The Little Kiosk By The Sea

by Jennifer Bohnet

‘I can’t stay long, Suzette,’ Malik said, looking at his watch. ‘Donna’s rehearsing right now with Zac. I have to get back down there.’

  ‘I could be back before the show ends. A couple of days and my ankle could be strong enough to dance.’ Even as she said it, she knew she was lying to herself as well as Malik.

  This injury would take weeks rather than days to heal, which meant yet more RICE time before battling her body back into dancing fitness. There was no point either in telling Malik about her bruised and sore arm, which in its own way was as bad as her ankle and would make any port de bras movements difficult for weeks to come.

  Malik shook his head. ‘I can’t take the risk.’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’ Suzette sighed, facing up to the inevitable. ‘Wish Donna luck from me. You’d better get back down to the Forum.’

  ‘You’ve got everything you need?’ Malik said, clearly relieved she’d taken the news so well.

  Suzette nodded. Of course she had everything she needed – except a functioning ankle and an unbruised arm. No doubt the side of her body would be a mass of interesting colours by the morning.

  As Malik closed the door behind him, Suzette pushed her salmon salad away untouched before downing her glass of champagne and immediately pouring herself another one. It was one way to drown both the physical and the mental pain. Besides, Malik had said it was medicinal.

  Collapsing onto the bed, she switched on the TV and began to flick through the channels. Football, quiz games, reality shows, talk… Hang on, that was the show she’d recorded weeks ago. She recognised the woman crime writer.

  The camera moved around the various guests and Suzette saw herself on screen, watched herself uttering those words, ‘Sometimes I wish I could just be me.’

  Thoughtfully Suzette muted the TV sound. Had this latest accident just granted her unacknowledged wish? She looked down at her injured leg. Her knee was showing signs of a big colourful bruise while her ankle was already two or three times its normal size. Suzette sighed. She’d been here so many times in the last few years.

  But with the understudy now dancing in her place, she didn’t have to try and rush getting fit. This Monaco show had been her only engagement of the year until Malik’s Paris show in the autumn. Malik.

  Would he still want her to dance in view of this recent catastrophe? Would he take the risk with her again? He’d already agreed with her that Swan Lake in Paris would probably be her own swansong from the world of ballet. She couldn’t bear it if he cancelled her contract saying she wasn’t fit enough to dance, thus denying her a final performance and all the accolades usually given to a retiring dancer.

  Suzette straightened her shoulders. There was a whole summer before then – more than enough time to recuperate from these injuries and get completely fit again. Banish the ‘face it, your dancing days are finished’ demons. One more chance to show them what she could do and then – obscurity.

  Carefully she stood up and reached for the walking stick that someone in the theatre had handed her as she left. Leaning heavily on it, she made her way across the room and, after picking up the phone, asked for Reception.

  ‘I will need some help tomorrow morning, please,’ she said. ‘About ten o’clock? Thank you.’

  Thoughtfully replacing the receiver, Suzette began to make plans for the following day. Malik would be busy giving Donna extra coaching and then there was the dress rehearsal in the afternoon so she doubted she’d see him before dinner tomorrow evening. A fact which suited her well in view of the decision she’d just come to.

  She sat down at the small desk, found a pen and took a piece of the hotel stationery.

  Darling Malik, I felt it best if I left. Hope the show is a huge success. See you in Paris. Love Suzette.

  She’d ask Reception to give it to him tomorrow evening when he returned. She knew if she stayed and told him personally, he would try to persuade her otherwise. It was best if she just left Monaco without telling him.

  Chapter Two

  Libby

  Discovering the photos of their last holiday as she searched for something in the ‘miscellaneous drawer’ of the kitchen dresser brought the memories flooding back for Libby Duncan. For years she and Dan had holidayed in France, staying at the Auberge du Canal in Brittany. Thoughtfully she laid the photos on the table one by one. That holiday three years ago had been one of their best. Dan had been so full of plans for their future.

