A French Affair

by Jennifer Bohnet

  Before Alain could answer, the office door opened and a delivery man stood there, electronic signing device in his hand.

  ‘Three parcels for Marshall,’ he said, holding the device out. ‘Where do you want them?’

  ‘Manager’s cottage,’ Belinda said, scrawling a signature with her finger before following the man out. ‘I’ll show you.’

  At least unpacking parcels would take her mind off Alain’s stubborn refusal to have anything to do with the pods. She didn’t, of course, have any intention of dragging Nigel over here when she was quite capable of making a decision herself. She’d only suggested it in the hope that Alain would change his mind. But she could really do with a second opinion before she committed to spending a large sum of Nigel’s money. She’d been hoping that Alain would agree to accompany her and she’d be able to change his opinion about the pods. She’d see if Fern would like to go with her instead, they could make a day of it, have lunch up on the coast.

  It took Belinda a couple of hours to unpack and put the contents of two of the boxes away in the cottage. Knowing that the hotels back in the UK all had surplus equipment stacked away, it had made sense to make use of it rather than buy new. Bed linen, towels, pillows, cushions, cutlery, electric kettle, crockery – Nigel had sent everything she’d itemised to make the cottage as comfortable as possible.

  She smiled as she unpacked the third box, a bean-to-cup coffee machine that was surplus to requirements in one of the hotels. She’d enjoy using that while she was living here.

  She was up in the bedroom at the front of the house making up the bed when she heard footsteps on the stairs.

  ‘Who’s this for?’ Alain asked, appearing in the doorway.

  ‘Me. I told you that as soon as the place was clean and user-friendly I intended to move in. More convenient to be on site and it saves Nigel some money.’ Expertly she did the last hospital corner on the bottom sheet before reaching for the duvet cover and shaking it out flat on the bed. ‘While you’re here, you can give me a hand putting this on.’ Not giving him the chance to refuse, she handed him a corner of the duvet and began to push the opposite corner up into the cover with its pretty red poppy design.

  Without a word, Alain did as she asked, although she could almost feel the tension emitting from him as he worked. It was a strangely intimate thing to be doing with a man she barely knew, she realised, before pushing the errant thought away.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, reaching for a pillow and slipping it into a pillowcase. ‘Did you want me for something?’

  ‘I come with you to look at the pods. Let me know which day.’

  Belinda looked at him, surprised. ‘You’ve changed your mind? Okay. I’ll ring the site and book an appointment,’ Belinda said, longing to ask him why he’d changed his mind, but Alain had already turned away and was going downstairs.

  Making her way downstairs, Belinda glanced in the small sitting room, which was cosy and inviting now the clean loose covers were in place on the settee and the armchairs grouped around a coffee table in front of the clean log burner.

  Her mobile buzzed. Nigel. Just the person she wanted to talk to.

  ‘Hi. Thanks for the delivery. Planning to move into the house this week. Everything all right your end?’ she asked, but Nigel’s words drove everything she needed to say out of her mind.

  ‘Need to give you the heads-up about a change of plan,’ Nigel said. ‘Reckon you can finish getting things ready for Easter over there in the next few days and come back here a week early?’

  ‘Honestly? There’s still so much to organise – staff to find, the café to organise, the cabins to refurnish, the small shop has to be stocked. And I haven’t sourced any pods yet. Why?’

  ‘I might need you to stay back here for a bit after Easter. Maybe indefinitely. Alain’s going to have to cope on his own. Molly’s not well.’ Nigel’s voice was gruff. ‘Got to have an operation before Easter and then several weeks convalescence.’

  Belinda took a deep breath. ‘Oh, poor Molly. Okay. I’ll work on getting the site ticking over for camper vans and tents but put everything else on hold until later in the season. I doubt there will be much business around before June anyway. Give my love to Molly.’

