by Allen, Anne
welcome! May I come in now, please? It’s a little chilly out here.’
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Andy grinned and grabbed her case while she walked down the hall and into the kitchen. Leaving the case at
the bottom of the stairs, he joined her, pulling out a bottle of champagne from the fridge. As he turned round
Charlotte spotted the label bearing the name Krug and burst out laughing.
‘How did you know?’ she asked a puzzled looking Andy.
‘Know what? I was told by the wine merchant it’s one of the best, but if you don’t like it–’
‘It’s a fabulous champagne! My grandmother was a distant cousin of the head of the Krug family and I’m using
the pen name of Louisa Krug for my writing. I wondered if Louisa had told you,’ she said, taking off her coat.
‘No, she didn’t, it was a fluke. And now I hear my girlfriend is not only the owner of a publishing company but
is related to the Krug family. Any more I should know?’ he asked, looking unhappy at the thought. He reached for
a couple of champagne glasses.
‘I don’t think so. And I am only a very distant relation. Actually, Krug’s my favourite champagne and I’d have
told you about the connection at some point. Are we toasting something in particular?’ she asked, hoping to
defuse his concern.
‘Yes, you staying with me. I know we only agreed it’ll be for two weeks, but I’d like to think it might be for
longer. So,’ he said, popping the cork and pouring the wine, ‘here’s to us!’
‘To us!’ she repeated as they clinked glasses. A few sips of the creamy bubbles and Charlotte began to relax. It
had dawned on her how little they both knew about each other and actually staying in his house was very
different to the occasional sleepover. Andy had thought to provide some nibbles to soak up the wine and she
took a handful before they moved into the sitting room.
‘I thought we’d chill out tonight and order a takeaway. All right with you? We have a choice of Indian or
Chinese, whichever Madam prefers,’ he said, as they snuggled together on the sofa.
‘Indian would be lovely, thanks. Have you any plans for the weekend?’
‘Not really. The good news is I don’t need to do any work so can concentrate on entertaining my house guest,’
he said, kissing her cheek.
‘Good. I do have to take Mother to the airport late morning, but it won’t take long. I’ll say I’m staying on at
Louisa’s for a bit longer, and I doubt if she’ll query it.’
‘Right, let’s order the food.’
Charlotte arrived at La Folie to find her mother listening to Paul and Gillian, who appeared to be reminding her
what she should and should not do to look after herself. Charlotte held back until they had finished and then
joined them. Her mother turned round. ‘Ah, Charlotte, there you are. We were saying our goodbyes.’ She
directed her attention back to Paul and Gillian, graciously thanking them for their assistance. Charlotte could not
help thinking her mother treated them more like her staff than medical professionals, and was mortified.
However, neither Paul nor Gillian seemed to take offence and hugged her as they said goodbye.
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‘I’d like to add my thanks, too. I appreciate all your hard work and, as I’m staying on for the moment, hope to
see you again soon. And Malcolm,’ she added, smiling at Gillian.
‘Yes, that’s a good idea, I’ll talk to Malcolm. Perhaps a meal one evening,’ Gillian said, as they kissed.
Doug arrived with Annette’s case and the three of them walked out to the car. Once her mother and the
luggage were safely installed, Charlotte slipped behind the wheel.
‘Are you okay? Looking forward to going home?’ she asked, glancing at Annette.
‘I am quite all right, thank you. And I shall be pleased to be home, although they have been very good to me
here.’ Her mother said, not bothering to face her. Charlotte sighed inwardly and started the engine, grateful she
wouldn’t be accompanying her mother home. What would be the point if you’re barely acknowledged?
At the airport Annette insisted she did not come in and wait with her, so Charlotte gave her a brief hug as
they said goodbye.
‘I’ll be returning to London in a couple of weeks, Mother, although I may not stay long. Would you like to
come and stay for a day or two?’
‘If it fits in with my next appointment at the clinic, then yes, thank you.’ A brief nod and she was gone.
As Charlotte began the drive back to Andy’s, not far down the road, her spirits lifted. At least her love life was
something to celebrate, she thought, anticipating a blissful weekend ahead.
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chapter twenty-seven
On Monday morning Charlotte kissed Andy goodbye as he left for work, the big smile on both their faces
testament to how the weekend had panned out. She stretched languorously as she headed upstairs to shower
and dress. Andy had proved to be quite the romantic, suggesting they went to the cinema on Saturday evening to
watch a romcom, Couples Retreat. A tale of four long-married couples who needed to re-invigorate their
relationships, it had been both fun and thought-provoking. Charlotte had appreciated Andy’s willingness to see a
film many men would have avoided. They had joked together in the bistro afterwards as they enjoyed a meal
and a bottle of wine, arriving home in a relaxed and amorous mood.
