The Little French Guesthouse

by Helen Pollard

  ‘Yes, Emmy, I have.’ His tone was impatient. ‘Someone called Juliette will come in on guest meal days and help me cook. Madame Dupont has promised to be in the next day to clear up – except for Sunday, of course, because she goes to church. And some young girl will help her on Saturdays with the gîtes.’

  ‘Good. And what about...’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Emmy, give it a rest. It’s all sorted!’

  My mouth dropped open in shock. Rupert had never spoken to me like that before. For a second, I bit back a retort – and a tear or two while I was at it – but all the sleep-deficient nights and worry were wearing my restraint thin. Beyond thin.

  ‘How dare you?’ I asked him, my voice low and dangerous.

  ‘What?’

  ‘How dare you speak to me like that? After all I’ve done?’

  ‘Emmy, I...’

  ‘You ungrateful bastard!’ My knuckles were white on the steering wheel as I fought to keep the tears from blinding me.

  ‘Emmy...’

  ‘I have run around after you. I have cleaned for you and cooked for you. I have fetched you your beers and your cups of tea. I have listened to your drunken ramblings with sympathy and understanding. I have tended your guests and your chickens. I have risked my good standing at my job for you, all for another week of the same.’ I shook my head. ‘I only wanted to know if everything was in place so I could go home with a little peace of mind. I didn’t think it was too much to ask.’

  ‘Emmy, I don’t think you should get so upset when you’re driving.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t?’ I screeched the car to a halt, half on the road, half on the grass, narrowly avoiding a shallow ditch. The driver behind screamed his horn in outrage as he passed – or possibly admiration, if he was a native.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  ‘Apparently, I’m not fit to drive. Perhaps you’d like to take over.’ I unbuckled my seat belt.

  Rupert’s face was ashen-grey with shock. ‘You know I can’t.’

  ‘Exactly. So I suggest you put up and shut up.’ I refastened my seatbelt and screeched back onto the road.

  ‘Emmy. For God’s sake!’

  ‘Save it, Rupert. I’ve had enough!’

  He took me at my word. Either that or he was too petrified by my driving to speak. We drove on in silence, parked up in silence and trooped round the supermarket with monosyllables and stony faces. As we left the car park, Rupert asked me to turn towards the town centre.

  ‘You bought chilled stuff. It’ll go off,’ I snapped.

  ‘No, it won’t. We won’t be long.’

  Stubborn old sod. I drove in and parked where I was told.

  ‘Where do you need to go?’

  ‘Couple of places. No need for you to come. Why don’t you go get a coffee? I’ll meet you there.’

  ‘Fine.’

  I sat and sulked as I nursed my coffee. I had no idea why he’d got out of bed on the wrong side this morning. Whatever it was, I didn’t see why he should be taking it out on me. I was only trying to help. And inevitably, any satisfaction I might have had when I’d yelled at him was now overridden by guilt at behaving so badly.

  Ten minutes later, Rupert reappeared, huffing and puffing – and limping, to add to my guilt. He ordered a coffee and, when he’d caught his breath, startled me by taking my hand.

  ‘Emmy. I owe you an apology. I was horrid. I’m sorry.’

  I didn’t go so far as to pull my hand away, although I wanted to. ‘You’re tired. We both are.’

  ‘It’s no excuse. I’m not coping with the idea of you going home, that’s all. I didn’t want to say so because you already know how I feel about it and, well, you’ve got enough to contend with.’ He took a sip of his coffee and I noticed his hand was shaking. ‘I don’t want us to fall out, Emmy. Please. We’ve been through too much.’

  I fought back yet another deluge of tears. They seemed to want to come thick and fast lately.

  I squeezed his hand. ‘I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I’m bad-tempered about going home.’

  Rupert nodded and drained his cup. ‘Come on, then, love. Chilled goods in the car.’

  ‘I told you that forty minutes ago.’

  By the time we got back, unpacked the shopping and pretended to be interested in lunch, we were more or less on an even keel, but I still felt dreadful about what had happened and I suspected he did, too. Under the guise of his going for a rest – which it looked like he desperately needed – and me going to pack, we went our separate ways.

