The Little French Guesthouse (4 page)

‘Alain’s a good friend. You could have told him, but it’s fine if you didn’t.’

‘Right, then.’ As I glanced around the large kitchen with its shiny state-of-the-art gadgetry, expensive-looking pans dangling from one of the wooden beams and professional chef’s knives ranged in size order on their magnetic strip near the double oven, I did my best to hide my panic. Cooking had never been my strong suit. ‘You’d better tell me what needs to be done.’

W
hen the Hendersons arrived
, Gloria was still conveniently convalescing and Nathan was still out for his drive. That left Rupert and
me skivvying in the kitchen – or more accurately, me skivvying while Rupert directed proceedings. The small voice in my head which agreed with Nathan that this was not what might be expected on the itinerary of an expensive holiday had been outvoted by my conscience. Nathan had slept with Rupert’s wife, even if Rupert was ignorant of that fact. Didn’t it occur to him that he owed Rupert a favour or two under the circumstances? Clearly not.

And so, by proxy, I was stuck with the sense of obligation. I’d always been a bit of a sap. Helpless kittens by the roadside that needed taking to the vet, lost children in the supermarket that needed reuniting with their mother – you name it, I’d never been one to walk away from a crisis. Still, there was a fine line between being a good Samaritan and a total doormat... Or maybe not.

Rupert got started on the main course while I was charged with chopping fruit for the fruit salad.

‘Pineapple and mango on the counter. Apples and bananas in the fruit bowl. Grapes in the fridge,’ he barked.

‘Right.’

‘Halve the grapes. Everything else in cubes.’

I turned the pineapple helplessly in my hands, wondering where to start. I only ever bought this stuff in tins.

Rupert sighed. ‘Do you know how to core a pineapple?’

I shook my head.

‘Okay. Leave that for me. Don’t want spiky bits in it. God knows, the Hendersons are spiky enough as it is.’

I pushed the pineapple across at him and then stared glumly at the mango.

‘Don’t bruise it as you peel it, Emmy. Do the apples and bananas last or they’ll go brown, then squeeze a few oranges and pour the juice over. Add a couple of tablespoons of honey.’

I gritted my teeth and got started. When the phone rang, I would have ignored it, but Rupert glanced at me expectantly so I dutifully answered, mango juice running down my arm.

‘Er…
La Cour des Roses
?’

‘Oh. Hello. Is that... Emmy?’

‘Yes. Who is this?’ At least it wasn’t a babble of French I couldn’t follow.

‘Alain. We met this morning.’

Ah. The accountant. ‘Can I help?’

‘I was wondering if Rupert’s back from the hospital. If he’s alright?’

‘Pssst.’ This from Rupert. ‘Who is it?’

I covered the phone with my mangoey hand. ‘Your accountant. Do you want to speak to him?’

Rupert nodded and I took the phone across to him. He wiped the mango juice from it with a disapproving glare.

‘Alain! Yes, fine, absolutely fine. Just a gammy leg. Nothing to get het up about. Sorry I wasn’t here when you came this morning. I’ll give you a call sometime to rearrange...’

I shook my head and got back to my allotted tasks. How he could be so blasé, I didn’t know.

When the fruit salad was done, I went over to see what he was up to. He had meat browning in a large pot, and it smelled delicious. ‘Next?’

‘Veg for the casserole. Onions in the larder. Sliced, not chopped. Carrots, tomatoes, courgette in the fridge.’

‘Hmmph.’ I took out my frustration at being ordered around on the vegetables, chopping them with rather more vigour than they deserved.

Rupert looked across, presumably drawn by the vicious thwack of the knife on the wooden chopping board. ‘For God’s sake, Emmy, they all need to be even-sized cubes!’

‘For God’s sake, Rupert, if you don’t shut up, I’ll shove this even-sized carrot right up your...’

A flourish of flying gravel put an end to our bickering. As I watched the new arrivals climb out of their sleek, black, brand-new saloon, my heart sank. A smug-looking middle-aged couple, he in a navy blazer, she in a pure linen cream trouser suit, headed up the steps like they owned the place and looked me over as though I was the hired help – which, to be fair, was exactly what I looked like. I politely said hello and moved aside for them to come into the kitchen, where Rupert sat by the oven with his leg up, a packet of frozen peas balanced precariously across his swollen leg.