  They’d talked so often about moving to France. Dreamed about running a B & B, a gîte, enjoying the Good Life. But somehow something had always stopped them from taking the plunge. First it was Chloe’s schooling – it was never a convenient time for her to change schools. Then it was Dan’s job. A promotion meant more money but less time. Then it was Harriet, Libby’s mum, needing help after a hip replacement.

  But on that last holiday, Dan had insisted they started visiting the local immobiliers, looking for their dream home. ‘We’ve got to do it soon, Libby, otherwise we’ll be stuck in a rut for ever.’

  Their dreams had been cruelly shattered just two months later when Dan died. Dead from a heart attack at forty-six. Stress, the doctor had said.

  Libby and Chloe had clung together and got through the awful time. Now here she was, preparing to face ‘empty nest’ syndrome as Chloe looked forward to college.

  Libby knew that, unlike some widows, she was lucky being financially secure – Dan had been well insured – but with Chloe growing up and becoming independent, she was beginning to feel it was time to get her own life back on a course she was happy with. Maybe it was time to sell the house? A new start in a new place. The only problem being, she didn’t have a clue as to which direction she wanted the rest of her life to go.

  She picked up a photo of the auberge showing Dan sitting under the jasmine-covered loggia, raising a cool glass of rosé, a happy smile on his face. Libby could almost smell the sweet night air, hear the last of the daytime bees buzzing in the honeysuckle and see the swallows swooping around as Dan savoured the tranquillity of the summer evening.

  Outside, the reality of January rain hammered at the windows. Snow had been forecast for the end of the week. Summer seemed a long way off. Deep in thought, Libby put the photo down on the table. Maybe she’d book a holiday for later in the year. It would be something to look forward to. A week at the auberge du Canal with Brigitte and Bruno would be a wonderful antidote to winter – and maybe get her in the right frame of mind to kick-start her life in a new direction.

  She and Dan had become friendly with Brigitte and Bruno the very first time they’d stayed with them at the auberge. It was a friendship that had flourished over the generation gap from the moment they’d met, and with two or three visits a year, Brigitte and Bruno were more like elderly family relatives now. They’d even crossed the channel and stayed with Libby and Dan here in Bath.

  Brigitte had written her a lovely letter when she’d heard about Dan. Telling her any time she felt the need to get away, she knew she was more than welcome to stay with them. It was an offer Libby had so far failed to take up. Maybe now was the time?

  There was a group photo of the four of them taken on a day out exploring the gardens of a restored château. Libby felt a pang of guilt. She hadn’t spoken to Brigitte since Christmas. Tonight she’d put that right and ring. Wish her happy new year. It wasn’t too late to do that the second week in January. French people wished each other bonne année all through the month.

  At the same time she’d ask Brigitte about going to stay with them later in the year. Book the gîte next to the auberge for a fortnight’s holiday for her and Chloe. When should they go? Oh, June. June was always a lovely month in Brittany. It would be something to finally look forward to.

  Libby crossed to the phone. Why wait until this evening? Having made the decision, she wanted to get it organised. She’d phone now.

  The phone rang and rang. Libby pictured the noise ringing around the large old-fashioned auberge kitchen where Bri
gitte spent most of her day preparing delicious meals. In the off season, even though there were few guests staying, the locals continued to use the restaurant, especially at weekends.

  Libby was about to hang up thinking Brigitte was too busy to answer, when a quiet voice in her ear said. ‘Bonjour. Qui?’

  ‘Brigitte. It’s Libby here. A bit late, I know, but bonne année. Comment allez vous?’

  A slight pause. ‘Ça va, merci, Libby. Bonne année à vous aussi.’

  Libby, sensing something wasn’t right said, ‘Brigitte, what is wrong?’

  ‘Bruno. He has broken the arm.’

  ‘The arm? Oh you mean his arm! Oh poor Bruno. Which one? Not his right one?’

  ‘No, the wrong one.’

  Libby struggled not to laugh at Brigitte’s misunderstanding. ‘His left arm then? Gauche?’

