Return to the Little French Guesthouse

by Helen Pollard

* * *

  The next day at breakfast, everyone around the table was talking about the fête and what they’d seen and bought and eaten. It turned out that Marcus and James had driven Violet and Betty into town, knowing they wouldn’t brave it themselves, which I thought was a very thoughtful thing to do.

  As I soaked up the happy chatter and camaraderie, listening to the great memories these guests held of their evening, I wished I could bottle it and send it out as a taster of what a stay at La Cour des Roses could be at its best. Instead, photos and my ‘report’ on Rupert’s website would have to do, and I would add it to my own website as an event recommendation, too.

  ‘Emmy?’ Marcus broke into my thoughts. ‘We’d like to come again next year and try to make sure we’re here for the fête. Could you let us know as soon as next year’s dates are advertised?’

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘Gold star for you this week,’ Rupert whispered as he passed.

  * * *

  During my tea break with Madame Dupont halfway through her shift, I ventured a question I’d been wondering about for a while. I could have asked Rupert, but since I was supposed to be speaking French whenever I could and my cleaning companion was always delighted with my attempts, I decided to give it a go.

  ‘What happened to your husband, Madame Dupont?’

  ‘Ah, Emie, he died six years ago. A heart attack.’ She punched at her chest to help me understand the cause of death.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It was quick. That’s always best.’ She smiled. ‘He was a good man for many years. We never had much, but he worked hard and so did I. But as he got older, he changed. He had aches and pains and they made him bad tempered. He had no patience with the grandchildren when they came.’

  ‘That must have been difficult for you.’

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled sadly. ‘But I still miss him.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  She straightened her spine. ‘I may not have much money, but I have my children and grandchildren and even great-grandchildren. And I have my house – such as it is – and my chickens. Minus one.’ She winked at me. ‘And my job here. I can’t complain.’ She hoisted herself to her feet. ‘Come on. We have work to do!’

  Rupert’s decorators arrived as we were finishing, ready to begin moving what furniture they could from the gîte to be decorated into the one next door and set up ready to start the next day. They hauled the longest ladder I'd ever seen out of the back of a van that seemed too short for it, shouting at each other in guttural French. I could only keep my fingers crossed that they would be done in time – if this went wrong, Rupert would kill me.

  As we walked to my car so I could drive her home, Ryan waved from the garden, then ambled over.

  ‘Hello, ladies. Been a long day?’ he asked, in French for Madame Dupont’s benefit.

  We groaned in unison, making him laugh.

  ‘I hear Alain’s back in town.’ He winked conspiratorially at Madame Dupont, making her cackle.

  ‘Emie cooked for him,’ Madame Dupont confided. ‘I gave her a chicken.’

  He grinned broadly, merriment in his eyes at the thought of what my reaction must have been. ‘You did? How very kind of you, Madame Dupont. So how are things going, Emmy?’

  With an apologetic glance at Madame Dupont, I answered in English, since I didn’t know the French for ‘Manic. Naked sleepwalkers. Caravans with dogs. Cakes. Jazz bands in the garden.’ As his eyes grew wider, I grinned. ‘Sorry you asked yet?’

  ‘Er, yeah.’ He glanced at Madame Dupont. ‘I’d ask for details, but I’d better let you get the old dear home before she falls over.’ He moved off, then turned back again, and in an overly casual tone, asked, ‘Emmy, that friend of yours – the hairdresser? Will she... be around at La Cour des Roses often?’

  I smirked. ‘On and off, I should think. Whether those visits will coincide with yours, I have no idea. Want me to take some lessons from Rupert and engineer something?’

  ‘Ha! Er, no, I wouldn’t go that far. We’ll see how it goes.’

  My lips twitched. ‘She’s older than you, Ryan.’

  ‘Never stopped me before.’ With a cheeky smile, he went off back to his hedge.

  The Jacksons had left, to embarrass guests at a place further south with their morning routine, and they had been replaced by Debs and Phil Holland, a pleasant pair with several hundred pounds’ worth of bikes on their roof rack.

