‘I don’t think I should. I... have a lot to do here.’
‘Don’t worry, Emmy. I’d rather you looked after Rupert.’
But the subject of our discussion butted in. ‘Is that Alain?’
I nodded, and he gestured for me to hand him the phone.
‘Alain? Do you remember when your wife left you and you came here and I got you horribly drunk? It’s time for you to repay the favour. We’ll see you here at seven. Don’t eat. I’ll shove some supper together.’
I took the phone back. Alain was chuckling. ‘I’ll see you at seven, then, Emmy, by the sounds of it.’
‘Are you sure, Rupert?’ I asked him as I ended the call.
‘I’m sure I need to drink, and I can’t think of two better people to do it with. Now then. Down to business. Jess and Steve have left a day early, I’m afraid.’
‘Damn.’
He shrugged. ‘Didn’t surprise me. I’m not refunding him the night lost. I’m not in the mood. And the first of the Thomson guesthouse lot are here. Donald and Patricia. Donald is Frank’s brother.’ He smiled. ‘Delightful old chap, but he has dementia. When they arrived, his wife explained to him in great detail what was planned for the week ahead, but he asked her again when I took them up to their room, and again when I took them a pot of tea out to the garden. That poor woman is going to be exhausted by the end of the stay! She told me they’d deliberately come a day earlier than Frank and Sylvia, so he could get acclimatised to his surroundings before all the excitement starts. And then...’
We were interrupted by the arrival of the first of the caravans, a dinky thing containing an amiable, retired couple – Annie, a younger cousin of Sylvia’s, and her husband, Fred. We let them get on with setting up in their corner of the courtyard, took them a welcome pot of tea, and settled down at the kitchen table for our final planning session.
‘Right.’ I dragged the lists towards me. ‘Another caravan arriving tomorrow.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘Those roadworks are underway. I hope they leave enough access. Then the tent. And the rest of the house guests, too. It’s going to be quite a day.’ We looked at each other in trepidation. ‘Food all sorted?’
‘Yep.’
‘When’s the marquee due?’
‘Just after lunch on Sunday.’
‘I assumed you’d have it delivered on Monday.’
‘There’ll be plenty of other things to worry about on Monday, what with the caterer and the band. Is that all in hand, still?’
‘Yes, thanks to Alain.’ I sat back, smiling. ‘We’re going to do this, Rupert. Despite all the hassle. It’s going to work.’
‘Hmmph. Yes, well, don’t jinx it by saying something like that.’
I hesitated, wondering if I should use the moment to ask him about Gloria. But he’d seemed calm since I got back from Jonathan’s. Settled. He had colour back in his cheeks, and he’d showered and shaved. If he’d found some equilibrium, I didn’t want to jeopardise that. And in the time I’d known him, I’d learned that he preferred to talk about things when he was ready. I let it be.
Instead, I quickly checked reviews in the hope of cheering us both up, but unfortunately it had the opposite effect.
Four stars: Loved our stay. All our needs catered to. One star knocked off as the resident dog can be bouncier than we would have liked.
‘You’re going to have to have words with that dog of yours,’ I told Rupert sternly.
And a one star: A disgraceful establishment that allows adulterous couples to flaunt their relationship in front of all and sundry with no respect for the sanctity of marriage.
Rupert and I looked at each other and said in unison, ‘Steve’s wife.’
* * *
By the time Alain arrived, the newly-decorated middle gîte had been appropriated by a family with four children ranging from three to ten. As the gîtes were only designed to sleep four, this meant a couple of airbeds in the lounge, but they all seemed determined to treat it as some kind of indoor camping exercise, and the two older kids were happy to be taking an illicit few days off school, for which their parents would no doubt be lambasted – unless they’d inventively phoned in a sudden outbreak of chicken pox or impetigo and were making sure the kids didn’t get too much of an obvious tan during their stay.
Alain shook hands with Rupert, as he always did, but then drew him into a brief hug. ‘I’m sorry, Rupert. About Gloria.’
Rupert patted his back, then pulled away. ‘A valiant attempt at sincerity, Alain, but unconvincing.’
