That evening was a fascinating exhibition of good-willed restraint on the part of our fun foursome, who held back on further tales involving their past sexual exploits, and Rupert carefully editing his own anecdotes. In the end, it was Ruby and Charles who saved the day by telling us about their once-in-a-lifetime trip to Australia the previous year – PG-level entertainment enjoyed by all.
Over coffee, I smiled contentedly. Amiable guests. Fab food. Only a few days until I could throw myself into Alain’s arms. This was a fine life, if I let it be.
7
‘I’m not happy, Emmy, and I hope you have a good explanation.’
‘Ah. Er. Morning, Julia.’ As yet unaided by caffeine, my mind raced with no destination in mind. ‘Explanation for what?’
‘I got a call late last night from my daughter – which I could well have done without, just before I went to bed. Robert and I have barely slept!’
‘Is there a problem with the booking?’
‘I’ll say there’s a problem. She was searching for La Cour des Roses on the internet, and what do you think she found?’
My heart sank right down to my feet as my brain guessed what was coming next.
‘The Silver Fox Traveller. Two stars, Emmy. Two stars! When I think how much we’re paying you! Your website screams about what an idyllic place it is. Well, the Silver Fox didn’t find it idyllic, did he?’
‘No, but to be fair...’
‘I’m not in the mood to be fair, Emmy. I’m in the mood to be convinced that none of the things he mentions in his review are going to be a problem when we get there, or heaven help me, I’ll have to consider pulling the plug on this whole thing. And believe me, that will hurt me a darned sight more than it will hurt you. But I’ll do it if I have to.’
I thought about the figure she was paying us. The planning and the time and the stress that Rupert and I had already put into it. The rooms and gîtes empty for nearly a fortnight with very little chance of filling them. I felt sick to my stomach.
‘I have no doubt I can reassure you, Julia.’ I took the phone into the den for privacy and sank into the chair at the desk. This was going to be a long call.
‘Right. Noisy chickens...’
Crikey. She obviously had the review in front of her and intended to work her way through the entire thing.
‘There are only a few, at the bottom of a very long garden, and they’re locked away at night. No roosters to wake you at dawn, I promise. We’ve never had any other complaints.’
‘Hmm.’ A pause, as she no doubt scanned the review. ‘Dreary pictures are the least of my worries.’
I tried a light chuckle. ‘I’m not keen on them myself. They were already on my to-do list.’
‘The lounge, however, does not sound at all adequate.’
‘I agree it isn’t ideal, and that’s also on my list. I can’t refurnish it before you come, but I will make it as hospitable as I can. I’m hoping the weather stays fine enough for you all to gather on the patio and in the garden, but the little lounges in the gîtes are lovely for smaller groups.’
‘Hmmph.’
I winced. That one wasn’t going down too well.
‘Soft mattresses?’
‘I’m sure you’ll appreciate, Julia, that it’s very hard to accommodate everyone. All our mattresses are medium, and we feel that’s the only way to go.’
‘Fair enough. Voile curtains?’
‘Shutters are by far the best black-out method. Voile because people like an airy feel to their room in the daytime.’
‘I’m not happy about these cheap toiletries at all. We’re paying good money...’
That did get my goat. I’d spent hours on those the last time I was here. ‘I can assure you that the bottles are for aesthetic and environmental reasons, and the toiletries in them are of a very high quality. When you arrive, I’d be happy to show you what we put in them.’
‘Maybe. Now, I know evening meals aren’t relevant in our case, but even so...’
‘Julia, I must say that the Silver Fox was most unfair on that score. Rupert produces beautiful food.’ I described what we’d had the night before. ‘I can personally guarantee that whatever he serves is always fresh and delicious.’
‘And the fact that this Silver Fox was apparently driven out by other guests?’
‘Well, that shouldn’t be relevant in your case, as you’re all family.’ Although that isn’t always a given. ‘I can’t give details – the dispute was of a personal nature...’ Literally. ‘But it was a set of circumstances unlikely to ever be repeated.’ Hopefully. ‘I strongly believe it has nothing to do with your booking, or indeed any of our future guests.’