His prediction that the Hendersons would be unimpressed by his plight was more than accurate. He welcomed them with his usual gusto, explained that he was somewhat incapacitated but they weren’t to worry, they would be looked after as well as always, Gloria would be here shortly, etc, etc... And that was when he came unstuck, because he had no choice but to introduce me as a fellow guest.

Mrs Henderson’s eyes couldn’t have got any wider without her eyeballs popping out of their sockets and rolling across the stone floor as she took in my dishevelled appearance – tomato-stained apron, tear-tracked cheeks from chopping onions, mango pulp in my hair. Her mouth turned down with displeasure and disbelief. Obviously she had not expected to find her host sitting around with his feet up, his wife conspicuously absent and a fellow guest roped in as slave labour.

‘I see,’ she murmured, glancing across at her husband.

Mr Henderson looked unfazed, and for a moment I thought we had at least one sympathetic guest between the two of them. Until he opened his mouth.

‘Never mind, Hunter, I know you’ll make sure we get everything we’ve paid for. Same room as always? See that someone brings the luggage up, would you? Come along, Anita, we’ll go up and check the room’s in order.’ He led his wife upstairs, leaving me to gape after them in wonder.

‘Really, some people!’ I spluttered. ‘What do they think this is, a five-star bloody hotel?’

But to my surprise, Rupert began to laugh. It started as a slow rumble deep in his chest, bubbling from his mouth in a delighted splutter. ‘Ring for the bellboy, Emmy, there’s a good girl.’

There was no option but to see the funny side. If I didn’t laugh, I’d have to cry. In a glorious release of misery and tension, we laughed until the tears rolled down our faces. I hoped the Hendersons couldn’t hear us, but they were probably too busy inspecting every square inch of their room for dust and defects.

When Nathan returned from his drive, Rupert’s face was purple, and when he laughed, pain shot through his leg so his laughter was interspersed with shouts of agony. The stitch in my side had me doubled up so badly that I’d subsided into an untidy heap against the pale yellow wall. The distaste on Nathan’s face only made us laugh harder.

‘Bellboy!’ Rupert stage-whispered to me, pointing at Nathan.

I howled with merriment.

Nathan glared at us. ‘What’s so funny?’ he snapped. ‘For crying out loud, Em, get a grip.’

‘Can’t,’ I spluttered. ‘Ouch!’ Clutching my side, I tried to get myself under control as Nathan waited impatiently for an explanation. I couldn’t be bothered with one. He was hardly likely to see the funny side. ‘You need to bring the Hendersons’ luggage in and take it up to their room.’

‘What?’

‘The Hendersons’ luggage. You...’

‘I heard. You must be joking! I’m not ferrying luggage about. I’m a guest here myself.’

His high-handed response sobered me up quicker than a hard slap.

‘Rupert can’t do it and Gloria’s still lying down,’ I told him. ‘You could wake her up – I’m sure that would make you popular. As for me, I’m messy and tired and I’ve just spent the last two hours mincing and chopping while
you
went for a drive. It won’t kill you, surely?’

Nathan’s face was mutinous as he stared me down. Contempt was written across his face in capital letters. ‘Emmy, I haven’t paid good money to come on some sort of working holiday. I’m sorry Rupert isn’t well, but he’s running a business and
he needs to sort it out. He’ll have to get hired help in. It’s not your job to slave away cooking and cleaning, and it’s not his job to sit and watch while you do it.’

I opened my mouth to point out that he’d been more than happy to offer his bed-making services to Gloria, but thankfully Rupert cut across me.

‘You’re quite right, Nathan,’ he said, his voice steady. ‘Emmy has gone above and beyond the call of duty, and yes, I do need to sort something out, but I hadn’t expected Gloria to be so indisposed. This is a one-off, I assure you. I appreciate Emmy mucking in, and I’ll make sure it’s reflected in your bill.’

‘Oh, Rupert, that’s not necessary,’ I chipped in, upset that Nathan had made him grovel.

‘If Rupert wants to make the gesture, Emmy, then of course it’s necessary,’ Nathan said. ‘It’s a matter of principle, after all.’

Uh-oh. Bad choice of words, Nathan.

‘A matter of principle? Well, of course, you’d know all about
principles!
’ I stopped. ‘Oh, just bring the bloody bags in.’

