The Little French Guesthouse (17 page)

‘I know.’ He closed his eyes a moment. When he opened them again, his expression was sincere. ‘Emmy, you and I want the same thing. We’re both concerned for Rupert. We’re just seeing it from different angles.’

I nodded, and there was an awkward pause. I waved the napkins at him and smiled. ‘How long can it take to get napkins? You’d better bring – er – a couple of cushions?’

Back in the kitchen, Rupert and Jonathan exchanged knowing looks. I could have cheerfully throttled the pair of them.

Next to arrive, on time to the minute – and once I’d met her, I doubted time would ever dare try to get one over on her – was Ellie Fielding, the estate agent Rupert had recommended to the Stewarts. Somewhere in her late forties to early fifties, tall and straight as a beanpole, with closely-cropped bright red hair and violently clashing fuchsia lipstick, she had an immediate presence and confidence I could only imagine possessing in my wildest dreams.

People settled on various perches around the kitchen. While Jonathan requisitioned the comfy chair by the window and Ellie Fielding plumped for one of the bar stools at the counter – which made her taller and therefore twice as formidable – Alain settled for the windowsill. I threw him a cushion, which he caught gratefully.

‘So, Rupert, what delights have you cooked up for us tonight?’ Jonathan enquired as Rupert handed out drinks.

Rupert laughed. ‘What difference does it make? You’ll eat the whole lot like a starving man, no matter what it is.’

Jonathan took no offence. ‘When you get to my age, the anticipation is often more fun than the actual pleasure,’ he muttered.

Rupert rolled his eyes. ‘We’ll assume you’re still talking about tonight’s menu, shall we?’

Further arrivals thankfully prevented any retorts. Philippe, Ellie’s partner-in-crime at the estate agency, was her exact opposite – short, round, conservatively dressed in a shirt and tie and soft-spoken to the point where I had to strain to hear him, even though his English was impeccable. When he stood next to Ellie, I tried not to laugh. I assumed they played “good cop, bad cop” with the customers. Philippe’s elegant wife, Martine, was even shorter and quieter than her husband.

Sophie arrived next, and I was immediately grateful for her company. We kissed on each cheek and I introduced her to everyone. She was already on nodding terms with Philippe and Ellie because they worked in town, she knew Martine as she did her hair, and it turned out that Alain was her accountant.

Roaring up on his motorbike, the last to arrive was Bob. As he greeted everyone, I wondered how on earth he fitted into this group. I knew he and Jonathan hung out in the same bar, but it turned out he was a freelance photographer who took Ellie and Philippe’s photos for them, Alain did his accounts, and Rupert... Who knows? Everyone knew everyone around here, it seemed. I didn’t even know the names of my neighbours back in Birmingham. Nathan and I referred to them as “that old bloke two doors down” or “the noisy bugger above” so this casual camaraderie was like another planet to me.

With all the guests ensconced on their various perches like mismatching birds, Rupert allowed us to sample his amazing
canapés
: tiny, crumbling pastries with slivers of smoked salmon and dollops of creamy cheese, miniature wraps rolled around something spicy, marinated olives – seventh heaven.

We moved to the table for Rupert’s homemade
pâté
. With half an ear on the conversation, I toyed with my starter. Rupert had made no secret of the fact that the dinner party was a cover for inviting Alain socially. But after his mad ideas about me living at
La Cour des Roses
last night, if I were to dig deeper... Did he want me to meet all his friends to show me that I wouldn’t be isolated if I was daft enough to move here?

‘So, will you do it, Emmy, do you think?’ Jonathan asked, jolting me out of my thoughts.

‘Huh?’ I asked intelligently. ‘Sorry. I was miles away. Do what?’

‘Rupert tells us you’re thinking of moving out here. Setting up your own business.’

How could I have missed that? I really needed to pay more attention where Rupert was concerned. Sophie was watching me intently from the corner of her eye. She looked as startled as me.

I shot Rupert a thunderous glare, but he was suddenly busy gathering up used plates to make room for the next course and wouldn’t catch my eye.

