If I managed that, there was the drive back to Birmingham. Facing the empty flat, or worse, Nathan. Filling people in. As for work... How could I walk past Nathan in the corridors, bump into him in the break room? People would find out we weren’t together any more. What would I tell them? More to the point, what would he tell them? There would be questions and gossip and people talking behind my back. Resentment towards him bubbled up like acid in my throat. It was bad enough that he’d slept with someone and left me for her, but I loved my job, and now he was ruining that, too.
And then there was Rupert. He was still getting used to his medication and although his leg had eased, he wasn’t fully mobile yet. Apart from his little foray to the market yesterday, which had worn him out, I was doing all the shopping and errands and half the chores. Even with Ryan doing the garden and Madame Dupont’s ministrations with bleach and polish, I couldn’t see how he would get by.
As if to prove my point, if not batter me around the head with it, the phone rang and I shot indoors to answer it before it woke him. My prayer that whoever was on the other end of the line spoke English was answered. As I riffled through the diary to answer their enquiry about dates later in the summer, cursing under my breath as an avalanche of loose pieces of paper and receipts fluttered to the floor, I was both gratified and shocked to see how booked-up La Cour des Roses was over the coming weeks. I added the caller’s provisional booking for August with mixed feelings. It was great to know this season would be a success for Rupert after everything that had happened, but it could all come clattering down around his ears at this rate.
As I headed back outside, Ryan was lugging his kit through the gate.
10
A slow thrill curled in my stomach, mixing unhappily with nerves and worry to make me feel slightly sick.
‘Hi.’ His eyes went straight to my hair, widening with gratifying approval. ‘Wow! You look amazing.’
‘Thanks.’ I mentally gave him several brownie points for his observational skills. Nathan wouldn’t have noticed for days, maybe weeks.
His brows knitted together as he came closer. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Fine.’ I tried to smile, but it wasn’t one of my better efforts.
‘No, you’re not. Here.’
He led me to the loungers, pushed me down by the shoulders and sat opposite, his face full of concern – not that of a lover, but a friend.
‘I go home on Saturday,’ I blurted. ‘I’m due back at work on Monday.’
‘Could you delay it for a few days? Exceptional circumstances?’
‘No way. Nathan’s due back on Monday, too. We work for the same company.’
‘Ah. So if Nathan turns up on Monday but you don’t, it won’t look good.’
‘No.’
‘And if you turn up but Nathan doesn’t, people will want to know why.’
‘Yes.’
‘And if you both turn up, it’s going to be pretty uncomfortable.’
‘Yes.’
His expression was sympathetic. ‘You’ve no way of knowing what he plans to do?’
‘No. I haven’t tried to contact him. I don’t see why I should. He’s the one who left.’
He nodded. ‘And?’
‘I’m worried about Rupert, Ryan. I don’t think he can cope. He’s not facing up to things.’
‘Rupert will be alright, Emmy. You’ve done a hell of a lot for him.’ He brushed a stray hair from my face. ‘You need to learn to relax more.’
‘I know. I’m not very good at it.’
‘I could help.’ There was a wicked light in his eyes, and when he smiled, my stomach flipped over at the sight of those tiny dimples of his.
‘You could? How?’
‘You know how.’
His lips met mine with a hunger that took my breath away. I allowed myself a few moments, then pulled back.
‘That isn’t going to solve anything,’ I scolded.
‘You can’t think straight because you’re worrying so much, right?’
I nodded.
‘Well, then. Let me clear your mind, Emmy. Let me relax you.’
‘Ryan, we can’t. Rupert’s inside having a nap, and there are guests who could be back any minute.’
‘Who said anything about going inside?’ Ryan tugged me to my feet. ‘Come on. I know a place.’
Breathless with anticipation, I allowed him to lead me around the side of the house to the old orchard, where we weaved between the trees to a dense stand of bushes between the house and the roadside hedge. He ducked under and around until we were in a magical little clearing in the midst of all the greenery.
I gasped. ‘How did you find this?’
