The Little French Guesthouse (13 page)

I opted for vagueness. ‘I do what needs to be done at the time, Mum. I’m enjoying it. Don’t worry.’

Before she could respond, I popped a kiss on her cheek and shot into the kitchen, leaving her to mutter to my father out of earshot.

‘So what was all that you told my mother?’ I asked Rupert as soon as I caught up with him indoors. ‘About trying to contact Gloria? You never told me that.’

‘Ah, well, your mother has a much more vicious interrogative streak than you, young Emmy. You need to practice more. Hone your skills.’

‘You’re evading the question.’

He sighed. ‘I didn’t tell you, Emmy, because you had your own problems to contend with. And I know for a fact that the reason your mobile is never on your person and never charged is nothing to do with early-onset middle-aged forgetfulness. You’re assuming Nathan hasn’t tried to contact you, but the truth is, you don’t want to know.’

‘If he wants to get hold of me, Rupert, all he has to do is ring the landline here.’

‘And he hasn’t. But the point is, I knew how you felt and I respected that, so I didn’t see the point of burdening you with my attempts.’

‘But that makes me feel awful. You should have told me. God knows we’ve told each other all sorts!’

He looked me in the eye. ‘Ever heard of male pride, Emmy? If I’d got anywhere, I would have let you know.’ He turned to the fridge and started to get everything out, a subtle indication that he’d shared as much he was going to.

But I wasn’t finished yet. ‘Can I ask
why
you want to get hold of her? Do you want her back? Is that it?’

When he turned back to me, his whole face collapsed a tiny fraction, and I finally understood what people meant when they said that someone looked crestfallen.

‘The truth, Emmy? I don’t know. But I don’t think what I want makes any difference. Gloria’s the one who’s taken action, so it’s what Gloria wants that’s the issue. Was she just making a point? Attention-seeking? Is she trying to pay me back for something I’ve done – or haven’t done? Has she left for good? Does she want a divorce? Will she come back?’ He held out his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘See? Too many questions. They’re making my head hurt and they’re stopping me sleeping. So the answer to
your
question, Emmy love, is that I’m trying to get hold of Gloria simply to remove some of the questions from the equation. I’d like to know where I stand, so I can come to terms with whatever that is. But in her usual contrary fashion, Gloria isn’t playing ball, and there’s nothing I can do about that.’

T
he meal
that evening was a huge success. We had a full house, and the atmosphere was relaxed and jolly. The Stewarts, noticeably more animated this evening without the overbearing input of the Hendersons, told us about their newfound love affair with the Loire, an area of France they’d never tried before. The Kennedys arrived just in time for the meal and happily gave in to the food and chatter.

Mum defrosted again with the aid of several glasses of wine and complimented the food at every opportunity. No one knew better than my own mother that I had never been a natural cook, so she was somewhat taken aback that I’d contributed in any way whatsoever to the gastronomic delights on the table.

My father’s tired lines were smoothing out, and I was glad. What with his demanding job and my demanding mother and worry over his abandoned daughter, the stress had been clear to see when he arrived, but now he leaned back in his chair, smiling.

It was dark outside. Rupert had turned off the harsher spotlights around the kitchen units, cleverly hiding any detritus from the meal and leaving us in the mellow glow of the overhead light and wall lamps in the dining area.

He was on top form,
with plenty of tales to tell and an easy way of telling them. A natural raconteur, his stock supply of anecdotes was brought out, but there were others I hadn’t heard before and I laughed helplessly along with everyone else.

‘If you lovely people are wondering why I don’t supply candlelight to add to the ambience, then I shall tell you,’ he announced over coffee. ‘I used to do all that, when we first started up the business. Thought it added a touch of class. And so it did – until one of the guests had their fiftieth birthday here. The woman’s husband had paid serious money to a
pâtisserie
in town for an absolutely fabulous cake, which he placed on the table in front of his wife. He’d also spent serious money on the gift, by the looks of it, all decked out in fancy tissue paper and ribbons. He handed it over with the flourish it deserved, she opened it with the flourish it deserved, the wrapping paper dangled in the flame of one of the candles...’

There was a collective gasp around the table.

‘In her panic, she started wafting it about, which of course only made the flames spread up towards her hand. The smoke alarm got itself in a tizzy, deafening us all, and I was hopping about, desperately trying to grab it from her before she dropped it – I had visions of the whole table going up in flames!’

‘Did you get it off her?’ Mum asked, eyes wide.

‘Couldn’t get near the bloody woman – she was hopping about too, and of course the more she moved, the more the flames grew.’

‘So what on earth did you do?’

