Return to the Little French Guesthouse

by Helen Pollard

  ‘You hardly did any sightseeing when you were here on holiday, and that was a terrible shame, so I decided it was time you visited a château. Chenonceau is my favourite.’

  When we got there and parked, she dragged a rucksack out of the boot. ‘Lunch,’ she explained. ‘There’s a picnic area over there. I presume you haven’t eaten yet?’

  Startled, I glanced at my watch. It was already early afternoon. I’d been so busy, I hadn’t noticed. ‘You are so thoughtful. I’m starving!’

  Laughing, she led me to a picnic bench under a tree, the car park hidden from sight by a hedge, and took out a baguette, cheese, tomatoes, traditional black peppercorn saucisson and nectarines. Simple fare, but it tasted so good, sitting in the shade with a friend and watching the other tourists.

  ‘You look incredible, as usual,’ I told her. ‘Did you have a good holiday?’

  ‘It was okay. A family visit more than a holiday, and it meant spending two weeks with my parents.’ She made a face. ‘But my cousins have a villa by the sea, so I can’t complain.’

  ‘I should think not! No holiday flings?’

  ‘Ha! With my parents around? Hardly!’ She pouted. It only made her look sexier than ever. ‘I don’t seem to be able to meet anybody that...’ She stopped, her pretty brow creasing. ‘Something about ships.’

  I wracked my brain. ‘Anyone that floats your boat?’

  ‘That’s it! In my salon, I only see women. And my friends are nearly all in couples now. It feels awkward sometimes, still being single. You won’t believe who I’ve been seeing a lot of, in the absence of available men.’

  I leaned forward, agog. ‘Who?’

  ‘Ellie Fielding.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She came to have her hair cut at my salon after we met at Rupert’s when you were here last time, and we got on so well. Since she’s only over the road in town, we started to have coffee sometimes in our lunch break.’

  ‘Really?’ I wasn’t sure what Sophie had in common with a middle-aged English estate agent. I’d only met Ellie a couple of times and found her a little scary, although I had warmed to her by the end of my stay.

  ‘We should get together, the three of us,’ Sophie went on. ‘She’s fun, I promise.’

  When we’d put Sophie’s rucksack back in the car, we paid at the entrance and began to walk up the long approach to the château, lined with trees, tall and straight like sentries. I felt a sense of anticipation I hadn’t had since I was a kid, when we were going somewhere and I just knew it was going to be good.

  Past two stone sphinxes guarding either side of the path, the grounds opened out onto an area of manicured lawns and perfectly pruned trees. When we reached a long, single-storey white stone building with tables and smart parasols outside, Sophie asked, ‘Quick coffee?’

  I was anxious to see the château – I could see glimpses of its white walls and grey turrets – but I was equally anxious to sit here in this perfect spot. ‘Isn’t it getting late? Shouldn’t we get on?’

  Sophie laughed. ‘You English and your boring opening hours. We are in France, Emmy, and it is August. The castle is open into the evening. Don’t worry.’

  She went in to fetch coffee while I sat at a table watching little birds hop about snatching crumbs, and gazed out across the lawns, smooth as bowling greens.

  ‘This was once the stables,’ Sophie explained when she came back and caught me studying the building.

  ‘Crikey. Posh stables! How old is the château?’

  ‘I think it was built in the early 1500s. It is known as the “Château des Dames” because three women had it built and added to it over the years. And during the revolution it was protected by a woman too. She saved the chapel by turning it into a store for wood.’

  ‘My mother would like all that.’

  ‘Is she a feminist?’

  ‘Oh, she’d hate to be labelled, but she believes in independence, and she takes no nonsense from anyone, believe me.’

  ‘What did she say about you coming to France?’

  ‘She thinks I’m very brave.’ I made a face. ‘After the past couple of days, I think she means foolhardy.’

  ‘You can only do your best, Emmy. These problems at La Cour des Roses – they are not your fault.’

  ‘I know. But it’s my job to fix them.’

  She frowned. ‘I know you want to do well, to show Rupert what you can do, but...’