‘Rupert’s exaggerating.’ I tried to keep my voice light and even. ‘He asked me last night whether I would consider coming to live out here to help, and maybe to try to build up my own business.’

‘But?’ This from Bob.

I looked pointedly at Rupert as he limped back to the table with dishes of steaming vegetables. ‘
But
I have a secure job to go back to. I can’t see how Rupert’s idea would be practical in real terms.’

‘Depends on your perspective and how much you like what you’re going back to.’ Bob held his hands palm up like weighing scales. ‘Money and security? Or a change and a challenge – and possibly poverty.’ He nudged Jonathan. ‘Jonathan here would be desperate to pay you a minimal proportion of his pension to do all his running around for him, wouldn’t you, pal?’

Jonathan reached for a bread roll. ‘You wait another twenty years, young Robert, and see how much you’ll need an Emmy yourself by then.’

Everyone laughed, and I bit my lip as Rupert awkwardly ferried garlic potatoes and a fragrant roast chicken to the table, wafting scents of lemon and tarragon in his wake. He began to carve with a vicious-looking knife that I was glad I didn’t have a hold of right now. He had a nerve. It was one thing foisting his ideas on me when it was just the two of us, but it was quite another to announce them to all and sundry.

As Rupert passed out slices of succulent, buttery chicken, Sophie gave me a sympathetic smile.

‘So it is not something you would seriously consider?’ she asked.

I shrugged. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea to give up a perfectly good job to live in a country I don’t know very well with a language I can only just get by in. Besides, I’d have the same problems as back home, wouldn’t I? I’d still have to get used to being single again. Earn a living. You French might have leisurely lunch hours and better haircuts, but at the end of the day, you still have to work and go on dodgy dates just the same as we Brits.’

She smiled. ‘I suppose that is certainly true.’

To my surprise, Philippe decided to put in his two euros’ worth. ‘It would not be impossible, you know, Emmy.’ His accent and quietness made him hard to follow, even though his English was fluent. ‘Rupert has a good business here. I am sure that if he says he can afford to pay you, then that is so.’

I was about to say that of the many things I doubted about Rupert, his ability to pay me a minimum wage wasn’t one of them. Whether I wanted to live off it was another matter. But before I could voice the thought, Philippe moved on.

‘With regard to a part-time business for you, that is possible. I do not know what business you would like, but there are a lot of British people here.’ He waved his arm around the room for emphasis, as though the group at the table represented the whole of the Loire. ‘The economy is not so good,’ he admitted. ‘Nobody knows that better than an estate agent. But those who already live here do not want to rush back to Britain, and there will always be more who want to come.’

He looked to his business partner for support, and Ellie gave a predatory smile.

‘What dear, unassuming Philippe isn’t telling you, Emmy, is that it never does our business any harm to be able to recommend someone like you to our clients. It’s a bit like those birds that feed off the hippos’ parasites. Often, the only thing that stands between us and a sale is the confidence of the buyer. The more worries they have, the more they’re put off from taking the plunge. Rupert says you’re in marketing?’

I nodded meekly. The woman scared me to death.

‘Well, I’m sure there would be a market for that – pardon the pun.’

Everyone chuckled politely. I think they were all scared of her as well.

‘If we can allay those worries by recommending reliable people like Ryan, Alain, or indeed you – whatever you choose to offer – then we have that much more chance of a sale.’ She turned to Rupert. ‘Which reminds me. Thanks for giving my number to those guests of yours. The Stewarts. They came to see me before they went home. Lovely people. Very amenable. Very keen. I’m sure they’ll be back.’ She licked her fuchsia lips, presumably at the thought of an impending commission. ‘See, Emmy? Back-scratching. Good for the soul. And for business.’

With that, she tucked into her chicken with more gusto than was quite feminine, a signal for everyone else to do the same.

I
glanced at Rupert
, and he gave me an apologetic shrug. The sly bastard. Holding a dinner party for me to make friends whilst secretly hoping they might tempt me to move out here was mild enough a machination. But to put my future out to tender, knowing I’d hate people discussing it? I could only presume he’d taken a gamble that my fury would be outweighed by the persuasive abilities of the gathered company, but I didn’t like being ganged up on, even if Rupert thought it was in a good cause – his.