  ‘Oui. And he drives me mad with his demands. All day he is wanting me to help him. I have people to dinner this evening and he wants me to help him in the garden.’

  ‘How did he break it?’

  ‘He fell off the ladder helping me decorate one of the chambres. So, naturellement, he blames me!’ Brigitte said, sighing. ‘And you? How are you?’

  ‘Chloe and I are fine, thank you. Thinking of coming for a holiday this year if you have room for us?’

  ‘Always, Libby, but there is un petitproblème,’ Brigitte said. ‘The Auberge du Canal will be up for sale soon. Bruno’s accident made him cross so now he decides to sell. We go to live in his mother’s old house in the village.’

  Libby remembered visiting the imposing maison de maître in the middle of the village with Brigitte. With its wrought-iron railings and large double gates separating it from the main village street, the tall detached house had clearly been built by someone of importance in an earlier age.

  ‘You are welcome to stay with us there, Libby, if we have moved. It has enough rooms. When is it you wish to come?’

  ‘June?’

  ‘A good month. Let me know the dates later. Now, I have to go. Bruno is yelling for me.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll phone you again. Bye.’

  Libby replaced the receiver and moved across to the table. It would be strange going to Brittany without Dan. She picked up the photograph of a smiling Dan sitting under the loggia again. Tomorrow she’d buy a frame for this one and place it on her bedside table. It would remind her of happier times and help her believe she would have a future again.

  When Chloe got back home later she’d talk to her too about an idea that had jumped into her mind as she talked with Brigitte. A crazy idea. An impossible idea. Wasn’t it?

  After supper that evening, Chloe picked up the photographs Libby had left on the table and flicked through them. ‘Dad was so happy on that holiday,’ she said.

  ‘He was,’ Libby agreed. ‘He adored the process of visiting immobiliers and looking at property. I know he felt his dream seemed to be finally coming within his grasp.’

  They were both silent for several seconds before Libby spoke. ‘I rang Brigitte earlier. I wondered if we might go for a holiday in June – before you go off to college.’

  ‘That would be great, Mum.’

  ‘You’d like to go again? Sure to bring up lots of memories,’ Libby said.

  ‘But they’d be good ones,’ Chloe said quietly. ‘Sad but good.’

  ‘Probably our last chance, as Brigitte told me they’re selling the auberge.’

  Libby held out her hand for the photographs and took a deep breath.

  ‘Chloe?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘When Brigitte told me they were selling, I had this crazy idea that I might buy the Auberge du Canal,’ Libby said. ‘Of course I won’t,’ she added quickly. ‘It’s a stupid idea really. Not worth thinking about.’ She put the photos back down on the table and turned away.

  ‘No it’s not. I think it’s a brilliant idea.’

  Libby stopped and looked at Chloe. ‘You do? It would mean selling this house for a start.’

  ‘It’ll be a bit big for you anyway when I leave,’ Chloe said practically. ‘You’ll need to downsize.’

  ‘The auberge is bigger! And there’s a gîte.’

  ‘Yes, but it would be a business. You love having people to stay, fussing after them and cooking.’

  ‘I so don’t fuss!’

  ‘You do but in the nicest possible way,’ Chloe said. ‘I definitely think you should think about it seriously.’

  ‘Really? You don’t think it’s too big a risk at my age – on my own?’

  ‘Mum. You’re not exactly on the scrapheap yet. Okay, I know you’ve got the big four-oh coming up this year but you’re still in reasonable shape for an oldie.’

  ‘Oldie?’ Libby said. ‘I’m not old. Besides, forty is the new thirty.’

  ‘You will be old if you don’t start living again. I know you miss Dad,’ Chloe said. ‘I do too. But you need to do something with your life. Besides, you might meet a sexy Frenchman. Get married again.’

  Libby shook her head. She doubted that would happen. She did need to do something with her life though; Chloe was right about that. She was definitely too young to vegetate the rest of her life away.

  Chloe picked up a photo of the auberge. ‘It’s such a special place. I could move over with you for a couple of months before I go to uni. Help you settle in.’