  Belinda made her way back to the office, deep in thought and worrying about Molly. Whatever was wrong with her Belinda prayed it was nothing too serious. A flash of disappointment that she was having to leave early surprised her. She’d got so used to living in Brittany and working at the campsite that it would be an unexpected wrench leaving. Alain was nowhere to be seen and she guessed that he was out on the site checking on the workers. She sat down at the desk, opened her laptop and started to make notes about the jobs that had suddenly become urgent. Finding staff was definitely top of the list. Half an hour later, when Alain appeared, she had a plan of action in place.

  ‘Our day of sourcing pods is off, I’m afraid. Nigel phoned earlier,’ she said, looking up at him. ‘Molly is ill and he wants me back early. Might even want me to stay on indefinitely.’ She pressed a key on the laptop and the office printer sprang into life. ‘I’ve worked out the essentials that need to be in place here before I leave in five days’ time.’ She got up and crossed over to the printer and picked up a sheet of paper and handed it to Alain. ‘Emergency action plan. I was going to move into the cottage tomorrow, but I think I’ll stay on at the auberge now. You’ll have to move in once the site opens and I’m away. At least the bed’s made.’

  Alain looked up from the paper. ‘I can see why Nigel calls you his wonder woman. You’re good.’

  Belinda shrugged. ‘It’s my job. I’ve buzzed the cleaners, asking them to call in here before they leave. I’m hoping that one or two of them will want some part-time work other than cleaning. We need a receptionist, a general help and a groundsperson/handyman – all to start before Easter. We’ll need more people once the season gets underway, but that should get you over the Easter hump. Any of the men looking for a seasonal position as groundsman?’

  ‘I do it with Bernie,’ Alain said.

  ‘You’ve spoken to him about staying on site and helping out?’

  ‘Not yet, but I will.’

  ‘I’m going to call in on the village shop tonight on my way to the auberge. Talk to them about stocking the shop with the basics and maybe even running it. It’s doubtful that the café will be organised and in a fit state to open for Easter, so it can just stay closed,’ Belinda continued. ‘We won’t make any announcement about the campsite being open, we’ll just settle for any passing trade. You’ll have to make sure, though, you explain about the lack of facilities to any hopeful campers. Camper vans and caravans are usually self-sufficient for cooking, any visitors in tents who pitch up without a camping stove will have to go to Yann’s to eat.’

  ‘Stop worrying, pas un problem,’ Alain said.

  Belinda hoped he was right. Hopefully she’d covered everything but in truth there was still so much to do she wasn’t sure they’d be ready by summer let alone Easter.

  Later that day, Belinda told Fern about her change of plans and checked it was all right for her to stay at the auberge until she returned to Devon.

  ‘You don’t need my room for a booking?’ she asked. ‘It will make my life easier not having to cater for myself on top of everything else I have to do before I leave.’

  ‘No bookings until Easter, then it’s only one double for three nights. Although I did have a phone call this afternoon from Carhaix tourist office, asking if I had a vacancy for the next few days. But I haven’t heard anything more, so I guess they’ve found somewhere.’ Fern looked at Belinda anxiously. ‘Does this mean you won’t be coming back?’

  ‘No idea really what’s going to happen,’ Belinda said, surprised at the feeling of sadness that swept through her at the thought of not returning to Brittany and cementing her friendship with Fern.

  14

  Thursday morning when Belinda left for the campsite Fern decided to visit her m
other-in-law, Anouk. Laurent’s father had died some twenty years before and Anouk had lived alone ever since in the Huelgoat house she’d moved into the day of her marriage. Fern had always got on well with Anouk and Laurent’s death had served to bring them closer.

  Overlooking the lake at Huelgoat, the house was too big for her now, but Anouk seemed determined to stay in it, saying she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Fern knew that Fabian felt the time was coming when his grandmother would have to accept that the upkeep of the place was beyond her and move into something smaller, more manageable. Ninety next birthday, Anouk might manage a 1K walk every day, but the huge garden was becoming a burden despite Fabian doing the heavy digging and the mowing. Fern understood all too well though how the tug of happy memories kept you connected to the home you’d shared with a loved one.

  Before she left home, Fern telephoned Anouk to say that she was planning to visit.

  ‘I thought as it’s market day we could do a bit of shopping and then have a coffee in the main square.’

