’

Carl frowned in puzzlement. ‘What? Oh, no. Not at all. I wondered if you’d like to go for a drink. Maybe grab a bite to eat.’

Oh, bloody hell. I hadn’t seen that one coming. The willing expression I’d plastered on my face just seconds before was suddenly horribly unfitting to the occasion, but I had no way of removing it without letting my face fall. I toned it down by tiny degrees as the pause stretched between us.

‘Oh? Who’s going?’ I asked innocently, hoping against hope that he meant a whole crowd of us and playing for time as my mind raced. What on earth had brought this on? There had never been any indication in all the years we’d worked together! Then again, I’d been with Nathan before. Now I’d been abandoned, perhaps I was fair game in Carl’s eyes.

‘Er – I was hoping just the two of us, actually. What do you think?’

Crap. He was my boss. Refusing would be bad, but the idea of playing along for an easy life was too unpalatable. I had no interest in Carl whatsoever. Drinks and dinner would lead to other things I really couldn’t stomach.

‘I...’ Damn. I’d already told him I wasn’t busy. If I suddenly dreamt up a forgotten appointment with the hairdresser or the vet or the local taxidermist, he would only ask again sometime. This had to be nipped in the bud. ‘I’m sorry, Carl. I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

His face fell and he started fiddling with the knot of his tie. I almost felt sorry for him. It must have taken quite a bit of nerve to expose himself to rejection like this. That or his hopeless inability to read others’ emotions had allowed him to think he was in with a chance.

‘May I ask why?’

Yes, Carl, you may. You’re ten years older than me but look more like it’s twenty, you’ve been divorced twice, your beard is scruffy and unappealing and you have no insight whatsoever into the female psyche. Not only that, but you allow me to mop up all the excess work and take all the flak, and you take all the credit.

‘I don’t think it’s wise to mix work with pleasure,’ I ad-libbed.

He frowned. ‘You met Nathan at work.’

Ah, but I fancied him. He showed promise. For a while, anyway.

‘Yes, but he was in another department. Besides, look how that turned out. These things are all very well until they go wrong and make everyone feel awkward.’ Carl’s expression was still hopeful. I couldn’t bear the idea that he hadn’t got the message. ‘To be honest, Carl, I think I’ve got a long way to go before I’d feel comfortable with anything like that. It’s only a few weeks since Nathan and I split up. I’m not ready to move on yet.’

‘Ah. Of course. Yes. Right, well, in that case, I need to speak to you about the presentation tomorrow. The way I see it...’

I let him drone on, wondering whether he’d leave it at that or whether he’d have another go when he deemed that enough time had passed for my heart to heal. Maybe moving to France wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Still reeling over Carl asking me out, by lunchtime I was desperate to get out of the office for a while. Walking along the street with no particular destination in mind, I jumped when a hand grabbed my arm.

‘Emmy! God, I haven’t seen you for a while. How are you?’

Lucy used to work in the accounts department with Nathan, and although I didn’t know her well, she’d always been pleasant in passing. She’d since moved on to bigger and better things as some sort of high-flying bank executive, making my career path look like a half-beaten track through the undergrowth.

‘Hi, Lucy. How are you?’

‘Fine. On a quick lunch break. Are you? We could grab a coffee. What do you say?’

‘Sounds good.’

Lucy dragged me into the nearest café, bullied a couple who were thinking about leaving into being snappier about it, and flung her coat across a chair before anyone else could get near.

As we waited for our drinks to arrive, we batted “How are you?” and similar platitudes around for a while until I galvanised myself into enquiring about her career. She filled me in on the last eighteen months’ worth of her achievements, making me feel more like a failure by the minute.

‘So, how about you?’ she finally asked. ‘Still at the same firm? Still with Nathan?’

‘Nathan and I split up, actually. He’s moved to London.’

‘Really? But you two seemed so right for each other!’

I frowned. ‘Did we?’

‘Of course. Working at the same place since forever. That lovely flat of yours.’ Being so bloody boring together, she might as well have said, since it was clearly what she was thinking. ‘It was all so perfect, wasn’t it?’

‘Until now,’ I pointed out.

‘I suppose so.’ Lucy took a surreptitious glance at her watch. ‘So how about work? Any promotions in the offing?’

My heart sank. It was embarrassing to admit I was still in exactly the same position she’d left me in a year and a half ago.

‘No, ‘fraid not.’ I knew that wouldn’t cut it with Lucy, so tagged on, ‘I’m currently looking for a position elsewhere.’ When I get round to it.