Sunday had seen them touring the island by car, stopping off at the west coast beaches for bracing walks
while the wind fashioned white caps on the waves. Wrapped up in warm jackets and scarves, they ran along the
golden sands and peered into rock pools teeming with tiny life. Andy introduced Charlotte to the tucked away
bays of the north-west, complete with small boats bobbing about on the swirling sea. Grabbing her hand, he
pulled her along the sand and over rocks and by the time they arrived back at the car, their faces were flushed
from both the exercise and sheer joie de vivre. Charlotte felt as if transported to another life – as if she had
stepped out of her own skin and into someone else’s. Her heart thumped with exhilaration at the chance of a
fresh start, and in such a beautiful place as Guernsey. And with this gorgeous man who kept smiling at her with
his soft brown eyes.
The memories whirled in her brain as Charlotte readied herself for the day. Skipping about the bedroom to
the sounds of Island FM on the radio, she slipped into jeans and sweater while wondering how best to spend the
day. She decided to phone Jeanne and ask if she could call round to her house in Perelle, not far away.
Jeanne was happy to agree, suggesting late morning while Freya had a nap. Charlotte collected her research
together before tidying the kitchen and bedroom. Some plumping of cushions on the sofa and the cottage looked
neat and tidy. She had watched and learnt from Louisa over the past few weeks, picking up the basics of
housework. It had never been an issue previously, as she had never considered not having cleaners and
housekeepers. In the long-term she knew she would not want to be without at least a cleaner, but was happy to
manage for a little while. Perhaps it was time to let go the “daughter of the manor” persona. Not completely
convinced, she closed the front door.
Charlotte had not been to Jeanne’s before and kept an eye out for the lane off Route De La Perelle. A hun
dred
yards along on the left and she pulled into the drive of Le Petit Chêne, a double fronted cottage to the side of
which she spotted an old-fashioned orchard. Sniffing the air, Charlotte was assailed by the invigorating scent of
the sea, and thought how wonderful it must be to live yards from the beach. She knocked softly and Jeanne
appeared within seconds.
‘Charlotte! Great to see you again. Please come in.’
Jeanne’s blue eyes sparkled and her long dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, giving her the appearance of a
teenager rather than the thirty-five-year-old Charlotte knew her to be. Marriage and babies obviously suited
her. Jeanne led the way into the kitchen, asking if she would like tea or coffee.
‘Coffee, please. What a lovely room, Jeanne. And so homely, with a clever mix of old and new,’ she said gazing
around at the butter-cream painted units, old pine table and enormous dresser displaying blue and white china.
‘This was your grandmother’s cottage, I believe, yes? And Andy said you renovated it yourself. I’m impressed!’
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Jeanne laughed. ‘With the aid of a great team of builders! I chose everything, though, and did some of the
decorating. Nick came into my life about then and when we got together he made loads of stuff,’ she said,
pouring hot water into a cafetière. ‘Let’s go into the sitting room, we can relax on the sofa.’
Charlotte followed her across the hall into a bright, warm room with chairs and sofas nestled around a log-
burning fire in the inglenook fireplace. Bright rugs covered the oak floor. Jeanne placed the tray on a low table
and Charlotte sat down, sinking into feather-cushioned softness. Once Jeanne had poured the coffee she joined
her on the sofa.
‘Well, this is nice. I don’t often get anyone popping in these days, people think I’ll either be walking around
like a zombie or trying to soothe a screaming baby,’ Jeanne said, passing her a mug.
‘I must say you look wonderful and not at all like a zombie! Freya must be about two months old now, is she
sleeping through the night?’
‘Yes, for the past couple of weeks. Bliss! And she’s so good during the day, a little angel. I’ve been very lucky,’
Jeanne said, curling her feet under her legs. ‘How are things with you? A little bird told me you and Andy were
an item. Is it true?’
Charlotte admitted it was and told Jeanne she was staying with him until she returned to England in two
weeks. And she might be back after catching up with her business. Jeanne said she hoped to see her return and
they went on to discuss the research. Charlotte handed over copies of her notes and conclusions together with
Madeleine’s diary.
‘Thanks. I plan to start my book soon so this is a godsend. What about yours? Have you been inspired to get
back to it?’
‘Yes I have and with nothing else to distract me, I can use the next two weeks to write.’ They went on to
discuss the writing process and Jeanne shared what worked for her. Charlotte lapped up the chance to talk to a
fellow writer. Their conversation was finally brought to a halt by a thin wail emanating from the baby monitor in
the kitchen. Jeanne leapt up, saying she would be right back.
The cry became a gurgle and Charlotte heard Jeanne soothing her daughter before she returned downstairs.
‘Here she is, Charlotte, I don’t think you two have met. May I introduce Miss Freya Mauger.’
Deep blue eyes surveyed her from under a mop of dark hair and Charlotte smiled, reaching out her finger
which was promptly grabbed in the tiny fist. Freya smiled and she was smitten.
‘Isn’t she adorable? I haven’t had much experience of babies, but would love to hold her if she’d let me.’