  To Fern’s surprise, Anouk sounded subdued when she agreed.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Fern asked, concerned.

  ‘I’m as fine as I can be at my age,’ Anouk replied. ‘A walk around the market and some company sounds great.’

  ‘See you in about half an hour then.’ Fern switched off her phone pensively. It was unlike Anouk to mention her age. She hoped Fabian hadn’t been on at her again about moving.

  After a stroll around the market, buying a few bits and pieces and stopping to chat with various stallholder friends, they made their way to the café next door to the small supermarché at the end of the square. Fern settled Anouk at one of the pavement tables, leaving her with Lady and the few bags of shopping, while she went in to choose the cakes to go with their coffee. When she returned, Fabian was chatting to his grandmother.

  ‘Bonjour, Fern. Ça va? I was passing and saw grand-mère. It is good of you to bring her out like this.’ He hesitated and glanced at his grandmother. ‘She has perhaps told you our news?’

  Anouk gave an imperceptible shake of her head.

  ‘Carole and I we ’ave a new baby on the way. Une petite sister for Jean-Marc.’

  ‘Congratulations, please give my love to Carole,’ Fern said. ‘I’m so pleased for you both.’ She genuinely was, despite the sinking feeling in the pit of her tummy. She suspected she knew what was about to come.

  ‘Maybe we come, Carole and me, talk to you about the house again?’

  Fern sighed. ‘Fabian, you know the only way I can leave is for you to buy me out. I have to buy somewhere to live and all my capital has been invested in the auberge. Has something changed? Have you found a mortgage?’

  Fabian shook his head. ‘No. C’est pas possible. But I own half the maison and want to live in it with my family.’ His voice had steadily risen and people were glancing their way.

  Anouk patted him gently on the arm.

  ‘I’m sorry, but this isn’t the place to discuss a private family matter,’ Fern said.

  Fabian took a breath and exhaled deeply. ‘I’m sorry also. But Carole, she wants a proper family home and I get so frustrated about the impossibility of it all.’

  ‘I know it’s difficult, but the harsh truth is if your father was still alive, you wouldn’t even be entertaining these thoughts.’

  ‘But he’s not alive, is he? And you are living in a house that rightfully belongs to me as his son.’

  ‘It is also a house that needed a lot of work doing to it when Laurent inherited it from his grandmother – work that you will reap the benefit of when you inherit. It was that money, my children’s inheritance, that paid for those renovations. Money that I am trying to replace and pay the overheads by continuing to run it as an auberge. You can hardly deny my children have a right to an inheritance from me.’ Fern rubbed her face. ‘I don’t like the situation any more than you do, but, hopefully, in a couple more years, I’ll have recuperated enough to move out.’

  An unhappy Fabian sighed. ‘I ’ave to go. We need a proper family conference to sort something out. There are two possible solutions we haven’t talked about yet. Au revoir,’ and he kissed his grandmother goodbye before hesitantly turning to Fern and kissing her cheek too. ‘Desolé,’ he muttered and walked away.

  Anouk sighed. ‘One of the solutions he suggests if you won’t move out is that he, Carole and the children move in with me.’

  ‘How do you feel about that?’ Fern asked. ‘Would it work? You’d have someone on hand to keep an eye on you.’

  ‘I think it would be less my home than theirs. Selfish, I know, but I’ve lived alone for so long now,’ Anouk shrugged, ‘it would be like an invasion of my private space.’

  Fern hesitated. ‘Do you know what he’s thinking of as the second possible solution?’

  ‘I ’ardly like to tell you.’ Anouk paused. ‘You and I should move in together into one of the houses. He’s not fussy which but would prefer for you to move in with me.’

  Fern stared at her, open-mouthed. She could see from Fabian’s point of view that that idea made perfect sense.

  ‘I can see you no like that idea any more than I do,’ Anouk said. She pushed the coffee cup in front of her away. ‘Sometimes I feel I’ve lived too long. Fabian knows my house will be his when I die, he’s just going to ’ave to wait.’