Alain smiled. ‘But I am sorry you had to go through it.’
‘Me too.’
We settled out on the patio with large glasses of wine and a tray of whatever Rupert had lurking in the fridge that he needed to clear out before the full Thomson invasion, the dog lying proprietorially across Rupert’s feet and no doubt hoping for scraps.
‘All set for your big weekend?’ Alain asked politely.
We both groaned and took large gulps of wine, making him laugh.
‘My private lounge looks like the headquarters of some kind of humanitarian food bank,’ Rupert told him. ‘The delivery of a rather sizeable online grocery order proved to us that the kitchen at La Cour des Roses is not as large as we thought, despite the commercial-sized fridge and freezer.’
‘That sounds like a lot of catering over the next few days.’
‘At least we’re not catering for the party as well,’ Rupert told him. ‘I think that would kill me. Talking of catering, when we’ve finished eating, could you help me with the barbeques for tomorrow, before we get too pissed?’
I continued to nibble and sip, watching the boys with their toys as they wheeled them out of the shed, set them up on the patio, decided which bits belonged where, and cleaned them off. They seemed happy enough, as was I. My two favourite blokes in France, working side by side, laughing and joking together. You wouldn’t have guessed that Rupert had irrevocably split up with his wife that same day.
But as the level of the wine went down and another bottle was opened, Rupert slumped a little more in his chair – and it wasn’t only due to the alcohol. He’d been putting on a front all day, and now he was allowing it to drop by degrees. I sensed it, and I knew Alain did, too.
‘I know everyone will be saying good riddance to bad rubbish,’ Rupert finally muttered, staring out across the darkening garden.
‘That’s not true,’ Alain told him sternly. ‘Everyone has an opinion, but they all want what’s best for you.’ He tried a wry smile. ‘It just so happens that Gloria leaving is what they think is best for you.’
Rupert took another large gulp of wine. ‘It was so hard. To decide.’
Alain topped his glass up and winked at me. We would deal with the hangover in the morning. Rupert needed to do this.
‘When she left me for Nathan, that was her decision. I didn’t have to do anything, make any choices. Her coming back here, wanting another chance... For the past few days, it’s like someone was holding a balancing scale, but they kept taking weights off one side and piling them on the other and then changing it back again. Every two minutes.’
‘So what was it that tipped the scale?’ I asked him quietly.
‘Steve’s wife, and Violet and Betty.’
‘What?’ I was a little sozzled myself, and that didn’t sound like much of a basis to give up on ten years of marriage to me.
‘I’d been up all night agonising. On the verge of calling it quits. This morning was the final nail in the coffin. It’s funny how it’s the smallest things, sometimes, isn’t it? After Steve’s wife called again this morning, I didn’t blame Gloria for being upset. But she’s never learned to take the rough with the smooth here. Or to try to see the funny side. That’s what I like about you, Emmy. You get stressed, but you’ll always laugh about it if you can. And the way she rounded on you, telling you to sort it out when it was clear there was nothing to be done... And then she was so unfeeling when we were waving Violet and Betty off. She
’d made no effort to find any rapport with them, or to see them for the sweet souls they are. To her, they were just another mild inconvenience to be got rid of.’
‘But you would sell up anyway, if Gloria stayed. So none of that would matter.’
‘It would matter to me. The rough with the smooth. Interesting people. Boring people. I enjoy that. Fun times. Problems. I would be so bored, Emmy. I wouldn’t be...’ His voice hitched.
‘You wouldn’t be you,’ Alain supplied quietly.
Rupert nodded. ‘I like the me that goes with La Cour des Roses. I finally found my niche in life. And what was left of my love for Gloria wasn’t enough for me to walk away from it.’
We sat in silence for a long moment.
‘Gloria seemed so upset,’ I finally ventured. ‘I thought she’d be angrier.’
‘I think she was too shocked to be angry, Emmy. She’d honestly expected me to roll over.’
‘Did she say where she was going?’
