A French Affair

by Jennifer Bohnet

  ‘I remember asking to see their wedding photographs. I mean everyone has photos of their wedding, don’t they? Even if they don’t have an album as such. Mum laughed and told me they were too broke when they got married to afford a photographer and that’s why she didn’t have any photos. When I asked if that didn’t make her sad, she just shrugged and said, who needed photos when she had the person.’

  Belinda took a biscuit and carefully dunked it in her wine. ‘Mmm, these are so good. The best nibbles ever.’

  ‘They’re a bit addictive,’ Fern said, taking one. ‘I don’t make them very often – they tend to lead me to the wine bottle when I have them in the biscuit tin. Too much temptation.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking too about Mum’s reactions when I was planning my marriage to Peter,’ Belinda said. ‘I bought every bridezilla magazine I could lay my hands on and Mum fell on them every time. She’d go through them muttering, “Who’d wear a dress like that? How much?” and other things like that. When I wanted her advice on wedding etiquette and how to do things, can you guess what she said?’

  Fern shook her head.

  ‘“You don’t want a wedding like mine, darling. We were just two crazy hippies who didn’t make a big deal out of it. Your wedding day though is going to be wonderful.” And it was. Shame the marriage failed to live up to expectations.’ Belinda sighed. ‘The more I talk about it, the more I think they never married. Which raises the obvious question, why not? I remember them as loving parents to me and loving towards each other, until that dreadful day when Mum dragged me away because Dad had had an affair.’

  ‘Do you have any relatives who might know the truth?’

  ‘No. Damn, I should have asked Molly while I was over there. She and Mum were quite close. I do remember them having a party on the thirtieth of June every year and claiming it was for their anniversary. Mind, it could have been the anniversary of the day they met or got together, for all I know.’ Belinda helped herself to another biscuit and dunked it. ‘You’re right, these are addictive.’ She glanced at Fern. ‘You remember that waitress, Sandrine? I was wondering whether I’d go and talk to her. She, or probably her parents, would have heard all the gossip after we left. Not sure that I want to bring it all out into the open again.’ She groaned to herself. ‘But I really really want to know the truth about my parents.’

  ‘We’re talking about the late 1960s here, aren’t we?’ Fern said thoughtfully. ‘What was the name of the village your grandmother lived in?’

  ‘Saint-Herbot,’ Belinda answered. ‘Why?’

  ‘I was wondering whether Anouk would have heard anything all those years ago. You said you lived on a smallholding nearby and Huelgoat isn’t a million miles away from Saint-Herbot.’ Fern did some mental calculations. ‘Anouk has lived in Huelgoat since she married sixty-five years ago. And villages in those days thrived on gossip even more than today. She may have heard something but not necessarily known the people involved.’

  ‘It’s worth asking her, I suppose,’ Belinda said.

  ‘Come for supper soon and you can ask her yourself,’ Fern said. ‘I’ll introduce you to Scott too.’

  ‘Thanks. I can always go and see Sandrine afterwards if Anouk doesn’t know anything,’ which Belinda thought was more than likely to be the case. Everyone knew that old people’s memories weren’t always the most reliable.

  The cottage door slammed, startling them both, as well as the two dogs, who jumped up, barking simultaneously.

  ‘Evening, Belinda, Fern,’ Alain said, appearing in the doorway. ‘I won’t disturb you, just going to make a spot of supper. Anyone like anything?’

  ‘No thanks,’ Fern said, standing up. ‘I must go.’ She turned to Belinda. ‘I’ll see you soon and I’ll also have a quiet word with Anouk.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll see you out.’

  Standing watching Fern drive away, Belinda realised that she’d never got around to asking her what she should do about Chloe moving to the Vendée. Let her go? Or go with her? It would keep until the next time she saw Fern. Sighing inwardly, she went back indoors.

  Alain was sitting on the settee, a plate of sandwiches in front of him, a car magazine on his lap. He glanced up as Belinda returned. ‘I ’ope I didn’t drive Fern away?’