  ‘It’s not just a matter of showing Rupert. I do want to do my best for La Cour des Roses – that benefits both of us – but it’s more than that. If I can build up a reputation locally as someone who has a good eye for what’s needed, for fixing problems and improving things, that might help with my own business eventually.’

  ‘What are you planning?’

  ‘Initially, an online holiday letting agency for gîtes in the area. But once I’m settled and my French has improved, I’d be happy to use my marketing experience to work on some kind of freelance basis.’

  ‘Aren’t there a lot of accommodation agencies already?’

  ‘Yes – but mine will be specialised to this area only. I spoke to a company in the UK who do something similar, and they stand out because they insist on quality over quantity. Amazing photos, impressive blurbs. Loads of local information and expertise. They personally inspect every property, and they use a professional photographer.’

  ‘Sounds expensive.’

  ‘Yes, but they’re doing well. There are studies showing that too much choice is very stressful. So when you use a site that offers you hundreds of properties, it’s like finding a needle in a haystack. And not every property owner is as honest as they might be in their descriptions. With mine, people will book something, knowing I wouldn’t list it if I wouldn’t stay there myself. I want to stand out from the crowd, and I want to get it right. I’ve spoken to my brother, Nick, and he’s working on the website for me. He’s not a website specialist, but he is a computer genius. Makes a fortune in London. He’s offered me his services for free, bless him.’

  Sophie raised her coffee cup. ‘That’s lucky!’ She took a sip.

  ‘It certainly is. So it’s just a question of getting that going, writing tourist info for the site... and finding clients.’

  Sophie nodded. ‘How will you do that?’

  I smiled, taking in the perfect blue sky with its dreamy wisps of white cloud. ‘Initially, I intend to take advantage of my first client to tout for me. Rupert knows every man and his uncle out here.’

  Sophie bounced in her seat. ‘And Ellie! I bet she could help you. I told you we should get together with her!’

  ‘Maybe you’re right.’

  We finished our coffee and set off towards the château. I glimpsed formal gardens, but my focus was on the building itself – and oh my, what a building. It didn’t take long to work out why this was Sophie’s favourite. Elegant architecture of pale stone, grey roof... and it extended all the way across the River Cher upon perfect arches. I gasped.

  ‘Gorgeous, isn’t it?’ Sophie smiled. ‘We’ll get a better view from the gardens, but we should do the interior while it’s so hot out here.’

  A long hall of cream stone, a guards’ room lined with tapestries, the chapel she’d told me about, Louis XIV’s living room with heavy gilt-framed portraits. An imposing white staircase led to bedrooms filled with brocade and tapestries.

  ‘These flowers are spectacular,’ I said to Sophie, pointing to a huge antique urn of large, white lilies, contrasting gorgeously against the green foliage. There had been an opulent fresh flower arrangement in almost every room, something I found surprising and beautiful. I peered closer. ‘I can’t believe they’re all real. It must cost them a fortune!’

  Sophie laughed. ‘We are in a French château, Emmy. It is all about fine living and riches!’

  We went all the way down the narrow stairs into the kitchens, with their heavy wooden dressers and walls festooned with copper pans. The camera on my phone had never worke
d so hard in its life.

  It was all impressive, but it was the long gallery that really took my breath away. Once a ballroom, it spanned the length of the château across the river, its ceiling wooden and its floor laid with black and white tiles. Potted trees stood like sentries in recesses between arched windows that looked out over the river.

  I could have spent all day at those windows, gazing at the view and catching the breeze, but we reluctantly left it behind to explore the gardens. Perfect lawns, ornamental trees, climbing roses, flowerbeds of pinks, purples and white held in their patterns by miniature hedges... I’d never been a fan of formal gardens, but I had to admit that these were something to admire.

  Sophie gave me a nudge as we walked. ‘So, are you going out with that handsome accountant of mine now?’

  ‘Not yet. He’s away visiting family, so we’re still at the phone-call stage.’

  ‘Did you speak to him much when you were back in England?’

  ‘Not at first. He didn’t want to influence my decision.’

  Sophie smirked. ‘I hope you didn’t spoil his good deed by telling him you’d already been influenced?’

