A French Affair

by Jennifer Bohnet

  ‘Nigel, it’s me Belinda,’ she called.

  ‘Come through – we’re in the conservatory,’ he answered.

  An efficient looking nurse was writing something on her tablet as she stood alongside Molly lying on a daybed.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt. Shall I go and have a look around the hotel and come back in fifteen minutes?’ Belinda asked, hoping she didn’t sound as shocked as she felt at seeing Molly, a woman who was always on the go, lying down, a pale imitation of her normal self.

  ‘No, you’re fine,’ Nigel answered. ‘Nurse here has finished her morning routine, making Molly comfortable.’

  ‘Come here right now,’ Molly ordered, at least sounding something like her old self. ‘I want to hear all about France and how things are going over there. Nigel just tells me it’s all in hand, which is, of course, good, but I want the nitty-gritty.’ She saw the pretty pot of tulips. ‘For me, thank you.’ She looked at Belinda. ‘You’re looking well, positively glowing with health. Less stressed than usual.’

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Belinda asked. ‘I hope it was nothing too serious? Nigel didn’t say what was wrong.’

  Molly smiled. ‘Let’s call it women’s problems and leave it at that, shall we?’

  ‘I wasn’t expecting you to have had your operation already. When did you get out of hospital? Should you even be home?’ Belinda said.

  ‘I was allowed to leave on one condition, that Nigel hired a private nurse. Now I’ve got six weeks of taking it easy to look forward to.’ Molly pulled a face. ‘Hence Nigel wanting you back. At least I’ll be able to tackle the pile of books on my TBR. Mixed blessings, eh?’

  The nurse declined Nigel’s offer of coffee and left. A few minutes later, Nigel had brought the coffee through into the conservatory, along with a plate of chocolate brownies. The three of them sat companionably chatting about the hotels.

  ‘I’ll need to sit down with you after Easter and make a plan for the season,’ Nigel said. ‘Molly insists she’ll be fine before the real summer rush begins, but I’m not having her do too much, too soon. There are a few things we need to discuss.’

  ‘Okay,’ Belinda agreed. ‘In the meantime, I’ll carry on as usual. How’s everything out at Moorside? I was planning on driving across the moor tomorrow.’ She registered the guilty look that passed between Nigel and Molly and waited.

  ‘Ah, there’s something we have to tell you about Moorside,’ Nigel said. ‘We’ve sold it.’

  ‘Really?’ Belinda said, trying to hide her surprise. Being on Dartmoor, Moorside had always been different from the other two hotels in attracting a divergent, usually older, guest, but its annual turnover had always been more than acceptable to the groups’ accountants.

  ‘It’s always been that bit too far away to manage easily, so when the brewery unexpectedly made us an offer, we haggled a bit and then accepted,’ Nigel explained.

  ‘Fair enough,’ was all Belinda could think of saying as she wondered where the sale of one of the hotels would leave her job. It would certainly give her more time to devote to the remaining two.

  ‘Tell us about the campsite,’ Molly said. ‘Is it starting to look good?’

  Belinda reached for her tote and took out her notebook. ‘I took some photos before I left.’ She handed the tablet to Molly. ‘Have a scroll through. Alain and the workers have done a grand job getting the place up to scratch. Shame we’ve had to delay the opening really, but at least it will give Alain and the others time to really get the place sorted for a grand reopening for the late May Bank Holiday.’ She turned to Nigel. ‘We need to decide about the shop and café. Are you happy to lease them both out? The village shop seems keen to expand, but the café is maybe different. I think there is huge potential there that we’d miss out on if we allow someone else to develop it.’

  ‘Do you know how Alain feels about that?’

  ‘Honestly? I think Alain would be happy for the site to become set in a time warp, say the l970s where there was no internet, definitely no social media and everyone was happy with their lot. As for pods and glamping,’ Belinda laughed, ‘he’d never heard of them. I think he would say that a café serving, pizzas, frites, sandwiches, wine, beer, coffee and ice creams is all that is needed for a campsite.’

  Molly nodded. ‘That pretty well sums up the cafés I remember from my childhood.’