Lucy curled her lip. ‘Well, good luck with that. God knows, it’s about time you had a change, but it’s not going to be easy moving companies in this economic climate. It could take you quite a while to find something.’

The bloody cheek!

‘Actually, I’ve been asked to move to France.’ It popped out of my mouth before I could stop it.

Lucy frowned. ‘To France? To do what?’

Her tone of voice suggested she doubted I had any skills that might be exportable, and my hackles rose further. Shit. I’d done it now. I could hardly tell her I’d be skivvying for an ageing ex-pat, could I?

‘I... It’s a marketing contract,’ I told her with as much conviction as I could muster. ‘For a tourist business. They need hands-on help on a consultancy basis, and they’re willing to help me establish my own business out there as well.’ God, I was going to burn in hell for that one.

Lucy didn’t bother to hide her surprise – whether about my considering a move to France or the fact that someone might want to employ me, I wasn’t sure.

‘Well, I can see why you might want to move companies,’ she said. ‘But moving to France on a whim – isn’t that a bit reckless? One consultancy contract and then setting up on your own? What about financial security?’

My brain was desperately trying to tell my mouth that this was absolutely none of her business – but she was being so patronising.

‘That’s not guaranteed even if I stay here, is it?’ I pointed out. ‘People get made redundant in our business all the time.’

‘But do you even speak French?’

‘Actually, I speak it really well,’ I exaggerated, smiling as I imagined Madame Dupont cackling at the suggestion.

I drained my coffee, stood and grabbed my jacket. ‘Well, it’s been nice seeing you again, Lucy. Take care.’

Wednesday’s presentation to the Kellys was the first I’d been so nervous about in a long time. I felt that I had a great deal to prove. It was me they asked for every time, me they trusted. In the past, they had never been entirely happy with our proposals, going along with them half-heartedly because they paid us good money to come up with ideas, knew our reputation and trusted my judgement. But the fact that they were never quite on board meant the results were never what they might be. I was thrilled they had decided to go along with our vintage theme – but it felt like a last ditch attempt, somehow, and as I’d already told Carl, it was quite a gamble.

Gamble or not, it went down a storm. The Kelly brothers were happy that we were playing on an aspect of their company they were comfortable with and proud of, and the younger generation were happy that their elders were finally enthusiastic about something. There was a lot of work ahead, but at least we all agreed that we were finally targeting the right markets with the right advertising and exposure.

‘I hear it went well,’ Cathy said as we took five minutes for lunch at our desks. ‘I’m not sure Carl was convinced about your tactics, but you pulled it off as usual. Here. Have a cream cake to celebrate.’ She pushed a plate in front of me. ‘Been keeping it in the fridge all morning for you.’

‘Thanks.’ I sounded flat and tried to smile. I couldn’t understand it – I usually got such a buzz from a success like that, but this time the buzz wasn’t forthcoming.

‘Is everything alright?’ she asked, frowning. ‘I would have thought you’d be floating on the ceiling after this morning!’

Shit. Is it really so obvious? I shrugged. ‘So would I. Maybe I’m just tired.’

‘Emmy, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but did something happen in France? Other than splitting up with Nathan, I mean.’

Oh, something happened all right. I fell in love. With a place, and everything that goes with it.

The day was not made any better when I was foolish enough to answer my mobile without checking caller display. Before I could get my bearings, my mother had elicited a promise from me that I would allow myself to be fed and watered at their house after work. Apparently, my daily phone calls weren’t enough to reassure her with regard to my wellbeing, and she wanted to see for herself that I was still vaguely in the land of the living.

I wasn’t likely to convince her. I still felt queasy after Carl’s proposition and Lucy’s snide attitude, so I couldn’t say I was looking forward to an evening of fielding my mother’s interrogations.

When I arrived late – as usual – Mum tutted at my lack of punctuality as she brought food to the table. Under the accurate illusion that I lived off convenience food and takeaways and might expire if I didn’t have a decent home-cooked meal every so often, she always went to a great deal of trouble when she had the chance to cook for me.

‘Well? Any news?’ she demanded, as she loaded my plate with the carefully-planned vitamins and minerals that must last me until the next time she fed me.

Knowing she wouldn’t be fobbed off with minutiae, I gave her the Carl-asking-me-out story as a titbit to get her teeth into. She enjoyed it and batted it around for a while, but it clearly wasn’t going to suffice.

‘I went to see Nick at the weekend,’ I proffered.