Rupert gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Chucked the water jug over it. There was nothing else I
could
do. It put out the flames alright, but it also drenched the birthday girl and ruined the cake – one minute a superbly crafted tower of white swirls and delicate iced flowers, the next a waterfall of cream and soggy sponge. The sleeves of her dress were singed, as was the box – although thankfully not the gift within. It rather spoiled the evening, and caused a god-almighty row when they left the next day. The chap was a solicitor and fancied the notion of suing me for the cost of the cake, the cost of his wife’s dress – a designer label, naturally – and possibly mental distress.’

‘And
did
he?’ Meg Kennedy asked, agog.

‘Thankfully, no. We came to an arrangement over the bill. Well, less an arrangement and more a full refund for their stay.’

‘That’s disgraceful!’ Frank Stewart chimed in.

Rupert winked. ‘On my part or his?’

Frank grinned. ‘His, of course.’

Rupert shook his head. ‘I was only grateful the kitchen hadn’t burned down. Didn’t fancy a legal wrangle. But hence no more candles. If you lot want ambience, you’ll have to create it yourselves with your delightful company and scintillating conversation.’

‘Dare I ask what the gift was, after all that?’ Karen Stewart asked.

Rupert shook his head in despair. ‘A dress from a Parisian boutique, clearly at least two sizes too small and two decades too young for its recipient. I could hear them arguing all the way up the stairs! Funnily enough, they haven’t been back since. Can’t think why...’

Mum and Karen were helpless with laughter. I caught Dad watching me and quirked a quizzical eyebrow at him, but he just shook his head and joined in.

It was midnight when we broke it up. As I started to clear the table, my mother began to frown again, but my father tactfully guided her away by the elbow. On their way upstairs, I heard him stop her before she could complain.

‘Leave it, Flo. The girl’s never been happier.’

I piled the debris by the sink with a light heart. My father, in his usual quiet way, had hit the nail on the head. Though my circumstances should most definitely suggest otherwise, and though this may be but a brief interlude, I
had
never been happier.

T
he next morning
, I decided to take my parents sightseeing. Since Saturday would be the usual flurry and they were leaving on Sunday afternoon, I needed to show my mother that I could enjoy a day out like any other holidaymaker.

‘I’ll drive, Dad. You have a rest and enjoy the scenery.’ This offer took my father by surprise as we headed across the courtyard towards the cars.

‘Oh no, Emmy, don’t worry. We have the rental car.’

‘Mine and Nathan’s is bigger. You can’t swing a cat in that sardine tin you turned up in.’

Dad looked aghast. ‘But yours is right-hand drive, Emmy. Wouldn’t we be better in this one?’

I gave him a look. ‘Don’t you trust me to drive?’

‘Of course I do, sweetheart.’ His expression belied his words. ‘But you don’t like driving abroad. You always make Nathan do it.’

I patted his arm, took their stuff (my mother always packed for all eventualities, even on a day trip) and piled it into the boot of the car.

‘Yes, well, Nathan hasn’t been available for chauffeur duties, so I’ve had to get on and do it myself. You can navigate. You know I can’t read a map for toffee.’

Mum and Dad exchanged a glance and climbed delicately into the car as though it might fall apart. With a spray of gravel, which was unnecessary but fun, we headed off.

Rupert had scribbled a manageable itinerary, which would take us to several little towns with
châteaux
. When it became apparent to my parents that their daughter was no longer reluctant behind the wheel and was unlikely to crash into a ditch or drive into a barn, they began to relax, my mother oohing and aahing at the fields and villages from the back seat, my father staring rapt out of his window without a murmur.

At our first stop in Montreuil-Bellay, we found a café where we could sit outside and overlook the
château
.

After coffee, we circled the
château
to stroll alongside the river for a while. I suspected Dad had given Mum the hard word, because both of them were careful to pick neutral topics. Nathan wasn’t mentioned once.

With our limbs stretched, I drove on – still competent and thereby still startling my parents
–
to Chinon, where we found the restaurant Rupert had recommended on a cobbled street leading up from the river. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d sat in the sunshine having lunch together. Life back home was always so busy with work that at weekends I just wanted to flop. And whenever I dragged Nathan with me to spend time with my parents, there was the unspoken payback that I would have to spend time with
his
parents – a fate worse than death. Nathan’s father always looked like he would rather be somewhere else (heaven knows, he wasn’t the only one) and his mother... Well, how do you describe the indescribable?

I might not have wanted Mum and Dad to come, but now they were here, I was glad.

‘So, Emmy, what’ll happen when you go back to work?’ Dad asked gently.

‘There’ll be a pile of stuff dumped on my desk and Carl will sulk because I took the extra week, I suppose.’

‘Yes, but what about Nathan, Emmy? Will he be there? Will people know what’s happened?’ Mum asked bluntly. If Dad had given her the hard word, the effects had worn off predictably quickly.

‘I don’t know. If he’s back, he’s back, and I’ll have to take it from there. If not, well, it all depends on what he’s told them. I’ll have to play it by ear. I haven’t got much choice, have I?’