  I dragged my suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe and opened it out on the bed. Gazing into its yawning mouth reminded me of the day Nathan had told me he was leaving, his suitcase open on the floor by the window next door, the dust motes dancing in the sunlight. It all seemed so long ago, another lifetime – and in many ways it was. My life had irreconcilably shifted without my permission or input, and all I could do was go with the flow for now and hope I would come out somewhere nice – or at least somewhere acceptable – at the end of it all.

  I started to pack the things I wouldn’t need for the next thirty-six hours, defiantly throwing my stuff into the case higgledy-piggledy. None of Nathan’s precise folding. How he could do that at the same time as telling someone he was leaving them was beyond me. The man was an emotional runt.

  I thought about my day with Alain tomorrow and sighed. I had no idea where we were going. Choosing an outfit that might suit all eventualities from my already limited wardrobe wasn’t easy.

  Leaving out a smart pair of cream chinos that I hadn’t worn this holiday due to all the manual work I’d been subjected to, a teal T-shirt, light sweater and pumps, I packed everything else so I couldn’t second-guess my choices in the morning.

  When I’d corralled my toiletries into one heap in the bathroom and my cosmetics into another heap on the dressing table, I checked the wardrobe and drawers and under the bed for anything I’d left behind. Only one odd sock of Nathan’s languished at the back of his bedside drawer. I fished it out and dropped it in the bin, delighted at how much it must have upset his equilibrium to get to wherever he was going with Gloria, only to find he had an infuriatingly lone sock.

  Staring around the bare room made me feel out of sorts, so I mooched downstairs. Madame Dupont was there, so she put the kettle on and we sat down for our usual garbled conversation over lemon tea.

  ‘Did you enjoy the dinner party?’ she asked with ill-disguised curiosity.

  ‘Yes, thank you. The food was delicious and it was nice to meet Rupert’s friends.’ I did my best to tell her who was there and what we’d eaten. As she listened, I noticed she didn’t correct me much. Either my French had improved, or she didn’t have the heart so near to my leaving.

  ‘I went out for dinner with Alain last night,’ I admitted.

  Her eyes lit up and there was a string of mischievous praise for the man, with nods and nudges in my direction. The old woman must be thinking along the same lines as Rupert. Heaven knows, she was just as meddlesome – and as well-meaning.

  ‘Will you be here tomorrow?’ I asked her. When she nodded, I told her, ‘I won’t be, I’m afraid. Alain has invited me out for the day.’

  Her face transformed into a combination of smiles at possible future romance and sadness that this was to be our last cup of tea together.

  ‘Reviens nous voir bientôt, Emie,’ she crooned as she stood up and patted my cheek, then drew me into a tight hug against her wiry little body.

  Come back and see us soon.

  Heading out into the garden, I went around the corner of the house to the old orchard where I could indulge my misery away from prying eyes, but I was brought up short by the sight of Ryan pulling at weeds. I hadn’t noticed his car or heard him arrive.

  ‘Hi, Emmy. Are you okay?’

  I gave him a wobbly smile. ‘Just had a fond farewell with Madame Dupont. Thought I’d better come out here so we wouldn’t have to do it all
again when she finishes her work.’

  ‘Ah.’ He pulled me in for an affectionate and thankfully, non-sexual, hug. I couldn’t have coped with that right now. Plus, I’d begun to experience the unnerving phenomenon that whenever I thought of Ryan and me rolling around together, along with the accompanying tingle and idiotic grin, a perfect image of Alain’s face would disconcertingly superimpose itself across my memories.

  ‘You must be an absolute superstar to have softened the old dragon – you know that, don’t you?’ he said as we drew apart.

  I shook my head. ‘I only did what anyone would do in the circumstances.’

  ‘No, Emmy, you didn’t. Most people would have gone straight back home, or at the very least, blamed Rupert for allowing his wife to run off with their man.’ He took my face in his hands, planted a light kiss on my forehead, then bent to pick up his tools. ‘I’m off,’ he said. ‘Have a good day with Alain tomorrow.’

  My eyes widened. ‘How did you know about that?’

