The Little French Guesthouse

by Helen Pollard

  The minute she drove off to the hospital, I collared Nathan at the bottom of the garden, where he appeared to be studying the habits of the chickens in minute detail.

  ‘Nathan. We need to talk.’

  He turned. ‘We talked last night.’

  I suppressed a sigh. ‘No, we didn’t. I talked. You said you didn’t want to. It was a bit one-sided.’

  ‘I’d say you shouted more than talked.’

  I took a deep breath and counted to five. I really couldn’t make it to ten.

  ‘Of course I shouted!’ I shouted. ‘What did you expect? I found you having sex with another woman. What was I supposed to do, burst into song? I think under the circumstances I showed incredible restraint, what with Rupert and everything.’

  Nathan nodded, conceding me that point at least.

  ‘Do I get an explanation for last night’s shenanigans or not?’ I asked.

  ‘I already gave you one.’

  I choked out a laugh. ‘“Too much to drink”?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Pathetic.’

  Nathan’s jaw set in a stubborn line. It highlighted his resemblance to his mother. ‘You really want to discuss this?’

  ‘No, I don’t want to, Nathan. Believe it or not, I’m just as reluctant to deal with what happened last night as you are. But I can’t see how we’re going to move forward until we do.’

  ‘Okay. Fine.’ He took a deep breath. ‘The fact is, things haven’t been right between us for a while, Em. We don’t talk much any more. We don’t do stuff together any more. I just don’t think you’ve noticed.’

  And with that one statement, the cold blood dripping through my veins turned into a red-hot, furious torrent.

  I took a shaky breath. ‘How can you have the gall to stand there and tell me I haven’t noticed how crappy things have been lately? If you’re so bloody observant, then why didn’t you do something about it? Oh. No, wait. You did. You slept with Gloria. Very constructive, you faithless prick!’

  Nathan paled at the onslaught. ‘For God’s sake, Emmy, keep your voice down. There might be people sitting outside the gîtes.’

  ‘I will not keep my voice down. Don’t you dare tell me to keep my voice down! I have spent the past year worrying myself sick about us, while you carried on in your smug little world. Not once have you said anything about being unhappy, while I’ve agonised and wondered whether it was normal to barely speak two words to each other. This holiday was my idea, remember? I’d hoped it would give us the chance to get to know each other again, to get away from work and stress and see if we could be like we used to be.’ At that, my voice broke.

  ‘Yes, well, we’re not like we used to be, are we?’ he said quietly.

  ‘I should say not, after last night!’

  He shook his head. ‘You’re not going to forget that, are you?’

  My eyes widened. ‘Do you honestly expect me to?’

  ‘I’m not sure what I expect any more. I need to think. I’m going for a walk.’ He stormed off in the direction of the lane.

  Incensed, I stomped back inside. As I fought to bring my blood pressure into a safer zone, I looked around the kitchen with dismay. A huge room, it usually conveyed a sense of space and order, with its warm pine units and smart granite worktops fitted across the back half, and its large farmhouse table where guest meals were eaten set under the sloping roof of some kind of porch extension, well away from the cooking area. Now, the morning’s dirty dishes were carelessly piled up next to last night’s by the sink, Rupert’s superlative sauce fit only for the flies gathering on the plates and pans, which stretched halfway around the kitchen. Naively, I’d assumed Gloria would do something about them before Rupert got back – something other than stack them in towering piles, that is. There was a rancid smell. Under the rubble, I discovered its source to be the leftover crème brûlée.

  Mindful of how distressing the mess might be for Rupert on his return and desperate for something to take my mind off the fact that my relationship was now officially in intensive care, I filled the gigantic butler sink with steaming lemon-scented bubbles and took my frustration out on the dishes.

  God knows, things hadn’t been brilliant between Nathan and me, and I knew deep down that it takes two to allow a relationship to slide – but even so, you didn’t go on holiday to mend bridges and expect your live-in lover to jump onto the first available life raft. We’d been together five years and lived together for three of them. Buying a flat had been a commitment. I didn’t think it was unreasonable to expect fidelity and the occasional honest conversation.