  I laughed. ‘No. But then Rupert got heavy-handed with his persuasion techniques, and Alain felt the need to intervene and offer advice, so we began to e-mail and phone.’

  ‘It’s a shame he was away when you came back.’

  I sipped water from a bottle, considering. ‘Maybe it’s not a bad thing. It gives me a chance to get settled first.’

  ‘Gives you a chance to try phone sex, too. Before you move on to the real thing.’

  ‘We don’t know each other well enough for that yet!’

  She gave me a cheeky grin. ‘That’s why it could be fun.’

  I drifted for a moment as my mind pondered the possibilities, and my pulse pepped up the pace. Hmm...

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ she asked me knowingly.

  I sighed. ‘He suggested an online date tonight, since we can’t have a real one yet. I’m nervous, I suppose. I’ve got used to the distance of the phone.’

  ‘Emmy. You once had dinner with him. You spent a day at the zoo with him. You kissed him.’

  I melted a little at the memory. ‘I know. But that was weeks ago. What if it’s not the same? That connection we felt. What if it isn’t there any more?’

  ‘Oh, it’ll be there. I believe in you two.’

  I barked out a laugh. ‘That’s because you’re a hopeless romantic!’

  ‘I know. I can’t help it. It’s a curse.’

  From the far end of the gardens, our view looking back at the château was captivating, not least because the entire structure was reflected in a mirror image on the surface of the river, its opposite bank lush with trees.

  ‘Thank you for bringing me here,’ I told her. ‘It’s so beautiful.’

  ‘You’re welcome. I’ve had a wonderful day.’

  On the drive home, she asked me, ‘Will you write about Chenonceau? For your website?’

  ‘Yes. The idea is to give my own impression of a place, then provide relevant links.’ I smiled. At least something had gone well today.

  * * *

  It was early evening by the time we got back, and I was feeling sleepy from the car ride, but I still had my online ‘date’ with Alain ahead.

  I ate a light supper, showered to wake myself up, and then, feeling ridiculous, I chose a flattering top and carefully applied make-up, although I now had an established tan, so I didn’t need much. It might not be a proper date, but there was no point in scaring the poor bloke off across the airwaves.

  Good job he wasn’t going to see my baggy jim-jam bottoms with the dodgy elastic.

  As I waited for him to appear on my laptop screen, nerves fluttering like butterfly wings in my stomach, I sent a silent thank you to Sophie. My day at Chenonceau meant that at least I would have plenty to talk about. Although there was certainly no shortage of other topics after the past couple of days.

  When Alain’s handsome face came into view and I saw the way it lit up at the sight of mine – his smile curving his lips and reaching his warm brown eyes, crinkling the laugh lines there – the fluttering in my stomach settled into a pleasant hum.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi yourself.’

  We stayed like that for a long moment, grinning inanely at each other.

  ‘How was your family thing last night?’ I finally asked him.

  ‘Fine. There were a lot of us there. Cousins, aunts, uncles. It’s nice to see them again.’

  I thought about what Rupert had said yesterday. ‘But it must be awkward for you?’

  ‘I think it’s more awkward for them. They greet Adrien and Sabine and the kids, make a huge fuss of them, then realise I’m there on my own – again – and that’s when they remember why I’m on my own. I get forced bonhomie or awkward “Still single, Alain?” questions for a while, but after several glasses of wine, everyone relaxes. I’m used to it.’

  ‘I’m surprised you don’t take someone with you, just to shut them up.’

  ‘I’ve thought about it, but there’s enough play-acting in the family.’ He smiled. ‘Maybe next time, I can do that and be genuine about it.’

  My pulse raced. That slight accent of his was enough to make me want to accompany him anywhere he chose. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘What have you been up to?’

  I laughed. ‘Honestly, Alain, you won’t believe it!’ I told him about Geoffrey’s shenanigans, imitating Clare’s shrill voice and crinkling my nose at the smell in the wardrobe.

  ‘Well, there’s a baptism of fire in guesthouse management for you.’ His amusement turned to a frown. ‘But you’re worried about what he might say in his review?’