  ‘And we all know people’s expectations are so much higher these days,’ Belinda added. ‘Anyway, it’s your campsite now and you two get to decide how you want it.’

  ‘Let’s get Easter out of the way and then have a meeting to discuss things,’ Nigel said. ‘Alain is a good bloke and I know he has his own reasons for wanting the campsite to succeed. He told me more about them when he was here recently.’

  ‘He was here?’ Belinda couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. ‘What was he doing here?’

  There was a slight pause before Nigel answered. ‘There were some things he wanted to discuss face to face about his parents, since they are old friends of ours. Have you met them yet?’

  Belinda shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘Lovely couple.’

  Belinda waited for him to expand on that, but he changed the conversation by asking Belinda how Chloe was and talk became veered away from hotel and campsite business. Belinda made a mental note to ask Nigel at their next meeting what he’d meant about Alain having his own reasons regarding the campsite succeeding and – importantly – how the sale of Moorside affected her job.

  Belinda turned down an invitation to stay for lunch and left soon afterwards. Driving home, she found herself thinking about Alain, wondering in what way his reasons differed from Nigel’s in wanting the campsite to succeed. And why hadn’t Alain mentioned his visit to Nigel to her? What was the big secret?

  20

  Saturday morning of the Easter weekend Fern drove to Huelgoat and collected Anouk as promised. The sun was shining, the cherry trees in the main square were in blossom as she drove through and people were strolling by the lake. It was a beautiful day that filled Fern with hope for the future. Everything would come right.

  Anouk was ready and waiting for her and while Fern collected her suitcase from the bedroom and locked the front door, she walked with the aid of her stick and settled herself in the car.

  ‘It’s a long time since I had a weekend away,’ she said as Fern started the engine. ‘I’m really looking forward to it.’

  ‘Shall we stop for a coffee on the way, or even lunch?’ Fern said.

  ‘Knowing you, my dear, I’m sure you ’ave prepared something – and your coffee is better than most cafés. We go and sit on your terrace,’ Anouk said. ‘Tomorrow, maybe after church, we go out.’

  Fern, as usual, took a scenic route home, taking her time so that Anouk could enjoy the scenery. Ten minutes before they reached the auberge, Fern said, ‘I’ve some guests tonight – just a couple, bed and breakfast, no evening meal, so I doubt we’ll see much of them. The room I’ve given you for the weekend is on the ground floor and opens onto a small private terrace. If you’d prefer one upstairs, you can choose another one. After the guests leave, you can have a look around and choose which room you’d like. If you decide to come permanently, of course.’

  Anouk nodded and smiled but didn’t say anything.

  Fern parked the car in its usual place to the side of the house and helped Anouk out. ‘Come and sit on the terrace while I make the coffee and get your suitcase out of the car. I’ll show you your room later. Look out for Lady – she has a dreadful habit of weaving in and out of legs. We don’t need her knocking you over.’

  Anouk waved her free hand in the air. ‘Now don’t fuss, Fern. That, I think, will be our number one rule. I’ve got my stick.’

  ‘Sorry, I promise no fussing.’

  Fern pressed the button on the coffee machine and went back outside to collect Anouk’s suitcase. As she was reaching in for it, she heard rather than saw a car drive in and park. Damn. She knew he
r guests had gone out for the day and she really didn’t want any more guests for this weekend. The next few days were to be all about Anouk and her. She lifted the suitcase out, slammed the car door and turned to see who it was.

  The man getting out of the 4 x 4 looked vaguely familiar and Fern struggled to remember where she knew him from him.

  ‘Bonjour, Madame LeRoy. We meet again.’ An American accent and Fern recognised him then as the man she’d met in Tronjoly park.

  ‘Scott. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Hoping you’ve got a room for a night or two. The Tourist Office said you might have. If not, maybe you can point me in the direction of one.’ He regarded her hopefully.

  Fern looked at him steadily. Some instinct told her that Scott turning up here asking for a room was no coincidence.

  ‘Would you like a coffee while I think about it?’ she said. ‘My mother-in-law is here and we were just about to have one.’

