Return to the Little French Guesthouse

by Helen Pollard

  ‘Did you talk to Gloria about it? The day after?’

  ‘I didn’t have to. While Rupert was busy with breakfast and I was still coming round, disgustingly hungover, she came in to see me. She certainly gave the impression it had happened. She also made it clear that she expected a repeat performance. Ongoing repeat performances. I made it more than clear that that was never going to happen.’

  ‘I bet that didn’t please her.’

  ‘No. She tried blackmail. Threatened to tell Rupert that I’d seduced her.’

  I hadn’t thought my opinion of Gloria could get any lower, but it just had. ‘You weren’t scared of that?’

  He barked out a strangled laugh. ‘I was more scared of the idea of a full-blown affair with Gloria.’

  ‘Rupert showed me a photo of her at their wedding,’ I blurted. ‘She was stunning ten years ago. She must have still been attractive five years ago.’

  Alain lifted a shoulder. ‘Depends on what you mean by attractive. Physically, yes. Personality-wise, we both know the answer to that. I had no intention of sleeping with the woman again – if I even had.’

  If I even had. I let that sink in. ‘So you called her bluff?’

  ‘Yes. I didn’t want to lose Rupert’s friendship and business, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to be dragged into an affair. And I made the right call. Their marriage was okay back then, I think – as long as she got a little something on the side, it seems – and they’d only just got La Cour des Roses up and running. They had other properties, other investments. She wouldn’t have wanted to rock the boat and risk losing it all.’

  His elbows on his knees, he dropped his head onto his hands, his fingers jammed in his hair. ‘Everybody makes mistakes, Emmy. God knows, I’ve made my share. But this... I don’t even know if it was a mistake I did make. It’s been hovering over my shoulder like a curse ever since.’

  I nodded. ‘I didn’t want to hear it, but I understand now why you wanted me to.’

  ‘Thank you for listening.’

  I looked through the window at the people passing by on the street below, having a normal day. ‘What about Rupert?’

  He sighed. ‘I don’t know, Emmy. If I thought he would listen... But you saw the way he was when Gloria left. I’ve left messages on his mobile, like I did with yours. He won’t respond. Maybe eventually...’ He ran out of steam. ‘So where does this leave us?’ When I didn’t answer, he added, ‘Nothing has changed for me. How I feel about you.’

  His forehead was etched with lines of stress, his mouth strained. I wanted to ease away the worries, to reach out and trace the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. To smooth out the frown lines at his mouth. But I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to give him false hope, without being certain that I could get past this.

  ‘Then I hope you’ll understand that I need time to adjust. To gauge Rupert. To gauge us. To process the fact that my friend and employer has banished my boyfriend from his house, and I’m not sure I want to play piggy-in-the-middle.’

  He looked disappointed, but as I stood and walked to the door, he merely smiled sadly and let me go. As I drove home, I couldn’t work out whether we’d moved forwards or backwards.

  When I got back, I saw a text from Sophie: Sorry you had to cancel. Everything okay?

  I lied through my teeth as I texted back: Fine, thank you. Just too busy here.

  Rupert was in the kitchen surrounded by food, so I mucked in to help him. Maybe I should bide my time until after the jazz-goers were fed, but we had half an hour yet, and I couldn’t hold on that long. Alain’s explanation, though not entirely palatable, had given me a perspective I hadn’t allowed myself before, and I wanted to see if I could do the same for Rupert. A tricky task, I knew.

  ‘Rupert, I need to speak to you about Alain.’

  He barked out a cynical laugh. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Why won’t you let me be the judge of that? I finally spoke to him this morning, and if you knew more about what really happened...’

  ‘For crying out loud, Emmy!’ He stopped what he was doing. ‘You think I want to know any more than I do already?’

  ‘But you don’t know anything! Not really. And it’s not whether you want to know, it’s whether you should know...’

  ‘Don’t you dare tell me what I should and shouldn’t know.’ His voice was low and uncompromising.

  ‘You think I wanted to? I didn’t! I felt just like you! But once I did, it was a whole different ball game.’

  ‘Oh, so now your boyfriend is using you to—’

  ‘He doesn’t even know if he slept with her! He was blind drunk! It wasn’t some torrid affair, it was one occasion that might or might not have happened. Please. You have to listen to me!’

  He looked at me a long moment. ‘No. I really don’t, Emmy.’

