The Little French Guesthouse

by Helen Pollard

  It was the Hendersons, oblivious to any undercurrent of strain or malice, who unwittingly saved the evening by regaling us with horror stories of the “dreadful” B&B they’d stayed in on the journey down and their lavish plans for living it up in Paris on the way back.

  ‘Honestly, I have never stayed anywhere with such cheap, nasty bed sheets,’ Mrs Henderson exclaimed with disgust. ‘Heaven only knows what the cotton count was. The towels were bald, and there was a chip in my water glass – disgraceful. Almost cut my lip. I’m positive the bedroom shutters had woodworm.’ She shuddered. ‘And the breakfast!’

  ‘Cold bread rolls and jam,’ her husband chipped in. ‘And coffee. That was it. No fresh pastries like you have here, Hunter. No offer of eggs. Not even a decent cup of tea. Bloody disgrace. Never again!’

  I suspected the owners of the B&B were probably saying the same thing about the Hendersons.

  Soon after the meal, for which they managed a cursory compliment, they retired to their room. Exhausted from cooking and keeping up a pretence in front of Rupert, I was desperate to do the same – but I had to wait until Nathan retired to his. I wanted to know exactly where he was for the night.

  I followed him up the stairs. ‘So have you thought yet? About what’s happening tomorrow?’ I asked him, closing his door behind us.

  He frowned. ‘I thought that was the point of staying another night. To give us time to think.’

  My eyebrows shot up. ‘You’re hardly going to be thinking when you’re asleep. You’ve had time today, surely?’

  He stared at his feet. ‘Of course I have, but... All I know is that it’s obvious things aren’t going too well between us.’

  ‘I think we’ve already established that.’ I sighed. ‘Maybe we need to try to remember the good times. When we were first going out together, we wanted to see each other all the time.’ I tried a smile. ‘You used to ring me from accounts to tell me how much you fancied me in my suit. We had a sandwich together instead of working through. And deciding to buy the flat... We felt good about that. We had fun choosing the furniture, getting things how we wanted them. Having people round. It’s only this last year or so that it’s... deteriorated. I think we need to be asking ourselves why. And where do we take it from here?’

  He looked up. ‘Where do you want to take it from here?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I do know we need to get away from here so we can talk about what we both want, how we might make things work. Is that a problem?’

  A sad look crossed his eyes. ‘I think the problem, Emmy, is that you’re obviously not going to forgive or forget what happened with Gloria.’

  I balked. ‘Of course I’m not going to forget! I might forgive, but that takes time and work. From both of us.’

  He nodded. ‘I’m tired. Let’s sleep on it. We’ll talk in the morning.’

  By the time I staggered down for breakfast, the Hendersons had already set off on a château-and-culture hunt.

  ‘Nathan not up yet?’ Rupert asked as he handed me a cup of wonderfully strong coffee.

  I’d heard Nathan go downstairs before I had my shower this morning, but since I’d assumed Rupert would be up to deal with the Hendersons’ breakfast, I hadn’t worried about it.

  ‘Yes. Well before me,’ I answered carefully.

  ‘Hasn’t had any breakfast. Nor has Gloria. Hope they’re not sickening for something.’

  They were pretty sickening, alright. What were those two up to? A quickie in the henhouse, maybe?

  When they both came into the kitchen a few minutes later, I found myself looking for evidence of straw in their hair or chicken poop on their backs – but Gloria wasn’t at all dishevelled, and Nathan was smartly casual as usual in tailored shorts and polo shirt. Hmm.

  Rupert, bless him, was as oblivious as ever. ‘Changeover day for the gîtes tomorrow,’ he announced. ‘Two to clean out, and we’re full next week so all three to get ready.’ He looked across at Gloria.

  ‘Madame Dupont will be here, won’t she?’ she asked defiantly.

  ‘Hope so, but it usually takes her and the two of us. Do you want me to ring her? See if she can get anybody to come with her tomorrow? That niece of hers might want a few euros. What do you reckon?’

  For a moment, Gloria seemed distracted. Then – completely out of context, it seemed to me – she smiled.

  ‘Don’t worry, Rupert. I’m sure Madame Dupont and I will manage.’

