The Little French Guesthouse (21 page)

Rupert had scoffed at my planned departure time, but when I wouldn’t budge, he only said, ‘Maybe that’s best. Whatever you’re comfortable with, love.
Bon voyage
.’ Then he’d kissed my cheek and headed off to his room without another word. He knew there was more than practicality behind my early start. An emotional goodbye in the morning would be hell for both of us.

All I had to do was shower and dump the last few things lying around into my bag. When I scanned the room that had been my home for the past three weeks, the empty furniture stared back at me, lifeless and uncluttered, ready for the next guests.

I crept downstairs and out to the car. As I opened the boot to toss my bags in, I looked around me one last time. It was getting light, and I knew there would soon be dappled sunlight pushing through green leaves to twinkle on the gravel. Brightly-coloured flowers, climbing vines, fragrant roses, birds chattering, bees zinging, chickens clucking.

My throat closed over. Panicked, I heaved my chest in an attempt to drag air into my lungs, but it felt like they were shut tight. I clutched at the car door, lowered myself into the seat and pulled on my seat belt. Still, I could barely breathe. The engine spluttered to life, shattering the early morning peace, and I set off across the courtyard, down the drive, onto the lane. Half a mile down the road, I pulled into a lay-by, clambered out and dropped to all fours, gulping in the air that
La Cour des Roses
had denied me.

A car pulled up behind me and a middle-aged man in a business suit rushed out.
‘Est-ce qu’il y a un problème, Madame?’

‘Non, merci. Merci beaucoup,’
I managed between gasping breaths, standing shakily. Since my French didn’t stretch to explanations of lack of oxygen or the symptoms of panic attacks, I resorted to thumping my chest in a dramatic manner and then forced a smile to show my kind Samaritan that all was well now. He touched my arm, judging whether it was safe to leave me, then smiled back and climbed into his car.

I did the same. As I navigated the junction onto the main road and picked up speed, my chest felt as though someone had opened it up and sewn a stone inside in place of my heart.

R
emarkably
, considering my frame of mind, I managed to get myself to Calais in plenty of time without running out of petrol or detouring to Germany. I drove onto the ferry without plunging into the sea, and parked bumper-to-bumper in that terrifying way they insist on without rear-ending the car in front. I even had the presence of mind to memorise which level and staircase I was at.

This was one good thing about Nathan’s absence, I supposed. Since he’d buggered off, I’d been forced into doing things for myself again, and in the spirit of finding a silver lining, I told myself it was good for me. Sink or swim. Although come to think of it, that wasn’t such a good expression, considering my current mode of transport.

I stood out on deck for the ferry’s departure, my stomach leaden and my heart hollow. Logic told me I should be relieved to be returning to the familiar, but my heart told a different story. The feeling that I was being wrenched from newfound friendship and solidarity, from a place that had felt more like home in the past three weeks than my own flat had for the past three years, was suffocating. As the French coast slipped further into the distance and I was drawn inexorably towards my homeland, I clutched the rail with white knuckles, gulping in sea air until I could taste salt on my tongue, praying this sort of thing was only a temporary blip.

When my breathing reached a more acceptable level, I became conscious that I was taking in more second-hand smoke than fresh air. Weaving my way through the windswept figures clutching their cigarettes, I went back inside in search of caffeine. My purchase did little to lighten my mood. As I sat nursing the plastic cup, all I could do was compare it with Rupert’s magic brew and sulk.

Scrabbling in my copious bag for a tissue, my hand closed around an unfamiliar object and I pulled out a small package. Puzzled, I turned it over in my hand, until curiosity got the better of me and I pulled off the ribbon and tissue to reveal a neat black box.

I lifted the lid and gasped. A pendant glinted back at me – the head of a rose, crafted in white gold, with a tiny diamond at its centre.

A note was tucked into the lid. Unfolding it, I immediately recognised Rupert’s familiar letterhead and scruffy handwriting.

B
linking
hard to stop the tears pricking at the back of my eyes, I fingered the pendant. It was exquisite – a simple, elegant design. Spotting the jeweller’s address printed inside the lid, I realised Rupert must have bought it on our final foray into town. How he’d found something so appropriate, I had no idea. And I’d been sitting in the café nursing my grudges while he chose something so beautiful for me.

