Clattering next door suggested Rupert had also staggered out of bed. A bark from the dog. An admonishment to shut up and go back to bed from her master.
Throwing on a thin robe, I scrabbled in my drawer for the key to our adjoining door. As I raced into Rupert’s lounge, I nearly broke my neck hurdling over the black Lab, camouflaged in the dark room. Repeating Rupert’s instruction to go back to bed, I closed the door on her and took the stairs two at a time, my mind dreaming up all sorts of scenarios. Had someone seen a rat? Perhaps someone had had a heart attack?
There was quite a kerfuffle up on the landing. Everyone had come out of their rooms in varying states of undress, and Rupert was in the middle of the scrum, trying to ascertain what had happened. The commotion was centred around Gladys, and Clare was noisily lambasting Rupert and anyone who would listen.
‘What kind of establishment do you run here that allows people to break into our room in the middle of the night, stark naked, eh? Look at my mother! Frightened the wits out of her!’
‘But who broke in? Who was naked?’ Rupert asked desperately.
‘That pervert down the hall.’ Clare pointed an accusatory finger at the Turners’ closed door.
Taking a quick census, I realised the Turners were the only ones absent. Leaving Rupert to deal with the mêlée, I went along to their door and tapped quietly.
Mary opened it an inch.
‘May I come in?’
She opened the door just wide enough to allow me through, as though she expected a riot of angry guests to barge in after me. I stepped in, glancing at the neat array of toiletries on the polished dark wood dressing table.
‘Where’s Geoffrey?’
Mary was tight-lipped. ‘In the bathroom.’
‘May I ask what happened?’
‘He sleepwalks sometimes. Not very often,’ she hastened to add, her eyes shifting quickly to the closed bathroom door.
‘Isn’t that rather a hazard in his occupation?’
‘It only started a couple of weeks ago. He was put on some new medication and it’s disrupted his sleeping patterns.’ Her chin lifted defiantly. ‘I always lock the door, just in case.’
‘And tonight?’
Her shoulders slumped. ‘I forgot. He must have wandered into the corridor, then thought he was coming back to bed and gone into the wrong room.’
I nodded. I couldn’t imagine a well-known travel blogger would deliberately set out to expose himself to his fellow guests.
‘The thing is, Mary, that might give someone a start, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world if he wasn’t…’
‘I know!’ she wailed. ‘After you saw him at the window, I told him he should wear something to bed. But he doesn’t like to overheat.’
I thought about Clare’s temper overheating, and wondered why she had to have been allocated the room right next to Geoffrey’s.
‘I’ll go and explain.’
Back in the corridor, Clare’s face was pinched, her robe pulled tightly around her, her arms folded defensively across her bust.
Rupert was still trying to calm her down.
‘There’s a perfectly innocent explanation,’ I told them. ‘Apparently, Geoffrey sleepwalks sometimes…’
‘His wife should lock him in, then. We’ll certainly be locking our door from now on!’
‘She usually does, but she forgot.’
‘I don’t believe in coincidence,’ Clare said. ‘Twice in one day? I don’t think so. I want him out tomorrow, or we’ll be taking this further, do you understand?’
At this, Gladys spoke up. ‘Well, I for one have had enough excitement. Let’s drop it for now and let these good people get some sleep, shall we? I’m sorry I woke you all.’
Everyone shuffled off. When they were all safely back in their rooms – the click of Gladys and Clare’s lock ringing out loud and clear – Rupert and I made our way downstairs.
In his lounge, Rupert rubbed at his face. ‘What a night!’
The dog came over to lean against him, seeking reassurance as to what all the fuss was about.
‘Nothing for you to worry about, Gloria,’ he told her.
She whined anyway.
‘Great. Now she needs to pee. I’ll let her out. You get some sleep, Emmy.’
Back in my room, I threw myself back into bed to contemplate what the hell I’d let myself in for. At least Geoffrey couldn’t have the cheek to write a bad review after this. Could he? If only Clare hadn’t been, well, Clare.