  Libby held out her hand for the photo. Chloe was right. The auberge was a special place. Just looking at the photos evoked so many wonderful holiday memories. Evening walks along the canal path with the swallows swooping around their heads. Supper on the terrace overlooking the canal. Watching the occasional boat manoeuvre its way through the lock, making its way to a mooring alongside the village quay. The wonderful meals Brigitte had made them. Their dream of living the Good Life. Libby put the photo down on the table.

  ‘With an offer like that – how can I hesitate? Maybe I’ll ring Brigitte at the weekend and ask how much they want for the place. For all I know, the price will be more than I can afford anyway.’

  For the next few days Libby’s thoughts kept returning again and again to the idea of moving to France on her own. Because she would be on her own once Chloe was at university here in England. Holidays in a foreign country were one thing – moving there permanently on her own was totally different.

  Time and time again, Libby thoughtfully fingered the photograph she’d framed and placed on her bedside table. Remembering how idyllic it had always been. The way she and Dan had dreamt of moving to France – of changing their lives. Could she resurrect the dream? Do it on her own?

  She agonised for days over what to do. So many questions and what-ifs tumbled around in her head. As Chloe had so kindly pointed out, she had a Big Birthday coming up but hopefully she still had a lot of years ahead of her. She had to do something and working at something she enjoyed would be better than doing any old thing. But could she resurrect the dream by herself, for herself? She’d always liked having relatives and friends to stay. Loved cooking special meals for them. Was it up to French standards though? Was her French up to coping?

  It was remembering Dan describing how he longed to get out of the rut they were in that decided her. The rut could only get deeper as the years went by. The least she could do was to find out the price of the auberge.

  Brigitte, when Libby rang her Sunday morning, was thrilled at the thought of Libby buying the auberge.

  ‘You would be perfect. I do want it to go to someone I like,’ she said. ‘It will be hard for you alone but I will help you all I can.’

  The price, when Brigitte told her, took Libby’s breath away in surprise. She’d forgotten how reasonable property still was in Brittany. Affording it would not be a problem. Dan’s insurance money and the money from the sale of the house would cover it.

  Decision time. Could she be brave and do it? Use Dan’s money to fulfil his dream for both of them. Libby took a deep breath.

  ‘I’ll have to sell here, Brigitte, but
yes, I would like to buy the Auberge du Canal.’

  It was surprising how fast things happened after the decision had been made. Libby decided against going to Brittany to view the auberge, feeling that she knew the place well enough already. It wasn’t as if she was buying something unseen or unknown.

  Brigitte and Bruno agreed to her paying a large deposit and the rest when the house sold. Various official papers passed from France to England and back again – usually in triplicate and signed and initialled in several places. Brigitte also said Libby should move in as soon as possible to keep the continuity of the business going.

  The house was put on the market and Libby started on the endless decluttering and packing. Chloe helped and between them they decided on the various bits and pieces Libby should take to France.

  Furniture was easy. The auberge was coming fully furnished – apart from the two bedroom owner’s apartment. So the beds and other furniture from both their bedrooms would be needed, as would the sitting room furniture.

  It was the personal items that caused the most problems. Paintings, ornaments and books. What to keep and what to take to the local charity shops? Many of the books had been Dan’s on such diverse subjects as fishing, car mechanics, physics and his well-read Wilbur Smiths.

  Chloe took what she called ‘an executive decision’ and took all of Dan’s books, except the Wilbur Smiths, down to the Oxfam Shop on the high street.

  ‘You can put everything else in the sitting room of the auberge,’ she said.

  In between the decluttering and the packing, they had several couples view the house before Libby accepted an offer from a newly married couple expecting their first baby, who declared it to be a ‘perfect family house’. From then on, the number of urgent things on her to do list grew.

  Eight weeks later, Libby and Chloe drove onto the cross-channel ferry. Libby, with her remaining worldly goods piled around her, on her way to a new life in France and Chloe trying, and failing, to tell her mother about a possible change of plan in her life.