Return to the Little French Guesthouse

by Helen Pollard

  The coffee roiled in my hangover-burdened stomach. I couldn’t breathe.

  Rupert had straightened, but he was still using the wall as a prop. ‘Get out, Gloria. Get out. Get out!’ His face was red and his chest was heaving.

  ‘With pleasure.’ Shooting one victorious glance my way, she was gone, the door rattling the architrave as she slammed it behind her.

  Rupert turned to Alain. ‘The same goes for you.’

  ‘Rupert—’

  ‘Get out, Alain. I don’t want to see you here again. I don’t want to see you, full stop. I’m terminating your services. When I find another accountant, he’ll contact you to transfer the paperwork.’

  ‘Rupert, for God’s sake...’

  ‘I thought you were my friend.’

  ‘I was. I am!’

  ‘I meant what I said. Go!’

  ‘But it wasn’t like she said! I mean, not quite... She’s twisted it...’

  Rupert started to move towards us, and I was suddenly afraid there could be a real bust-up. Sending Alain a plea for restraint, I took a step in front of him.

  ‘Rupert...’

  His fists were balled tight at his sides, the knuckles white... but he turned and slammed back into his lounge.

  Alain laid his hand on my arm. ‘Emmy.’

  Bile rose fast in my throat. Blindly, I pushed past him, through the patio doors, trying to take in air. I stayed still for several moments, my face clammy, not daring to move, Gloria whining at my heels.

  When I finally looked around, Alain was standing at the patio doors. He moved towards me and placed a hand on my shoulder.

  I shook it away with more force than my somersaulting stomach would have liked. ‘Don’t touch me!’

  He pulled his hand back, shock on his face. ‘Emmy. Me and Gloria...’

  ‘Don’t you dare! I don’t want to hear about you and that woman. You hypocritical bastard! Pretending you despised her all these years.’

  ‘I have despised her all these years!’

  ‘Then what did you sleep with her for? Your friend’s wife? How could you do that to him?’

  ‘It wasn’t like that. Emmy, you...’

  ‘It’s a bit late for denial. The guilt was written all over your face.’

  ‘But you don’t understand. It...’

  A loud scream from one of the gîtes.

  God almighty.

  ‘Just leave, Alain.’

  He opened his mouth. Closed it again. One long look, and then he turned and went around the side of the house. I heard his engine start up, the tyres spinning on the gravel as he drove away.

  Praying that Rupert would be all right for another few minutes and hadn’t put himself in an early grave with high blood pressure, I charged across the courtyard, making a wild guess that the scream had come from the nearest unit, and knocked in a panic. Aaron opened it, the baby in one arm and the toddler hanging onto his hand.

  ‘Is everything okay?’

  Wendy came rushing through from the bathroom in only a bath towel, stopping short when she saw me, her head wrapped in a smaller towel.

  ‘Emmy!’ She wrapped the bath towel tighter.

  ‘I... I’m sorry. I thought I heard a scream.’ My stomach was still churning alarmingly. I hoped I wouldn’t be sick on their doorstep.

  Wendy winced. ‘I’m sorry. That was me. The water went freezing cold. It was a bit of a shock. It won’t go hot again. I’ve got a head full of shampoo under here.’

  Chris came dashing along from his gîte to see what was going on.

  ‘I... Do you want me to come in and look at the shower?’ I asked dubiously.

  But Chris shook his head. ‘Our kettle just went off mid-boil. Looks like a power cut.’

  I blew out a breath. ‘Okay. Let me check up at the house. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  It didn’t take long for me to work out the power cut wasn’t isolated to the gîte building. All the digital displays in the kitchen were dead. We had nothing. I glanced in horror at the fridge and freezer, thinking about the amount of stuff we had in there. And then a picture of Alain and Gloria together entered my brain, and I couldn’t think of anything else. I leaned against the kitchen wall for a moment, my eyes closed, my breathing shallow.

  ‘Emmy?’

  I swirled around. Patricia was standing there in her dressing gown. ‘There’s no hot water.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry, Patricia. I think there’s been a power cut. Please bear with me while I try to sort it out for you.’ My voice was remarkably steady, considering.