Lying on my side, I stared at my phone on the bedside table. It would have been so nice to talk to Alain right now. To see if he could stop me worrying and make me laugh. But I didn’t think he’d appreciate a task like that at two thirty in the morning.
* * *
Unsurprisingly, everyone was rather bleary-eyed the next morning.
I took orders for hot drinks while Rupert over-compensated by being ridiculously cheery, whistling as he prepared eggs – laid by his own chickens – in whatever style his guests requested. One couple, however, was noticeably absent.
‘Where are the Turners?’ I whispered out of earshot of the others – and most especially out of earshot of Clare.
‘Probably daren’t show their faces. Not after Geoffrey showed everything else.’
‘Not funny, Rupert.’
‘They’ll be waiting until the coast is clear.’
As the table emptied, I glanced at the wall clock. ‘Should I go and see if they’re all right?’
‘Maybe they went out for breakfast, so they wouldn’t have to face anyone.’
I went across to the window. No sign of their car in the courtyard. ‘You’re right. That must be it.’
‘See? I told you not to worry.’
When we’d cleared everything away, I went upstairs to do my daily room check – make the beds, quick dust and sweep, check the flowers for wilting, wipe the bathroom over, lob bleach down the loo. Since I knew the Turners were already out, I started with theirs.
It was empty. Not a single possession.
I went back downstairs to tell Rupert.
He shook his head. ‘That’s a shame.’
‘It’s more than a shame, Rupert. Geoffrey’s blog is read by thousands of people, and he’s been belittled and driven from the place by a fellow guest.’
‘Maybe he should try wearing some ruddy boxer shorts at night, then.’
‘You’re not taking this seriously!’
‘I am, Emmy, and I know you feel responsible, because it was your idea to bring him here. But what happened had nothing to do with us. Maybe we should be grateful he left of his own accord, otherwise we’d have Clare on our backs. And maybe he should sort out his medication before his next port of call.’
Back upstairs, I stripped the bedding and cleaned the bathroom… but despite my efforts, there was an odd smell. I opened the windows, checked the drawers for left items, then opened the large antique wardrobe. The smell was much stronger in there. I sniffed and wrinkled my nose. It smelled of… Oh dear. Gingerly, I felt at the base. It had been wiped, but the wood was still damp.
I went back downstairs. ‘Do you know how to get the smell of urine out of wood?’
Rupert spun around. ‘What?’
‘Geoffrey’s sleepwalking was worse than we thought. He peed in the wardrobe.’
‘What the hell for? There’s a perfectly good en suite in there!’
‘The door to which is next to the large wardrobe door.’
‘No wonder they left! Have you mopped it out?’
‘Looks like they did, but the smell has impregnated the wood. Any ideas?’
Rupert burst out laughing. ‘No idea whatsoever. Maybe Madame Dupont will know.’
And so, when Madame Dupont arrived for her cleaning stint, I took her upstairs to show her the damp patch. Since my French didn’t stretch to bodily functions yet, I resorted to pointing at the bathroom door, the word ‘toilette’ and some crude miming of a Frankenstein-style sleepwalker, f
ollowed by a man whizzing. It did the trick.
‘When are the next guests due?’ she asked.
‘Saturday.’
She patted my cheek. ‘T’inquiète pas, Emie.’
Ten minutes later, she had hung bunches of freshly cut lavender from the rail in the wardrobe – why hadn’t I thought of that? – and placed a shallow tray of ground coffee in the base.
‘To absorb the smell,’ she explained.
It was a waste of good coffee, if you asked me. But, like a mind reader, she laughed and told me she’d found the stash of cheap stuff Gloria used to foist on the guests, but which Rupert or I wouldn’t touch.
‘Might as well be useful for something,’ Madame Dupont pointed out.
I grinned, unsure as to whether she was referring to the coffee or Gloria.
3
Closeted away in the den, I steeled myself to phone Julia Cooper.
‘Hello, Julia? Emmy Jamieson from La Cour des Roses here. I’m sorry to trouble you, and this is a little awkward, but I was looking into your booking for September and wondered if you wouldn’t mind filling me in a little? I have your e-mails, but since I’m new here, I thought it sensible to double-check everything.’