Sophie caught my hand under the table. ‘Are you okay?’ she whispered.

I turned to her. ‘How long do they give you for murder over here?’

She shook her head and smiled. ‘You wouldn’t joke if you weren’t okay.’

I grunted. ‘Who said I was joking?’

As I looked back at the group, I caught Alain’s eye. Besides Martine, who I suspected was quiet because her English wasn’t as good as her husband’s, Alain was the only person who hadn’t yet joined in the debate. Gazing briefly into those caramel-brown eyes of his, I saw sympathy for what Rupert had put me through – but I could glean no idea as to whether he agreed with the others, despite the fact that as an accountant, I would have thought he was one of the best-placed there to have an opinion. He cast me a half-smile, and for a brief moment I found myself wondering how his lips would feel on mine – until I reminded myself I’d sworn off accountants for good.

I was relieved we’d found the opportunity to apologise to each other. My conscience felt so much lighter. Alain was clearly a good bloke who cared very much about Rupert. He was also a bloke who wasn’t above apologising – something very much in his favour. And of course, that smile was always going to be a bonus.

In a change of subject for which I was thankful – and which made me wonder if she was kindlier than my first impression of her, and was deliberately getting me off the hook from Rupert’s bullying tactics – Ellie launched into a tirade against a seller who wanted them to market his house at a preposterous sum despite its many defects, which she listed with steel-sharp humour.

‘Rising damp in the walls,’ she told us. ‘Electrics that must have been installed just after Edison discovered the lightbulb. A kitchen from the nineteen-fifties if we’re being generous, and a bathroom in that hideous eighties avocado that makes you want to vomit.’ She shuddered. ‘All of which would be fine if he wanted to market the house accordingly – a house that needs substantial modernisation, if not demolition. But no. What had he done, Philippe?’

Philippe laughed. ‘He had every wall in the house painted magnolia. Every single wall. And because of this, he claimed the house had been modernised and wanted a top price for it!’

Everyone laughed – although it took another glass of wine and dessert before I began to relax. It was hard not to be moved by Rupert’s air-light mini lemon mousses and crumbling sweet pastries filled with chocolate ganache. By the time coffee was served – full strength, none of that British decaf-because-it’s-practically-bedtime malarkey – I’d almost forgiven him his blundering methods. In fact, as I sat nursing my cup, what I predominantly felt for him was envy.

His kitchen was filled with fragrant smells and animated chatter and happy faces. It was well after eleven o’clock midweek, and yet there was no sign of anyone rushing off home. As I looked around, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that every single person sitting at the table was here because they wanted to be. I couldn’t remember the last time Nathan and I had had anyone other than our parents to dinner.

Jonathan was eliciting sympathy from Sophie by lamenting the size of his pension, while Rupert told Philippe and Martine about the delightful English practices of gazumping and backing out of house sales days before exchanging contracts.

Alain turned to Ellie. ‘I can’t stand that kind of thing. There comes a point when business shouldn’t be allowed to come before common decency and people’s wellbeing.’

I raised an eyebrow. An accountant who didn’t put business and figures first. An accountant who cared about his friends and enjoyed their company. One with soft brown eyes and a sexy smile, whose hint of an accent definitely lent him an edge of Gallic sex appeal. Hmmm...

‘Emmy, did Rupert ever tell you about the time one of my suitors hit on him?’ Jonathan pulled me out of my reverie, and as I turned wide eyes on him and everyone laughed good-naturedly at my reaction, I felt warm at the sound.

These people had taken me as they found me and had no preconceived notions, other than that I had been a good friend to Rupert. To them, I was just Emmy. Not Nathan’s Emmy, Nathan’s girlfriend, Emmy from work, Nick’s sister, Flo and Dennis’s daughter. Just Emmy. And I liked it just fine.

I
t was well
after midnight before anyone began to make a move, and I couldn’t stop yawning.

Sophie laughed as she kissed me goodnight. ‘You British, always in your beds so early.’

I grinned, then suddenly remembered the present I’d bought for her yesterday. ‘Wait there,’ I told her as I shot off to fetch it from my room.