I knew he wasn’t happy that I’d refused payment for the work I’d done, but he shouldn’t have spent money on such an expensive gift instead. Still, as I lifted it from its box, fastened the chain around my neck and felt the weight of the rose against the hollow of my throat, all desire to be cross with him vanished. Instead, I chose to enjoy the thought that had gone into the gift and what it represented to me.

Friendship. A place that was dear to my heart. Somewhere I knew I would always be welcome. Newfound confidence in myself, and the welcome rediscovery of aspects of my old self that had somehow gone missing for a while.

A
rriving home was a surreal experience
. I’d set off on holiday with a boyfriend, and here I was battering my way back into the apartment without one. It felt like a chapter of my life had started and not been finished properly.

Kicking the post out of the way, I staggered to the bedroom, threw the suitcase and bags onto the bed and looked around. Everything was exactly the way we’d left it the morning we set off, from the tick list of things to remember still wedged in the mirror frame to the unwashed water glasses on the bedside table.

Taking a deep breath, I flung open the wardrobe doors. Half of Nathan’s things were gone. His business suits and shoes. That ludicrous electric rotating tie rack his mother had bought him for Christmas. His laptop from the safe place under his jumpers on the shelf.

Nathan was back from France, then. Where was he living? Was he still with Gloria, or had they already tired of each other? Did he wonder where I was when he came to get his stuff and found the flat untouched and empty? I hated that he’d left me with so many questions.

Dazed, I wandered into the kitchen to put the kettle on. A note was propped against it. I picked it up with shaking fingers.

I
wasn’t
sure whether to laugh or cry. He thought it only fair to let me know? He hoped I was well?
Regards?
After five years together, how much more impersonal could he get?

The content of his note filtered through to my overtired brain cells. He’d quit work and moved to London. How had he got another job so quickly? Why wasn’t he working out his notice at our place?

Taking a deep breath, I let it out with a whoosh. The thing I’d dreaded most – tiptoeing around him at work under the scrutiny of all our colleagues – was no longer a threat. Whatever he was playing at, he’d done me a favour.

And then an awful thought struck me. What if he’d done a more thorough job of leaving me than I thought, and had emptied our joint bank account?

Feeling sick, I rushed to the bedroom, dug out my laptop and charger and fired it up, holding my breath as I logged in.

No negatives or overdraft charges, thank goodness – only the usual direct debits, my own cash withdrawal the third week in France and a couple more which must have been made by Nathan. I looked at the dates. One the day after he left me, the other the following Friday. So, he’d stayed in France for the whole of that second week. I frowned. I might be none the poorer, but I was also none the wiser.

Rejecting the instant coffee granules in the cupboard with a shudder worthy of a true Frenchwoman, I made black tea – no milk in the fridge – and moved through to the lounge to sit on the sofa, listening to the silence fill the space.

I glanced around the room. It was like seeing it for the first time, and I was surprised to find that I didn’t like what I saw. How was it possible to walk out of this place three weeks ago, loving its sleek, modern minimalism, only to walk back in now and find it soulless and so damned unwelcoming? I got up and paced around, trying to get the feeling back – the feeling that I was home – but it was like viewing a show home, as though it had nothing to do with me any more.

I told myself it was late. I was exhausted. I would feel differently tomorrow.

But that feeling stayed with me for the rest of the weekend. I couldn’t shake it off. On Sunday morning, I made a start on the chores and unpacked. As I stuffed dirty laundry into the washing machine, a bundle of grey fur caught my eye and I rescued the gibbons from a watery death just in time. Clutching them to me, I closed my eyes to concentrate on the memory of Alain’s face so close to mine in the shelter at the zoo. The noise of the rain pounding on the roof. The colour of his eyes. The feel of his lips on mine. If only...

Stroking my inanimate friends apologetically, I carried them through to the bedroom to sit them on the pillow next to mine. Nathan’s pillow. The gibbons
would probably be better company than he’d been the last few months – at least they wouldn’t sulk or ignore me when I tried to talk to them.