  Worst of all, I’d been so blindsided by his admission and accusations – and my own temper – that I hadn’t even got onto the main topic for discussion: getting away from this place.

  Two smashed plates, a cracked glass and a chipped cup later, I still had a fair amount of pent-up frustration to release on other household objects, so I looked around for more chores. I didn’t have to look far. Either Gloria was so distraught about her husband that she couldn’t bring herself to deal with mundane things, or it was as I suspected – that she left domestic matters to Rupert and Madame What’s-Her-Name the cleaner, who must have been having a day off, judging by the state of things.

  I’d located a broom and was about to brandish it when I heard a car outside. Assuming it must be Gloria returning with Rupert, I glanced out of the window, but didn’t recognise the blue hatchback. As the driver unfolded his tall frame from the small car, I wondered how he could get in or out without doing himself some sort of injury. He must have been well over six foot.

  He wasn’t a gîte guest. Vacancy enquiry for the guesthouse? Maybe. He reached into the passenger side and brought out a laptop case, which he flung over one broad shoulder, then a file folder. Hmm. Insurance salesman? He wasn’t wearing a suit, just chinos and a short-sleeved shirt.

  He headed across the courtyard towards the house with long strides. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with visitors or unsolicited callers, so when I opened the door, it was with a scowl – although that faltered a little as I took in the short brown hair and matching eyes in a rather handsome face.

  ‘Yes? Can I help?’ It came out sharper than I’d intended, but then my holiday – indeed, my life – wasn’t turning out how I’d intended either, so he would have to lump it.

  My appearance at the door seemed to have unnerved him. His brow furrowed. ‘Hi. Er. Is Rupert in?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, sorry.’

  He frowned. ‘Gloria?’ It could have been my imagination, but I thought he said her name with an element of distaste.

  ‘No. Can I help?’

  ‘And... You are?’

  I didn’t like the tone of inquisition in his voice. ‘Emmy. I’m a guest here,’ I snapped.

  He stared at the broom in my hand in some consternation. ‘Ah. I see.’ Although clearly he didn’t. ‘Do you know when Rupert will be back?’

  I could play the interrogation game myself. I didn’t know this bloke from Adam, and I wasn’t sure how much Rupert would want me to tell him. ‘May I ask why you need to know?’

  ‘I have an appointment with him. I’m Alain.’ I was momentarily confused. Was he French, then? Because he spoke perfect English – although now I thought about it, there was the very slightest hint of an accent there. He held out his hand for me to shake, and I automatically took it as he added, ‘I’m Rupert’s accountant.’

  I dropped his hand like it was poison. Accountants weren’t currently my favourite kind of people.

  ‘Well, I’m sorry, but Rupert’s in hospital,’ I told him. When obvious concern crossed his features, I softened my tone. ‘He’s fine and he’s coming home later today, but he’ll need to rest.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Do you know what’s wrong?’

  I hesitated. ‘Yes, but I don’t think I should say.’ When his expression turned to alarm, I hastened to reassure him. ‘Please don’t worry, it’s nothing too serious. But I do
n’t know you, and I don’t know if Rupert would want me blabbing all his medical details.’

  Rather than take offence as I expected, he said, ‘I understand. Thank you. I’ll let you go back to’ – he glanced in puzzlement at the broom – ‘whatever you were doing.’ He held out his hand again, which I took with the briefest of touches. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said as he turned to go – although as he went down the steps, I thought I heard him mutter, ‘I think.’

  When Nathan skulked back in, I was sweeping the kitchen floor. Staring at the brush and dustpan in my hands, he raised his eyebrows. ‘I hardly think that’s your job.’

  ‘Someone has to do it, since Gloria’s incapable of endangering her fingernails,’ I snapped. ‘I could hardly let Rupert come back to a pigsty in his state, could I?’

  As if conjured by my words, Gloria’s sports convertible swung up to the house. Rupert couldn’t climb out of the low vehicle because of his injured leg. Glancing across the courtyard at his sensible estate car, I was exasperated by Gloria’s lack of consideration. I shot Nathan a look of disgust at his lack of gallantry and went down to the car, waiting patiently until Rupert managed to swivel on his seat enough for me and Gloria to pull him out.