‘What is this for?’ she asked as I handed her the gift-wrapped package.

‘To say thank you for being so kind to me last week.’

She unwrapped it, took the cork out of the bottle and sniffed. ‘Perfect! There was no need, but thank you. I love it.’ Another kiss. ‘I’m very busy at the salon this week, not even time for lunch, but I would like to see you again before you go – just the two of us. Can you meet me for a quick coffee tomorrow?’

‘I can’t think why not. What time?’

‘Twelve-thirty again?’

‘Perfect. Thanks for coming tonight.’

‘Thank you for inviting me.’ She winked. ‘Now I can picture all your stories perfectly.’

Alain and Jonathan were the last to go because Jonathan insisted on helping Rupert clear the table. Between Jonathan, who needed his stick all the time, and Rupert, who was not using his tonight so his limp was back in full force, they were like a comical duo from a convalescent home. In order to speed up the process, Alain and I chipped in, but we all kept bumping into one another. When the bulk of it was done, I stood out of the way at the door with Alain while Rupert packed up leftovers for Jonathan, messing about with plastic containers.

I shook my head. ‘They’re like two old women,’ I said, stifling another yawn.

Alain smiled. ‘You look tired.’

‘Not been sleeping well.’

‘That’s hardly surprising.’ He hesitated. ‘Are you doing anything tomorrow night?’

Startled, I looked up at him. ‘No, I don’t think so. The next guest meal is Thursday. Why?’

‘I... wondered if you’d like to go out for dinner.’

‘Oh! I – er – well.’

I glanced across at Rupert, who was suddenly terribly busy putting all the plastic boxes in carrier bags for Jonathan. Meddling old sod. Still, accepting would be a way to make up for my rudeness yesterday, a chance to reassure myself that I was leaving Rupert in good hands... And yes, the hypnotic effect of Alain’s gaze
might
have had something to do with it.

‘I’d love to. Thank you.’

Alain smiled. ‘I’ll pick you up around seven, then.
Au revoir
.’

I felt a frisson of... something... at the sound of him speaking French.

He took Jonathan’s carriers from Rupert, helped the old man out to the car and waved as they drove off.

‘Do I detect a date in the offing, lovely Emmy?’ Rupert asked as I closed the door.

‘Date, no. Dinner, yes.’

‘Same thing, isn’t it?’ His eyes were full of victory. I could have slapped him sometimes.

S
ophie was just finishing
with a customer when I arrived the following day. We went to the café across the square, and since there was a threat of drizzle in the air, we chose a table inside at the window and ordered coffee.

‘So, did you enjoy the dinner party last night?’ she asked, her dimple flashing.

I narrowed my eyes. ‘Yes and no. Yes, because it was lovely food and nice people. And no, because Rupert has no qualms about crossing boundaries.’

Sophie thanked the waiter as he placed our coffees on the table. ‘You didn’t like him telling everyone about his plans for you?’

‘No, I didn’t. He’d only asked me the night before. And we’d both been drinking. I’d barely had time to absorb it all.’

‘Perhaps he wanted to push...’ Her pretty brow crinkled up as she thought. ‘There is an expression...’

‘Push home his advantage?’

‘That’s it!’

‘Well, he can push all he likes. He went too far.’

‘Hmm. I can sense that you are tempted, though.’ There was a mischievous gleam in her eye.

I harrumphed. ‘I don’t know about tempted. More that now the idea’s lodged in a corner of my brain, I can’t make it go away.’

Sophie nodded. ‘There is much to consider. A lot of it depends on Rupert – because he is who you would work for and live with. But you have to think about what you would leave behind in England, too, and how much you would miss it.’

‘Yes, well, I won’t know about that until I go back, will I? I would have said I’d miss it all very much – but that was before, when things were good with Nathan.’

‘But now Nathan will not be keeping you in England.’

‘No, but my family and friends are there. My job.’

‘And how do you feel about leaving Rupert on Saturday?
La Cour des Roses
?’

‘I...’ My voice hitched.

‘What? Tell me.’

