The Little French Guesthouse

by Helen Pollard

  ‘We need to find new accommodation, Nathan. We can’t stay here.’ Please don’t say “why not?”

  ‘I agree.’

  My eyes widened in surprise. ‘You do?’

  ‘Of course. It’s clear that Rupert isn’t able to run the place now. It’ll be a complete shambles.’

  I stared at him in disbelief. ‘That’s all that worries you? That you might not get a decent breakfast? Not the fact that you had sex with Gloria or that you’re sleeping in a separate room from me or that I can’t trust you or that you’ve ruined our holiday?’

  ‘The difference is, Em, those aren’t things I can fix.’

  I felt my chin wobble and hated myself for it. ‘Do you even want to fix them?’

  He evaded the question. ‘I guess we could look for somewhere else to stay, or we could alter the ferry and go home. But I do think we should leave it till tomorrow.’

  There was a strange look in his eye that I couldn’t quite pin down.

  ‘We need to think properly about which we’re doing,’ he said. ‘And about us. I’m not sure we should rush into anything.’

  Hmmm. For a man who didn’t want to talk things through, he certainly seemed to have been thinking things through. On the surface, his request fell just this side of reasonable. As to what was going on under the surface, I could only hazard a guess.

  I couldn’t see what staying one more night would achieve, but since this was the nearest he’d got to indicating he might be putting any effort whatsoever into our ailing relationship and was willing to at least think and talk about it, I was loath to complain.

  I heaved a sigh. ‘Fine. One more night, Nathan. But we are definitely leaving here tomorrow. And there had better be no more creeping about in the night from you.’ I jabbed a finger in his direction. ‘Lay hands on Gloria again and there won’t be any discussing what’s best for us, because there won’t be any “us”. Understand?’

  Exhausted, I closed the bedroom door on his rapidly retreating back and was drawn by the inner sanctuary of the bathroom, where I could shoot the bolt and be alone with my thoughts. It was a spacious and soothing room with blue and white country tiles, honey-hued pine trimmings and a gigantic white claw-foot bath. Perfect.

  Turning on the hot tap, I rummaged through the wicker basket of individual complimentary toiletries on the shelf until I found a little bottle of bath oil, which I poured lavishly into the running water. As I climbed in, melting into the bubbles, I imagined I could hear my poor tense back and shoulders sigh with relief.

  As I lay with my eyes closed, the only sound that of the bubbles shifting and popping and the scent of the lavender oil soothing my senses, it occurred to me I was taking quite a risk, absconding like this, what with Rupert taking a nap and Gloria therefore unchaperoned. But since she had shopping to attend to, I really couldn’t see how she would find time to philander with my boyfriend.

  When I went downstairs after almost having drowned myself by dozing off in the bath, I was relieved to see that Gloria had indeed been shopping and therefore couldn’t have been shagging my boyfriend. I was less relieved to see that Nathan was helping her unpack. This sudden domestic streak of his was beginning to annoy the hell out of me.

  Just as I was formulating a suitably sarcastic comment, Rupert limped in on his crutches and sat heavily at the table, his eyes still sleepy from his nap. I put the kettle on.

  When I placed a mug of tea in front of him, he gave a grateful smile, oblivious to the malicious undertow of ill feeling in the room. But as I grudgingly placed a mug in front of Gloria, she slumped dramatically in her chair, head in hands, and declared that she had a migraine coming on.

  ‘I need to lie down until it goes away,’ she whined.

  ‘But what about the Hendersons? What about tonight’s meal? I can’t do it on my own!’ Rupert looked decidedly ruffled. ‘Can’t you take one of your pills?’

  She shot him a pained look. ‘Yes, but they take forever to work. It won’t subside unless I lie perfectly still in a darkened room.’

  ‘Gloria, I appreciate you’re not well, but can’t you get by just this once?’ Rupert wheedled. ‘After all, the Hendersons – you know what they’re like.’

  ‘No, I cannot get by, unless you want me to vomit all over the food. I need to go to my room and I can’t be disturbed under any circumstances!’ She flounced off.

  Rupert looked at the shopping strewn across the worktops and dropped his head in his hands. ‘What am I going to do now?’

  ‘We can go out for a meal tonight, can’t we, Nathan?’ I offered.