‘I know every inch of this garden. And every inch of you.’ He sat on the small patch of grass and pulled me down next to him.
‘I bet this is where you bring all the girls.’
He laughed and shook his head. ‘Nope. Never. This is private property.’
‘But you’ve brought me.’
‘Ah, but you’re not trespassing. You belong here.’
I shivered with something like pleasure at his choice of words. ‘You’re sure nobody can see us?’
‘Positive. For goodness’ sake, stop worrying and start relaxing, or else.’
‘Or else what?’
‘You’ll see.’
And then his mouth was on mine, teasing away any misgivings I might have about al fresco lovemaking, and his hands were roaming my body, unzipping and unbuttoning, until I forgot where we were and revelled only in what we were doing.
Afterwards, we lay on the grass in the dappled sunlight, out of breath and sheened with sweat.
‘Relaxed now?’
‘Mmmm.’ Words were a distant thing, too hard to grasp in the afternoon warmth. My bones had melted and I couldn’t move.
‘You still seem a little tense, if you ask me.’
‘Hmmm?’
He stroked my thigh. ‘Perhaps I need to work on you a little more.’
‘Mmmmm.’ If he worked on me any more, I might turn into a molten puddle, but it would take too much effort to resist.
My God, the boy had stamina.
I arrived for kitchen duty twenty minutes late and looking like I’d been dragged through a hedge backwards – which wasn’t too far from the truth.
Ryan and I had drifted to sleep, and although it almost gave me a heart attack at the time, I owed a debt of gratitude to the anonymous dog that had squeezed through the hedge to bark outside our secret hideaway. Thankfully, it was an obedient mutt and lolloped back to its owner before we could be discovered, but my heart shot from rhythmically slow to alarmed thudding in a split second as I peered at Ryan’s watch.
‘Shit! I should’ve been in the kitchen ten minutes ago.’
‘Rupert’s not your boss. He won’t mind.’ Ryan rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes and stretched that gorgeous torso.
‘What if he went up to my room to look for me? I hope he hasn’t searched the garden.’ My eyes were wide with panic.
‘Calm down, Emmy. I doubt he’s sent out a search party yet, and he can’t get up the stairs. Tell him you fell asleep in your room.’
‘But if he’s in the kitchen, he’ll see me come in from the garden.’
‘Tell him you fell asleep in the chicken run.’ He grinned.
‘It’s not funny, Ryan.’
‘Okay.’ He forced a serious expression. ‘Tell him you went for a walk and went further than you meant to.’
‘That’s good. Will he buy that?’
‘Well, since you’re covered in grass and leaves, it’ll have to be a country pursuit of some sort.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Brush me down. And hurry up.’
‘Yes, Miss.’
He brushed me down so intimately that I started getting all hot and bothered again.
‘Stop that!’
‘But you told me to.’
‘Not like that! Oh, for goodness’ sake. How’s my hair?’
>
He combed it through with his fingers, pulling a leaf from the back. ‘If you can’t get to a hairbrush before he sees you, you’ll have to tell him a stiff breeze sprang up while you were out.’
I slipped my sandals back on. ‘Right. See you.’
‘Emmy.’
‘Yes?’
‘I had a great time.’
‘Me too.’
Rupert took my bumbling explanations with his usual pinch of salt. ‘Well, the walk must have done you good, Emmy. Brought a flush to your cheeks.’
I flushed even deeper. ‘The sun’s hotter than it looks.’
He glanced through the window. ‘Ryan’s out in the garden.’
I managed an expression approximating surprise. ‘Oh, is he?’
‘Hmm. Odd. I went to look for you on the patio earlier and Ryan’s gear was there, as if he’d just dumped it. Couldn’t see him anywhere.’
I gulped. ‘Maybe he was at the bottom of the garden. Or around the side. Or up a tree.’ I pulled on an apron and changed the subject. ‘I took another booking for you earlier. Five days mid-August. They wanted a full week, but it wouldn’t fit in.’