Jeanne laughed. ‘Only for a moment as she’s anxious for her feed. Here, as long as you support her head she’ll
be fine.’ She handed over the baby, wearing a miniature-sized top over leggings, and Charlotte held her like she
would a precious antique, with ultimate care. Freya wriggled in her arms, bringing her head up level with
Charlotte’s. She watched a big toothless smile appear before a fist reached out to grab her hair. ‘Ouch!’ she cried,
gently releasing the tiny fingers.
‘That’s why I keep my hair tied back most of the time,’ Jeanne said, with a grin. ‘She’s just started to smile so
you’re honoured to receive one.’
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Freya’s face crumpled and she let out a piteous cry, prompting Jeanne to take her back.
‘Time for her feed. You don’t mind do you, but I’m breastfeeding.’
‘Absolutely not. Unless you’d rather I left?’
‘Don’t be silly. Let me get comfortable and we can carry on chatting.’ Jeanne settled into an armchair and
Freya must have realised lunch was on the way as she stopped crying and nuzzled into her mother. Once she
was feeding happily, Jeanne continued their earlier conversation, all the while stroking Freya’s downy hair.
Charlotte was mesmerised by the baby and when Jeanne turned her round to feed off the other breast, caught a
glimpse of a contented smile. Although immersed in their tête-à-tête, a part of her mind was diverted once more
by the idea of what it would be like to have her own child. Could it be possible? With she and Andy becoming
closer, it might. Her worry about not having maternal instincts began to recede as, touching and holding baby
Freya had tugged at something in her psyche. And heart.
Her inner soul-searching was brought to a halt when Jeanne unplugged Freya from her breast and lifted her
onto her shoulder to rub her back. Charlotte, glancing at the clock, realised she had been there for nearly two
hours and it was time to leave the little family in peace.
Standing up, she said, ‘Thanks for the coffee and chat, but I must be going.’
‘It was lovely to see you and you must pop round again. Freya seems to have taken a shine to you,’ Jeanne
said, getting out of the chair. As they reached Charlotte’s side, the baby’s head swivelled round and she smiled
and gurgled. The women hugged and Charlotte dropped a kiss on Freya’s head as she said goodbye.
Once in the car, she waved at a smiling mother and daughter before turning round and heading back to the
main road and home. She fizzed with excitement at the thought of actually starting her book, revved up by
Jeanne’s genuine support. In her head Charlotte started mapping out the initial chapters, now clear about the
starting point of the novel. Part of her was not yet convinced her writing would be any good, but Jeanne had
pointed out it was normal for even successful authors to write several drafts before they were happy. But
intruding into these plans was the image of a baby girl with big blue eyes and an infectious smile. Did Andy want
children? She had no idea. It would be safer to concentrate on her writing.
The first time Charlotte sat down and typed “Chapter One”, she froze. It was if all the words had deserted her.
Then, slowly they came back and, whether it was rubbish or not, she continued typing more freely. The next few
days passed in a pleasant routine of writing interspersed with an occasional walk or drive to clear her head.
Andy remained the chef but Charlotte helped with preparation and shopping. She dug around in his collection of
cookery books and found one for beginners by Delia Smith and began to read it secretly, wanting to surprise
Andy wi
th a meal when she felt more confident – and competent. She started with the proverbial boiled egg for
lunch one day and soon progressed to a cheese omelette, which, although not by any means looking like the ones
she had been served in restaurants, tasted fine.
The evenings were spent cosying up on the sofa after supper, listening to music or watching television.
Fortunately they shared similar tastes in both: listening to a mix of classical pop artists like the Stones and
Queen and younger stars like Amy Winehouse and Coldplay and watching dramas and comedy. It was fun
exploring each other’s interests and tastes and Charlotte began to feel as if she had known Andy for far longer
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than the actual six weeks it had been. She attributed the improved, easy flow of her writing to the effect of being
in a loving relationship and hoped it would continue. Not just the writing, but the wonderful closeness with
Andy; something she had never experienced with Richard.
On Friday morning, as Andy was leaving for work, Charlotte announced she would be cooking dinner that
evening.
His eyebrows shot up. ‘Wow! You mean actual cooking, not a bring-to-life in the microwave affair?’ he said,
grinning.
‘Yes real cooking, if you don’t mind. I’ve been reading a how to book and think I can manage to cook a simple
meal now,’ she said, suddenly not so sure of herself.
‘I’m sure it’ll be fine and I look forward to this evening. But don’t stress about it as we can always go out if
necessary,’ he said, giving her a kiss.
Once Andy had left she pulled out her faithful Delia. Although Charlotte had thought it would be complicated,
she realised an easy option would be roast chicken, requiring little input from the cook once it was in the oven.
Delia had made it sound simple and, to be sure, Charlotte phoned La Folie’s chef, Chris.
Initially they discussed his latest book, which he was about to send for editing. Then she mentioned her