‘No. We have friends further south. Maybe she’s gone there for a few days. I’ve packed up her things, so they’re waiting for her when she decides to come for them.’
Alain reached out a hand, laying it over the top of Rupert’s in a gesture I found touching. ‘Will you be okay?’
‘I will. With the help of my friends. And now I want to stop being maudlin and tell you about the time my best friend set me up on a blind date in London. You wouldn’t believe how horrendous this girl was...’
It was midnight by the time we staggered back to my room. Donald Thomson had come outside three times to introduce himself to us, and at one point asked us why he was in Italy. The Australians had come over to tell us what a brilliant meal they’d had out in town and to thank Rupert for the restaurant recommendation.
As Alain and I staggered – literally, because we’d been trying to keep up with Rupert on the wine front before we realised we couldn’t – into my room, I started to giggle.
‘What’s funny?’ He was slurring slightly, and it made his accent that bit more pronounced.
‘It’s a bit... clandestine, you sleeping here. Sort of naughty.’
‘Naughty, as in, it turns you on, naughty?’
‘Yeah. And by the way. You sound Frencher when you’re drunk.’
‘Frencher? That’s not a word, Emmy.’
I started to undress, although I needed help with the buttons. Alain was happy to oblige. Maybe the alcohol hadn’t reached his fingers yet.
‘I’m never going to sound Frencher at this rate,’ I whined. ‘We’ve hardly done any French lessons.’
‘I’ll give you a French lesson now, if you like.’ His mouth travelled slowly down the length of my neck.
‘Will it involve grammar?’
‘No. I thought I’d concentrate on technique. I think you require practice on quite a few fronts.’
‘Oh, you do?’ I tried and failed to unbutton his shirt.
‘Lots of practice. Might as well start now.’
‘Mmm-hmm. Where would you like me to start?’
* * *
Afterwards, with the light breeze from the window cooling our heated skin, I stretched like a cat, luxuriating as Alain ran his hands lightly across my body. Tracing the heart-shaped birthmark under his ribcage, I’d never felt so easy with anyone, never felt so cherished. And if that was an old-fashioned word, then so be it. When I was with him, everything else melted away until it was only the two of us.
I fit my body against his, his arms tight around me, holding me close, and drifted to sleep.
18
A nightmare hangover wasn’t the best idea when you had to get up at the kind of hour we did at La Cour des Roses.
Rupert and Alain were obviously of the same opinion. Alain was monosyllabic until the shower had woken him up, and Rupert’s idea of walking the dog was to let her out into the orchard and then pick up after her.
We huddled around the coffee machine as though our lives depended on it, and when Rupert had created the life-saving brew we needed, we sat at the kitchen table, clutching our cups or with our heads in our hands.
‘Well, at least you saved time not walking the dog,’ I said brightly, wincing when I realised that talking brightly hurt. ‘Still, we could do with getting a head start on breakfast.’
‘Urgh. Don’t talk about food.’
‘Never mind talking about it, we’re going to have to produce it.’
None of us made a move. When the main door in the hall opened, we looked around in surprise.
Gloria.
‘Well, this is a cosy threesome.’ The tears were gone, replaced by open hostility.
‘What are you doing here?’ Rupert managed.
‘I came for my stuff. But I would like a word.’
Rupert hoisted himself from his chair, his hands shaking slightly as he followed her.
‘Merde.’
I gave Alain a reassuring smile. ‘You heard her. She came back for her stuff, that’s all.’
Alain finished his coffee and stood. ‘Maybe I should go.’
As he moved to clear away his empty cup, we heard the sound of arguing voices – or one voice, in particular – getting louder and angrier.
‘… won’t even reconsider?’ The sound was shrill, and coming from Rupert’s room.
I stood, too, wavering.
‘You have no idea how big a mistake you’re making, Rupert. No idea!’ The last word was shrieked as the row spilled out into the hall, peppered with barks from the dog. ‘I have put up with this place for you for years – how much do you think that’s worth?’
I made a move to step out there, but Alain held me back. ‘It’s not your fight, Emmy. There’s nothing you can do that won’t make it worse.’