  ‘No of course not. She needed to get back for Anouk,’ Belinda answered and gave him a sharp glance. ‘You’ve got over your bad temper from this morning then?’

  ‘Oui, it is all sorted now,’ Alain said. ‘You ’ave un problème? You look préoccupée.’

  ‘I wanted to ask Fern’s advice about something, but we were so busy talking about… about something else, that I didn’t get time.’

  ‘Want to ask me?’

  Honestly, she never knew where she was with this man. One minute he was being obnoxious and the next, well, the next he was being friendly.

  Belinda, went to shake her head and say no, but found herself saying instead, ‘It’s my daughter and her husband.’

  Alain waited.

  ‘Max has been promoted at work. They’re moving to the Vendée and want me to go with them.’

  ‘Do you want to go?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Belinda said helplessly. ‘I can’t see the wood for the trees.’

  ‘Excuse? I do not know that English saying.’ Alain looked at her.

  ‘It means I can’t see my way to making a decision. There are too many “ifs”.’ She sighed. ‘Anyway, I think I’ll have a shower and then go to bed. See you in the morning.’

  30

  Over the next few days living in the house together, Belinda and Alain slipped into a comfortable routine without noticing it happen. Alain was always up first to shower and leave the bathroom free for Belinda. By the time she went downstairs, coffee was ready and fresh croissants from the village bakery were on the table. Some mornings, Alain was still around and joined her for breakfast before they left for the short walk across to the office together.

  It seemed only fair to Belinda that the afternoons when she was home first she organised supper for them both. Nothing fancy, she knew her limitations. The shop was opening for a couple of hours every day now and Belinda picked up various cold meats, salad stuff and fresh bread on the evenings she did supper for the two of them.

  After supper, they settled in for a couple of companionable hours together in the sitting room. Whether by accident or design on both their parts, the ongoing work on the campsite was rarely mentioned. The evenings were getting warmer and they were able to open the French doors onto the little terrace. Sometimes they watched TV, but mostly they read. Belinda a book and Alain one of his endless car magazines. Conversation was limited but friendly and the silences were becoming those that happen between people who were becoming comfortable with each other.

  Alain went out every evening at about ten o’clock to check all was well on the campsite and Belinda usually said goodnight then and went to bed before he returned.

  One particularly lovely evening, she stood up with him.

  ‘Mind if I join you tonight? It’s such a lovely evening, I fancy a walk.’

  ‘Bring a jacket, it’s always a bit cooler down by the river at this time of day,’ Alain said.

  A couple sitting outside their camper van with a glass of wine called out ‘Bon nuit’ as they walked past. The other two nearby vans had their lights on and curtains drawn, the muted tones of TV programmes could be heard. Bernie was sitting outside of his cabin, Ging curled up on his lap. Belinda stood and smiled at him as Alain had a brief conversation with him, before they moved on down towards the river.

  Belinda gave a happy sigh. ‘I love this part of the site. The noise of the upstream river weir, the ducks, watching the herons. I can’t wait to show it all to Chloe and the twins when they arrive. I’m so pleased she’s coming for a holiday.’

  Alain, staring out over the river, nodded. ‘My son used to love it here.’

  Belinda turned to look at him. ‘He doesn’t come here any mor
e?’

  ‘No. He’s thirty this year and lives in Canada now, so he’s got all the wide-open spaces he needs. I rarely see him these days.’

  ‘That must be hard,’ Belinda said quietly.

  ‘I am used to it. He lived with his mother after the divorce and seeing ’im has always been difficult. Especially when I lived in Africa. His mother refused to let ’im travel there.’

  ‘What were you doing in Africa?’

  ‘I oversaw several charitable projects building schools for the local children,’ Alain said briefly, keeping his gaze on the river.

  ‘Sounds like a rewarding thing to have done.’ So, not a mercenary then. Working for a charity was more in tune with the kind of man Alain was turning out to be, Belinda realised.

  Alain nodded at her words.