‘And the ambulance?’
Urgh. ‘The honest truth? I’d only been here two days and I didn’t know the number.’ I heard her suck in a breath. ‘It took me just one minute to find it, and I won’t forget it now! But it was only a sprained wrist.’
‘I see.’ Her tone softened a little. ‘Now. This dog. I looked again at your website and suddenly she’s right there, photos and all. She wasn’t when I booked.’
‘I know.’ I made a mental note that I had yet to e-mail all our future bookings about her. As if I didn’t have enough to be getting on with. ‘The Silver Fox was right about that, so we rectified it straight away. Will she be a problem?’
‘Not with the people. I am concerned about the dogs we’re bringing, though.’
‘You’re bringing dogs?’
‘Yes. Two. Didn’t I tell you?’
‘Er, no.’ In need of comfort, I moved from the captain’s chair to the squishy leather sofa, where I could flop my head back.
‘Don’t worry, they’ll be in one of the caravans. But now I’m worried about how they’ll get along with Mr Hunter’s dog. Gloria.’
Ah, she’d spotted that, had she? ‘I’ll speak to Rupert. I’m sure it will be okay, but if they can’t get along, we’ll contain our dog, okay?’
‘Fine.’
‘Have I allayed your fears, Julia? I really hope so.’
‘In the main. The fact is, I feel I don’t have much choice but to go ahead with the booking at this stage. Heaven knows where we’d find somewhere else big enough. But I can’t say I’m happy, Emmy. My dealings with La Cour des Roses have hardly been a smooth process. My main contact leaving, information not being passed on, having to repeat myself. I’m a busy woman. And now this review. I can’t begin to tell you how ill that made me last night. Have you any idea what it’s like, trying to gather an extended family together like this?’
‘I can only apologise, and...’ I closed my eyes for a moment and prayed that Rupert would forgive me. ‘I’d like to find some way to compensate you for your trauma. How about if we extend breakfast to all your guests on the days you’re all here? So, the five days, Friday through to the Tuesday? The gîtes, the caravans, the tent? We can’t fit everyone in the kitchen, but we could put extra seating out on the patio and you could all come and go as you please. What do you think?’
Seconds ticked by. ‘I think that is a generous offer which I am more than happy to accept. Thank you.’
I puffed out my cheeks in silent relief. It didn’t last long.
‘Have you sorted out the band yet?’
I rested my face against the cool leather arm of the sofa in despair. ‘The band?’
‘Didn’t we discuss the band?’
‘No, Julia. I’m sorry, but I would have remembered.’
‘That must have been a conversation I had with Gloria, then. Maybe I forgot to put it on my e-mail. I would apologise, especially in light of your generous breakfast offer, but at the end of the day, Gloria should have passed that information on to you.’
‘Yes, she should have. So... a band?’ Shoot me now.
‘I need you to book a jazz band for the party night. Someone playing at the festival. Small – size is an issue, obviously.’
Obviously.
‘And we want an intimate atmosphere
, something mellow. No brass blasting out or anything screechy.’
Thank goodness for that.
‘Er. Wouldn’t you be better doing that? You must know more about it than me...’
‘Actually, Emmy, I know very little about jazz. My parents’ enthusiasm didn’t rub off on me, alas. And I just can’t fit it in. There are others in the family who take an interest, but they wouldn’t be any the wiser about the bands on a French programme, would they? I’m sure you could ask around. Send me the details of who you’ve booked, will you? Oh, and that means we need a marquee.’
Could this get any worse? ‘For... ?’
‘For the band, Emmy. If it rains, we can hardly bring them into the house, can we? We’d all be deafened. The bar could go under there, too. Don’t worry, we’ll be paying for all this.’
I should hope so.
‘Okay, Julia.’ I thought about Alain. He’d been to the festival in the past. Maybe he might have some clue how I could go about this. ‘How are you managing to keep a surprise like this from your parents?’