  Huffing, we helped the invalid up the couple of steps to the kitchen and lowered him into an old easy chair by the window. I fetched a footstool from the lounge for him to raise his leg. Usually cheery and ruddy-complexioned from the sun, Rupert looked pale with all the effort, and I was shocked at how much older he suddenly seemed, his face unshaven, his wavy silver-grey hair straggly and uncombed.

  Unsure what to do next, I turned to put the kettle on, but Rupert caught my hand.

  ‘Emmy, dear girl,’ he said, his voice shaky. ‘I’m so sorry for what I put you through last night. You must have been terrified. Bet you thought I was a goner.’ He winked.

  ‘I’m just glad you’re alright, Rupert.’

  ‘Thanks to you.’

  Aware that Nathan and Gloria were watching intently, I blustered, ‘I didn’t do much.’

  ‘You did your best, and I’m grateful, love.’

  He kissed my hand. I was so touched by the gratitude in this old-fashioned gesture that I felt an unexpected tear prickle, but Gloria’s eyes were boring into me over Rupert’s shoulder like drills. How she had the cheek to give me a look like that, I don’t know. If she’d been where she should have been last night, he wouldn’t have had to thank me at all.

  Straightening up, I shot the look right back. ‘Tea, anyone?’ I asked.

  Gloria shook her head. ‘I have to get the Hendersons’ room ready.’ She turned to click her way upstairs.

  I offered a cup to Nathan, but he looked so uncomfortable, I thought he might drop it, so I left it on the table for him. Had he found a conscience now Rupert was home?

  Apparently not.

  ‘I’d better help Gloria,’ he declared and shot off after her, leaving me with an excess of tea, a wan invalid, and the instant resolve that I would be following him in precisely three minutes to make sure helping her was all he did do.

  3

  I couldn’t recall the last time Nathan had offered to help me with any housework, and my overactive imagination didn’t find it hard to stretch from envisaging him and Gloria making a bed together to them rolling around in one.

  ‘Thanks, Emmy.’ Rupert smiled appreciatively when I handed him his cup of tea. A few sips brought colour back into his cheeks. He was a tall man, and broad with it, but the way he sat hunched in the chair now, his usual vitality and the mischievous twinkle in his eye were noticeably absent. ‘Your doing?’ he asked.

  ‘Hmm?’

  He gestured around the now-sparkling kitchen. ‘The cleaner’s visiting her sick sister and Gloria hasn’t got a domestic bone in her body, so I assume this is all down to you.’

  ‘Oh, er, yes. I wanted something to do.’ The minute the words were out of my mouth, I could have bitten my tongue, and sure enough...

  ‘Something to do? Surely you’re not bored already. Shouldn’t you be out and about with Nathan, enjoying yourselves?’ Rupert obviously didn’t suspect a thing.

  ‘Something to do to help,’ I back-pedalled. ‘I knew Gloria had to fetch you and you have guests arriving later.’

  ‘Well, it’s good of you, love, but I don’t want your holiday spoiled any more than it already has been. You and Nathan both look like you need to relax a bit.’

  Ha! He didn’t know the half of it, the poor sod. Anxious to steer the subject away from our supposed holiday bliss, I pointed to his leg. ‘How are you going to cope with more guests?’

  Rupert shrugged philosophically. ‘Madame Dupont will be in tomorrow to clean, and the gardener’s due back at the weekend.’ His brow furrowed. ‘It’s the cooking that’s the problem. Gloria can’t cook for toffee, I’m afraid.’

  His laugh took me by surprise. ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘What’s so funny, Emmy, is that Gloria was the manageress of a restaurant when I met her. Fancy place in London. You’d think working with all that food, something would’ve rubbed off, but alas no. She can’t boil an egg. Guests who’ve booked for three gourmet meals a week won’t expect to be given cold baked beans on chargrilled toast.’

  ‘You mustn’t worry about us,’ I hurried to reassure him. ‘Nathan and I can eat out.’