  ‘Did you come home because of your parents? To help them?’

  ‘Oui. They’re at an age when they need me around. Although if you’d heard my maman telling me off the other day for not wearing a coat, you’d think I was still six years old.’ He paused. ‘And there was this place of course.’

  ‘Were you upset when you discovered Nigel now owned it?’

  ‘Non. It stops my parents worrying about money and they’re ’appy for me to have a job while things sort themselves out.’

  Belinda waited for him to explain what things needed sorting out, but he stayed staring out over the river.

  ‘Were you living with them before the cottage was ready? Or have you got your own place in the village?’

  ‘I was back in my old childhood room with them. Still covered with motorbike posters.’ Alain grinned at her. ‘A virtual time warp.’

  ‘Did they mind you moving out again so soon?’ Belinda asked. Then, as something Alain had said the day she did her first site inspection flashed into her mind, she turned to look at him. ‘Hang on, why are you still living in the cottage now I’m back? Why haven’t you returned to your parents’ place to keep an eye on them? You told me you had no intention of living on site until the season started properly.’

  Alain returned her glare with one of his own. ‘And leave you living on site by yourself? Don’t be ridiculous. And don’t accuse me of being a chauvinist again. It’s the way I was brought up – you don’t leave any woman in a vulnerable situation.’

  ‘We’re in the middle of the countryside, not the inner city,’ Belinda said. ‘There are campers around. I have a phone to call the gendarmes if I have to. And I have BB. I don’t need looking after. You should be looking after your parents.’

  ‘Like it or not, I’m staying put in the cottage until you leave for good. Now let’s get back,’ and Alain waited for her to start walking before he fell into step alongside her.

  Back at the cottage, Belinda said a polite bon nuit and went straight to her room to get ready for bed. She supposed she should be grateful that Alain was such a gentleman. The campsite was in an isolated position and under the cover of darkness it could be eerily spooky with the owls calling to each other and the nocturnal animals rustling through the bushes as they hunted for food. But she’d have coped. Although, if she was honest, she did sleep better knowing that there was someone else in the house with her. Any emergency and help would be instant.

  Perhaps she was overreacting? It had been a long time since anyone had thought to protect her from real or imagined trouble. Despite their differences, she liked Alain and after their conversation this evening, knew he had hidden depths that he kept well concealed. She was beginning to value his friendship and didn’t want them to fall out. Tomorrow at breakfast she’d apologise and lay the blame on becoming fiercely independent since her divorce.

  31

  There was an unusual atmosphere in the kitchen during breakfast at the auberge Thursday morning that worried Fern. The four guests in the dining room were happy and friendly as she served them, talking about where they were going for the day, Quimper. One of the party was vegan and asked if she could recommend anywhere for lunch. ‘Try my favourite place for lunch in Quimper, The Sherlock Holmes Restaurant. Lots of choices for both vegans and meat eaters,’ Fern said. ‘You’ll all find something tasty to eat. You need to get there early, it’s very popular.’

  In the kitchen, though, something was different. Scott and Anouk normally set the world to rights over their coffee and croissants, but this morning, they were both strangely quiet. Fern struggled to get a word out of either of them. In the end, after the guests had gone upstairs to get ready for their day out, Fern poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table with them.

  ‘Right, you two. Why the long faces?’

  Anouk stood up. ‘I’ll let Scott tell you. I’m going to write a letter in my room.’

  Fern watched her go as a feeling of sadness threatened to engulf her. She knew what Scott was going to tell her before he even opened his mouth to speak.

  ‘You have to return to America, don’t you?’

  He nodded. ‘I was planning on staying for another month, but my god-daughter has emailed me to say her mother, my cousin, isn’t well and wants to see me.’

  ‘When are you leaving?’ Fern asked, her voice low, surprised at how empty she felt at the thought of saying goodbye to Scott.

  ‘I’ve had a look at flights and the first direct flight I can get from Paris to New York is Tuesday, which means I have to leave on Monday from Brest.’