‘We told them that Robert and I are bringing them to France for a few days, but they don’t know about the jazz festival or the party or the rest of the family coming.’ She chuckled. ‘Mum did think it was strange that other family members happen to be away at the same time. She said it was a good job we’d invited her, because there would be nobody around back home at this rate!’
‘Are you expecting to keep the party from them until the last minute?’
‘No. I would have liked to, but one of the kids is bound to give it away once we all get together.’ She laughed at my sigh of relief. ‘So you don’t need to worry about that side of things, Emmy, but thank you for checking.’
‘You’re welcome.’
We hung up, and I went over a mental checklist of all the horrific crimes against holidaymakers Geoffrey Turner had accused us of. I tried to calm myself with the fact that he’d exaggerated, and anything real was in hand. I wouldn’t mind knowing where that damned ballerina figurine was, though.
I went back through to the kitchen, where Rupert was clearing up on his own.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘You’ve been gone ages.’
‘Julia Cooper.’
He listened carefully as I told him everything. ‘You did the right thing, Emmy, offering that breakfast sweetener. The woman’s right – her whole booking has been a shambles. It’s the least we can do.’
‘It’s going to seriously eat into our profits.’
‘Can’t be helped. Better than losing the whole booking, or having them badmouth us all over the place. Good girl.’ He patted my hand. ‘By the way, Sophie rang. She and Ellie are taking you out for the afternoon.’
‘Oh, Rupert, I can’t. What about this stupid band and the marquee and...’
‘A couple of hours away won’t do you any harm. You’re a nervous wreck. I’ll deal with the marquee. You’ve got a while before Sophie comes, if you want to look into the jazz thing, okay?’
‘Okay.’
I sloped off to my room, where I allowed myself five minutes of pure self-pity: pouting, hugging my pillow, the whole works.
When the five minutes were up, I fired up the laptop and sent an e-mail to everyone who was booked in over the next couple of months, warning them about the dog and including a link to the relevant page on the website, hoping the cute photos would sway anyone on the doubtful side.
Then I brought up the website for the jazz festival – all in French, naturally – and found a programme of bands expected to play. I might as well have been looking at a list of Latvian authors. It meant nothing to me. I simply had no idea where to start, and the only thing I was utterly convinced about was that it was well beyond my job description as manager of a small guesthouse.
As a distraction technique, I pulled up a couple of popular review sites to see if my begging e-mail to past guests had reaped any rewards yet. My heart lifted to see a couple of new reviews – both short but complimentary.
Five stars: Excellent food, excellent customer service, lovely accommodation.
Four stars: Beautiful, clean room. Nice food. Guest lounge a disappointment.
I really needed to talk to Rupert about that lounge.
Geoffrey’s review was still far too prominent for my liking, but then I noticed another low rating next to it. What the... ?
Don’t stay here if you want any kind of customer service. The management do not back up their customers in times of difficulty, and have no idea how to deal with medical emergencies. Clare Jones.
Since I’d already done self-pity, I segued into panic. The feeling of being overwhelmed was so great, my chest felt tight, my throat constricted, my lungs compressed.
What on earth had possessed me to think I could switch from a career in marketing to running a guesthouse in a foreign country? So far, my efforts had made things worse, not better. Bookings were lower than when Rupert had enticed me out here. I knew a lot of that was Gloria’s fault, but it didn’t change the facts. We’d had a further cancellation because of the Silver Fox and a near miss with Julia. And the way things were going, with every single phone call bringing new, unwanted challenges, this Thomson thing was going to be the death of me.
If I couldn’t do what I wanted for La Cour des Roses, how could I expect to make a go of setting up my own business? It was one thing having bright ideas for improving other people’s businesses – I’d been doing that all my working life – but running my own was on a whole new level. That expression about biting off more than you could chew felt rather apt at the moment.
