A French Affair

by Jennifer Bohnet

  ‘That must have been very difficult for them,’ Belinda said, trying to get her head around everything Anouk was telling her.

  Anouk nodded. ‘Enzo too was beside ’imself. His parents were good to him though and understood when he said he ’ad to get away. It was nearly six years before he came back, with a woman we all assumed was his new wife and you.’

  ‘Had anyone heard from Helena in the meantime?’ Belinda asked.

  ‘No. Her parents were dead, there were no brothers or sisters.’

  ‘Right, so Mum and Dad just settled down in the village near my grandmother and lived happily. I mean I had a lovely childhood, they rarely argued, I assumed my parents were happy together. I also assumed, of course, they were married. My parents were known as Mr and Mrs Belrose. Dad’s named on my birth certificate. So what happened thirty-five years ago that made my mother run away?’

  ‘Helena came back,’ Anouk said simply. ‘And all hell broke loose because…’ Anouk took a deep breath. ‘She told everyone Enzo was still married to her and she wanted him back. And that was the gist of the scandal: Enzo was living as a married man with a woman who wasn’t his wife. The devout churchgoers around here couldn’t accept that easily.’ Anouk looked at Belinda. ‘What was regarded as a scandal then wouldn’t cause such a furore now. Marriages break up and people move on these days with no stigma attached.’

  Belinda stood up. ‘I think I’m ready for that drink now.’ She went into the kitchen and fetched the tray Fern had prepared and carried it out to the conservatory. She poured them both a glass of wine and handed one to Anouk and pushed the plate of sandwiches Fern had left for them towards her.

  ‘So, Mum thought she’d be the laughing stock of the village – or worse,’ Belinda said, finally able to fill in the blanks. ‘And she ran away taking me with her, leaving Dad with Helena. I thought that Dad had had an affair.’ Belinda smothered a sigh. For years she’d blamed her dad’s affair for being the sole reason behind her mum leaving him and ruining their lives. Learning about Helena made it impossible not to feel a degree of sympathy for both her parents. But being secretly married to someone else was far worse than having an affair. Her dad might have been caught up in the middle but he was still guilty of letting her mum and herself down. Wasn’t he?

  Belinda helped herself to a sandwich before glancing at Anouk. ‘That’s half the story I had no idea about. Now, can you tell me what happened after we left?’

  Anouk looked at her, sympathy clearly etched on her face. ‘Helena moved in with your father, telling people as his wife she had every right to live there. Apparently the fact that Enzo told her he didn’t want her there counted for nothing. She just stayed put. So Enzo himself moved out.’ Anouk took a sip of her wine. ‘Did you never try to contact Enzo without telling your mother?’

  ‘Of course. I secretly planned to keep in touch with him by letter until I was old enough to come back and join him. I wrote a couple of letters but told him to reply to a friend’s address so that mum wouldn’t know. The last letter I wrote to him was a long one telling him how much I missed and loved him. That letter came back to our normal address, not the one I’d been secretly using. It had been opened and resealed, and marked Gone Away. Return to Sender. Mum saw the French stamp and was livid with me that day,’ Belinda said reflectively. ‘I was miserable and unhappy that Dad was rejecting my… Oh, it was her, wasn’t it, Helena? Not Dad who returned the letter.’

  Belinda could feel tears threatening and bit back on the names she wanted to call Helena but wouldn’t in Anouk’s presence.

  Anouk gave her a sad smile. ‘I think you could assume that.’

  Belinda sat for several moments thinking about things and realised there was another question she needed to ask.

  ‘He’s still alive, you know.’ Anouk’s quiet voice broke into her thoughts.

  ‘What?’ Belinda stared at her.

  ‘I rang a couple of people when Fern told me of your connection to Enzo to try and get some up-to-date information for you. While Helena has lived in the cottage permanently for a number of years, Enzo has been living down on the Morbihan coast. Recently though he moved back into the cottage.’ Anouk hesitated. ‘He’s not well and Helena has taken on the task of nursing him.’