‘Sophie, I know this sounds stupid – but
La Cour des Roses
already feels like home to me.’

‘No, not stupid. Some places... They become a part of us,
n’est-ce pas
? In here.’ She placed a hand over her heart. ‘Maybe for you it should be called
Le Coeur des Roses
– the heart of roses!’ She smiled. ‘Well, only you can decide. But if you do come back, remember you already have friends here. Me and Rupert, at least!’

‘How is it that you have your own salon?’ I asked, anxious to change the subject. ‘You must be quite young, surely?’

‘Twenty-nine,’ Sophie told me. ‘I started the salon just one year ago. I always wanted my own business. The rent is not expensive and I only employ the young girl you saw there. It does not make me rich, but I like being my own boss.’

‘Don’t you worry about financial security?’

Sophie shook her head. ‘I make enough to buy what I need. I do not expect to make a fortune.’ She finished her coffee. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t have time for lunch. Will you eat something back at
La Cour des Roses
?’

‘Yes. Maybe just a salad.’

‘You are not on a diet, I hope?’ she asked with disdain.

‘No. But I am out for dinner tonight.’

‘Oh? With Rupert?’

I blushed. ‘No, actually, I – er – it’s...’

Sophie gave a little squeal of delight. ‘You have a
date
?’

‘Well...’

‘Tell me!’

‘It’s all Rupert’s fault, trying to set me up with someone so I’ll be tempted to come back,’ I said grumpily. ‘I shouldn’t have accepted the invitation yesterday after the dinner party. But I was tired and I didn’t want to reject him in front of Jonathan and Rupert...’

‘Someone at the dinner party?’ Her eyes widened.
‘Alain?’

When I nodded, she grinned. ‘Mmm. Very handsome. Rupert has made a good choice for you. A lot of women would like to go out with Alain, you know.’

That didn’t surprise me. ‘Really? Did you...?’

Sophie laughed and patted my hand. ‘Don’t worry. I like him, but he is not my type.’

‘Oh? What is your type?’ I asked her, desperate to deflect her from my dinner date.

‘I like men who work with their hands – men with muscles,’ she confessed with a comically dreamy look on her face.

A vision of Alain striding across the courtyard at
La Cour des Roses
leapt into my brain. He didn’t look like the weightlifting kind, but he was tall and tanned and he looked pretty fit to me...

I mentally shook myself and laughed at my companion’s expression. ‘Oh? Are there many of those around here, Sophie?’

O
n the way back
, I called at the supermarket. Since spotting the gift stall with the pretty glass bottles at the market on Monday, I’d had neither the time nor inclination to follow through on it, and I wanted to see if I could buy the goods I wanted here before I messed about ordering anything online.

My luck was doubly in. Not only did they sell economy-sized bottles of lovely, natural-looking products, but the household section also sold plain but pleasingly-shaped glass bottles with screw tops – although I was hoping to replace those with corks. Adding pretty-bordered sticky labels from the stationery section to the trolley, I headed for the checkout with another niggle checked off my to-do list.

By the time Rupert wandered into the kitchen after his rest, the table was covered in bottles filled with pastel-coloured bath crystals and oil, shampoo and conditioner, all neatly labelled and divided into groups, one for each room or
gîte
.

‘You’ve been busy!’ He frowned. ‘How much has that little lot cost me?’

I handed him the receipt. ‘Less than all those fiddly sachets, I suspect.
And
you’re doing the environment a favour.
And
you can’t put a price on class. The bottles to refill with are in the broom cupboard in the hall in a plastic box. This lot will have to go in there too, for now. Each time you have a room or a
gîte
changeover, make sure you start with the new regime.’

‘Yes, Miss.’ Rupert glanced at the receipt, then added it to the others he owed me from my various shopping trips. ‘Don’t you
dare
let me forget to write you a cheque before you go.’

I thought about my credit card bill and winced. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t.’

He glanced at the clock. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your date with Alain?’

‘Rupert, it’s only five o’clock. How long do you think it takes me to get dressed?’

‘I know you women. There are baths to be had, hair to be washed and dried and brushed. Accessories to be chosen.’