Deserting the laptop, I went through my outside door and lay on the grass in the shade of an apple tree, shielding my eyes from the dappled sunlight with my arm, forcing myself to breathe steadily. This little area always felt like the perfect hideaway at times of stress, and sure enough, it did the trick. I dozed a little, and allowed my mind to empty. It felt good, and after a while I felt ready to face the world. Well, Sophie and Ellie, anyway.
* * *
When Sophie called for me, Ryan was lugging his kit through to the garden.
‘Hello, ladies.’
‘Hi, Ryan.’
I glanced at Sophie. The twinkle in her eyes had suddenly become a lot twinklier.
‘This is Sophie,’ I told him. ‘She owns the hairdressing salon at the bottom of the square. Or have you two already met?’
‘We haven’t officially had the pleasure.’ Ryan came over to shake her hand. ‘Although I think I saw you at the farewell party Rupert held for Emmy a few weeks ago?’
‘Yes, I was there.’ Sophie never took her eyes off Ryan’s. ‘I spotted you, too.’
Long seconds stretched before Ryan broke eye contact. He smiled, teeth white against his tanned face, streaked blonde hair flopping across his forehead, and I heard Sophie’s sharp intake of breath. ‘Hope to see you again some time.’
As he moved away, Sophie fanned her face. ‘Now him, I would bother about,’ she stated, and as we drove to Ellie’s, she proceeded to grill me over everything I knew about him.
I recited Ryan’s biography as I knew it, and heaved a sigh of relief that I’d never confided in her about what we’d got up to in the bushes. And then, being me, I worried whether I should tell her. If they were as interested in each other as the sparks had suggested, would she expect me to? Urgh.
As we pulled up at Ellie’s house, I decided against it for now. Nothing may ever come of it. And if they did become an item, Ryan might not want her to know. It was his decision, too. And there was always the chance she could take it the wrong way – that it might seem like I was just passing him on to her, like a used car. As ever, I opted for safety.
Ellie’s house was out on a country road, at what I guessed was the point of a triangle between La Cour des Roses and Pierre-la-Fontaine, and it stood very much alone, surrounded by fields.
‘I like my solitude,’ she explained as she got in the car and caught me gaping. ‘I
get enough interaction at work.’
‘Where are we going?’ I asked as Sophie set off again, enjoying the breeze through the open car window.
I could see tall crops over some of the roadside hedges, but I noticed that some of the fields had already been harvested. Giant rolls of golden hay dotted the fields, basking in the sunshine – a glorious sight without those ugly black bin bag-type covers used in the UK to fend off the rain.
‘Saumur,’ Sophie told me. ‘It’s not far, and it will give you an idea of a larger French town. You can write about it for your website.’
‘You shouldn’t feel you have to take me places and act as my tour guide.’
‘Oh? Would you make the time to do this if I didn’t? No. You would work, work, work at La Cour des Roses.’
‘And you need content for your site so you can get it up and running,’ said Ellie.
They had good points. ‘Well, thank you.’
‘Anyway, I enjoy getting out and about myself. It’s too easy not to make the effort,’ said Sophie.
It was only twenty minutes to Saumur. We found a parking space on the roadside at the river and strolled along the wide street, the Loire on one side and grandiose, columned buildings of cream stone on the other.
‘What’s that?’ I pointed at a fancy building adorned with intricate stonework and fluttering flags.
‘The Hôtel de Ville,’ Ellie said.
‘A hotel? Very fancy!’
‘Not a hotel. It’s the town hall.’
‘But in Pierre-la-Fontaine, the town hall is the Mairie, isn’t it?’
‘One of the vagaries of French.’ Ellie rolled her eyes in Sophie’s direction.
‘Well, there’s a nugget of confusing information that I won’t retain.’
We turned into narrower, cobbled streets and did a little window shopping until lunch called. We chose a place with trendy rustic décor and just enough shade to sit outside, and shared a platter of charcuterie and cheese and a bottle of wine.
‘How is Rupert doing nowadays, do you think?’ Ellie asked me. ‘I’ve seen him a few times since Gloria left, but he’s a bit of a closed book. I worry about him, but I don’t feel it’s my place to delve too deeply.’
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