  ‘If we must.’ He gave me a disdainful look, and I wasn’t sure what upset him more – the fact that he’d paid for three meals a week and his host had been inconsiderate enough to fall too ill to provide them, or the thought of having to spend an unexpected couple of hours sitting in a restaurant with me.

  ‘That’s good of you both,’ Rupert said, ‘but it doesn’t solve the problem of the Hendersons.’

  ‘The Hendersons could go out too, couldn’t they?’ I asked hopefully, already suspecting the answer.

  ‘Yes – if I don’t mind never having their business again and them denouncing me to all and sundry. They were promised a welcome meal and they’ll expect to get one. They may be a pain in the arse, Emmy, but they come every year and recommend us to all their friends. I’m not sure I want to lose that amount of business over one meal.’

  ‘Surely when they see what a state you’re in...’

  ‘It won’t wash with them.’ He sighed. ‘Ah, well.’ He hoisted himself from his chair, grabbed one of his crutches and headed for the mound of groceries on the counter. ‘I’ll have to manage.’

  I watched in horror. He might be up to doing bits and pieces, but he certainly wasn’t up to creating a gourmet three-course meal by himself.

  ‘Rupert, don’t be ridiculous. You’ve only just got out of hospital and you can barely stand up.’ I gave Nathan the steely eye. ‘Perhaps we could help?’

  ‘Oh, Emmy, no, I couldn’t possibly...’ Rupert began.

  But Nathan cut across him, his tone clipped and ice-cold. ‘Sorry, Emmy, but no. Going to a restaurant is one thing. Cooking my own dinner when I’ve already paid for it is quite another. I’m off for a drive.’

  He turned on his heel, snatched up the car keys from the windowsill and headed through the door.

  I turned back to Rupert. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘No need to apologise, Emmy. It should be me apologising to you. You’re on holiday. You shouldn’t be put in a position where you feel obliged to help. If I’d known Gloria was going to fall by the wayside, I would’ve got someone in, but it’s a bit late now.’ He looked uncomfortable. ‘On top of all that, I’ve caused you and Nathan to argue.’

  I led him back to his chair. ‘It wasn’t you that caused the row. Nathan and I...’ How could I make him feel better without giving him any insight into the real goings-on in this whole charade? ‘We’re still uptight from work, that’s all. Nathan doesn’t relax easily. He’s not mean, just not very good at going with the flow.’ I tried for a lighter mood. ‘He’s an accountant, used to everything being planned to within an inch of its life eighteen months in advance.’ Which reminded me... ‘Talking of accountants, yours dropped by this morning. Said he had an appointment.’

  Rupert nodded. ‘Never mind. Nothing that won’t wait.’

  ‘I told him you were in hospital, but I didn’t tell him why – other than not to worry. Was that okay?’

  ‘Alain’s a good friend. You could have told him, but it’s fine if you didn’t.’

  ‘Right, then.’ As I glanced around the large kitchen with its shiny state-of-the-art gadgetry, expensive-looking pans dangling from one of the wooden beams and professional chef’s knives ranged in size order on their magnetic strip near the double oven, I did my best to hide my panic. Cooking had never been my strong suit. ‘You’d better tell me what needs to be done.’

  When the Hendersons
arrived, Gloria was still conveniently convalescing and Nathan was still out for his drive. That left Rupert and me skivvying in the kitchen – or more accurately, me skivvying while Rupert directed proceedings. The small voice in my head which agreed with Nathan that this was not what might be expected on the itinerary of an expensive holiday had been outvoted by my conscience. Nathan had slept with Rupert’s wife, even if Rupert was ignorant of that fact. Didn’t it occur to him that he owed Rupert a favour or two under the circumstances? Clearly not.

  And so, by proxy, I was stuck with the sense of obligation. I’d always been a bit of a sap. Helpless kittens by the roadside that needed taking to the vet, lost children in the supermarket that needed reuniting with their mother – you name it, I’d never been one to walk away from a crisis. Still, there was a fine line between being a good Samaritan and a total doormat... Or maybe not.

  Rupert got started on the main course while I was charged with chopping fruit for the fruit salad.

  ‘Pineapple and mango on the counter. Apples and bananas in the fruit bowl. Grapes in the fridge,’ he barked.

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Halve the grapes. Everything else in cubes.’