‘Why can’t the bloody Hendersons bring their own bloody bags in? Are they crippled?’

‘No, but you will be if you don’t...’

‘I can hear that racket down the hall.’ Gloria appeared in the doorway, freshly coiffed and made up. It was good to know her conveniently-timed lie down had resulted in a full recovery.

S
omehow
, we ended up with delicious antipasto – juicy olives, vine-ripened tomatoes, slivers of smoked chicken, vegetable crudités (chopped into perfect matchsticks by me as per Rupert’s instructions) with balsamic vinegar to dip them in – followed by a tasty country casserole. I enjoyed this very much, until Mrs Henderson enquired what the meat was. She might have been used to eating rabbit, but I certainly wasn’t. I paled at the revelation, but since it was too late for the rabbit, and I’d already eaten some, I recovered my poise and finished what was on my plate, declining seconds.

As I contemplated the tropical fruit salad, I tried to swallow my resentment towards Rupert for such a labour-intensive menu. I knew the poor man couldn’t have guessed his wife wouldn’t be at his side helping him, but there’d been an inordinate amount to do.

The large kitchen table was welcoming as usual, with its matching pale blue linen tablecloth and napkins, the cut-glass wine glasses glinting in subdued lighting... But the atmosphere was less than jovial. Hardly surprising, since most of us weren’t talking to each other. Gloria unkindly left it to Rupert to make the evening swing, but his face was etched with tired lines and he ate very little.

It was the Hendersons, oblivious to any undercurrent of strain or malice, who unwittingly saved the evening by regaling us with horror stories of the “dreadful” B&B they’d stayed in on the journey down and their lavish plans for living it up in Paris on the way back.

‘Honestly, I have never stayed anywhere with such cheap, nasty bed sheets,’ Mrs Henderson exclaimed with disgust. ‘Heaven only
knows
what the cotton count was. The towels were bald, and there was a chip in my water glass – disgraceful. Almost cut my lip. I’m positive the bedroom shutters had woodworm.’ She shuddered. ‘And the breakfast!’

‘Cold bread rolls and jam,’ her husband chipped in. ‘And coffee. That was it. No fresh pastries like you have here, Hunter. No offer of eggs. Not even a decent cup of tea. Bloody disgrace. Never again!’

I suspected the owners of the B&B were probably saying the same thing about the Hendersons.

Soon after the meal, for which they managed a cursory compliment, they retired to their room. Exhausted from cooking and keeping up a pretence in front of Rupert, I was desperate to do the same – but I had to wait until Nathan retired to his. I wanted to know exactly where he was for the night.

I followed him up the stairs. ‘So have you thought yet? About what’s happening tomorrow?’ I asked him, closing his door behind us.

He frowned. ‘I thought that was the point of staying another night. To give us time to think.’

My eyebrows shot up. ‘You’re hardly going to be thinking when you’re asleep. You’ve had time today, surely?’

He stared at his feet. ‘Of course I have, but... All I know is that it’s obvious things aren’t going too well between us.’

‘I think we’ve already established that.’ I sighed. ‘Maybe we need to try to remember the good times. When we were first going out together, we wanted to see each other all the time.’ I tried a smile. ‘You used to ring me from accounts to tell me how much you fancied me in my suit. We had a sandwich together instead of working through. And deciding to buy the flat... We felt good about that. We had fun choosing the furniture, getting things how we wanted them. Having people round. It’s only this last year or so that it’s... deteriorated. I think we need to be asking ourselves why. And where do we take it from here?’

He looked up. ‘Where do
you
want to take it from here?’

‘I don’t know. But I do know we need to get away from here so we can talk about what we both want, how we might make things work. Is that a problem?’

A sad look crossed his eyes. ‘I think the problem, Emmy, is that you’re obviously not going to forgive or forget what happened with Gloria.’

I balked. ‘Of course I’m not going to forget! I might forgive, but that takes time and work. From
both
of us.’

He nodded. ‘I’m tired. Let’s sleep on it. We’ll talk in the morning.’

B
y the time
I staggered down for breakfast, the Hendersons had already set off on a
château
-and-culture hunt.

‘Nathan not up yet?’ Rupert asked as he handed me a cup of wonderfully strong coffee.