  ‘Do you know what’s wrong with him?’ Belinda’s voice trembled as she asked the question.

  ‘No, but there’s talk of moving him to a hospice in the not too distant future.’

  Belinda took a drink of wine. This was all too much to take in – the burning question though was, should she go and see him? And importantly did she want to? He’d not been in contact with her for over thirty years so he probably wouldn’t care one way or the other. But maybe seeing him in the flesh again would help her come to terms with the way he’d abandoned her.

  Anouk stood up and reached for her stick. ‘Belinda my dear, I do ’ope you’ll forgive me if I go to bed now. The news this evening will have come as a shock to you and I know I’ve given you a lot to think about. But it’s important to remember two things. The past has gone and you can’t change anything about it. It’s the future you need to pay attention to and nurture with a kind heart.’

  Belinda stood up and moved across to the old lady to give her a gentle hug. ‘Thank you for talking to me and reaching out to people to find out about my father. I sincerely hope I haven’t tired you out. Can I get you anything before you retire?’

  ‘No thank you. Fern always makes sure I have water in my bedroom and I have a book. Goodnight and see you again soon, I hope.’

  ‘I’ll take the supper tray through to the kitchen and close the front door behind me when I leave,’ Belinda said.

  Closing the auberge door behind her and reeling from the things Anouk had told her, Belinda pressed the key fob to open the car doors and sank down into the driver’s seat. It was five minutes before she’d pulled herself together sufficiently to drive the short distance to the campsite.

  As Belinda parked her car, Alain was coming out of the cottage with BB.

  ‘Late-night patrol? May I come?’

  ‘Of course. How did it go this evening? Did Anouk know anything?’ Alain asked when Belinda rejoined him, having grabbed a jacket as well as changing her shoes.

  ‘Yes. She’d taken the trouble to make some phone calls too. She knew the whole story bang up to date.’

  As they walked, Belinda told Alain everything Anouk had told her, including the fact that her dad was still alive, if very ill.

  ‘The thing I can’t get my head around though is, did he ever tell Mum about Helena and the fact he was married? And did she convince herself she didn’t want to get married because there was no chance of it happening. Or did the two of them decide together that they didn’t need a marriage certificate? Mum always said they were a couple of hippies.’ Belinda stopped. ‘Actually, I don’t think she did know. I still remember the way she flipped the day she dragged me away. Totally out of character for her.’ Belinda shook her head. ‘So much I don’t understand and probably never will now.’

  She stopped walking suddenly and turned to face Alain.

  ‘How old are you exactly?’

  ‘Fifty-five.’

  ‘Two years older than me, so you would have been nineteen when the so-called “Belrose” scandal erupted,’ Belinda said thoughtfully. ‘Did you hear about it at the time?’

  Alain shook his head. ‘At the time, non. I am away in Rennes studying. Besides, I’m a young man and more interested in le football and les girls.’ He paused and looked at her. ‘Mais, my parents knew about it when I asked them today. I think they knew your mama.’

  Belinda started walking again, her thoughts in turmoil.

  ‘Do you want to go and see your father?’ Alain asked quietly.

  Belinda didn’t answer him straight away and he didn’t push her.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said eventually. ‘I’m not sure I can forgive him for the hurt he caused Mum and me. Mum might have wanted
me to lay the ghosts as she put it, but I’m not sure whether she knew he was still alive. One thing I forgot to tell you. He’s back living in our old cottage with Helena. She’s actually looking after him. Now, her, I definitely don’t want to see.’ Belinda could feel tears starting to break through and rubbed her eyes hard. ‘I cried an ocean of tears years ago. How can I possibly have any left to cry over him?’

  Alain gently and unexpectedly put his arms around her and held her tight. ‘If you decide to go and see your father, I take you. Don’t go alone.’

  ‘I lost my father years ago. This man, Enzo Belrose, is a virtual stranger.’ Belinda lost the fight with keeping the tears at bay and they soaked into Alain’s jumper, but she didn’t want to move. ‘Sorry I’m making you all wet.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  Standing there secure in Alain’s arms, Belinda had a flashback to her father holding her tight when she’d been crying after her grandmother had died. She was shocked to realise the feeling of security she felt now with Alain’s arms around her resembled the same sense of belonging she’d felt when her father hugged her.

