A French Affair

by Jennifer Bohnet

  ‘That’s priceless. He wants me to sack you. Says he can’t work with you.’

  ‘What? He’s had the nerve to ring you and complain about me?’ Belinda couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘He doesn’t need an uptight bossy female undermining what he’s already doing.’

  ‘I haven’t been here eight hours yet! We’ve barely spoken to each other and there is absolutely no evidence of him doing any actual work, apart from maybe pruning and cutting back a few bushes.’

  ‘Anyway, I told him what I’m telling you. I’m not sacking either of you, I need the two of you to work together.’

  Belinda was silent.

  ‘Come on. You’re normally so good with people. Always diplomatic and kind. Don’t let Alain get to you. He’s French, he can’t help having attitude, it’s in their DNA. But he’s a good bloke really.’

  Belinda ignored his words. ‘How about if I resign? I can be on the morning ferry and come home.’

  She heard Nigel sigh. ‘Don’t be silly. You’ve only just arrived. Give it a couple of weeks and see if things improve between you. If not, I promise we’ll think again,’ and Nigel ended the call.

  Belinda was still seething five minutes later as she made her way downstairs to the auberge kitchen.

  Fern took one look at her and handed her a glass of wine. ‘You look a bit uptight. Everything okay?’

  Belinda nodded before taking a drink. ‘Thanks. Just a work problem.’

  She laughed as she caught sight of BB, who had deserted her the moment she’d arrived back at the auberge, making a beeline for Lady, his new friend, and the warmth of the kitchen. He was now curled up with Lady in her basket, looking completely at home.

  ‘That’s a bit of a tight squeeze, BB. Mind you don’t squash Lady.’

  Half an hour later, Belinda placed her knife and fork on her empty dinner plate. ‘That was delicious. I’d ask you for the recipe, but I rarely cook these days and I know I’d never be able to produce a meal like that.’

  Fern shrugged away her praise. ‘I enjoy cooking.’ She stood up and cleared the plates before putting the cheeseboard on the table. ‘So, if you don’t cook, what do you eat? Ready meals?’

  ‘I work for a small chain of three hotels, so I can always find a proper meal if I want it. If there’s time to stop for lunch, I eat in whichever hotel I’m working at, and in the evening at home, I’ll have a bowl of soup or a sandwich of some sort. If I’m really hungry, I can always have dinner in the hotel restaurant.’

  ‘What d’you do in these hotels – obviously nothing kitchen-related.’ Fern smiled.

  ‘I’ve been known to get stuck into the washing-up when the dishwasher breaks down, but that’s about it.’ Belinda laughed. ‘Nigel, my boss, defines my role as a troubleshooter. Basically means that I oversee the smooth running of everything. If there’s a problem, I have to solve it. I do the website and the accounts for each of the hotels every week too. I interview the staff with Nigel and Molly, his wife. And because I have a flair for interior design, I also help with that when any of the hotels are given a makeover.’

  Fern stared at her wide-eyed. ‘Are there enough hours in the day for you to do all that? I feel positively lazy listening to you.’

  Belinda laughed. ‘It is a bit full on, I admit. But it saved me from going loopy after my divorce. I’m just hoping Nigel and Molly manage to keep on top of everything while I’m over here to sort out their latest acquisition.’

  Fern looked at her, puzzled. ‘And where is that? The nearest hotel is at least fifteen kilometres away.’

  ‘They’ve branched out,’ Belinda said. ‘Not sure now I’ve seen the place, which is just the other side of the village, whether they are completely in their right minds, but,’ she shrugged, ‘they’re very determined.’

  ‘They’ve bought the campsite, haven’t they?’ Fern said as the truth dawned on her. ‘I knew it was up for sale. You’ll have your work cut out with that place.’

  ‘I know.’ Belinda nodded ruefully. ‘And I’ve got approximately two, possibly three, months to get it up and running.’ She swirled the wine round in her glass. ‘A task I wasn’t sure I wanted or was even up to before I arrived. Now, having seen the site and met the resident attitude-riddled Frenchman currently employed as an on-site manager, I know for sure. I wish I was still in Devon.’ She fell silent for several seconds. ‘But, hey, I’m a troubleshooter. Alain Salvin is trouble, so I could always shoot him, couldn’t I? End of problem.’ She drained her glass and replaced it on the table and saw the look on Fern’s face. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t really shoot him, as much as I’d like to,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘Haven’t got a gun handy.’