  I loved him for that insight – that he understood the importance of what had happened, instead of dismissing it like Rupert. I loved that he understood its significance to me personally.

  ‘Rupert says he’s hardly likely to broadcast it, but I’m worried he might pick up on the other stuff. Being harangued by another guest. Me not knowing the emergency number.’

  ‘Cut yourself some slack, Emmy. You’d barely just arrived! And Rupert could be right – he might not review at all.’

  ‘But if he does, and it’s crap, it’ll be my fault.’

  Alain gave me a disparaging look. ‘What, for trying to do your job by using your contacts in a positive way to improve Rupert’s business?’

  Oh, I could do with a hug from this man right now.

  ‘No. For inviting a naked blogger.’

  We both burst into laughter, and I thought, if we could laugh like this with miles between us, what would we be like when we were together?

  ‘You look beautiful tonight,’ he told me. ‘I wish I was there with you instead of huddled in my old bedroom here. Alternatively, I wish you were huddled in my old bedroom here with me.’

  Behind him I could see white walls, shelves crowded with books and a faded poster of a man leaning back as he blew into a saxophone. His bed was covered with a blue throw and looked in need of a little rumpling, if you asked me.

  ‘Me, too.’

  His lips twitched. ‘Won’t be long now.’ His expression became serious. ‘I can’t wait to see you, Emmy.’

  A fuzzy feeling of anticipation flooded my veins. ‘Change the subject. To something that doesn’t make me want to leap in the car and drive to Paris.’

  ‘Okay. Is the guesthouse busy?’

  ‘Not as busy as it should be.’

  He frowned. As Rupert’s accountant, that was bound to concern him. ‘What do you mean?’

  I told him about Julia Cooper and Gloria’s utter lack of interest.

  He shook his head. ‘That bloody woman!’

  ‘I’ve said worse today, believe me.’

  He looked at me for a long moment. ‘You can do it, Emmy.’

  How did he do that? How did he know exactly when I was having a crisis of confidence? ‘Yeah. We’ll get through it. The
amount they’re paying seems generous, so it’ll be worth it, assuming I don’t lose the guests that have been double-booked.’

  ‘I’m sure you can be persuasive, when you want to be.’ He gave me a long look that made my stomach flip. ‘And, you know, that jazz festival is pretty popular. If this works out, maybe you could use it next year to attract other jazz enthusiasts.’

  ‘Oh? Have you ever been to it?’

  ‘Quite a few times.’ He seemed about to say something else, but changed his mind.

  ‘Do you like jazz, then?’

  He laughed, a sound that wrapped around me like soft velvet. ‘I wouldn’t attend a jazz festival if I didn’t, would I? How about you?’

  ‘I can honestly say I know nothing about it.’

  ‘Maybe that’s an area I can educate you in some time.’

  I stared at my screen. That man could educate me in anything. ‘Maybe.’ Feeling a little hot under the collar, I aimed for safer ground. ‘Sophie took me to Chenonceau today.’

  ‘Did you love it?’

  I broke into a wide smile. ‘What’s not to love?’

  ‘There are so many places I haven’t been to for ages. It would be great to revisit them with you.’

  We both fell quiet as we contemplated the possibilities ahead.

  ‘When are you due back?’ I broke the silence.

  ‘Ten days yet.’ He sighed. ‘I’m sorry I was away when you arrived.’

  ‘Me too. But it’ll be great to see you when you do get home.’

  ‘I’ll speak to you soon. Try not to worry about everything.’ He blew me a kiss.

  I stared at the blank laptop screen for a few long moments after he’d gone.

  4

  I woke the next morning full of new hope. After my ‘date’ with Alain, I’d curled up with my laptop on the chaise longue in the soft glow from the standard lamp and written up my impressions of Chenonceau, choosing a few photos to go with it. I liked the idea of giving my own account of a place and what I’d particularly liked about it. I could leave all the facts and figures and opening times to the official sites that already did it so well, by providing links to them. Why reinvent the wheel? My job was to entice people to the Loire region to stay in one of the properties I featured.