  I placed my knife back on my chopping board and wiped my hands on my apron. ‘Then you can do this on your own, and I’ll go and make myself useful elsewhere. I’m going to check on Jonathan. As far as I know, nobody went to see him yesterday.’ I walked away without a backward glance.

  Luckily, I’d been parking out on the lane so I could get in and out without being blocked in by Thomsons. As I drove towards town, my hands were shaking on the wheel. I knew it had been a long shot, getting Rupert to listen to Alain’s side of the story, but I hadn’t considered that he might outright refuse. Maybe in time... I heaved a huge sigh. How much time? If ever? Even if Alain and I got through this, where would that leave me, trying to mediate between two friends who couldn’t or wouldn’t reconcile?

  20

  When I pulled up outside Jonathan’s, the curtains were still drawn and there was no answer when I knocked. Worried, I scrabbled in my bag for Rupert’s spare key and let myself in. There was no sign of him in the lounge or kitchen, so I went up to his bedroom. Tapping lightly, I poked my head around the door.

  Jonathan was in bed. He turned to face me, but it set off a paroxysm of coughing. When it stopped, his breathing was laboured.

  Hiding my alarm, I crouched down so that I was at eye level with him. ‘Jonathan. Are you all right?’

  ‘I’ll be okay, Edith. I just need to rest.’

  Edith?

  ‘How long have you been in bed?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’

  ‘When did you last eat?’

  No reply.

  ‘What day do you think it is?’

  He seemed to drift off, then said, ‘Tell that ruddy dog to shut up, will you?’

  I couldn’t hear anything. I glanced at the empty water glass by his bed and remembered that old people could get confused when they were dehydrated. It had happened to my gran a few times, especially in the evenings.

  ‘I’m going to make us a cup of tea, okay?’

  ‘I don’t like Bakewell tart. Never have.’

  ‘Er – right. I’ll remember that.’

  Down in the kitchen, there were no used mugs or plates by the sink, suggesting he might not have eaten or drunk anything in a while. I made two mugs of tea, adding a little cold water to Jonathan’s, and took them upstairs.

  ‘Jonathan, you need to sit up. I want you to drink this.’

  ‘That woman always made Bakewell tart. Never could stand the stuff.’

  ‘Who always made Bakewell tart?’ I tried to lift him into a sitting position, but he was a tall bloke and it wasn’t easy, especially without his full cooperation.

  He seemed to have forgotten what we were talking about. ‘Stop fussing, Edith!’

  When I’d got him as upright as I could, I placed the tea in his hands. His breathing was loud in the small room, and it felt stuffy.

  I went across to pull back the curtains and open the window, then sat back down beside him. Now the room was lighter, I didn’t like what I saw. Jonathan’s skin was white, but he had a flush across his cheekbones. I felt his forehead with the back of my hand. It was burning hot.

  ‘Have you got a thermometer?’


  ‘Nope.’

  I went to dampen a flannel with cold water, placed it on his forehead, then nudged the tea to his lips. Maybe I shouldn’t be giving him a warm drink, but he needed something. He seemed uncoordinated, and I had to help him aim for his mouth.

  ‘Does your chest hurt?’

  ‘When I cough. Tight when I breathe too deep.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll be back in a minute.’

  Downstairs, out of earshot, I phoned Rupert. I could hear a racket in the background. The lunch crowd must have descended.

  ‘Emmy, I don’t—’

  ‘Jonathan’s really ill, but I don’t know what to do.’ I tried to keep my voice steady. ‘Should I get hold of a doctor, or should I take him to the hospital?’

  ‘Tell me his symptoms.’

  I did.

  ‘Don’t like the sound of that at all.’ He hesitated. ‘A&E, Emmy.’

  I swallowed down panic. ‘Do we call an ambulance, or do I take him myself? I… I’m not sure I could manage to get him downstairs and into the car.’ My voice wobbled.

  Rupert cursed. ‘I’ll come over. Give me half an hour.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous! You can’t leave all your guests to fend for themselves in the middle of lunch.’

  ‘I can in an emergency.’

  ‘We don’t know how much of an emergency it is yet, and too much has gone wrong already with that lot. Julia clearly wasn’t happy that you weren’t there to greet them when they arrived yesterday, or for the barbeque. You really should stay there, Rupert.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll call an ambulance for you. Keep me informed, and I’ll join you as soon as I can.’