B
y Sunday night
, there was still no word from Nathan. That was fine by me. I had more pressing concerns, namely the hurdle of returning to work. What had he told them in his resignation letter? Would our colleagues realise we’d split up? Well, I’d find out soon enough.

I did, however, get a call from Kate, back from sunning herself in the Maldives with her man.

‘Was it spectacularly wonderful?’ I asked her.

‘Oh, Emmy, it was fabulous. Five star hotel, wonderful beach, great food... Lots of sex. How about you?’

I snorted out a laugh. ‘You’re asking me how much sex I had on holiday?’
Little does she know.

‘No, silly. I got your text saying you were staying another week. What’s all that about? Shall I come round?’

I needed smiles and sanity and wine. ‘God, yes.’

Two hours later, we were curled on the sofa with a bottle of white, and Kate was up to speed on everything – and I mean everything. Even Ryan and Alain. It was such a relief to be able to talk to someone who knew me inside out, without worrying about the consequences. Laughter and tears ensued.

‘God, Emmy. Can’t I leave you for two minutes without your life turning upside-down?’ she concluded.

I laughed. ‘Doesn’t look like it.’

She fingered the pendant at my throat. ‘That is so beautiful! Rupert must think an awful lot of you.’ She hesitated. ‘This proposal of his, for want of a better word. You say it’s mad, but are you secretly considering it, somewhere in that twisted subconscious of yours?’

Like I said – she knew me too well.

‘I’m trying hard not to,’ I told her. ‘I mean, it’s in there, but I’m trying to keep it buried. My common sense is telling me it’s idiotic. But Rupert says I should “follow my heart”.’ I made quote marks in the air.

‘And what does your heart say?’

I shook my head. ‘I’m refusing to listen to it right now. I need to get back to work, Kate. At least I won’t have to face Nathan there, but it’s still going to be pretty weird. I have a presentation coming up. I can’t afford to let my mind wander off into the clouds.’

‘And what about Alain?’

I glared at her. ‘What about him?’

‘Come on, Emmy. It’s obvious your fling with Ryan was just that... And I enjoyed the titillation very much, by the way. I never had you down as the type to roll around in the shrubbery!’

I swiped at her, but she carried on undaunted. ‘Alain, though... Now that sounds like something with real possibilities.’ She sipped her wine, then burst out laughing. ‘I can’t believe you’ve fallen for another accountant, after everything that’s happened with Nathan!’

‘I haven’t
fallen
for him, Kate. He’s just... Well, I suppose he’s the sort of bloke I could see myself going out with way down the line,
if
I ever feel up to dipping a toe in the water of relationships again.’ Definitely time to change the subject. ‘Now, are you going to show me these sickening photos of paradise from your hols or not?’

O
n the commute to
work on Monday morning, crushed between a man determined to read his fully-spread newspaper and an old dear who thought it was a good idea to bring her dog for a ride in rush hour, trepidation coiled in my stomach. I felt disorientated, as though I’d forgotten how to do my job. I’d never taken such a long time off before. France and Rupert and
La Cour des Roses
were still bright and colourful in my mind, while work felt blurry and faded and out-of-focus.

There were too many early birds to walk past to get to my desk, and I told myself I was only imagining the curious stares as I draped my jacket across the back of my chair. With something bordering on despair, I took in the mountain of crap dumped on my desk. I couldn’t breathe. My chest felt tight. I clutched at the back of the chair. Another panic attack.

Heaven forbid I should be allowed to enjoy it in peace. Carl shot out of his office the second I’d lowered myself onto my seat.

‘Emmy. Welcome back. I need a word.’

I followed him into his office, gulping at the recycled air pumped out by his permanently malfunctioning air-conditioning unit.

‘Take a seat.’ He sat behind his desk, his fingers drumming agitatedly on the fake wood. ‘You look like crap, Emmy.’

‘Thanks, Carl.’ He hadn’t been on any training courses for tact while I was away, then. ‘Long journey, that’s all.’

‘Everything alright now? Your friend okay?’

So far, so good
.

‘Not bad, thanks. The extra week really helped. I appreciate it, Carl. I know it was inconvenient, but...’

He waved away my thanks with a flap of his hand. ‘Don’t worry about it, Emmy. If it couldn’t be helped, it couldn’t be helped. I know you’ll do whatever it takes to catch up.’