  ‘He lost you and your mama,’ Alain said. ‘I doubt he expected Helena to ever turn up again, let alone lay claim to ’im after all those years. Peut-être that was foolish of ’im, mais I think he’s been a victim in all this as much as you and your mama.’ Alain held her tightly as he said softly, ‘Even if you can’t forgive ’im, he might want to see you one last time.’

  34

  After their late-night patrol, Alain had accompanied Belinda back to the house and made her a hot chocolate.

  ‘Things, they always look better in the morning,’ he’d said, handing her the drink. ‘Take this and go to bed and try to sleep. I told Hervé that I’d make sure the vide-grenier signs were all in place tonight for the morning. Twenty minutes and I return.’

  Obediently, Belinda did as she was told and five minutes later she was sitting up in bed nursing the mug and sipping the rich drink. Sadly, despite the fact she felt emotionally exhausted, sleep didn’t come when she turned off the light and snuggled down under the duvet. Everything Anouk had told her was going round and round in her head, throwing up new questions. Did it matter that her parents had never married? No. Had her dad loved her? Yes, she was sure he did. But why hadn’t he kept in touch with her? Why hadn’t he divorced Helena? Surely the five-year separation rule came into force here? Why had her mum turned on her dad and run away? Why? Why? Why? The questions kept coming. It was 3 a.m. when Belinda admitted to herself that if she wanted answers to at least some of her questions, as selfish as it probably was, she needed to visit her father before it was too late.

  The smell of coffee woke her Sunday morning from the fitful sleep she’d finally sunk into and Belinda dragged herself out of bed at eight o’clock, feeling drained. A quick glance in the bathroom mirror confirmed she looked as bad as she felt. A hot shower went someway to making her feel better and a careful application of foundation and eye make-up managed to camouflage the worst of the lack of sleep damage to her face.

  Alain was in the kitchen when she went downstairs and poured her a cup of coffee. ‘Croissant?’ he said, pointing to the plate on the table.

  Belinda pulled a chair out and sat at the table before helping herself to one. ‘Thanks.’ She took a mouthful of coffee. ‘Thank you for last night too,’ she said. ‘You make a mean hot chocolate.’ She smothered a yawn. ‘Sorry, I didn’t get a lot of sleep. What time can we expect the hordes to arrive?’

  ‘Hervé should be here any time soon and people wanting to set up in about twenty minutes.’ Alain looked at her. ‘You okay? You prefer to stay ’ere? ’Ave a day off?’

  Belinda shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I prefer to be doing something.’

  A car door slammed outside and a minute later Hervé knocked on the door. ‘Bonjour à vous. Ready for a fun day?’

  ‘Oui. Allons-y. Belinda will follow us later,’ and to Belinda’s relief, Alain ushered Hervé away before he came into the kitchen. She needed the caffeine to kick in before she was up to meeting and greeting people properly.

  It was half an hour later, after two cups of coffee, before she felt ready to face the busy day ahead. Checking she had some money in her pocket and clipping BB’s lead on before locking the cottage door behind her, she ventured outside to find the campsite bustling with activity.

  Alain had nailed signs to trees pointing to the parking area and also roped off the area where people could set up their tables. Belinda knew that Hervé was expecting about fifty stallholders to set up their individual tables and already most of these were in place, ahead of the official opening at ten o’clock.

  As she wandered around, Belinda walked past tables selling children’s toys, clothes and games, books, bric-a-brac, plants, kitchen utensils, furniture, pictures. Everything, in fact, including the kitchen sink, was for sale. Belinda stopped by one particular seller who had simply set out her things on two large cloths on the ground. In amongst the plates, the coffee grinders, the pictures, the candles and the miscellaneous cutlery the woman had laid on the second cloth, was a battered and chipped painted plaster cast of a horse’s head. Belinda bent down and picked it up as her mind went straight back to her childhood.