‘Thanks.’
I thought about the cascading crap in the diary and my organisational hackles rose. ‘Why do you insist on keeping that dreadful diary?’
Rupert looked up from his pastry in surprise. ‘I can’t run the place without a diary, can I?’
I shot him a look. ‘Obviously. But a manual diary’s such a pain in the arse. Entries rubbed out and crossed out until nobody can make head or tail of it. Bits of paper blowing all over the hall every time you open the damned thing. I don’t understand how you haven’t double-booked or accidentally turned someone away before now.’
‘The diary was Gloria’s baby. She dealt with the bookings.’
‘Hmmph,’ I murmured noncommittally. No doubt she chose this above more manual tasks which might involve chipping her nail varnish.
‘Why, what would you suggest?’ he asked.
‘How about a spreadsheet?’
Rupert laughed. ‘Gloria was a complete technophobe. Hated computers.’ His brow furrowed. ‘Although she mastered the art of Internet shopping successfully.’
‘Yes, well, Gloria isn’t here any more, is she?’ I said sourly, then clapped my hand over my mouth. ‘Sorry.’
Rupert patted my shoulder, leaving floury fingerprints on my T-shirt. ‘You’re only stating a fact.’ He deftly separated an egg and swirled the yolk into his pastry, working it in with nimble fingers.
I mused as I chopped. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t thought of using a spreadsheet yourself. I bet you do all your accounts on spreadsheets, Mister Financial Whizz.’
‘True. But Gloria liked it the way it was and we muddled by. I admit a spreadsheet would be easier to follow. Trouble is, I’d end up scribbling notes to myself and not updating it.’
I conceded this was highly likely, knowing him. ‘Why not leave your laptop next to the phone in the hall as a plus-point for your guests – instant Internet access for looking up château opening times or local restaurant menus? If you need to work on stuff in private, you could take it into your den as long as you remember to bring it back out again.’
Rupert blanched. ‘And what’s to stop people looking at all my private documents and financial dealings?’
‘Password your files.’
‘You don’t like that diary, do you?’
‘No. It’s archaic and dangerous for business.’
‘Okay. You can borrow the laptop and set it up for me.’
‘Good. Are you going to do anything about the website?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I wondered whether you were thinking about updating it.’
‘Why, do you think it needs updating?’
I shrugged, as though it was neither here nor there to me. ‘Maybe. A little.’
Rupert laughed. ‘You’re not good at hiding your hand, are you, Emmy? What’s the matter with it?’
‘When did you last give it an overhaul?’
‘I haven’t. Wouldn’t know where to start. Got a fellow to design it for me when we first got going, but nothing’s altered much – he showed me how to change the prices, and that’s all I needed.’
‘But the place has changed, Rupert. You’re probably not aware of it, being here all the time, but I noticed straight away when Nathan and I arrived. The photos were different to the reality.’ When his face fell, I hastened to reassure him. ‘Not in a bad way. The gardens and buildings have matured. Why not take advantage of that? If nothing else, I think you should change the photos, take some shots at different times of year.’
Rupert considered. ‘Fair point. What else?’
‘You haven’t got an availabilities page.’
‘People phone or e-mail.’
‘Yes, but an availabilities page would be an instant answer for them.’ I wagged a finger at him. ‘But you’d have to be religious about keeping it up-to-date.’
‘I’ll think about it. And?’
Unable to bring myself to say what I really wanted to, I started to bluster. ‘Well, the font and layout are a bit old-fashioned.’
‘There’s something else eating at you. Out with it.’
I took a deep breath. ‘I think you ought to consider removing all reference to Gloria.’
‘Ah.’
‘That is, if you think she’s not coming back.’ I softened my tone. ‘It’s misleading for people when they come, and if they ask about her, it’ll be awkward for you.’
In an attempt to cheer him up, I told him about Jenny mistaking me for Gloria, at which he laughed uproariously.
I glared at him in reproach. ‘It’s not funny, Rupert.’