My whole body sagged with the knowledge that he was right. The dog shot over to us, cowering at my feet.
I held her tight against my legs. ‘It’s all right, sweetie,’ I soothed. ‘Nobody’s going to hurt you.’ Although I wouldn’t put it past Gloria to aim a kick at the poor animal.
‘I’m well aware of what I’m doing.’ Rupert spoke quietly, but I could hear the strain in every word. This couldn’t be good for his angina. None of Gloria’s stay can have been good for his angina. ‘We went through all this yesterday. I explained why...’
‘I don’t want your pathetic explanations.’ Gloria was dragging her bags and cases out. ‘All I want is to get away from this sodding house that you’ve sold your soul to! And then I want every penny that’s owing to me for putting up with being stuck for so long in this godforsaken place with your godforsaken guests and chickens and...’
‘Keep your voice down!’ Rupert warned. ‘Or come back in here.’
‘No way to either.’
‘We should leave. We could go out into the garden,’ I whispered to Alain, nodding my head towards the patio doors.
‘Sounds like a plan to me.’ He began to lead me by the hand.
‘Going somewhere, you two lovebirds?’ Gloria’s voice stopped us in our tracks.
We turned to face her.
‘Leave them alone, Gloria,’ Rupert said sternly. ‘This has nothing to do with them.’
The look Gloria cast my way was pure venom. I didn’t know that anyone could hold so much hatred inside them, and just because something wasn’t going their way. It made me feel slightly sick.
‘Oh? I beg to differ. I’d say Emmy has had plenty to do with this. All those cosy little chats you two enjoy? Walking that filthy animal together?’ She started to shift her bags one by one from the hall to outside the main door. ‘I presume it was her idea that you slept on the sofa, so I couldn’t even sleep in my own bed with my own husband!’
That was when Rupert snapped. I could see the shift on his face. He’d had beyond enough.
‘It’s not your bedroom any more. It’s mine. I didn’t want you in my bed until I was sure how I felt about you coming back. Seems I made the right decision. As for Emmy being involved, you involved her when you s
lept with her boyfriend, and don’t you forget it!’
The dog whined and pressed close against me. I couldn’t see what this was gaining anybody, other than giving us all ulcers.
But Gloria hadn’t finished. It seemed she wasn’t going without a parting shot.
‘You think that was the only time that happened?’ she snarled at him. It was almost feral.
‘What?’
‘You think I didn’t need to amuse myself while you played at hotels? While you went into town to meet up with all your Brits-together ex-pat chums? Nathan wasn’t the only one, Rupert. Not by a long chalk.’
I gasped. Alain’s hand tightened on mine to the point where it hurt. He was so tense, I could feel the strain emanating from his body.
All the colour drained from Rupert’s face. He opened his mouth to say something, but if he was trying to shut her up, he wasn’t quick enough.
‘Let’s see... Remember that architect bloke? Graham somebody-or-other? His wife used to go for solitary afternoon walks. Foolish woman.’
Rupert swayed a little.
‘That chap whose girlfriend went to the market on her own because he had a stomach bug? You went to your precious market, too. As you always do. There was nothing wrong with his stomach, Rupert. Nothing wrong with any of him, that I recall.’
Rupert was using the wall for support now. I wanted to go to him, but my feet wouldn’t move. Everything had gone into some kind of slow-motion bubble. My brain felt sluggish and stupid.
‘And it wasn’t only the guests...’
I finally managed to open my mouth. ‘Gloria! That’s enough!’
Her head whipped round, and her eyes fixed on me. Then on Alain.
I heard him mutter under his breath. ‘God, please, no.’
‘And then there’s that delectable accountant of yours. Such a good friend to you, isn’t he? Poor man – he was so bereft when his wife left him. So desperately in need of comfort.’
I turned slowly to look at Alain. His eyes were closed. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. No, no, no...
Gloria’s venomous eyes fixed on me. ‘He’s pretty good in the sack, Emmy, isn’t he? And such a cute birthmark under his ribcage – almost like a little heart. I’m sorry you got him second-hand.’
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