  ‘Oh, Anouk.’ Fern reached out and held the older woman’s hand, sensing her distress. ‘Please don’t talk like that. I know Fabian doesn’t wish you dead. If he wishes anyone dead, it’s probably me.’ Right now, though, she could cheerfully murder Fabian and his wife for their selfishness and lack of compassion towards his grandmother.

  An hour later, driving back to the auberge, having taken Anouk home, Fern felt despondent and unsettled. She’d thought she was beginning to recover from the loss of Laurent, but the events of the morning had shaken her. The pressure Fabian was putting on her to move out of the auberge made her feel guilty, when she truly had nothing to feel guilty about Laurent’s death. It was French inheritance laws that were at the root of the problem. Fabian would get his inheritance in due course, but her girls would get significantly less if she simply walked away from the auberge.

  She had Laurent’s insurance money tucked away for the girls as a safety net, but she’d been banking on the auberge earning money and being able to recuperate at least some of the money they’d spent on renovations. The inescapable fact, though, was wherever she lived she needed a steady income of some sort. Jobs were notoriously difficult to come by in this part of France, put a middle-aged English female into the equation and it became damn near impossible.

  Maybe she should think about Fabian’s second suggestion of she and Anouk moving in together. Not in the Huelgoat house, but in the auberge. With Anouk installed in one of the bedrooms, there would still be five bedrooms to let out. Anouk was becoming increasingly frail and as much as she might hate the idea of leaving her beloved family home, it was inevitable. At least she wouldn’t end up in an old folks’ home if she moved in with her.

  Fern’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. ‘Bloody drunken driver,’ she cursed under her breath. ‘You annihilated more than Laurent’s life when you killed him – you stole my happiness and created turmoil in his family.’

  15

  The remaining days before Belinda returned to the UK passed in a whirl of activity. The village shop owners had jumped at the opportunity to run the campsite shop rent-free over the Easter holiday period, even though Belinda had stressed there were unlikely to be many customers. They’d also indicated they’d be interested in a proper rent-paying lease for the summer months once the campsite was up and running.

  Which meant that one morning, Belinda joined everyone in cleaning the shop, whilst Alain checked out the freezers and the electricity with one of the men.

  When everyone disappeared for lunch, Alain ignored her protests and insisted that she joined him for a snack at Yann’s.

  �
��A crêpe and a glass of wine, an hour at the most,’ he said. ‘You’ll be back working before you realise it.’

  ‘I was going to do some admin over the lunch hour,’ Belinda answered, surprised by his offer. ‘Besides, I’m dirty from all the scrubbing.’ She glanced down at her grubby jeans and sweatshirt.

  ‘It’s a village bar. People, they go from work.’

  Belinda sighed. She was hungry. ‘An hour, no longer. There’s still so much to do before I leave.’

  ‘We go in my car,’ Alain said. ‘Come on BB. Time to find you a sausage.’

  Belinda couldn’t summon the energy to argue and followed him out to the 2CV. She bit back on the memory of a long ago yellow 2CV as BB jumped onto her lap for the short drive to the village and she gave him a tight hug.

  Most of their current workforce had opted for lunch in the bar and smiled at her and Alain as they walked in. After asking her what she would like – ‘Ham and egg crêpe and a glass of white wine please’ – Alain went straight to the bar while Belinda found an empty table near the window and settled BB under it.

  ‘Five minutes for food,’ Alain said, joining her with the wine she’d asked for and a beer for himself. ‘Santé.’

  ‘Santé,’ Belinda echoed as they clinked glasses. ‘Hope it is only five minutes for the food. I can’t believe I Iet you talk me into coming here. I should be back at the office doing stuff I didn’t get to do this morning.’

  Alain looked at her but didn’t say anything.

  ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ Belinda demanded.

  ‘I think if you ever relax. Ever stop thinking about work. Have fun.’

  ‘Yes, of course I do, but right now I need to stay on top of things here before I return to England.’

  ‘So what is it you do, when you are on top of things?’

  ‘I… I walk BB, read, talk with friends, meet up with my daughter and my grandchildren. All the usual things.’ Belinda took a sip of her drink, before throwing the question back at Alain. ‘What do you do?’