  She nodded and went back upstairs.

  What had I done to deserve this? I allowed myself a few short moments of self-pity, my stomach hollow and my mind still reeling from Gloria’s revelations, then went into the hall and knocked on Rupert’s door. No answer, so I let myself in. He wasn’t in the lounge, so I knocked on his bedroom door. What if he’d collapsed?

  I knocked louder. ‘Rupert?’

  ‘Bugger off, Emmy.’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘What do you think? I said bugger off.’

  ‘But are you...?’ My voice hitched. ‘Your angina...’

  His tone softened. ‘I don’t need the paramedics. What I need is for you to leave me alone.’

  ‘I can’t.’ My voice was small. ‘We have a power cut and I don’t know what to do.’

  Silence. A curse. Several more. And then he appeared at the bedroom door. He looked awful. Not that I could be much of an oil painting at the moment.

  ‘I... I’m sorry. But there’s no hot water. No lights. The fridge is off. The freezer.’ I caught a sob. He didn’t need me to break down now.

  ‘Shit.’ He tried a light switch. ‘The gîtes?’

  ‘The same.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  He closed his eyes. Squared his shoulders a little. ‘There’s an emergency generator in the outhouse at the back. I’ll get it going. But it will only serve the house, not the gîtes. It’s the best I can do.’

  ‘Okay. How do we find out about the power cut?’

  ‘We don’t. It would take forever to get through, and I have a nasty suspicion it’s something to do with those ruddy roadworks. I imagine they’ll get it back on as soon as they can.’

  For a brief moment, we looked at each other, knowing there was so much to say but with neither of us having any desire to say it. He pushed past me to go around the back of the house while I pushed my personal problems to the back of my mind and tried to force my brain onto more practical matters.

  We would have electricity here soon. The gîtes wouldn’t. They would have to come up to the house for everything they needed. Hot drinks. Phone charging. Showers. Whatever.

  I went back across the courtyard to where the anxious guests awaited news. I apprised them all of the current state of affairs and got a collective murmur of dismay in return.

  ‘I’ll open up the vacant guest bedrooms for you to use this morning, and we’ll hope it’s fixed by the time the other guests arrive.’ I tried a winning smile, but I doubted it would take home any awards. ‘Give us ten minutes to get sorted before you start coming over, okay? I’m so sorry for any inconvenience.’

  Back at the house, I ran upstairs to update Patricia – the less confusion Donald faced, the better – then opened the doors to the empty guest rooms. Back in the kitchen, I worked at lightning speed, grateful there were only the two for breakfast this morning and that this hadn’t happened tomorrow when we had everybody to feed. It took me several minutes to realise the fridge was humming again and the microwave display was flashing. Good old Rupert.

  When Patricia and Donald appeared, I had a sudden panic about my arch-nemesis, the egg, but both of them declined cooked food – whether out of consideration or lack of appetite, I wasn’t sure, nor did I care. I was merely grateful.

  The gîte guests began pottering over, toiletry bags and towels in hand, bless them – it was going to be bad enough c
leaning all the bathrooms in time for new arrivals without swapping all the towels, too. Patricia offered their bathroom out as well, for which I thanked her profusely. The only bright side was that none of them were in a rush to get off anywhere, as they were all awaiting the guests of honour later.

  A knock at the door revealed a man in overalls. Speaking French. With a strong accent.

  I did my best, but my brain didn’t want to think in French. It was barely able to think in English right now.

  Gathering that I was flustered and upset, he gave me a kindly smile and threw in a bit of miming to help me out, pointing at his overalls and performing a sawing action. The best I could gather was that something had been damaged that shouldn’t have been during the course of the wretched roadworks, just as Rupert had predicted, and it would be fixed as soon as possible.

  When I’d got Patricia and Donald their pot of tea, I knocked on Rupert’s door, then poked my head round. No sign of him. Nor was he in his bedroom. Odd. And no sign of the dog either. Maybe he’d taken her for a walk – she hadn’t had a proper one yet this morning. I went to check the courtyard. His estate car had gone. Had he taken the dog for a walk farther afield? Thought of a last-minute errand?