  ‘Sure, Gloria? It’ll be hard work.’

  ‘We’ll be fine.’

  You could have knocked me over with a chicken feather.

  After breakfast, Rupert and Gloria disappeared to their quarters, leaving Nathan and me to stare at the table or floor – anywhere but each other.

  ‘So what’s it to be?’ My question hung between us, suspended on air thick with animosity.

  ‘Not here.’ He grabbed me by the elbow to steer me upstairs. It was the first time he’d touched me in days, but there was nothing loving or intimate about it.

  As he pushed me indelicately into his room and closed the door, trepidation uncurled in my gut. The sun shone brightly through the window, highlighting the dust motes that danced above the dark wood furniture. I thought how quaint and pretty they made the room look.

  Nathan stood with his hands shoved in his pockets. He looked slightly sick, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down when he swallowed. Despite the warmth in the room, my arms felt cold and goose-bumped. I rubbed them absent-mindedly.

  ‘Nathan?’

  ‘I’m leaving.’

  ‘Sorry?’ I looked at him blankly.

  Nathan let out an exasperated sigh, as though I were a child who couldn’t understand the simplest concept. ‘For heaven’s sake, Em.’ He gestured past the bed to his open suitcase on the floor by the window, and to drive his point home, he started emptying drawers and shelves and packing his case in that neatly-folded, anal way of his.

  I experienced a wave of relief that he was finally thinking along the same lines as me.

  ‘Thank goodness for that! Do you want to try and get a room somewhere else, or should we cut our losses and go home? I’m veering that way myself, but I think we should phone the ferry company first to make sure we can get the booking changed.’

  Nathan stood across the room from me, his arms full of socks. ‘You’re not listening. I said I’m leaving. Not we. Me. And I’m not going back home. Not yet, anyway. I’m just leaving this place.’

  There was a sickening pause. My heart thudded in my chest. I knew what he was going to say a split second before it came out of his mouth.

  ‘I’m leaving you, Emmy.’

  The silence in the room was so stifling, I thought I could hear my own heartbeat, yet proof that everyday life was still going on all around us drifted in through the open window. Chickens clucking in the garden, a tractor rumbling over a nearby field, that indefinable scent of early summer: a promise of flowers and sunshine and all things sweet.

  It took a moment for his words to sink in. When they finally filtered through my misfiring synapses, I said, ‘You’re kidding, right?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Emmy. You’re standing here watching me pack. Does it look like I’m kidding?’

  I stared at him, wide-eyed with disbelief. I’d lain awake for two nights trying to find the heart to forgive him his indiscretion, worrying about how we could patch things up, wondering whether we were worth it. And he was planning to just jack it all in?

  ‘That’s it? No discussion?’

  His mechanical folding and arranging faltered. I couldn’t understand how he could pack with the same precision with which he approached his working life, whilst telling his partner of five years that he was leaving her. ‘What’s the point?’

  Unwanted tears rolled down my cheeks. I brushed them away with the hem of my T-shirt. ‘But that was why I wanted us to have a holiday – to discuss things, to try to make things better!’

  Nathan shrugged – a gesture of indifferent fi
nality. ‘Well, the holiday served its purpose. We tried, but let’s face it, it’s no good.’

  ‘Tried? Tried what? You must be joking!’ Anger rose in my throat to choke me, and droplets of saliva shot in his direction as I fought to fire the words out. ‘I tried. I suggested this holiday and made all the arrangements. You only went along with it for an easy life. We argued all the way here, spent half the week barely speaking to each other – as usual – and then you slept with someone else’s wife. You call that trying? You lazy, emotionally-stunted bastard!’

  As I fought to catch my breath, I searched his face for any clue as to why he was doing this. I just couldn’t get my head around how swiftly everything had deteriorated.

  Then I heard the distant clatter of heels, and a wave of nausea and realisation swept over me.

  ‘You’re not going alone.’ It was a statement, not a question. I’d never been so sickeningly sure of anything in my life.

  Nathan stared at the toe of his shoe. ‘No. Gloria and I are going together. She’s leaving Rupert and... We’re going together. Somewhere. For a while.’