  ‘I’d appreciate a coffee for sure, so long as I’m not intruding,’ Scott said, taking the suitcase from her. ‘Let me carry that.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Fern led the way into the auberge. ‘Just leave the suitcase in the kitchen and come on out to the terrace.’

  ‘Anouk, we have company for coffee,’ she said, wondering what Anouk would make of Scott. She was about to make the introductions when Scott moved across to Anouk as she politely started to stand up.

  ‘Madame LeRoy – it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Scott Kergoëts. Please don’t get up for me.’

  ‘American?’ Anouk asked, settling back down. ‘With a Breton surname?’

  ‘Guilty as charged.’

  ‘Maybe you’d like to talk amongst yourselves for a couple of moments while I fetch the coffee,’ Fern said, leaving them to it.

  She stood by the kitchen window watching the two of them for a moment. Should she give him a room? Or send him to the auberge in the next village? She’d decide after coffee. And after asking him a couple of searching questions.

  When she carried the coffee and the plate of biscuits out, she smothered a smile. Anouk was holding her own interrogation of Scott.

  ‘Your Breton ancestors came from Gourin then?’

  ‘They sure did, ma’am. All I heard growing up was how beautiful the old country was and how desperate things had been, forcing them to emigrate.’

  Anouk nodded. ‘My father had two uncles who emigrated, looking for that better life.’

  ‘Did they find it?’ Scott asked gently.

  ‘For a while. Then the letters stopped coming during the Depression. It was sometime before he ’eard they’d both died during that terrible time in America.’ Anouk sighed as she accepted a coffee from Fern.

  ‘So you’re here researching your family history then?’ Fern asked, handing Scott a coffee. ‘Help yourself to biscuits.’

  ‘There was an album at home all the time I was growing up, full of faded photos and other mementos of the area. I’ve wanted to visit forever, but it’s taken until now to happen.’

  ‘D’you still have relatives over here?’ Fern asked. ‘If you do, surely you could stay with them?’

  ‘Sadly no.’

  ‘I went to school with a Marie-France Kergoëts,’ Anouk said thoughtfully. ‘I think she died last year. Married someone from Josselyn. Moved back this way when she was widowed. Maybe she was a relative?’

  ‘That’s interesting,’ Scott answered. ‘I’ll have to do some research. As far as I know, my last relative living in the Gourin area died a few years ago.’

  Fern, watching Scott talk so easily to Anouk, couldn’t help but be drawn to the man. He was just so open and honest. She’d tell him he could have a room, she decided, as soon as she could get a word in edgewise between Anouk and him. And then Anouk paved the way.

  ‘Where are you staying?’ she asked.

  ‘Ah, well, at the moment nowhere. But I’d heard about this rather good auberge run by a certain lady and I was hoping she might have a space?’ he answered, looking at Fern.

  Before Fern could say anything, Anouk answered him.

  ‘Yes she does, don’t you, Fern?’ Anouk leaned conspiratorially towards Scott. ‘Fern’s not doing evening meals for the other guests, so you’ll ’ave to join us for supper in the kitchen.’

  ‘That sounds wonderful,’ he said quietly back, looking at Fern questioningly.

  Before she could react, Anouk went to stand up, and Scott was instantly on his feet to help and handed her stick to her.

  ‘Thank you. Please excuse me for five minutes,’ and Anouk turned to walk slowly into the house.

  It was Scott who broke the silence that fell between them. ‘Do you have a room I can rent like Anouk says? Or would you rather send me away?’

  ‘How did you find me? You’re not going to turn out to be a stalker, are you?’ Fern said.

  Scott grinned at her. ‘No way. You’d told me your name and the direction you lived in. And in the last Tourist Office I found, when I mentioned your name, the lady behind the desk knew you. Bingo – here I am.’ He looked at Fern for several seconds before he added, ‘I promise I’m not a stalker. I simply liked you when we met and wanted to see you again. Maybe make amends after I upset you with my offer of dinner. I’ll understand if you’d rather I didn’t stay here, but I hope you’ll allow me to buy you dinner one evening. Anouk too, she reminds me of my grandmother. Feisty, utterly incorrigible and so French.’

  In spite of herself, Fern laughed. ‘That’s one way of describing her. Scott, just so you know, you’re welcome to a room here.’