My mother huffed. ‘It’s a disgrace. Not just leaving you like that, but leaving you in the dark. He’s making it hard for you on purpose.’

‘I don’t think he is doing it on purpose, Mum. To be honest, I don’t think he knows what he wants.’ I picked at my bread, shredding it into crumbs and sweeping them from the table. ‘But it’s a going to be a pretty crappy few months sorting the whole mess out.’

Dad spoke quietly. ‘This mess was of Nathan’s making too, Emmy. Stand up for yourself.’ He took out his wallet and beckoned the waiter. ‘And while you’re fighting your way through those crappy months ahead, keep your eyes on the prize. Freedom. Peace of mind. Being true to your heart. Those things might be clichés nowadays, but they’re worth the fight, love.’

W
e spent the afternoon pottering
, all awkwardness behind us. My parents could relax. They had completed their mission. From the moment they’d arrived, they had somehow managed to sympathise, comfort, see for themselves that I wasn’t suicidal – indeed, that I was content for now – and help me clarify my thoughts and direction. Not an unremarkable feat in twenty-four hours.

We arrived back culturally replete and still in one piece, despite the fact that I’d driven the whole way. Looking forward to a lie-down before we ventured out to eat, I didn’t take kindly to Rupert’s accusatory tone the minute we got in.

‘Emmy. You forgot to take your mobile again.’

‘Sorry.’ I tried to sound sincere. ‘Why, did you need me? Anything wrong?’

He let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Nothing urgent, but I’ve had to make a decision on your behalf, so I hope it wasn’t the wrong one.’

‘Oh?’

‘Richard and Brenda rang to ask if we’d like to join them for a meal. I told them your parents are here and they suggested we all go. The more, the merrier and all that.’

‘Richard and Brenda?’ Tired from the long day, my brain wasn’t in full gear.

‘We met them at the market, remember? Ryan’s parents.’

His eyes were full of mischievous glee as my face blanched and then followed up with a blush for good measure. I said a silent prayer that he’d had the good sense to refuse. Then again, why should he? It wasn’t unreasonable to assume my parents might like to meet a pleasant middle-aged couple for a convivial meal. And in theory, of course, Rupert couldn’t know I’d have any reason to feel uncomfortable in the presence of said couple. In practice, the glimmer in his eyes suggested he had his suspicions and would enjoy any discomfort that might be served up alongside the food at dinner.

Rupert turned to Mum and Dad. ‘Nice couple. They run a business back in the UK but they have a holiday home and spend a good few weeks a year out here. Their son does my garden for me in the summer. But if you’d rather have Emmy to yourself, I’m sure they’d understand.’

‘No, that would be lovely,’ Mum said, sealing my fate. ‘We were going to ask you to eat out with us anyway, Rupert. Two more won’t make any difference.’

‘That’s settled, then. Good job, because I’d already accepted.’

B
y the time
we piled into the restaurant – which was elegant, but with a touch of the countryside in its sage green tablecloths and napkins, and wicker and dried flower arrangements on the walls – I was calm and collected again. A long shower had helped me regain my equilibrium, and I’d given myself a stiff talking-to while I got ready.

How hard could it be? Ryan’s parents seemed nice and presumably had no idea I’d been shagging their son. Rupert was, admittedly, a loose cannon, but he was hardly likely to voice his sordid little suspicions. I was making a mountain out of a molehill.

Brenda and Richard rose from a large round table by the window to greet us. As I frowned at the extra place set and a jacket flung over the back of the upholstered chair, out of the corner of my eye I saw the door to the gents’ open, and Ryan strolled over to the table.

Oh, no.

As further introductions ensued, I did my best not to spontaneously combust with panic whilst at the same time shooting Rupert a vicious look.

‘Didn’t know you were coming, Ryan,’ he said jovially, shooting me an innocent look back.

Ryan didn’t even have the decency to look uncomfortable. ‘Neither did I. Mum and Dad decided it was time I was seen out in public in something other than muddy jeans.’

Everyone shuffled around choosing seats until, inevitably, I found myself next to Ryan. This didn’t appear to have anything to do with Rupert’s mischievous leanings, for once, but with my parents. The old folks must have thought I needed someone nearer my own age to talk to.

Wine was ordered, tasted and poured. In desperate need of an anaesthetic, I snatched up my glass and gulped a large mouthful.

Ryan smirked, and I kicked him forcefully under the table. He mouthed a dramatic “ouch” and continued to smirk.

Once we’d studied the menu and ordered, the table settled into polite chatter. Brenda and Richard were friendly and unpretentious – like their son, who seemed to have inherited all their good qualities.