  He looked like a confused teenager, determined to stick to the path of rebellion he’d embarked on while perhaps already beginning to regret it. The brief flicker of sympathy that flashed through me faded as fast as it came. I hoped he damned well would regret it. It was one thing to be asked for a trial separation because you both needed a bit of space. It was quite another to be left for a woman substantially older than you, with bleached roots and impractical footwear and spider-mascara.

  ‘You’re leaving me for Gloria?’

  ‘Yes. Well, no. What I mean is, I’m leaving because things between you and me aren’t working. Neither is Gloria’s marriage. Obviously. So it seems logical to go together. But not because of each other. If you see what I mean.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Nathan, how many times did you rehearse that?’ I suspected he had no idea what he wanted – that Gloria was merely a catalyst, and he was being carried along by the excitement of taking action for a change. ‘You know you have no future with her, don’t you?’

  His rebellion sparked back. ‘That’s not fair, Em. You don’t know that. Besides, we haven’t thought that far ahead. But with due respect, I can’t see a future with you at the moment, either.’

  He had me there. I couldn’t imagine how we would ever claw back from this. To think I’d been almost pleased yesterday, when he’d said he wanted time to think things over. I’d hoped he felt some remorse – that he was willing to find a way to put things back together between us. But no. He’d been planning his departure with Gloria.

  I was tired of shouting. Tired of listening. Tired of caring. Who was this man? The man I’d once thought sweet and handsome and romantic, the man I’d thought would be my best friend and lover for a lifetime? He wasn’t my best friend any more. I didn’t think he had been for quite some time. As for my lover – I realised now that our love-making had long since drifted into the realms of the functional. I wasn’t losing a lover or a best friend. It seemed I’d already lost them some time ago.

  Well, I’d wanted something to happen to shake up our relationship, and sure enough, something had.

  Downstairs in the kitchen, Rupert sat in the easy chair by the patio doors, his complexion as faded as the upholstery. He stared bleakly out into the garden, his hands clenched tightly together in his lap, his shoulders slumped. The poor sod. If this had come out of the blue for me, it must have been one hell of a shock for him. At least I already knew things were rotten and had only been plunged from misery into worse misery. Rupert had been dropped directly from the heights of assumed marital bliss into total betrayal.

  I made him a cup of tea.

  ‘How very English of you,’ he said. ‘Tea for a crisis. Thank you.’ He patted my arm. ‘Don’t worry, love, we’ll get by.’

  ‘I know. Although I’m not sure how.’

  He winked. ‘Darling Emmy, I’m an entrepreneur. I always think of something.’

  I couldn’t help but smile. ‘Ever the optimist.’ Hesitating, I asked, ‘Are you very upset, Rupert?’ then shook my head. ‘Ignore that question. It’s none of my business.’

  I watched him warily, thinking he might be cross with me for being so nosy, but instead he let out a large snort of laughter.

  ‘What’s so damned funny?’ I demanded.

  ‘You’re so damned funny, saying it’s none of your business, you silly girl. Your wet dishcloth of a boyfriend has had sex with my wife, under our noses, under my roof, and they’re currently in the process of leaving us both high and dry. If that doesn’t qualify as your business, God knows what does!’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘What the hell for?’

  ‘For Nathan’s behaviour. For booking the bloody holiday. If we hadn’t come here, this never would have happened.’

  ‘It might not have happened to you, but it probably would’ve happened to me, sooner or later. If not with your delightful partner, then with somebody else’s. It should be me apologising to you for her behaviour.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Rupert. You can’t be held responsible for your wife’s behaviour.’

  ‘No. And neither can you for his.’ He jerked his thumb towards Nathan, who was coming downstairs with his suitcase and studiously avoiding eye contact with the man whose wife he was stealing. ‘Perhaps we’re both better off, love.’

  I stood in the doorway for the grand departure, looking out across the courtyard at the rows of lavender and the pretty gîtes, where normal people must be having normal holidays. Gloria had yet to make her appearance. No doubt she was busy deciding between her designer shoes and handbags, and squirreling away all her jewellery so there was no chance of Rupert claiming it back.