I’d heard Nathan go downstairs before I had my shower this morning, but since I’d assumed Rupert would be up to deal with the Hendersons’ breakfast, I hadn’t worried about it.

‘Yes. Well before me,’ I answered carefully.

‘Hasn’t had any breakfast. Nor has Gloria. Hope they’re not sickening for something.’

They were pretty sickening, alright. What were those two up to? A quickie in the henhouse, maybe?

When they both came into the kitchen a few minutes later, I found myself looking for evidence of straw in their hair or chicken poop on their backs – but Gloria wasn’t at all dishevelled, and Nathan was smartly casual as usual in tailored shorts and polo shirt. Hmm.

Rupert, bless him, was as oblivious as ever. ‘Changeover day for the
gîtes
tomorrow,’ he announced. ‘Two to clean out, and we’re full next week so all three to get ready.’ He looked across at Gloria.

‘Madame Dupont will be here, won’t she?’ she asked defiantly.

‘Hope so, but it usually takes her
and
the two of us. Do you want me to ring her? See if she can get anybody to come with her tomorrow? That niece of hers might want a few euros. What do you reckon?’

For a moment, Gloria seemed distracted. Then – completely out of context, it seemed to me – she smiled.

‘Don’t worry, Rupert. I’m sure Madame Dupont and I will manage.’

‘Sure, Gloria? It’ll be hard work.’

‘We’ll be fine.’

You could have knocked me over with a chicken feather.

After breakfast, Rupert and Gloria disappeared to their quarters, leaving Nathan and me to stare at the table or floor – anywhere but each other.

‘So what’s it to be?’ My question hung between us, suspended on air thick with animosity.

‘Not here.’ He grabbed me by the elbow to steer me upstairs. It was the first time he’d touched me in days, but there was nothing loving or intimate about it.

As he pushed me indelicately into his room and closed the door, trepidation uncurled in my gut. The sun shone brightly through the window, highlighting the dust motes that danced above the dark wood furniture. I thought how quaint and pretty they made the room look.

Nathan stood with his hands shoved in his pockets. He looked slightly sick, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down when he swallowed. Despite the warmth in the room, my arms felt cold and goose-bumped. I rubbed them absent-mindedly.

‘Nathan?’

‘I’m leaving.’

‘Sorry?’ I looked at him blankly.

Nathan let out an exasperated sigh, as though I were a child who couldn’t understand the simplest concept. ‘For heaven’s sake, Em.’ He gestured past the bed to his open suitcase on the floor by the window, and to drive his point home, he started emptying drawers and shelves and packing his case in that neatly-folded, anal way of his.

I experienced a wave of relief that he was finally thinking along the same lines as me.

‘Thank goodness for that! Do you want to try and get a room somewhere else, or should we cut our losses and go home? I’m veering that way myself, but I think we should phone the ferry company first to make sure we can get the booking changed.’

Nathan stood across the room from me, his arms full of socks. ‘You’re not listening. I said
I’m
leaving. Not we. Me. And I’m not going back home. Not yet, anyway. I’m just leaving this place.’

There was a sickening pause. My heart thudded in my chest. I knew what he was going to say a split second before it came out of his mouth.

‘I’m leaving
you
, Emmy.’

The silence in the room was so stifling, I thought I could hear my own heartbeat, yet proof that everyday life was still going on all around us drifted in through the open window. Chickens clucking in the garden, a tractor rumbling over a nearby field, that indefinable scent of early summer: a promise of flowers and sunshine and all things sweet.

It took a moment for his words to sink in. When they finally filtered through my misfiring synapses, I said, ‘You’re kidding, right?’

‘For God’s sake, Emmy. You’re standing here watching me pack. Does it look like I’m kidding?’

I stared at him, wide-eyed with disbelief. I’d lain awake for two nights trying to find the heart to forgive him his indiscretion, worrying about how we could patch things up, wondering whether we were worth it. And he was planning to just jack it all in?

‘That’s it? No discussion?’

His mechanical folding and arranging faltered. I couldn’t understand how he could pack with the same precision with which he approached his working life, whilst telling his partner of five years that he was leaving her. ‘What’s the point?’

Unwanted tears rolled down my cheeks. I brushed them away with the hem of my T-shirt. ‘But that was why I wanted us to have a holiday – to discuss things, to try to make things better!’