Neither Gloria nor her departure were mentioned, but I couldn’t help wondering how the evening would have gone if she and Nathan had still been here. Brenda and Richard were clearly fond of Rupert, but I didn’t think Gloria would have been their type. Too dolled-up, too waspish. Nathan would have complained that he didn’t want to spend the evening with a bunch of strangers, and by this time he would have had his fill of Rupert’s bumptiousness. Then again, I would have been forty times more relaxed because I wouldn’t have slept with the young man sitting next to me who was currently running his hand up my thigh under the table.

I slapped it back. ‘Stop that!’ I hissed, smiling madly in case anyone noticed.

Ryan turned to me, propping his head up with his arm to block anyone from reading his lips.

‘What’s the matter with you tonight?’ he asked. ‘At the risk of sounding like my mother, you’re acting like you’ve got ants in your pants.’

I glowered as subtly as I could. ‘Has it occurred to you that I might be uncomfortable with your mum and dad because of...’

He made a mock production of getting the point. ‘Ah! Not ants in your pants. Me in your pants.’

‘What?’
I couldn’t believe he’d said that in the present company, even if it was under his breath. The others were in full swing discussing the merits and complications of buying property abroad and paying no attention to us, but even so.

‘That’s the problem?’ Ryan asked, his voice still low and conspiratorial.

‘Well, don’t you think this is all a little awkward?’

‘Not really. Nobody knows. I’m not sure it would matter if they did. Chill out a bit.’

My eyes flashed fire in place of raising my voice. ‘I appreciate this may not be a big deal for you, Ryan. For all I know, you sleep with older abandoned women all the time.’

‘Not at all. You’re my first. Cross my heart.’ He made a slashing motion across his chest, and I let out an exasperated sigh. It was hard to stay mad at him for more than two minutes.

‘Yes, and about that. Why me? Why aren’t you out with some flat-stomached girl your own age?’

Ryan laughed. ‘I’m not ageist, Emmy. I go out with women I find attractive, women I can talk to and feel comfortable with. You fit into that category. Stop selling yourself short.’

‘I’m not.’

Ryan squeezed his hand on mine under the table. ‘You’ve had a knock to your self-confidence, that’s all.’

‘I know. But this is all a bit weird, and it’s giving me the jitters. Rupert, I can cope with. My parents and your parents are another matter.’

As if they could tune in, both couples directed their attention to us. Dragged back into the group chatter, I tried hard to settle.

Rupert was the star turn as usual. Brenda and Richard were like new-found soul mates to my mum and dad, and Ryan was relaxed and charming with all of them. I envied him his easy-going personality and wondered whether he’d always been that way or whether it was down to the lifestyle he’d chosen – the lack of authority and structure, the outdoors, the summers in France?

In juxtaposition, my own lifestyle seemed positively dreary. I thought about drizzly days and lacklustre evenings in front of the telly with Nathan, with no energy or inclination to liven things up... But by the time coffee landed, my common sense had kicked back in. Ryan’s lifestyle wouldn’t suit me. For a start, I couldn’t keep a plant alive for love nor money. I viewed the outdoors as suitable for relaxing in, not for sweaty hard labour. And having been brought up by an accountant and then living with one, I couldn’t imagine not having the comforting predictability of a regular pay slip. Each to his own.

As the wine and coffee filtered through to my bladder, I excused myself and went to the ladies’. Catching my reflection in the mirror on the way back out, I pulled up short. The pink sunburn I’d been lamenting had given way to a golden glow, my hair was now pristinely French, and all the fresh fruit and salad (and possibly worry) must have offset the croissants and sauces, because unless my eye deceived me, I looked almost svelte. Bemused by the idea that Nathan deserting me in foreign lands should have had such a beneficial effect, I was still preening as I pulled open the door and ran headlong into Ryan in the small space that separated the toilets from the dining room.

‘Have you been lurking?’ I accused him when I got my breath back.

‘Maybe.’ His hands came up to my face and he planted his lips on mine. ‘You look more delicious than the food. I wanted a taste.’

I blushed at the compliment and tried to push him away. ‘We have to get back to the table. They might get suspicious.’

‘Of what?’

‘That we both came in here at the same time.’

Ryan laughed. ‘Emmy, we’ve been sitting at the table for three hours. Nobody’s going to think anything of the fact that we needed the loo at the same time.’

I tried not to respond to his kisses, but it wasn’t easy. With his body pressing me against the wall, my limbs began to turn to warm jelly.

‘What if someone comes in?’ I hissed when I came up for air.

Ryan spun me round so he was against the wall. ‘I’ll watch the door.’

There was a small pane of glass for him to see any approaching intruders, but my stomach fluttered from the combination of nerves, rich food, caffeine, alcohol and, surprisingly, excitement at the possibility of being discovered. I doubted it was good for the digestion.

As Ryan worked his magic, I opened my eyes and was gratified to see that he dutifully had one eye on the door. I closed mine again to savour the moment, but as his hands strayed downwards, I reluctantly pulled away.