  As the guest bedrooms began to empty, I forced myself upstairs to get them pristine again, when all I really wanted was to crawl into my room and into my bed, pull the covers over my head and never come out again.

  All this mayhem and activity wasn’t enough to block out the sickening fact that Gloria had ruined my life so spectacularly yet again. It was bad enough that she’d slept with one of my boyfriends, but two? It was like some kind of cruel history repeating itself. I’d long since got over the business with Nathan. But I couldn’t bear the idea that she’d slept with Alain. The thought that she might have shared what I shared with him, that she knew his body the same way I did, even down to his birthmark...

  Feeling queasy again, I staggered down to the kitchen to make a cup of peppermint tea.

  Madame Dupont was polishing the banisters in the hall. She took one look at me and her face dropped. ‘Mon Dieu! Qu’est-ce qui se passe?’

  What the hell was I supposed to say? I could hardly tell her that Gloria’s reappearance had led to the demise of my latest relationship – again.

  She pushed me onto a kitchen chair and made the tea for me, wrinkling her nose at the strong smell. ‘Are you ill?’

  ‘Yes. My stomach.’

  ‘You should go to bed,’ she told me sternly.

  ‘I can’t.’ I scalded my tongue on the hot tea. ‘I have too much to do.’

  She tutted. ‘Emie.’

  I smiled weakly. ‘You know how many people we have coming today, Madame Dupont. I’ll be okay, I promise.’ Whether that promise was one I could keep, I had no idea.

  ‘Then at least let me do the kitchen today. You go sit for half an hour. You need to.’

  Doing as I was told, I went to my room and lay on the chaise longue, but my room felt stuffy so I went and lay outside. The soft grass and orchard shade soothed my body, but nothing could soothe my mind.

  I just couldn’t understand it. Alain had made it clear to me, ever since we’d met, exactly what he thought of Gloria. How could he have slept with her? I wouldn’t have believed it – heaven knew Gloria was a piece of work and might say anything to get a reaction – but she knew about the birthmark. And the look on his face had told me all I needed to know. Horror, panic, guilt. It was enough.

  I hadn’t had much peace before the sound of wheels on gravel forced me around the front of the house to see the arrival of the larger caravan, bearing Sylvia’s niece, her husband and their student daughter, a quiet young woman who looked like she’d rather not be sharing a caravan with her parents for a week. And two labradoodles. At least they’d managed to get around the roadworks.

  Next came the tent. It was larger than anticipated, so it took some doing to find a spot in the orchard that wasn’t obstructed by trees. They looked like a quiet bunch – Frank’s nephew, his wife and two older children, one maybe late teens and the other early twenties – and they had all the kit and appeared self-sufficient. Thank heavens, since I knew nothing about the outdoor life whatsoever.

  La Cour des Roses was beginning to look like a holiday camp.

  Two more airbeds went into one of the guesthouse rooms to accommodate Julia’s son, Todd, his wife, Stacey, and their twin three-year-olds, who arrived just after lunch. The rooms were spacious – if you were a couple. It would be a crush with two kids in there, but needs must.

  When Rupert still hadn’t reappeared by early afternoon, and with the arrival of Julia Cooper and her parents imminent, I began to panic – about him, and about the fact that I was apparently running this place alone today. What if the generator failed? I didn’t know the first thing about it. I tried his mobile, but it was switched off.

  There were, however, several missed calls and two texts from Alain.

  Emmy. We need to talk. Please.

  Then: It’s not what you think. I need to explain.

  I ignored them. I couldn’t cope with any more shit right now. I was exhausted, miserable and still felt ill, to the point where I was beginning to wonder what the point of all this was. I’d moved here to start a new life, but at this stage, it was in the balance whether the sunshine and surroundings could make up for the crap I seemed to be taking. As for Alain... I hadn’t moved to France just to be with him, but I would be lying to myself if I didn’t admit he was an important factor. If he and I were over, then there would have to be an awful lot of improvements in the other areas of my life to make all this worthwhile.