  ‘And supper in the kitchen with you two?’

  ‘If you would like to join us, you’re more than welcome. Now, fetch your suitcase and I’ll show you to your room. I need to get lunch. Would you like to join us? I’m sure Anouk would like to interrogate you some more.’

  Scott laughed. ‘Thanks. I’d love to have lunch with you both.’

  Fern was in the kitchen making a green salad when Anouk returned. ‘Can I ’elp you, and before you say non, remember I still managed to feed myself at home.’

  ‘I was going to make a mozzarella salad – cheese and tomatoes are in the fridge, basil on the windowsill.’

  ‘He is nice your Monsieur Scott,’ Anouk said as she deftly sliced tomatoes a few minutes later. ‘He reminds me of someone.’

  ‘He is not mine,’ Fern protested. ‘I’ve only met him once before. But I agree he does seem nice.’

  ‘Where did you meet?’

  ‘I took Lady for a walk a few weeks ago in Tronjoly park and we got chatting.’

  ‘Ah Tronjoly. That figures,’ Anouk said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘That would be his ancestral home. The Kergoëts owned it for a couple of centuries, but eventually it passed out of the family before falling into disrepair. The council own it now.’

  Fern took the country-style baguette she’d put to warm in the oven and cut it into chunks to go with the asparagus and pea soup she had put to gently heat on the stove. She carried the plate of cold meats and the cheeseboard with Cantal, brie and a Roquefort out onto the table at the end of the terrace. More than enough food for three people, she thought, especially with the soup, bread and salads. And the special cake she’d made to go with coffee. Plates, cutlery and wine glasses were next before she opened the wine, a bottle each of white and red. She pulled the corks absently, thinking about Scott. That day in the park, he’d told her he was retired but hadn’t mentioned a wife or a family. No doubt Anouk would have obtained that information from him by the end of lunch. Not that it was any of their business of course but Fern couldn’t help wondering.

  Fern turned as Scott came from the kitchen carrying the basket of bread and the mozzarella salad. ‘Gosh, what a spread. Anouk said the soup is ready to serve.’

  ‘Thanks. Help yourself to a glass of wine,’ and Fern went back to the kitchen.

  A few minutes later, the three of them were tucking into their lunch. As she finished her
soup, Anouk said, ‘Where is it you live in America, Scott?’

  ‘New York. There’s a vibrant Breton community there, you’ll be surprised to hear. They’re all eager for news about the old country from me.’

  ‘Anyone in particular? Like a wife? Children?’ Anouk asked the question while Fern was dithering about voicing it. She collected the empty soup plates and placed them on the small serving table to the left of her chair.

  ‘I’ve been a widower for longer than I care to remember,’ Scott answered quietly. ‘And, no, I don’t have any children. We lost our little boy in an accident when he was four. My wife couldn’t bear the thought of ever losing another child, so…’ he shrugged. ‘I have cousins, a few godchildren and a couple of aunts and uncles.’

  Anouk reached out a hand and squeezed his arm. ‘Desolé. So sad for you and your poor wife.’

  ‘I really don’t know how anyone gets over something like that,’ Fern said. In the silence that followed, she gave Scott a sympathetic smile before excusing herself and taking the soup bowls into the kitchen. She set the oven temperature at 100 degrees and switched it on ready to heat through the Kouign-amann cake she’d made.

  Glancing out of the kitchen window, she saw Anouk laugh at something Scott had said. It was the first time really since Laurent’s death that Fern had seen Anouk so animated, her eyes were bright and her whole persona seemed to be charged with new energy. Anouk, Fern realised, had hidden her loneliness from everyone over the past months. Looking at her now, Fern smiled to herself. She was definitely doing the right thing inviting Anouk to move in with her.

  Fern was relieved to find the conversation had changed when she went back outside. Scott had clearly asked a question or two of his own and Anouk was telling him about her life. Conversation flowed easily throughout lunch between the three of them and there was a lot of laughter.

  When Fern placed the warm Kouign-amann on the table to accompany coffee, Scott looked at her. ‘Is that what I suspect? Heart attack on a plate?’