  ‘But Alain is a lovely man,’ Fern said. ‘I’ve met him once or twice since he returned. Lady adores him. I didn’t realise he was still involved with the site.’

  Belinda stared at her. She was the second person this evening to defend Alain. As if a dog liking him was proof of a good human being!

  ‘Hmm. The jury is out on that, I’m afraid.’ She looked at Fern expectantly. ‘What do you mean, though, still involved with the site?’

  ‘Your Nigel would have bought the place from Alain’s parents.’

  ‘He did say something about old friends being involved.’ Belinda nodded thoughtfully. No wonder Nigel was reluctant to sack him. ‘Right, enough about me. How did you end up here in deepest Brittany?’

  ‘Long story short: I got married, had two children, got divorced and became a single mum for about ten years. Once the girls were independent, I knew I needed to do something for me, so I enrolled on a Prue Leith catering course, thinking I’d open a seaside B&B or a café somewhere in the West Country when I qualified.’ Fern smiled. ‘Fate decreed otherwise. I met a sexy Frenchman on the course and plans changed. I got married again instead.’

  ‘Gosh, that sounds romantic,’ Belinda said.

  Fern nodded. ‘It was and totally unexpected. I wasn’t looking for a new relationship but…’ Fern shrugged. ‘Laurent was very persuasive, with his tales of how much I’d love living in Brittany with him. We’d been married three years when he inherited this place from his grandmother, which gave him the opportunity to open his own place.’ Fern took a sip of her wine. ‘Mind you, I couldn’t believe it the first time I saw it. Talk about back in the dark ages, and that was just the furniture. Electrics, plumbing, decorating – so much had to be redone.’

  ‘How long did it take you to renovate?’

  ‘Fourteen months of hard work,’ Fern said. ‘It’s five years now since we opened.’

  ‘When do I get to meet your husband?’

  Fern bit her bottom lip and blinked hard before she answered. ‘Eighteen months ago, a drunk driver on the N164 near Châteauneuf-du-Faou changed my life again.’

  Belinda looked at her, stunned. ‘I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how you must feel.’

  Fern shook her head. ‘Numb is the only way to describe it. Some days the numbness lifts a fraction, other days…’ She shrugged. ‘Other days it doesn’t. C’est la vie – or rather it’s not,’ she added with a break in her voice.

  8

  The next morning, Belinda refused breakfast but enjoyed a cup of coffee with Fern before leaving for the campsite and her early meeting with Alain.

  ‘Wish me luck,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a feeling your “lovely” Mr Salvin is going to try and make my life as difficult as possible.’

  ‘Kitchen supper again tonight,’ Fern said. ‘And you can tell me all about it.’

  ‘Thanks – already looking forward to it,’ and Belinda, with BB at her heels, headed down the front steps to her car.

  It was a lovely, spring-like morning. There was a light mist hanging over the valley and as Belinda drove into the village, the sun’s early rays were colouring the sky behind the hill in a pinkish frenzy. Had it been anywhere but Brittany, Belinda knew she’d be thinking how beautiful it was. The bakery was op
en and even with the car windows closed, Belinda caught the tantalising smell of freshly baked bread. Maybe a warm pain au chocolat would bribe Alain into being, if not nice to her, at least civil? Worth a try.

  Five minutes later, she was driving out of the village, a bag of delicious croissants on the dashboard, out of reach of BB sitting beside her and sniffing the air.

  Ten to eight and there was no sign of Alain’s car outside the office, so Belinda parked but kept the engine running for some heat, before taking out her notebook and reading the notes she’d made for this meeting. She was determined to make Alain realise that Nigel had high standards for all his hotels and wanted the same for this new venture. Alain Salvin needed to know there was going to be no cutting of corners or shoddy workmanship in order to get the site ready for the season. She hoped he realised they were both in for a lot of hard work in the next few weeks and months.