I held back a sigh. Carl would make sure the full three weeks got taken off my holiday allowance, but I would still be expected to work all the hours God sent to make the time up. I didn’t know why they bothered giving you a holiday entitlement at all.

‘You know I will. As always.’

‘Right, well, we’ll need to go through everything. I’ll fill you in on Dave’s presentation to the Kellys, maybe later this morning. I’ll let you settle in first.’

How gracious.
‘Thanks.’

‘There’s something else.’ Carl looked distinctly uncomfortable, and my heart started thumping so hard in my chest, I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had broken loose and skittered across his desk. This had to be about Nathan.

‘It’s about Nathan.’

‘Oh?’ I tried for a noncommittal tone. No point in giving anything away yet. Indeed, since I had very little idea what was going on myself, there wasn’t much I
could
give away.

‘Emmy, you must appreciate that the extra week you took made things difficult for me, especially after the way Nathan’s behaved. But I’m on your side. I’ve made it clear to the powers-that-be that you’re a valued member of this department and must be treated as an individual. You shouldn’t be tarred with the same brush as Nathan just because you live together.’

My frown became a wide-eyed stare. I was puzzled by the idea that he thought Nathan and I were still together despite Nathan’s sudden move to London. Carl had always had about as much understanding of personal issues as a grain of sand, but surely even
he
must have worked it out.

‘Once the dust has settled, I’m sure people will understand that his poor decisions shouldn’t reflect on you,’ he went on, oblivious to my consternation. ‘I only hope you can cope with the extra pressure at home.’

‘Extra pressure?’

‘Well, I can’t imagine it’ll be easy with Nathan commuting to London every day. I wouldn’t like to think it might put any strain on you and affect your work. We care here, but we do run a business, after all. We can only give so much leeway...’ He finally faltered.

I reached for the water jug on his desk, poured myself a glass and drank shakily. ‘Carl, I need you to do me a favour and answer some questions for me.’

‘What for?’

I rubbed at my temples where a headache was forming. ‘Just humour me for now, okay?’

‘Okay.’ His confusion was as transparent as mine must be. ‘What do you need to know?’

‘When did Nathan resign?’

‘You don’t
know
?’

‘No. When?’

‘The day after you rang me. He sent an e-mail to Derek giving his notice.’

‘He’s not been back in?’

‘No.’

‘Why isn’t he working out his notice?’

Carl shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘He’s defected to a rival company, Emmy. We couldn’t be seen to be chasing after him, nor could we allow him back in the office. Too dangerous.’

‘I see.’ Carl had practically made me beg for the extra week – and yet here they were, blithely accepting Nathan’s unorthodox resignation because it suited them not to have their industry secrets exposed to a rival company. Ah, the mysteries of private enterprise.

‘It’s not our preferred way of going about things and he won’t get a reference, of course,’ Carl added, keen to stop me thinking they’d allowed Nathan to get away with murder.

Something jolted in my brain, setting off a rollercoaster of confused thoughts. Nathan had e-mailed while he was in France. How could he have got a job in London while he was still over there? With no reference?

‘So how did he get the job?’ Might as well ask straight out. I’d already proved I was in the dark. One more question couldn’t hurt.

But Carl was beginning to tire of my questions. ‘I have no idea, Emmy. I presume he must have contacts we didn’t know about. Now, I think I’ve been patient enough. How can you not know any of this? What’s going on?’

I took a deep breath and reviewed my options. There didn’t appear to be many. ‘Nathan and I split up while we were away.’

Carl sat up straight in his chair, shock and the desire for gossip warring openly on his face. ‘You did? When?’

‘The end of the first week.’

‘But you said... So all you told me on the phone...’

‘I didn’t lie to you, Carl. I
was
staying with a friend and he
was
in genuine need. At the same time, Nathan and I separated. He went to stay elsewhere and I stayed to help the friend.’

Carl’s eyes narrowed as he presumably weighed up how much he believed me. ‘What on earth brought that on? You and Nathan have been together for ages!’