‘Oh? Any reason?’

I shrugged. ‘I fancied the company, and I didn’t want to stay in the flat on my own.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t like it any more,’ I admitted.

‘What are you going to do about the flat, Emmy?’ Dad asked.

‘I can’t afford to stay there on my own. Rupert thinks I should persuade Nathan to rent it out.’

Dad considered for a moment. ‘Rupert’s got a good head on his shoulders. I think he’s probably right – if you and Nathan can sort it out amicably.’

‘I think we can, if only because it’s in both our best interests.’

‘Well, then, perhaps you need to get in touch with Nathan sooner rather than later.’ When I pouted, he pointed his fork at me. ‘You’ll feel better once it’s done.’

I sighed. Dad was right. Nathan was hardly likely to carry on paying his half of the mortgage when he was no longer living there.

My shoulders sagged in defeat. ‘Maybe at the weekend.’

Back home, when I checked my e-mails, there was one from Jonathan, of all people.

Hello, Emmy,

Hope you don’t mind – I got your e-mail address from Rupert. Using Bob’s laptop to send this. Bumped into him in the bar yesterday and we were wondering how you’re getting on. Rupert says you’re fine and to leave you alone, but we don’t trust him. Besides, Bob wanted to send you the pictures he took at the party. He’s attached them, he says – no idea what the hell he’s talking about, but I hope you get them.

Hope you’re settling in okay. Don’t leave it too long before you come back to see us.

Love, Jonathan x

P.S. Called into Alain’s office this morning to give him your e-mail address in case he didn’t already have it. He looked pretty glum. How much damage can two people do to each other on a visit to the zoo?

I smiled. Jonathan, the old fool. I pictured him propping up the bar at his favourite café, swapping tall tales with the owner, and shook my head at the way he had everyone running around after him, giving him lifts and doing his errands – errands he would have me do for a paltry wage if he and Rupert had their way, the scheming duo.

Sipping at my tea, I thought about Rupert’s offer and how swiftly I’d rejected it as unrealistic. Two weeks ago, that had seemed the right thing to do. Two weeks ago, I was still under the illusion that I loved my job and everything would fall back into place. But after the Kelly presentation today, I was beginning to wonder. I should have been over the moon – it couldn’t have gone any better – but all I felt was mild satisfaction.

And after Carl asking me out yesterday, I might have to look for a new job sooner rather than later. The thought of us awkwardly dancing around each other was more than I could stand.

Would it be such a terrible thing to move to France? It didn’t have to be forever. I had savings. I could go over for the peak season, help Rupert out, see how things went and if it didn’t look viable, I could always come back. Hmm.

I re-read Jonathan’s e-mail. It sounded like Alain was moping, after all. I hadn’t suggested we keep in touch – although it wouldn’t have surprised me if he’d wheedled my details from Rupert – but it seemed he was playing the martyr for my sake, bless him.

Allowing myself a few moments of self-indulgence, I remembered his smile and cinnamon eyes; imagined what could happen between us if I was in a position to allow it to. My gut instinct told me that Alain was settled in his own skin, with nothing to prove – that he would treat me well if I gave him the chance, maybe even cherish me. Yet another temptation calling to me from across the Channel.

Straightening my spine, I opened Bob’s attachments. They had what I presumed was the desired effect of brightening my mood. Happy, smiling faces. Ellie with Philippe. Jonathan with his arm around Rupert. Alain. One of me with Sophie. I looked happy and relaxed and was wearing barely any make-up. I hardly recognised myself.

When Carl called me into his office on Thursday afternoon, my heart sank. Surely the Kellys hadn’t changed their minds already?

‘Emmy. I... realise I made a mistake asking you out earlier this week, and I’d like to apologise. I wouldn’t want it to make things awkward between us.’

Should’ve thought of that before you did it, then. I drummed up a reassuring smile. ‘That’s okay. Let’s just draw a line under it, shall we?’

He looked relieved. ‘Thank you. I appreciate it, especially since I was in a meeting with the directors this morning...’

Oh God. Sounds serious.

‘…and we were discussing you.’

Gulp.

‘I told them all about the Kelly presentation. They’re thrilled that we’re finally making headway with the account.’ He shuffled uncomfortably in the chair. ‘I also spoke to… someone… in accounts yesterday. She – I mean, the person I spoke to – had a call from Lucy. I gather you might be considering leaving us.’

The traitorous... ‘That was an informal conversation, Carl. I...’