  It was one minute to eight when BB pricked his ears at the sound of an approaching car. At least he was on time, Belinda thought. By the time Alain had parked, Belinda, with BB on his lead, was standing waiting for him by the office steps, holding her tote and the bag of croissants. She’d decided a friendly ‘hail-fellow-well-met’ approach was worth a try.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘I thought a cup of coffee and a croissant before we start? We need to get an action plan put together, so after coffee perhaps we could start with a walk around the place and discuss what needs doing. Then we can decide what is the most urgent.’

  ‘I ’ave a plan worked out – I know exactly what it is that needs doing,’ Alain said. He walked past her and unlocked the office door.

  Belinda bit her tongue and followed him inside, trying to contain the rising anger she felt at his rudeness. Somehow she had to get him onside, losing her temper and being rude back was not the way, however much she was tempted. She took a deep breath.

  ‘Well, perhaps you’d care to share this plan of yours with me and we can talk about it.’

  He ignored her and she watched as he switched on the computer before moving to a worktop with a kettle, a couple of mugs and a jar of instant coffee. He switched the kettle on before glaring across at her.

  ‘I told Nigel I don’t need his troubleshooter ’ere, I can sort the site alone. I know the place, I’m local, I actually speak the language, I ’ave the contacts, and I don’t mind getting my ’ands dirty with physical work when necessary.’ He looked her up and down. ‘Which is something I doubt you’d do even if you were capable.’

  Belinda, sensing she was staring at him in open-mouthed astonishment, quickly closed her mouth, wishing she could think of a crushing reply that would put Alain Salvin in his place once and for all. But he was speaking again.

  ‘How about we ’ave a truce? You deal with the paperwork, tidy the office, look pretty for visitors, make the coffee, and moi? I do the rest. D’accord? Black for me. No sugar,’ he added, nodding towards the kettle, before he moved across to the computer.

  Knowing she was likely to tell Alain exactly what she thought of him if she wasn’t careful and that wouldn’t help matters, Belinda took her time unclipping BB from his lead so he could explore the office, before walking slowly towards the coffee making utensils. To her annoyance, BB made a beeline for Alain, who bent down to stroke him. Watching him stroke BB, Belinda remembered Fern’s comment that he was a lovely man, and that Lady liked him. Maybe it was just her who rubbed him up the wrong way? Whatever the cause she needed to sort it out.

  ‘That’s an awful lot of assumptions you’ve made about me, Mr Salvin, and my role here,’ Belinda said as she put three big heaped spoonfuls of coffee granules into a small mug, her back towards Alain. The friendly approach hadn’t worked so it was his own fault if she made her point another way. ‘So I’m sure you won’t mind me telling you that I think you’re an arrogant and pompous Frenchman with a serious attitude problem. Two things you need to remember though before treating me like the office dogsbody: one, I’m Nigel’s representative here and in charge of the purse strings. And two, we have to work together.’ She might desperately want to walk away but she’d told Nigel she’d give it a week and she would. Letting Alain walk all over her though was not an option.

  The kettle switched itself off while she was speaking and she carefully poured water into the mug and stirred the contents. Good and strong like the French drank it. Belinda toyed with the idea of adding sugar but dismissed it as too childish. She was a troubleshooter for goodness’ sake – she could handle this situation without losing her cool.

  She picked up the mug of coffee and turned round to look at Alain’s back as he stood concentrating on the computer screen. How the hell was she going to make this work? She certainly wasn’t going to kowtow to him by backing down.

  She stifled a sigh before moving forward to stand at his side.

  ‘Coffee.’ She placed the mug carefully on the desk. Opening the bag of croissants, she offered it to him.

  ‘Non merci.’ Alain kept his attention on the computer.

  Belinda took a quick look at the screen. ‘Is that an aerial photo of the campsite? How old is it? The bit you’ve zoomed in on looks far too well maintained for it to be a recent shot.’

  ‘Eight years ago. Before everything started to fall apart.’

  ‘Could you scroll around a bit and show me more? I saw the café when I walked around yesterday. I’m interested to see how it looked then.’