‘Yes it is, and you know it. Would you know how to do all this, Miss Marketing?’
I looked at him in surprise. ‘If you gave me access, I could probably figure it out. It might depend how it was originally set up, but...’
‘Good. The chap I used before has moved back to England. Can’t be bothered to find anyone else. I’ll pay you, of course.’
‘It isn’t that.’
‘What, then?’
‘Well, assuming I can get to grips with it, a tweak is one thing, but a complete overhaul takes time. With everything that’s going on around here, I don’t think I could manage it.’
‘I understand. Tell you what,’ he said in that decisive tone I’d learned to dread. ‘Why don’t you just rid us of Gloria and then do the rest when you get back home? I could e-mail you photos. It’d give you something to do at the weekends instead of moping.’
I sighed, beaten. ‘Okay. That sounds good.’ Actually, it sounded like hard work on top of catching up with my proper paid work, but it served me right for opening my big mouth. Still, there would be something decidedly therapeutic about erasing Gloria from La Cour des Roses.
With the preparation for dinner done, we sat down for a well-earned cuppa.
‘Did you ask Madame Dupont about getting help in?’ I asked him.
He looked sheepish. ‘No. Forgot.’
‘For goodness’ sake, Rupert, get it done. I go home on Saturday!’
His shoulders slumped and I felt guilty for haranguing him, but it wasn’t just for his own good. I needed peace of mind, too. Since Nathan and Gloria had left, I’d put my heart and soul into making sure Rupert didn’t suffer because of their actions. I couldn’t leave without knowing he’d be okay.
‘You’re right.’ He sighed. ‘It won’t be like having you around, though. You always know what’s needed and how to do it, and you put up with all my moods. Can’t see how some local girl would match up to that.’
His forlorn expression made me laugh. ‘You mean you won’t have a live-in slave at your beck and call twenty-four hours a day for you to bark orders at.’
‘Well, if you must put it like that.’ His smile faded. ‘Couldn’t you stay another week, Emmy? I might be better by then, and if not, it wo
uld give me more time to put something in place. Might do you good, too. I know you’ve had a crap time of it and you’ve been working like a dog, but it’s settled down now. You could relax, recharge your batteries. It’s not going to be easy for you, heading back to face up to it all.’
I studied him. Did he know how much I dreaded going back? Not that he’d have to be a qualified psychiatrist to work it out. Well, it didn’t matter. The return ferry was booked for Saturday, and I was expected back at work on Monday.
‘I can’t, Rupert.’
He looked me in the eye. ‘Didn’t any of your teachers ever tell you there’s no such word as can’t, Emmy?’
And off he limped, leaving me to sit stewing with my dilemma. Any more, and my brain might explode.
When dinner was almost ready, Rupert went off to change while I set the table. I was startled to find myself humming. My boyfriend had run off with a cradle-snatcher, my new best friend was a demanding, limping near-sixty-year-old with a dicky heart, I was involved in sexual relations with his youthful gardener, and I had a gazillion problems to face. Why on earth would I hum? Humming would mean I was happy, wouldn’t it?
That was when the sudden, crippling certainty that I wasn’t ready to go home hit me, and I sat down in the nearest chair to bite my nails and nibble at my cuticles. Perhaps my decision not to stay longer wasn’t as set in stone as I thought.
My private agonising continued throughout the evening. The Stewarts were nice people – although it wasn’t possible to ascertain much more than that, since for most of the meal they were obliged to listen to the Hendersons’ restaurant and sightseeing recommendations.
‘You need to be careful when it comes to châteaux,’ Mr Henderson informed them. ‘Some look fabulous from the outside but there’s not a stick of furniture inside. Not like our stately homes back in England. And yet some of them are quite the opposite – they look unprepossessing but are well worth the visit once you’re in.’
‘Chenonceau would be your best bet if you want the best of both worlds,’ his wife chipped in. ‘Rather a long drive from here, but very impressive – built across a river and with incredible gardens...’
The Little French Guesthouse Page 13