  ‘Rupert told me. Have a safe journey home, Emmy. And come back soon,’ he echoed Madame Dupont’s words as he disappeared around the corner of the house.

  I dropped down under the nearest tree, my back resting against its trunk, eyes closed against the afternoon sun. As I heard his engine start up, I wondered if Ryan really had finished his stint in the garden or whether he was being tactful, knowing I was upset by Madame Dupont’s farewell and not wanting to prolong ours. He was a nice guy. A little too happy-go-lucky for me, but some woman somewhere down the line would be well blessed with his genuine nature and easy-going personality.

  My melancholy drifted towards a doze, until a light patter of feet and a wet something in my lap brought me rudely back to the present and my eyes shot open to find a dog’s nose nuzzling at my hands. When the initial shock had abated and I’d satisfied myself that the stupid mutt wasn’t going to amputate any appendages, I ruffled the curly hair on its head and scratched behind its floppy ears.

  This must be my friend of old, the dog who’d come charging through the hedge to bark me awake after my outdoor session with Ryan. Glancing back to where the deed took place, I could see now that it was indeed only a few yards from an open window – presumably Rupert’s bedroom. He must have been able to hear everything. I blushed at the thought, but my embarrassment was softened by the memory of Ryan’s words when I’d questioned the wisdom of the location: “You’re not trespassing. You belong here.” I knew he’d meant as a bona fide guest, but it all seemed so prophetic after Rupert’s invitation to live out here.

  ‘They’re all barking mad,’ I said to the dog, lifting its muzzle to look into its appealingly dopey eyes. ‘Just like you.’

  ‘Framboise! Framboise!’ The resigned call came from the roadside.

  The dog turned its head towards the sound and, with an apologetic slobber in the general direction of my arm, shot off back through its secret hole in the hedge.

  Framboise? Didn’t that mean raspberry? What sort of a name was that to give to a poor defenceless animal? I stood up to brush hair and slaver from my person. Why Rupert was so keen on getting a dog, I couldn’t imagine. Then again, as I thought of its appealing eyes and slave-like devotion to its owner’s voice, I realised there was no contest. I’d choose a dog over Gloria any day. At least dogs were faithful.

  When I went back inside, Madame Dupont had gone and Rupert was getting ready to cook. I slipped in to work beside him, neither of us saying much for fear of damaging the fragile peace between us. Once the prep was done, we sat for our customary tea break.

  ‘I won’t be seeing much of you tomorrow, then,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I don’t know where we’re going, but...’

  ‘In that case, there’s something I want to say.’

  My heart sank at his serious tone. We were already treading on eggshells. ‘Rupert, I don’t think...’

  ‘Please, Emmy, let me say it.’

  Helpless, I nodded for him to go on.

  ‘I know you think I’ve been bulldozing you a bit, getting people to side with me about you coming to live out here.’

  ‘A bit!’ I spluttered.

  ‘All right. A lot. I wanted to show you that it wasn’t as hare-brained a scheme as you think.’ His brow furrowed as he sought the right words. ‘You know how much I want you to come back, so there’s no point in me going on about it. And I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t think it was viable. But...’

  ‘But?’

  ‘At the end of the day, it’s your life. You should do what you want. You should follow your heart, Emmy. That’s all I want you to do.’

  ‘And you think my heart belongs here?’

  He drained his mug and got up. ‘That’s not for me to say, is it?’

  19

  The following morning, I peered at myself in the bathroom mirror in dismay. Ugh. I looked like a sleep-deprived harridan.

  I showered, fluffed my hair into a pale imitation of what Sophie had intended, and dressed in the outfit I’d left out. Making a beeline for my make-up bag on the dressing table, I pulled out the works – but when I looked in the mirror to decide where to begin, I stopped short. Despite the image that had greeted me when I’d first woken, a tanned, lightly-freckled, healthy-looking face was now there in its place.

  I stared at it in genuine surprise. Back home, if I’d got up looking and feeling like I had this morning, it would have taken a good half-hour of creams, cosmetics and hair straighteners before I could even think about going out in public. Over here, it seemed all I needed was a quick shower, two minutes with the hairdryer, a slick of moisturiser, mascara and lip gloss, and I was done. Crikey! If I was daft enough to do what Rupert wanted, it wouldn’t matter that I’d be earning a pittance – I wouldn’t need to spend half as much on expensive props, for a start.