  As I helped Rupert prepare for dinner, I felt sickly and headachy – probably a combination of the heat, hard work and not drinking enough during the course of the day. I poured a large glass of water and added ice from the fridge.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Rupert asked. ‘You don’t look so good.’

  I blew hair out of my eyes, but it stuck damply to my forehead. ‘Just a headache. I’ll probably feel better when I’ve eaten. I’m too hot. I feel like a beetroot. And I thought Madame Dupont’s varicose veins would burst in those support tights of hers!’

  ‘Thirty-five degrees today. Go easy on the wine if you’re dehydrated.’

  ‘I might have a night off from it, actually.’ The sound of tyres on gravel made me frown. ‘Everyone’s here already, aren’t they?’

  Footsteps crunched. I heard them go round the side of the house, clicking onto the patio.

  Our heads swivelled in unison to the patio doors.

  Oh. Dear. God.

  Gloria.

  12

  ‘You can close your mouths now. You’re catching flies.’ Gloria crossed the kitchen to her husband and pecked him on the cheek. ‘Hello, Rupert. You’re looking well. Not sure about that beard though.’

  She turned to me. ‘Emmy.’ It was less a greeting, more a tight-lipped acknowledgement of my existence.

  Rupert found speech. ‘Gloria. What the hell are you doing here?’

  At the sound of her name, the dog came shooting out of her basket in the hall, but stopped short in the kitchen doorway. Her usual ebullience when greeting people was absent as she stood warily eying her namesake, unwilling to get too close. She was a wise judge of character, that dog.

  Gloria almost dropped her handbag, but then recovered herself. ‘I noticed on the website that you’d acquired an animal.’ There was a note of disgust in her voice.

  Rupert walked over to the dog and stroked her protectively. ‘This is... Gloria.’

  I watched as human Gloria fought her distaste, managing a mask of brittle sweetness and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

  ‘And you called her after me. How touching, darling. You must have missed me, to do something as sentimental as that.’

  Despite trying to keep his cool, Rupert looked pretty shaken up. He wasn’t the only one. The seconds stretched out, but he made no further remark.

  Looked like it was down to me, then. ‘Gloria. To what do we owe the pleasure?’

  The dog barked at her name again.

  ‘Gloria! Hall! Basket!’ Rupert said sternly. For a change, she didn’t need to be told twice. She slunk to her basket, well away from this dislikeable stranger.

  ‘I came back,’ she declared in answer to my question. Bold as brass.

  I thought Rupert might faint. Someone had to take charge here, and quick. The guests would start assembling for dinner soon.

  ‘It’s quite late, Gloria. We’re about to serve dinner. Where are you staying?’

  ‘Here, of course.’

  I almost choked. ‘I’m sorry, but all the rooms are occupied.’ I thought about the gîtes – one still occupied, one stacked high with furniture and the other bare and ready to be painted. ‘As are the gîtes. We have nowhere to put you up for the night.’

  Her lips stretched into an arrogant smile. ‘No need to apologise, Emmy – or to worry about where I’ll sleep. I do have my own quarters here, after all. I’ll get my bags from the car.’ She turned to Rupert. ‘No need to help. I know you have guests to see to.’

  She left through the main door in the hall and began
ferrying her bags and cases from her car to their private rooms.

  Rupert’s eyes were glazed.

  ‘For God’s sake, Rupert, snap out of it!’ I thought I might have to slap his face like they do in the movies, but I tried a shake of his arm first. ‘Rupert!’

  ‘Shit!’ he muttered. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’

  Not eloquent, but I couldn’t have put it better myself.

  ‘Go talk to her. Sort it out!’ I hissed.

  He finally focused on me. ‘Sort what out? I don’t know what I’m sorting out, do I? I have no idea why...’

  But it was too late. Guests began to appear and settle themselves at the table. Rupert took a deep breath, gave me a firm glare and immediately moved into welcoming host mode.

  Gloria came through as they took their places. ‘Hello, everyone,’ she said brightly. ‘Nice to meet you all. I’m Gloria, Rupert’s wife. I just got back from a trip to the UK.’

  This was greeted by puzzled expressions.