Nathan shrugged – a gesture of indifferent finality. ‘Well, the holiday served its purpose. We tried, but let’s face it, it’s no good.’

‘Tried? Tried what? You must be joking!’ Anger rose in my throat to choke me, and droplets of saliva shot in his direction as I fought to fire the words out. ‘
I
tried.
I
suggested this holiday and made all the arrangements. You only went along with it for an easy life. We argued all the way here, spent half the week barely speaking to each other – as usual – and then you slept with someone else’s wife. You call
that
trying? You lazy, emotionally-stunted bastard!’

As I fought to catch my breath, I searched his face for any clue as to why he was doing this. I just couldn’t get my head around how swiftly everything had deteriorated.

Then I heard the distant clatter of heels, and a wave of nausea and realisation swept over me.

‘You’re not going alone.’ It was a statement, not a question. I’d never been so sickeningly sure of anything in my life.

Nathan stared at the toe of his shoe. ‘No. Gloria and I are going together. She’s leaving Rupert and... We’re going together. Somewhere. For a while.’

He looked like a confused teenager, determined to stick to the path of rebellion he’d embarked on while perhaps already beginning to regret it. The brief flicker of sympathy that flashed through me faded as fast as it came. I hoped he damned well
would
regret it. It was one thing to be asked for a trial separation because you both needed a bit of space. It was quite another to be left for a woman substantially older than you, with bleached roots and impractical footwear and spider-mascara.

‘You’re leaving me for
Gloria
?’

‘Yes. Well, no. What I mean is, I’m leaving because things between you and me aren’t working. Neither is Gloria’s marriage. Obviously. So it seems logical to go together. But not because of each other. If you see what I mean.’

‘Bloody hell, Nathan, how many times did you rehearse that?’ I suspected he had no idea what he wanted – that Gloria was merely a catalyst, and he was being carried along by the excitement of taking action for a change. ‘You know you have no future with her, don’t you?’

His rebellion sparked back. ‘That’s not fair, Em. You don’t know that. Besides, we haven’t thought that far ahead. But with due respect, I can’t see a future with you at the moment, either.’

He had me there. I couldn’t imagine how we would ever claw back from this. To think I’d been almost pleased yesterday, when he’d said he wanted time to think things over. I’d hoped he felt some remorse – that he was willing to find a way to put things back together between us. But no. He’d been planning his departure with Gloria.

I was tired of shouting. Tired of listening. Tired of caring. Who was this man? The man I’d once thought sweet and handsome and romantic, the man I’d thought would be my best friend and lover for a lifetime? He wasn’t my best friend any more. I didn’t think he had been for quite some time. As for my lover – I realised now that our love-making had long since drifted into the realms of the functional. I wasn’t losing a lover or a best friend. It seemed I’d already lost them some time ago.

Well, I’d wanted something to happen to shake up our relationship, and sure enough, something had.

D
ownstairs in the kitchen
, Rupert sat in the easy chair by the patio doors, his complexion as faded as the upholstery. He stared bleakly out into the garden, his hands clenched tightly together in his lap, his shoulders slumped. The poor sod. If this had come out of the blue for me, it must have been one hell of a shock for him. At least I already knew things were rotten and had only been plunged from misery into worse misery. Rupert had been dropped directly from the heights of assumed marital bliss into total betrayal.

I made him a cup of tea.

‘How very English of you,’ he said. ‘Tea for a crisis. Thank you.’ He patted my arm. ‘Don’t worry, love, we’ll get by.’

‘I know. Although I’m not sure how.’

He winked. ‘Darling Emmy, I’m an entrepreneur. I always think of something.’

I couldn’t help but smile. ‘Ever the optimist.’ Hesitating, I asked, ‘Are you very upset, Rupert?’ then shook my head. ‘Ignore that question. It’s none of my business.’

I watched him warily, thinking he might be cross with me for being so nosy, but instead he let out a large snort of laughter.

‘What’s so damned funny?’ I demanded.

‘You’re so damned funny, saying it’s none of your business, you silly girl. Your wet dishcloth of a boyfriend has had sex with my wife, under our noses, under my roof, and they’re currently in the process of leaving us both high and dry. If that doesn’t qualify as your business, God knows what does!’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘What the hell for?’

‘For Nathan’s behaviour. For booking the bloody holiday. If we hadn’t come here, this never would have happened.’