  Alain called for me promptly at nine, Rupert wished us a good day out – startling me by the absence of his usual crass comments – and we headed off.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I asked, curious.

  Alain shook his head. ‘It’s a surprise. Don’t worry, it’s not far. And it’s one of my favourite places.’

  We made small talk in the car, and I realised I was grateful for Rupert’s matchmaking interference, after all. Not for the reasons he might imagine, but because yesterday had been so hard, packing and saying painful goodbyes and winding things up. A distraction today was more than welcome.

  We hadn’t been driving long when Alain turned into a large car park.

  I looked around, startled. ‘We’re here already?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where?’

  He climbed out of the car and pointed across the road at the gigantic signs.

  My eyes widened. ‘We’re going to the zoo?’

  ‘Correct.’

  Standing with hands on hips, I was unable to hide my surprise – and dismay. I’d imagined a civilised drive through the countryside, a bit of sightseeing, a spot of lunch. Not in my wildest dreams had I envisaged being brought to the zoo.

  Alain wasn’t fazed by my obvious lack of enthusiasm. Taking in my expression, he threw back his head and laughed – a deep, velvet sound that made my stomach lurch pleasantly.

  ‘Don’t look so worried, Emmy.’ He opened the boot of the car and started piling sun cream, snacks and drinks into a small rucksack. ‘You’re going to love it.’

  Realising I was being a little ungrateful, considering he’d rearranged his work schedule especially for me, I plastered a smile on my face.

  ‘I’m sure I will,’ I said politely, noting that every car arriving contained a family. Alain was an accountant, for goodness’ sake. Zoos were for kids. What was he thinking? The last time I’d been to a zoo, I was nine years old and hated the cement paths and bored captives in dreary cages.

  Slinging his rucksack over one shoulder, Alain started across the car park. As we joined the queue of parents and grandparents and excitable kids, I felt more than a little foolish. Confus
ion was added to it when we got to the front and Alain asked for one ticket.

  ‘Only one?’

  He smiled. It crinkled the lines at his eyes. My palms started sweating.

  ‘I have an annual pass,’ he explained, taking out his wallet and showing it to the woman at the counter.

  ‘You have a pass for the zoo?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why not, indeed,’ I agreed, but since my acting experience was limited to a waving willow tree in the school pantomime when I was seven, I suspected I wasn’t convincing anyone.

  ‘You’re going to have a great day, I promise. Come on, we need to buy popcorn.’

  ‘Popcorn?’

  ‘To feed the animals.’ He gave me an innocent look as I gaped at him. ‘What? Accountants can’t have fun, too?’

  His laugh was infectious and I managed a weak but genuine one myself. ‘Not the ones I know.’ My smile broadened as I imagined what Nathan would say about spending a day at the zoo. He would be staid and boring and scathing. Defiantly, I decided to be more open-minded about the experience. It may seem a strange choice for a day out, but since my entire time in France had been bizarre, it would fit right in.

  I needn’t have worried. Alain’s enthusiasm was big enough for the both of us, and it soon rubbed off on me. He knew the place inside out, and he was right – it wasn’t anything like the zoo I remembered being dragged around as a child. Built on the site of an old quarry, this one was beautifully landscaped, shaded with bamboo and acacia, scattered with carved wooden animal statues – and the animals themselves were breathtaking. I oohed and aahed at the snow leopard’s paws the size of dinner plates, sighed at the cuteness of the shy red pandas and delightedly took photos of dozens of scarlet ibis clustered in a tree, looking for all the world like giant pink fruit.

  I loved the aviary. With the quarry rock acting as walls on all sides, it was fantastic watching the colourful birds fly overhead, especially the hyacinth macaws flitting from one side to the other like bright blue jewels. Fantastic, that was, until I felt something pelting my head and looked up to find a particularly stroppy green-and-red macaw chipping chunks of rock out of a nearby wall and lobbing them down at people on the path below.