  ‘Is that a coincidence or deliberate?’ James asked. ‘Two Glorias?’

  ‘My husband’s mind works in mysterious ways.’ Gloria gave an exaggerated wink. ‘Sorry to rearrange everyone, but would you mind if we set an extra place at the table? I’m starved!’

  Everyone politely shuffled around as Rupert brought an extra set of cutlery, a napkin and a chair. At the last minute, he remembered that the dog should be away in his lounge during the meal and went to shut her in.

  ‘Were you visiting family in the UK, Gloria?’ Betty asked politely as Rupert ferried individual Greek salads to the table.

  ‘No, I was staying with a friend,’ Gloria replied smoothly.

  Not one iota of discomfort! That woman had the gall of... I don’t know what. I wasn’t sure there was a living creature on the planet with the nerve that she had.

  As the meal proceeded, I felt more and more distanced from the conversation, as though it were taking place underwater. The sick feeling I’d had earlier was getting worse, and my head was pounding. I forced myself to eat something, but I had no idea what it was. I took little notice of who said what. I remember glancing across at Rupert every so often, an inner voice reaching through the murk and telling me to check that he was okay. He seemed it – or at least he was putting on a good front.

  By the time dessert was over, my headache had improved a little, but as the pain slowly receded, my indignation and panic at Gloria’s return came back to the fore.

  When he’d made coffees, Rupert excused himself and went off to his room, ostensibly for the loo. Two minutes later, I used the same excuse, half closing the kitchen door behind me and letting myself into his private lounge, where I petted the dog, waiting until Rupert came out of the bathroom.

  He jumped a mile. ‘Emmy! Don’t do that! I have heart problems, remember?’

  ‘Sorry. Needs must.’

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘What’s up? You really need to ask?’

  ‘Besides the fact that my supposed soon-to-be-ex-wife has made an unexpected return.’

  ‘And is brazenly passing herself off as your happily married wife. How dare she?’

  ‘Emmy, you and I both know that Gloria may be many things, but short of brazenness is not one of them. Did you honestly expect me to put the record straight with all my guests? Tell them she ran off with someone weeks ago and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of her since? I’m sure that would have made everyone feel most comfortable and relaxed.’ He gave me a glare. ‘My guests come first.’

  ‘And what about you? What about your comfort and stress levels?’

  ‘They might have to take a back seat while I find out why she’s here and what she wants. But this evening is not the appropriate time for that.’

  ‘But where will she sleep?’

  ‘I’ve offered to book her into a hotel, Emmy, but she won’t have it.’ He gestured to the open bedroom doorway. ‘She’s already dumped her bags in there. And since, as you bravely pointed out to her, every single room and gîte is either occupied or unusable, I don’t see where else she can go.’

  ‘You know she probably timed all this deliberately, don’t you? Arriving on a Saturday evening, when there’s always a guest meal, knowing you’d be up to your eyes cooking and entertaining with a houseful of people, so you couldn’t make a fuss. She also knew there was every likelihood we’d be full.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right. It doesn’t alter the facts, though, does it?

  ‘You could make her sleep on the sofa.’

  ‘I’m sure that would work. About as well as trying to get a tiger to roll over so you can tickle its belly.’ He scratched his neck. ‘But I suppose I could sleep on the sofa. I’d use one of the gîtes if we had one that was habitable.’ He glared at me.

  I opened my mouth to object, then closed it again. We were looking at a stark choice here. Better that Rupert should spend an uncomfortable night on the sofa than in bed with that viperous wife of his, using her wiles for goodness knew what. I shuddered at the thought of what she might resort to.

  ‘Yes. Definitely. I think you should.’ I gave him a firm look. ‘Promise me?’

  He squeezed my hand. ‘I promise, Emmy. And I appreciate your concern.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Gloria appeared in the doorway. ‘You’ve been gone ages, Rupert. I thought you must have drowned yourself in the toilet.’ Her eyes narrowed as Rupert dropped my hand. ‘Getting a little friendly nowadays, you two, aren’t you?’