  For her tenth birthday, she’d received a modelling kit with several different horse moulds, a large bag of Plaster of Paris and paints. Her favourite mould had been a horse head just like this one that her dad had helped her to make. Once it was ready, she’d painted it to look as much like Lucky as she could. She’d mixed colours until she’d obtained just the right shiny chestnut colour for the head and carefully added the long white baize down the face once it was dry. She’d been so proud of herself. The finished head had sat on the shelf in her room until…

  ‘C’est five euros.’ The stallholder’s voice brought Belinda out of her reverie.

  She smiled at the woman before pulling a five-euro note out of her pocket and handing it to her. She didn’t really want the chipped ornament but couldn’t find it in her to say so. It had brought back a precious happy memory. ‘Merci.’ Belinda turned and moved away. She’d put it on the table in her room and take it back to the UK when she left.

  The car park was filling up and more people were milling around, laughing and joking as they met up with friends and family, all scanning the tables and stalls for that elusive item that could be worth a fortune, or at the very least be a bargain they couldn’t refuse.

  Because the café wasn’t open, she and Alain had agreed to Yann setting up his catering van, selling coffee, cold drinks and, later in the day, there would be glasses of wine and beer for sale. She could see Alain was over there, talking to Yann and Hervé, and she wandered over to join them.

  ‘Something tells me that you were horse-mad when you were younger,’ Alain said, looking at the head.

  ‘I was. I even made plaster models like this one,’ Belinda confessed. ‘Trip down memory lane. A happy one,’ she assured him when she caught his anxious glance.

  ‘Peut-être you ride these days?’ Hervé asked. ‘I ’ave two horses.’

  ‘I haven’t ridden for years,’ Belinda said, shaking her head. ‘But thank you.’ She turned to Alain. ‘I thought I’d go and see if Marie would like a break from the office and have a look round. I’ll see you later.’

  Wandering back to the office Belinda delighted in seeing the campsite brought to life with people milling around, searching for bargains on the stalls and generally enjoying themselves. There was even a game of boule being played on the pitch at the edge of the entertainment area. Maybe Alain was right – access to traditional things was vital and that a feeling of community was still important in these days of hi-tech.

  35

  Fern and Anouk went back into the kitchen after waving Scott goodbye on Monday morning. Wordlessly, Fern made another pot of coffee and the two of them were lost in their own thoughts for a few moments as they drank.

  Anouk was the fi
rst to break the silence. ‘If it’s all right with you, I thought I’d spend the morning tidying up the pots on the terrace. The tulips have gone over now and need sorting.’

  ‘We can do it together,’ Fern said. ‘I haven’t got anything pressing to do.’

  Anouk gave her a stern look. ‘I’m more than capable of sorting out a few bulbs on my own. If I was still in Huelgoat, I’d be doing my own pots by myself. Besides, this morning you’re taking Lady for a walk to the campsite. Belinda will be pleased to see you, I think, after our talk Saturday evening.’

  ‘Were you able to tell her much about what happened in the past? Was she upset?’

  Anouk nodded. ‘Yes to both questions. I think this morning she will appreciate a fellow countrywoman to talk to. As for you, a walk in the countryside is good for the soul. While you’re there, you can discuss terms and conditions with Belinda for the baking you’re going to be doing this summer.’

  ‘I haven’t decided yet whether I—’

  Anouk’s stern look silenced her in mid-sentence. ‘It will be good for you to have something definite to concentrate on.’

  Fern laughed. ‘Okay. I’ll go and talk to Belinda. I shall have a moan to her about this bully I unwittingly invited to live with me.’

  ‘You think I’m bullying you?’ Anouk said, her eyes twinkling. ‘You wait until I’ve really settled in.’

  Fern took her time walking Lady to Camping dans La Fôret, listening to the birds singing in the hedgerows and enjoying the sight of primroses nestled in the verges. She’d always found this time of year joyous as the countryside burgeoned back from the drabness of winter’s bare branches and started to wear its summer clothes. This year, it seemed to her that the early colours were that little bit brighter.