  Alain let out a sigh and moved the cursor, quickly giving her a brief glimpse of the building before moving it back to the area he’d been studying.

  Belinda drummed her fingers on the desk. ‘Right. Earlier you suggested your version of a truce,’ she said. ‘Well, here’s my version. Basically, it involves you stopping being such a male chauvinist, with an attitude that dates back to the 1950s. You give me the guided tour. We discuss what you think needs doing. I tell you what I think. And then we discuss it.’ She stopped to draw breath. ‘I’ll be taking over the organisation of things, so I need the password for the computer. I also need keys to the office and any other buildings that are locked. You give me access to everything I need and we will work together to achieve what Nigel wants. And you need to realise I’m not going away. I’m here to do a job for Nigel – the new owner of this site – and I will.’

  Ignoring her words, Alain reached out and picked up his mug of coffee and took a long drink. Belinda watched his face change as he swallowed and realised how awful the coffee was. She half expected him to spit the drink everywhere and silently awarded him full marks when he didn’t.

  ‘Sorry, did I make it too strong for you? Don’t expect you’ll tell me to make the coffee again, will you?’ and she smiled sweetly at him. ‘Have a croissant to take the taste away.’

  This time, he took one out of the bag she held out.

  ‘For the record – I’m not bossy or uptight, but I will not be spoken to rudely or treated like an idiot. I admit I’m a bit of a perfectionist, though, when it comes to getting things done properly. Something which Nigel appreciates.’

  Alain glanced at her as he swallowed a piece of croissant but didn’t acknowledge that she knew about him phoning Nigel.

  ‘I make my own coffee in future,’ Alain said and walked over to the small sink to throw the remains of his coffee away. ‘As for the rest of it, I don’t ’ave a choice, so truce it is.’ He looked at Belinda and sighed. ‘Peut-être I owe you an apology. I’m not normally rude and chauvinistic, not intentionally anyway, so I apologise for my behaviour. No excuse, but I ’ave a lot on my mind at the moment.’ He held his hand out. ‘Mais, I can’t promise to agree with everything you say or do.’

  Belinda shook his hand. ‘Apology accepted.’ Inwardly, she breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness for that, a truce. Hopefully it would last. ‘Your English is very good by the way.’

  She gave into temptation and took a croissant out of the bag. All the aggro had given her an appetite.

  ‘Did Nigel outline his pla
ns for the campsite to you when he was over here?’ she asked before biting into the flaky patisserie.

  ‘No. We ’ave a brief telephone conversation when he offer me the job, but we’ve not yet met face to face to discuss things. Basically after I’d accepted, he told me to do what was necessary to get the site back up and running in the shortest time span possible, but nothing significant was mentioned,’ Alain said. ‘Other than warning me he was sending his right hand woman over to assist.’

  Belinda let the interesting fact that Nigel and Alain had not met up to discuss things slip into the back of her mind. ‘Okay. The brief he gave me was to go upmarket. He wants to get into the glamping business.’

  ‘What the ’ell is glamping?’

  ‘Seriously? I can’t believe you haven’t heard of glamping. Where have you been for the last few years? Outer Mongolia?’

  ‘Africa,’ Alain muttered.

  ‘Oh. Anyway, I liken glamping to camping with attitude,’ Belinda said, wondering what he’d been doing over there. Working for Médecins Sans Frontières? Possible, although his bedside manner would have needed some tuition. He was fit enough to have been a mercenary in some war-torn state. But whatever had taken him to Africa was none of her business. ‘Permanent tents with modern-day equipment, self-contained facilities and comfortable beds,’ she continued. ‘A couple of modern luxury pods.’

  ‘Is he serious?’ Alain raised his eyebrows as he looked at her.

  ‘Oh yes. He reckons that’s the way to go – aspirational and upmarket.’

  ‘I don’t—’ Alain stopped. ‘The campsite does not need pods. The site, it ’as always been a family-friendly one, nothing upmarket about it. A place for families to relax. Kids to be carefree and run wild.’

  Belinda looked at him, waiting for him to add the phrase ‘when my parents ran the place’, but he didn’t. Briefly she wondered why? Time to let him know she knew.