  My hand itched so hard to slap her. Instead, I walked away... with my open palms clamped hard against my thighs as I passed.

  I couldn’t say I slept well that night. Thoughts of Gloria trying to wheedle her way back into Rupert’s affections after all she’d put him through tormented me, making my blood boil.

  I’d always been a firm believer in not meddling in other people’s affairs, but I thought I might make an exception in this case. I felt as protective of Rupert as I would my own father, and I would not stand by and watch that woman stomp all over his heart the way she had last time. I’d so desperately wanted to phone Alain, but it was after midnight before I got the chance, and I didn’t see the point of us both losing sleep.

  Gloria came into the kitchen as I was getting breakfast together. ‘Where’s Rupert?’

  ‘Good morning to you, too.’

  The way she narrowed her eyes made her look like a cobra ready to strike, and it occurred to me that if she was back for good, I ought to be a tad more polite... although in that case, it wouldn’t matter, because my employment would rapidly be terminated – if not through Gloria’s insistence, then because I wouldn’t be able to stomach it.

  For now, I hedged my bets and gave her a small smile. ‘He’s walking the dog.’

  She wrinkled her nose as she set to at the coffee machine. ‘I can’t imagine why he thought it was a good idea to get a dog.’

  Because he needs companionship. Because he needs someone to love him the way he deserves to be loved.

  ‘He said he’s always wanted one.’ But you would never let him.

  ‘Yes, well, we don’t always get what we want, do we?’ Sipping at her coffee – she hadn’t offered me one – she stared me down. She was good at that, but I’d learned not to be intimidated by it. ‘You got your feet under the table pretty quickly, didn’t you, Emmy? And I noticed I’ve been removed from the website.’

  She’d spotted that, had she? Good. ‘Rupert didn’t want to mislead the guests.’

  ‘But you’re on there now. Described as a manager, no less.’

  ‘That’s my role.’

  ‘Manager? Is that what you call it, helping that old witch Dupont to clean? Feeding the chickens? You’re getting ideas above your station, aren’t you?’

  ‘There’s far more than that to running this place, as you’d well know if you’d ever bothered. Rupert wants to move forward and make changes. I’m here to do whatever I can to help him.’

  ‘Hmm. Talking of which, my husband
assures me that you haven’t been... helpful in other departments. I presume your story’s the same?’

  Part of me longed to tell her that Rupert and I had been swinging from the chandeliers for weeks. That we’d enjoyed wild sex in every corner of the house and garden. But I would tell her the truth, for Rupert’s sake.

  ‘Yes, my story’s the same.’ This conversation – or battle of wills – was exhausting after so little sleep. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.’

  Whatever poisonous retort she’d been dreaming up thankfully remained unspoken, as guests appeared for breakfast. Gloria joined them, making polite conversation, while I took requests for anything cooked and prayed that Rupert would be back soon to deal with them. Where the hell had he got to?

  When he arrived, the dog slunk straight to her basket without having to be told, and he hobbled over to the oven.

  ‘Is your leg playing up again?’

  ‘Not my leg. My back,’ he hissed. ‘Bloody sofa. Bloody uncomfortable.’

  After breakfast, Gloria insisted that Rupert join her for a drive and a coffee in a nearby village. ‘Away from this place. A bit of privacy wouldn’t go amiss.’ They set off in her sports car, and I did my best not to think about what ploys and wiles and arguments she might try out on the poor bastard.

  Taking my coffee outside, with the dog trotting along, I smiled at Jess and Steve on the patio, then heard the whine of a motor. Glancing back to the courtyard, I saw Ryan’s car was there, so I made another espresso for him and followed the noise, the dog at my heels.

  He was trimming the tall hedge right around the side of the house that separated the orchard from the road. My companion immediately flopped in a shady corner to watch him work.

  Not wanting to make him jump and chop his own arm off, I waited until he spotted me and turned it off.

  ‘Emmy. Hi. Is that for me?’ He took the coffee and smiled his thanks, then registered my expression. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I’d drink your coffee first, if I were you. You’re going to need it.’

  ‘What is it?’ But he took me at my word and had a sip.