  I turned the pineapple helplessly in my hands, wondering where to start. I only ever bought this stuff in tins.

  Rupert sighed. ‘Do you know how to core a pineapple?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Okay. Leave that for me. Don’t want spiky bits in it. God knows, the Hendersons are spiky enough as it is.’

  I pushed the pineapple across at him and then stared glumly at the mango.

  ‘Don’t bruise it as you peel it, Emmy. Do the apples and bananas last or they’ll go brown, then squeeze a few oranges and pour the juice over. Add a couple of tablespoons of honey.’

  I gritted my teeth and got started. When the phone rang, I would have ignored it, but Rupert glanced at me expectantly so I dutifully answered, mango juice running down my arm.

  ‘Er… La Cour des Roses?’

  ‘Oh. Hello. Is that... Emmy?’

  ‘Yes. Who is this?’ At least it wasn’t a babble of French I couldn’t follow.

  ‘Alain. We met this morning.’

  Ah. The accountant. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘I was wondering if Rupert’s back from the hospital. If he’s alright?’

  ‘Pssst.’ This from Rupert. ‘Who is it?’

  I covered the phone with my mangoey hand. ‘Your accountant. Do you want to speak to him?’

  Rupert nodded and I took the phone across to him. He wiped the mango juice from it with a disapproving glare.

  ‘Alain! Yes, fine, absolutely fine. Just a gammy leg. Nothing to get het up about. Sorry I wasn’t here when you came this morning. I’ll give you a call sometime to rearrange...’

  I shook my head and got back to my allotted tasks. How he could be so blasé, I didn’t know.

  When the fruit salad was done, I went over to see what he was up to. He had meat browning in a large pot, and it smelled delicious. ‘Next?’

  ‘Veg for the casserole. Onions in the larder. Sliced, not chopped. Carrots, tomatoes, courgette in the fridge.’

  ‘Hmmph.’ I took out my frustration at being ordered around on the vegetables, chopping them with rather more vigour than they deserved.

  Rupert looked across, presumably drawn by the vicious thwack of the knife on the wooden chopping board. ‘For God’s sake, Emmy, they all need to be even-sized cubes!’

  ‘For God’s sake, Rupert, if you don’t shut up, I’ll shove this even-sized carrot right up your...’

  A flourish of flying gravel put an end to our bickering. As I watched the new arrivals climb out of their sleek, black, brand-new saloon, my heart sank. A smug-looking middle-aged couple, he in a navy blazer, she in a pure linen cream trouser suit, headed up the steps like they owned the place and looked me over as though I was the hired help – which, to be fair, was exactly what I looked like. I politely said hello and moved aside for them to come into the kitchen, where Rupert sat by the oven with his leg up, a packet of frozen peas balanced precariously across his swollen leg.

  His prediction that the Hendersons would be unimpressed by his plight was more than accurate. He welcomed them with his usual gusto, explained that he was somewhat incapacitated but they weren’t to worry, they would be looked after as well as always, Gloria would be here shortly, etc, etc... And that was when he came unstuck, because he had no choice but to introduce me as a fellow guest.

  Mrs Henderson’s eyes couldn’t have got any wider without her eyeballs popping out of their sockets and rolling across the stone floor as she took in my dishevelled appearance – tomato-stained apron, tear-tracked cheeks from chopping onions, mango pulp in my hair. Her mouth turned down with displeasure and disbelief. Obviously she had not expected to find her host sitting around with his feet up, his wife conspicuously absent and a fellow guest roped in as slave labour.

  ‘I see,’ she murmured, glancing across at her husband.

  Mr Henderson looked unfazed, and for a moment I thought we had at least one sympathetic guest between the two of them. Until he opened his mouth.

  ‘Never mind, Hunter, I know you’ll make sure we get everything we’ve paid for. Same room as always? See that someone brings the luggage up, would you? Come along, Anita, we’ll go up and check the room’s in order.’ He led his wife upstairs, leaving me to gape after them in wonder.

  ‘Really, some people!’ I spluttered. ‘What do they think this is, a five-star bloody hotel?’

  But to my surprise, Rupert began to laugh. It started as a slow rumble deep in his chest, bubbling from his mouth in a delighted splutter. ‘Ring for the bellboy, Emmy, there’s a good girl.’