  This would have been the perfect opportunity to tell him we wouldn’t be a worry for much longer, since we would be moving on – but he looked so ill, I didn’t have the heart. I didn’t want him to think we were leaving because he was incapacitated. That would be like kicking him when he was already down.

  ‘That’s kind of you,’ he cut across my thoughts. ‘I know you’d muck in with any arrangement, but the Hendersons are another matter. Been here before. Fussy pair. Told me they come back every year just for the food. Heaven help ‘em this year.’

  ‘Surely if you explain...’

  ‘It’d go down like a lead balloon.’ Rupert patted my hand. ‘I’ll find a way around it when my brain gets back in gear. Right now, all I can cope with is a nap.’

  ‘No lunch?’

  He shook his head. ‘Too tired. Would you do me a favour, Emmy?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Pass me that pen and notebook, will you?’

  I handed it to him and he started scribbling. ‘Could you take this up to Gloria? She’ll need to go shopping as soon as she’s got the Hendersons’ room ready.’

  He tore off the list and I shoved it in my pocket. Helping him out of his chair, I passed him his crutches and we went down the hall to his quarters. It was a good job it was on the ground floor, because there was no way he could have managed the stairs.

  Trying not to be nosy as we passed through his private lounge-kitchen, I helped him into the bedroom – a pink and floral monstrosity that Gloria presumably couldn’t get away with elsewhere in the guesthouse. It looked as though she’d channelled all her feminine decorating frustrations into the one room. How Rupert could sleep amongst the lace curtains and chintzy duvet cover and nauseating dusky-pink walls was beyond me. The poor man’s eyes closed the minute he lay down. If I had to spend any time in there, I thought, I’d want to close my eyes, too.

  Back in the hall, I slipped off my shoes to minimise noise and crept upstairs. Nathan and Gloria had been alone far longer than I’d planned. Feeling ridiculous with my shoes dangling from my hand, I followed the sound of murmuring voices as I tiptoed along the landing and popped up in the doorway.

  They were both fully clothed and genuinely involved in domestic chores – so far, so good – but they were also giggling as they battled to stuff a king-size duvet into its cover. Not so good.

  They stopped what they were doing and looked up.

  ‘Why are you carrying your shoes, Emmy?’ Gloria’s eyebrows rose into plucked arcs, her expression smug. She knew damned well why, and she was victorious because I hadn’t got the evidence I’d come for.

  ‘They’re
new. I have a blister. I came up to change them.’ Time to set the proverbial cat amongst the pigeons. ‘Rupert’s worried about cooking tonight. It looks as though you’ll have to do it.’

  She stiffened in shock. ‘But I don’t... I can’t... Rupert will have to manage!’

  ‘He can’t stand, and if he could, he’d fall over with exhaustion. He says the Hendersons will expect to be fed, so you’ll have to do the shopping and then cook the evening meal.’ I pulled the list from my pocket, wafted it at her and placed it on the bedside table.

  Gloria wavered between terror and defiance. ‘No, that’s not possible. I mean – no, I don’t think so.’

  She looked to Nathan for support and I watched him squirm, caught between her plea for solidarity and his awareness that siding with Gloria in front of me wasn’t a good idea.

  ‘Perhaps Nathan could lend you a hand, Gloria, since he’s suddenly so domesticated?’

  I flounced out – but as I sought refuge in my room and flopped down on the bed, my petty victory soon faded. The cold reality was that in less than twenty-four hours, I’d plummeted from being in a boring but stable relationship to scoring minor points over my unfaithful boyfriend and his middle-aged one-night-stand.

  The sooner we were away from this place, the better.

  I knew when Nathan had successfully completed his domestic chores because I was standing in our bedroom with the door open a crack, watching until I saw Gloria go downstairs, presumably either to go shopping or to take care of her ailing husband – although knowing Gloria, neither was necessarily a given.

  Nathan wasn’t allowed the chance to follow. I intercepted him at the head of the stairs. ‘I’d like a word.’

  He gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Another one?’

  ‘Yes, another one. If it’s not too much trouble.’

  He followed me into our – my – room. ‘What now?’