I hesitated. Nathan leaving the company in such a dramatic fashion must have led to a fair bit of speculation (other than by Carl, who was a complete numbskull) and I didn’t mind people knowing Nathan and I were no longer together. But the ignominious nature of Nathan’s betrayal was nobody’s business but mine and his, and I wanted to keep it that way.

‘We’d grown apart, nothing more to it than that. The holiday showed us we didn’t want the same things any more.’

‘That’s it?’

‘That’s it. Happens all the time. Now, if it’s okay with you, I think I should start making an effort to scale Mount Everest back there on my desk.’

‘Fine. I’ll be out in a bit to go through it with you.’

I rose from my chair, headed for the door, then decided a little spine was in order and turned back.

‘Oh, and Carl? About Nathan and me being tarred with the same brush? I wouldn’t have appreciated it even if we were still together. We weren’t joined at the hip. But since we’re
not
together, I won’t take any crap about the way he’s chosen to behave. Any discrimination against me, and I’ll take it as far as I can go. Do I make myself clear?’

The shock on Carl’s face was plain to see. I’d never spoken to him that way before. Usually, I allowed him to be the big boss while I chipped away making things the way I wanted them, letting him think it was his idea all along. This sort of plain speaking was not within our usual limited range, but my time away had given me three weeks’ perspective. It was time to stand up for myself. Besides, since I did half his workload on top of my own, Carl couldn’t afford to alienate me.

I’d barely got back to my chair when Cathy, one of the marketing assistants and unofficially my deputy, came over to perch on the edge of my desk.

‘Emmy, it’s great to have you back!’

‘Thanks.’ I grinned. ‘How’s it been?’

She lowered her voice. ‘Bloody nightmare. Carl’s been like a bear with a sore head the whole time you were away. So, how was your holiday?’

‘It was okay, thanks. Hard work, you know, with this friend to look after.’

‘What about Nathan’s new job? Is he enjoying it?’

I took a deep breath. No doubt I was doomed to have this conversation numerous times over the next few days. Or maybe not. If Cathy relayed it back to everyone, it would save me the bother.

Might as well get it over with. ‘I have no idea. We broke up.’

Her eyes went wide with shock. ‘Oh my God, Emmy! We assumed he’d be commuting to London. Carl told us you’d taken the extra week to look after a sick friend!’

‘I did. But Nathan and I also split up. I’m not unhappy about it, but I
am
happy for you to spread the word so I don’t have to.’ I gave her a pleading look. ‘Do you mind being the office gossip for a while?’

She patted my shoulder. ‘You can count on me.’

I gave her a wry smile. ‘Thanks. Now bugger off. I have things to do.’

A
t ten o’clock
, Carl came out of his office to go through things – a euphemism for dumping all his deadlines and unwanted projects on me – and to discuss our follow-up plans for the Kelly account. As predicted, they had opted for the vintage route, and we needed to firm up ideas before the next presentation.

By eleven o’clock, it was as though I’d never been away. That was fine by me. I loved deadlines. I loved sinking my teeth into new projects – even Carl’s unwanted ones. I was grateful to be back in a routine, corralling the mayhem on my desk into some order of priority.

At lunchtime, I stuffed a sandwich into my mouth without even noticing the filling. No more leisurely lunches followed by a quiet doze. By two o’clock, my automatic pilot was fully operational and by five o’clock, the images in my mind had switched places. Work was now stark and monochrome and highly defined, and
La Cour des Roses
was faded and discoloured, like an old instant snap from my mother’s photograph albums.

B
ut as that
first week wore on, the routine lost its lustre a little. Up at six-thirty each morning, a rushed breakfast of cardboard cereal and cardboard toast, sweaty bodies jammed onto the train, raincoats smelling of soggy dogs. Daily phone calls with my mother to reassure her I wasn’t suicidal. Desultory attempts at evening nourishment – beans on toast, egg on toast, a takeaway so stodgy it made me feel sick. Sick to the stomach and sick at heart, because it was so far from the vine-ripened tomatoes and fresh vegetables and creamy cheeses I’d left behind.

I told myself it was natural to feel a little down after being on holiday.

At work, I’d expected a ton of stuff to catch up on and I’d expected awkwardness once people found out about Nathan and me. I got both. But I’d also expected to settle back into the hectic days I’d always enjoyed, and that wasn’t happening.