He held up a hand. ‘I’m sure. But it only confirmed what I was already worried about. I spoke to the directors about it this morning...’

Oh God, no.

‘…and I told them we can’t afford to lose you. You work hard, your judgement is sound, our clients think you’re the best thing since sliced bread – and you support me to the hilt.’

Ah. Now we were getting down to it. Carl was scared of losing his workhorse.

‘To that end, in recognition of your valued input to the company, they would like you to consider the new position of Team Manager.’

When I simply stared at him open-mouthed, he hastily added, ‘Which carries with it, of course, a very respectable pay rise. You and I both know you perform that role pretty much, anyway – but this would cement your seniority over the team and give you more scope. And as the agency expands, then hopefully the team will grow. What do you think?’

Great? Crap? I wasn’t sure. The words “Five weeks too late” sprang to mind.

‘Gosh, Carl, that’s quite a bombshell. Unexpected. And kind of you, to push for it for me. I don’t know what to say.’ Literally.

Assuming in his usual hopeless way that I was overwhelmed with gratitude, Carl shook his head. ‘No need, Emmy. Now, I know you won’t really need to think about it, but as a matter of form, the directors have asked for your confirmation by the beginning of next week. Is that okay?’

I plastered on a beaming smile. ‘Of course. Thanks.’

Kate’s slightly germ-ridden appearance on Thursday was like someone throwing a lifebelt to my sanity.

She kicked off her shoes and curled up in the corner of the sofa, patting the cushion beside her. ‘Sit! Tell Aunty Kate all about it.’

At which, I promptly burst into tears.

She mopped and soothed and quietly absorbed my garbled tale of my boss asking me out and the promotion and pay rise and how, even though my presentation was a raging success, I still felt like shit and I missed Rupert and I didn’t know what was happening to me...

When I ran out of steam, she coaxed wine through my quivering lips. ‘God, Emmy. What the hell are you going to do?’

I shook my head, spent. ‘I don’t know. I feel like I’ve been on some sort of hamster wheel, but it was a hamster wheel designed by me and Nathan as a couple. Now we’re not together, I don’t need to stay on it any more. But I don’t know where to take it from there.’

‘What about the promotion? Isn’t it what you’ve been working towards?’

‘Of course! I’d officially be in charge of the team, I’d have more say, and if the agency does well, that role could grow.’

‘And don’t forget the money,’ Kate added.

‘God, yes. That would make such a difference, now I’m not half of a joint income with Nathan.’

‘Maybe you could even keep the flat?’

‘Hmmph. Wouldn’t want to. But it might mean I could afford something passably decent on my own.’

‘And yet I’m not sensing the joy here, Emmy. Are you still thinking about going back to France?’

I shrugged. ‘Part of me thinks I’d be bonkers to even consider it. Especially with a pay rise and a promotion in the offing.’

‘Would you enjoy managing Rupert’s business for him, do you think?’

‘I enjoyed it while I was there, but maybe that’s only because it was a novelty. Alain thinks I might get a little bored after a while – but that setting up my own business would give me more of a challenge.’

‘Hmm. And about Alain. Would you consider starting a relationship with him?’

I closed my eyes for a moment. Saw his eyes, the way he looked at me when we said goodbye. ‘I know he would like to give it a go.’

Kate shook her head. ‘I asked if you wanted to.’

‘Yes, I would. But my common sense is telling me not to go down that road again in a hurry.’

‘Why?’

I sighed. ‘My whole life, I’ve gone with the flow. University, dating, getting a job, meeting Nathan, moving in with him... I’m beginning to think I didn’t make any choices at all – I just let it all happen. I think that’s why I can’t get excited about the promotion. It’s more of the same, isn’t it? Being swept along in the stream.’ I sighed. ‘I want my next relationship to come out of a conscious decision, not just let it happen by accident.’

She gave me a sympathetic smile. ‘Trouble is, we can’t always control when we meet someone, can we? Besides, isn’t that what you’re trying to do now? Make a conscious decision?’

‘Yes, but that’s not so easy with everything all jumbled up in my head.’

‘Then unravel it. You tackle things like this at work all the time. Make a list of pros and cons. Give everything a mark out of ten for how important it is to you.’ She gave my arm a nudge. ‘I expect to be a ten, by the way.’

‘Twenty, more like.’ Tears pricked at my eyes. ‘Would you visit me? If I moved?’

‘What, with sunshine, fantastic food and sexy young gardeners on offer? You couldn’t keep me away!’