  Besides, my primary concern right now was Rupert. Where the hell had he got to? I realised that I was as angry with him as I was worried. If he’d gone off somewhere to lick his wounds, then he was being downright selfish. We all had our wounds to lick.

  But then I only had to think about what Gloria had told him this morning, and I could hardly be surprised. Not only was his marriage finished, he’d found out his wife had been sleeping with everyone from the guests to the accountant. Poor bugger. In theory, that should make my problems fade into insignificance. In practice... Well.

  When the guests of honour finally arrived, every family was lined up in the courtyard to greet them. Julia must have texted, to warn them they were imminent.

  It was a sight to behold, and unbelievably touching, as the car drove into the courtyard and we saw Frank and Sylvia’s faces initially startled, then wreathed in smiles as they were helped out of the car. The reunion with Chris and family from Australia was particularly emotional, and soon everyone was laughing and crying and chattering at once.

  I swallowed hard. My personal problems, Rupert’s... they couldn’t be allowed to impinge on this.

  I went across to introduce myself. Frank and Sylvia were lovely, if a little frail, Frank’s hair white and wispy and his shoulders stooped, and Sylvia tiny as a bird, her head bobbing as she spoke. They couldn’t stop smiling, and they held hands as they spoke to me – a comfortable gesture that I found so lovely after fifty years of marriage. Frank’s speech was slightly slow, and I noticed that Sylvia was finishing some of his sentences for him.

  Julia, her hair peppered with grey and in a neat, short style, her frame small and delicate like her mother’s, looked tired and fraught... Brittle. Her husband, Robert, just looked tired. Smiling, we greeted each other like old acquaintances.

  The introductions over, I offered to make a tray of tea for the arriving party and scuttled into the kitchen.

  I heard the words power cut and gîtes and no showers being bandied about outside, so when Julia came in a few moments later and said, ‘I gather you’ve had a few problems today, Emmy,’ I steeled myself for the complaints.

  ‘Yes. I’m so sorry. It’s completely out of our control, but all your gîte guests are welcome to come over to the house for whatever they need at any time. I know the bathrooms will be a problem if it’s not fixed soo
n, now the guesthouse is full, but if necessary, I’ll open up my own bathroom and Rupert’s to you. Whatever it takes...’ My voice was shaking a little, and I fought hard to control it.

  Julia laid a hand on my arm. ‘Please don’t worry. These things happen, and you’ve done your best. We’re lucky the house has a generator, I suppose.’

  Alarmed, I saw a tear in her eye. ‘Oh, Julia, I’m so sorry...’

  She scrubbed crossly at it. ‘It’s not you, Emmy. It’s everything. I’m so tired. When I embarked on this I had no idea how big it would grow or how much it would take out of me. I’ve driven poor Robert mad with it.’

  ‘I can imagine.’ I grinned. ‘Not about how you’ve driven your husband mad! I mean about how hard it must have been. I’m sorry things haven’t always been smooth sailing at our end.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that my parents have a memorable anniversary.’ She hesitated. ‘My dad had a mild stroke recently. Nothing major, but...’

  ‘You need this to be special for them.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then it will be. I promise.’

  If I can stay sane and find Rupert and...

  ‘Where’s Mr Hunter?’ Julia asked.

  Ah. ‘He had a few errands to run,’ I told her. ‘I’m sure he won’t be long.’

  Satisfied, she took the tray of tea from me and went to revive her fellow travellers while I tried Rupert’s phone once more. With no joy again. I was sure he’d simply gone walkabout and would come back in his own sweet time – but that didn’t stop me worrying sick about him.

  Half an hour later, Julia popped her head around the door. ‘Any news on the power, Emmy?’

  I kept my features composed. Did she expect me to be on to the power board every two minutes? I wouldn’t know where to start.

  ‘A workman came in person this morning to say it would be back on as soon as possible.’

  She nodded, seemingly satisfied. ‘And what time did you envisage starting the barbeque?’

  The barbeque? Crap!