  Fern smiled at him. ‘We knew you’d be going back sometime, it’s just a bit sooner than we… I expected.’ She put her cup down on the table and Scott caught hold of her hand and squeezed it gently.

  ‘I will be back I promise,’ he said, looking at her, ‘but Kylie’s illness complicates things. I’m not sure how long I will need to stay in New York. It could be a couple of weeks or it could be months.’

  ‘Well, I’m not going anywhere, I’ll be here when you do return. What about your hire car? Where will you drop it? Brest or Carhaix? I can always drive you to the airport if it’s Carhaix.’

  ‘Appreciate the offer, but I can leave it at Brest.’ Scott looked at her. ‘I’m not very good with airport goodbyes. Arrivals I love. Departures, not so much.’ He hesitated. ‘What I would like you to do though is to have dinner with me Saturday night. Just the two of us. Is that possible?’

  ‘Yes. I’d like that. Thank you. And tonight when my friend, Belinda, comes here to meet you and to talk to Anouk, the three of us will put on happy faces.’

  Thursday on the campsite was surprisingly busy considering it was a weekday at the end of April. The last few days had been wonderfully sunny and spring-like and it seemed as if the world and his family had taken it upon themselves to get out into the countryside. But it wasn’t until Alain pointed out that Friday was the first of May that Belinda realised the real reason.

  ‘Of course. How stupid of me to forget the Labour Day holiday. And everybody is “faire le pont” – making a long weekend of it.’ She glanced at Alain. ‘It’s the vide-grenier this Sunday too, isn’t it?’

  Alain nodded. ‘Oui. Hervé and Yann’s Gang will be here Saturday afternoon to start setting things up.’

  Both Belinda and Alain took great care to make sure visitors realised that the site was barely operational yet and most people took it all in their stride. There were one or two disgruntled guests, who decided to drive on a bit further when they realised the lack of facilities. Which made Alain grumble under his breath. Belinda didn’t exactly say ‘I told you so’, but she did say again there were certain twenty-first-century technologies that were necessary.

  It was late afternoon before things slowed down and Belinda took the opportunity to make some coffee while Alain showed a family of four to one of the cabins.

  ‘I think we definitely need Marie working weekends from now on,’ Belinda said, when he returned.

  Alain nodded in agreement. ‘And probably for most of the week while Chloe is here. You’ll need to spend some time with her.’

  ‘True, so long as that’s okay wit
h you.’

  ‘Of course it is. They stay in the cottage with us?’

  Belinda shook her head. ‘I thought I’d put them in a cabin.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I think I’m going to slip off in a moment and leave you to it for any late arrivals. I really fancy a long hot soak in the bath before I head out for the evening.’

  ‘You’re not home tonight?’

  For a moment there Belinda thought she heard a disappointed note in Alain’s voice.

  ‘I’m having dinner with Fern to meet Anouk, her ma-in-law, and Scott, her American friend.’ She looked at Alain. ‘I’m hoping that Anouk will be able to help me solve a mystery from my past.’

  ‘Your French past?’

  Belinda nodded. ‘Yes. There’s nothing I can do to change it, whatever happened, happened. But I do need to know the truth.’

  ‘Good luck. I hope Anouk can help,’ Alain said. ‘You’d better go and have that soak you wanted.’

  A quarter of an hour later, the bathroom was steamy and smelt of strawberries from the bubble bath Belinda had poured into the water before she’d stepped in and lowered herself into the hot water. Bliss.

  Laying there, she thought about the evening ahead. Would Anouk remember that far back and would anything she remembered be relevant to the questions Belinda wanted answered? Perhaps it would be better to see Anouk on her own, not with other people around, eating and drinking.

  Her mobile, which she’d placed within reach on the bath stool, began to ring, breaking into her thoughts. Belinda sat up, reached out for the towel she’d put on the nearby rail, quickly dried her hands and picked up the phone.

  ‘What’s up?’ she answered Fern’s quiet hello. ‘You sound down.’