‘What about Mr Hunter?’
Urgh. ‘He is aware of the booking, of course...’ Well, he is now. ‘… but since Gloria’s no longer here, we wouldn’t like to think we might not have all the information we should have.’ Any would be good, actually. ‘So would you mind taking me through it all? Start at the beginning, and help me fill in any blanks?’ Of which there are many.
A sharp intake of breath. ‘Very well, but I hope there aren’t going to be any problems, Emmy. I’m sure Mr Hunter knows all this, but in a nutshell, my parents – Frank and Sylvia Thomson – have their golden wedding anniversary in a few weeks’ time. The family decided on a reunion and celebration over a long weekend, and we chose La Cour des Roses because of the jazz festival.’
‘The jazz festival?’
‘At Saint-Martin. My parents are huge jazz fans. They met at a jazz concert, and the festival is only a week or so before their actual anniversary.’
‘Well, that sounds perfect,’ I enthused. ‘I’m so pleased you chose us for your special trip.’
‘I hope the reservations aren’t a problem? Everyone has flights and channel crossings booked. We even have one group coming from Australia.’ Her voice hitched. ‘This can’t go wrong now, Emmy. It’s taken me months to get everyone organised.’
‘I’m sure,’ I soothed, gritting my teeth and thinking about the double bookings. ‘Looking at your e-mail, the guest room dates are clear, but I’m a little confused that you’ve booked all three gîtes for a fortnight, even though you said it’s just a long weekend?’
‘Gloria told me the gîtes run Saturday to Saturday, so to have them for our long weekend, I had to book them for a full fortnight. Some of the family are coming for just a few days – those who can’t get much time off work or have older kids in school. Some are making a proper holiday out of it – my brother from Australia, for example. So those staying longest will be in the gîtes, the rest in the guesthouse.’
‘And the airbeds?’ I dared.
‘You don’t have quite enough accommodation, so Gloria said it would be fine to use airbeds. That won’t be a problem, will it?’
‘Ha. Ah, no, not at all, as long as your guests are willing. Now, the e-mail mentions a cake...’
‘The anniversary cake. I assume Gloria already ordered it?’
‘Of course... but as I intend to double-check all our arrangements, would you mind telling me what specifications you gave her?’
Another sigh. ‘Big enough for all of us, but not too big – we don’t want to transport any home. One layer only. Some element of gold for the anniversary. No cream – it upsets my mother’s stomach. No nuts – one of the children has a nut allergy. Tasteful, not tacky. Gloria said she had that in hand.’
I wasn’t sure ‘tasteful, not tacky’ was what Gloria did best, but I kept that to myself. ‘And the caterer?’
‘For the party on the Monday night, naturally.’
‘I... see.’ I was too busy scribbling furiously, and not concentrating hard enough on my acting skills.
Julia’s voice became shrill. ‘You really don’t know anything about this, do you?’
Okay, bugger the acting. A little grovelling was in order. ‘I’m so sorry, Julia, but it was Gloria who dealt with all the administrative tasks here...’ Like filing her nails.
‘Are you saying none of this is booked?’
And perhaps a little lying. ‘No, not at all. Mr Hunter is looking into it and we’re positive it’s all been set in motion, but I just need to make sure that what you think is happening and what we think is happening match perfectly.’ I stared at Rupert’s teetering bookshelves, feeling that this conversation was in much the same state.
She sighed. ‘Fine. The jazz festival at Saint-Martin runs from Friday evening to Sunday, so we’ll be dipping in and out of it on those days. We’re having the golden wedding anniversary party in the garden on the Monday night, before some of us go home on the Tuesday. Your caterers should be booked for that, but if you’re double-checking, we requested upmarket French party and finger food, and waiting staff – one to circulate with food, another at the bar. Gloria said La Cour des Roses would provide all the drinks, including champagne for the speeches.’ A hint of suspicion crept into her voice. ‘Since, as you say, that’s already booked, I’d like to see a confirmed menu from your caterers as soon as possible.’
‘I’ll get Rupert onto it. And the buffet lunches... ?’