  Thank goodness the Hendersons were out soaking up the grandeur of whichever château they’d chosen to bless with their presence. Since they were already unimpressed by Rupert’s injury, I couldn’t imagine what they would make of this sorry spectacle.

  Nathan loaded his suitcase into Gloria’s sports car, then came back in for her luggage. Despite my misery, I almost laughed at his furious attempts to cram it all into the woefully inadequate boot space. Gloria was high maintenance and probably took four suitcases for a simple weekend away, but even so, it looked as though she’d packed for the long-term. My heart sank. I turned to look at Rupert, but he wouldn’t catch my eye, instead staring out at the scene with a stony indifference on his face. It was impossible to tell whether his heart was breaking or if he was glad to see the back of her.

  Gloria came clattering down the hall and stopped as if to say something to him, then seemed to think better of it. Instead, she teetered off to the car, whispering something to Nathan before climbing into the passenger seat. My God, they really were an item – she was letting him drive her precious convertible.

  Nathan came back over, scuffing at the gravel with the toe of his shoe. ‘Right, we’ll be off, then.’

  What did he want? A medal? A pat on the head to tell him I didn’t mind him deserting me, less than a week into our holiday, to run off with an ageing, over-sexed adulteress?

  I clutched my arms across my chest in a vain attempt to hug myself warm. I felt so numb and cold I couldn’t speak.

  ‘Gloria said to tell Rupert she’ll be in touch about the rest of her stuff,’ Nathan muttered, unable to look me in the eye.

  ‘I’ll tell him.’

  And still he stood there. ‘Emmy...’

  I wanted him to go. I couldn’t stand the sight of him. Or her.

  ‘What do you want me to say, Nathan? Bon voyage? You need to leave now.’

  For a brief second, I thought I could see regret in his eyes – maybe even a change of heart. But then Gloria beeped the horn, the impatient bitch, and that flicker of connection was gone. He went back to the car, squeezed in beside her, started the engine and set off across the courtyard and down the lane.

  Closing the door, I glanced at Rupert, but
I didn’t think he was in the mood to be comforted by the woman whose boyfriend had run off with his wife. Leaving him in peace, I went up to my room to lick my own wounds.

  Rupert and I got exceedingly drunk that night. It was the only decent thing to do. Whether we were celebrating or grieving, we weren’t sure – but after several large glasses of Beaujolais, it didn’t seem to matter. I did express my reservations about him combining too much alcohol with his newly-prescribed medication for his newly-diagnosed angina, but he told me to bugger off, so I left it at that.

  ‘So what needs to be done tomorrow?’ I asked him cautiously.

  His shoulders slumped. ‘One gîte to freshen, two to clean out. Shopping. Meal to cook.’ It was as though the effort of just thinking about it left him no energy for anything more than monosyllables.

  ‘Well, then, I think you should phone Madame Dupont right now. See if she knows anyone who can help us out tomorrow.’

  ‘Help us out?’

  ‘Yes. Us. You can hardly mange by yourself, can you? Even with Madame Dupont here.’

  ‘No, but I can hardly ask you to...’

  ‘You’re not asking. I’m offering,’ I told him sternly. ‘And I have no intention of arguing about it. I’m too tired and very probably too drunk.’

  There was a pause. ‘Then I’m grateful,’ he said quietly. ‘But we need to come to some sort of arrangement about payment...’

  ‘What did I say about arguing? Make the phone call. If you leave it any longer, there’ll be no chance.’

  He nodded and did as he was told. The call lasted far longer than I felt was necessary for a simple enquiry, but I could only hear Rupert’s side and it was all in lightning-speed French, so I could make neither head nor tail of it.

  As he yammered on, with long pauses where I could hear Madame Dupont’s less-than-dulcet tones yammering back, I cursed every bone in Gloria’s bony body. At breakfast, when she’d been all sweetness-and-light and had stated that she and Madame Dupont would manage perfectly well, she had known she wouldn’t be here tomorrow. She could have let Rupert make the call when he suggested it, while there was still a chance. Even if he’d got someone to cover his share of the work, we still would have been one down when Gloria left. But no, that wasn’t good enough for her. She’d deliberately put him off so he’d be doubly in the shit. I could have killed her.