  There was no option but to see the funny side. If I didn’t laugh, I’d have to cry. In a glorious release of misery and tension, we laughed until the tears rolled down our faces. I hoped the Hendersons couldn’t hear us, but they were probably too busy inspecting every square inch of their room for dust and defects.

  When Nathan returned from his drive, Rupert’s face was purple, and when he laughed, pain shot through his leg so his laughter was interspersed with shouts of agony. The stitch in my side had me doubled up so badly that I’d subsided into an untidy heap against the pale yellow wall. The distaste on Nathan’s face only made us laugh harder.

  ‘Bellboy!’ Rupert stage-whispered to me, pointing at Nathan.

  I howled with merriment.

  Nathan glared at us. ‘What’s so funny?’ he snapped. ‘For crying out loud, Em, get a grip.’

  ‘Can’t,’ I spluttered. ‘Ouch!’ Clutching my side, I tried to get myself under control as Nathan waited impatiently for an explanation. I couldn’t be bothered with one. He was hardly likely to see the funny side. ‘You need to bring the Hendersons’ luggage in and take it up to their room.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Hendersons’ luggage. You...’

  ‘I heard. You must be joking! I’m not ferrying luggage about. I’m a guest here myself.’

  His high-handed response sobered me up quicker than a hard slap.

  ‘Rupert can’t do it and Gloria’s still lying down,’ I told him. ‘You could wake her up – I’m sure that would make you popular. As for me, I’m messy and tired and I’ve just spent the last two hours mincing and chopping while you went for a drive. It won’t kill you, surely?’

  Nathan’s face was mutinous as he stared me down. Contempt was written across his face in capital letters. ‘Emmy, I haven’t paid good money to come on some sort of working holiday. I’m sorry Rupert isn’t well, but he’s running a business and he needs to sort it out. He’ll have to get hired help in. It’s not your job to slave away cooking and cleaning, and it’s not his job to sit and watch while you do it.’

  I opened my mouth to point out that he’d been more than happy to offer his bed-making services to Gloria, but thankfully Rupert cut across me.

  ‘You’re quite right, Nathan,’ he said, his voic
e steady. ‘Emmy has gone above and beyond the call of duty, and yes, I do need to sort something out, but I hadn’t expected Gloria to be so indisposed. This is a one-off, I assure you. I appreciate Emmy mucking in, and I’ll make sure it’s reflected in your bill.’

  ‘Oh, Rupert, that’s not necessary,’ I chipped in, upset that Nathan had made him grovel.

  ‘If Rupert wants to make the gesture, Emmy, then of course it’s necessary,’ Nathan said. ‘It’s a matter of principle, after all.’

  Uh-oh. Bad choice of words, Nathan.

  ‘A matter of principle? Well, of course, you’d know all about principles!’ I stopped. ‘Oh, just bring the bloody bags in.’

  ‘Why can’t the bloody Hendersons bring their own bloody bags in? Are they crippled?’

  ‘No, but you will be if you don’t...’

  ‘I can hear that racket down the hall.’ Gloria appeared in the doorway, freshly coiffed and made up. It was good to know her conveniently-timed lie down had resulted in a full recovery.

  4

  Somehow, we ended up with delicious antipasto – juicy olives, vine-ripened tomatoes, slivers of smoked chicken, vegetable crudités (chopped into perfect matchsticks by me as per Rupert’s instructions) with balsamic vinegar to dip them in – followed by a tasty country casserole. I enjoyed this very much, until Mrs Henderson enquired what the meat was. She might have been used to eating rabbit, but I certainly wasn’t. I paled at the revelation, but since it was too late for the rabbit, and I’d already eaten some, I recovered my poise and finished what was on my plate, declining seconds.

  As I contemplated the tropical fruit salad, I tried to swallow my resentment towards Rupert for such a labour-intensive menu. I knew the poor man couldn’t have guessed his wife wouldn’t be at his side helping him, but there’d been an inordinate amount to do.

  The large kitchen table was welcoming as usual, with its matching pale blue linen tablecloth and napkins, the cut-glass wine glasses glinting in subdued lighting... But the atmosphere was less than jovial. Hardly surprising, since most of us weren’t talking to each other. Gloria unkindly left it to Rupert to make the evening swing, but his face was etched with tired lines and he ate very little.