Another tut. ‘Naturally, you will be providing breakfast for the guests in the house. But Gloria said you’d provide lunch for the house guests for the three days of the jazz festival, since we’ll be coming and going and won’t be able to have any evening meals. That way, we can eat before we set off, and grab a snack at the festival in the evenings.’
‘Well, Julia, that all sounds in order.’ Like hell. ‘I’ll speak to Mr Hunter and send you a confirmation e-mail within the next day or two, laying out everything the way we understand it, for both our peace of minds.’ I couldn’t bring myself to ask the burning question I had in mind. What did the figure on that e-mail relate to? Who was paying for all this?
But it seemed Julia had the same thing on her mind. ‘When you do, Emmy, I would be grateful if you could also send an estimate for the caterer and the cake. It’ll help me plan ahead. The rest is included in the price I agreed with Gloria. I hope that’s not going to change.’ A definite warning tone.
‘We wouldn’t dream of it. We’re so looking forward to having you here, and we’ll do everything in our power to make it an occasion to remember.’
‘I appreciate it. Although I can’t say I appreciate having to explain it all again.’
‘I know, and I apologise, but we want to get it right for you. I’ll speak to you soon.’
I flung the phone on the desk and flopped my head back, my mind reeling and my hands shaking slightly. This was so much bigger than I’d imagined. I couldn’t believe Gloria had agreed to it all and not even bothered telling Rupert. It said a great deal about the state of their marriage before she left.
I found him in the kitchen, rubbing butter into flour – for shortbread, my taste buds hoped – and humming obliviously. The sun was bright through the open windows, warming the stone floor and sparkling on the wine glasses on the shelf. I made sure he was sitting down before I broke the happy news. His reaction was the same as mine, only with more inventive expletives.
‘We need to decide who’s doing what,’ I said firmly.
‘I thought you were going out with Sophie soon?’
‘I have half an hour.’
His face fell.
Once I’d agreed to sort the cake, extra bedding, and all future communications with Julia, and bullied Rupert into all food-related tasks and some investigative work finding out w
here Gloria had got to with everything, I took a deep breath. ‘Dare I ask about health and safety regulations, with regard to airbeds cluttering up floors in rooms?’
‘You leave all that to me, Emmy.’ By which he meant he was ignoring them and hoping for the best.
‘Hmm.’ I raised my eyebrows at him.
A knock at the patio doors.
‘Sophie!’ Delighted, I rushed over to give her a hug.
‘Bienvenue, Emmy. I’m so happy you decided to come to France.’ She kissed me and then Rupert on both cheeks. ‘I’m a little early. I hope you don’t mind?’ She smiled, her dimples flashing in her pretty face, her hair in its perfect wavy blonde bob.
‘Not at all,’ Rupert reassured her. ‘Emmy was about to submit me to more managerial misery and I didn’t fancy it.’
At the sound of a new voice, the dog deserted her basket in the hall and came bounding through to inspect the visitor.
‘And who is this?’ Sophie asked, delighted at the effusive welcome.
‘This is Gloria, Rupert’s new acquisition.’
‘I... see. She’s lovely.’ She fussed with the dog, then looked up at Rupert. ‘I was hoping to take Emmy to Chenonceau today, but it’s quite a drive, so we’d be back late. Is that a problem?’
‘Not at all. Take her away for as long as you like.’ He gave me a pointed glare. ‘I have plenty to be getting on with. Off you go, the pair of you.’
I grabbed my bag and followed Sophie to her car.
The minute we were inside, she let out a disbelieving laugh. ‘He called his dog after his wife?’
I held up my hands in a ‘what can you do?’ gesture.
She glanced at me sideways as we set off. ‘You look tired. Is everything all right?’
I forced a smile, and spent most of the journey telling her about Geoffrey Turner and Julia Cooper. She laughed and sympathised in equal measure, somehow making the load seem so much lighter.
‘Well, at least you won’t be bored for your first few weeks here,’ she pointed out.
‘That’s true.’ I decided it was time to change the subject. ‘So, where are you taking me?’
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