  ‘There’s no need. You’ve got your hands full there. I’ll be fine,’ I lied.

  ‘How are you going to cope with the French? With the paramedics? With the paperwork if they want to admit him?’

  ‘I – er.’

  ‘Call Bob.’

  ‘Bob’s away tonight. He told me yesterday. He won’t be back till tomorrow, I don’t think.’

  ‘Phone Ryan, then. That way, you get a French speaker, and I get to stay here for a while longer, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ My throat was tight with panic.

  ‘And Emmy? I want you to phone me if Jonathan takes a real turn for the worse. I mean it.’

  ‘I will. Bye.’ I clicked off the call, and with shaking fingers, I phoned Ryan, thinking that this was the second time in a week I’d needed his help and feeling ridiculous about it.

  He answered almost immediately, sounding puzzled. ‘Emmy?’

  I explained.

  ‘I’m so sorry, but I’m fifty miles away, at lunch with some friends of my parents. We only brought one car. I presume you’ve already tried Alain?’

  ‘I... Don’t worry, Ryan. I’ll find someone. Thank you.’

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t help. Good luck.’

  I scrolled down my phone in a panic. Sophie would probably be in the middle of tinting someone’s hair. Ellie would be at work.

  Before I could think twice, I dialled Alain. He, too, would be at work – but maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have any appointments this afternoon.

  He answered almost immediately. ‘Emmy?’

  ‘Alain, I...’ No tears, or he’ll think you’re crying about your crap relationship. ‘I need your help. Jonathan’s really ill.’ I explained as calmly as I could.

  ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes.’

  I allowed myself a couple of minutes’ misery, then splashed cold water on my face and went back upstairs.

  ‘Rupert’s called for an ambulance.’

  ‘What the hell for?’

  ‘Just do what you’re told, Jonathan. Please.’

  Sensing the desperation in my voice, he reached out and patted my hand. ‘Don’t worry, Edith.’

  I’d love to know who this Edith was.

  Pulling myself together, I thought about what he’d need if they took him to hospital – and I was in little doubt that they would. Clean pyjamas. Toiletries. I rummaged in the bedroom and bathroom while Jonathan lay placidly in the bed, occasionally directing me with an ‘In that drawer over there, Edith.’

  Alain arrived five minutes later. ‘How is he?’

  ‘Not good.’ My lip quivered. ‘Thank you for coming.’

  He rested a reassuring hand on my cheek. ‘You’re welcome.’

  We stood for a long moment as mutual understanding passed between us. This wasn’t about us. It was about Jonathan.

  ‘Emmy!’ A shout from upstairs.

  It was an improvement on Edith, anyway. I rushed back up, Alain hot on my heels. ‘Yes?’

  ‘There was a rat at the window.’

  ‘What?’ I went over, but I couldn’t see anything. ‘You mean on the sill?’

  ‘On the glass. Climbing up. Can you shut the window?’

  ‘Jonathan, surely rats can’t climb on sheer glass? Or up a whole storey?’ I assumed he must be hallucinating, but my knowledge of rodents’ gymnastic abilities was on the inadequate side. I looked to Alain for help.

  ‘We don’t want to close the window, Jonathan,’ he said calmly. ‘You’re too hot. We’ll stay in here with you and keep an eye out.’

  ‘Is that Alain?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Jonathan nodded, exhausted from the exchange.

  We sat in silence, Jonathan breathing heavily and staring into space, Alain pale and shocked by his condition. I glanced at the window every now and again to check for glass-scaling vermin.

  The paramedics, when they arrived, were young and kindly. Allowing Alain to translate, I explained about the chest infection, his fever, his confusion. I stepped out of the room while they examined him, pacing the landing until I was called back in.

  ‘The chest infection getting worse is what’s led to the fever,’ Alain told me. ‘And the fever’s probably causing the confusion. They’re worried about pneumonia. They’re taking him to hospital.’

  I bit back panic as Alain closed the window (the paramedics disconcerted at Jonathan’s mention of rats), and we waited downstairs while they got Jonathan sorted and carried him out to the ambulance.

  While Alain drove, I phoned Rupert to give him an update.

  ‘I don’t like the idea of pneumonia,’ he said, shaken. ‘I’ll get down there as soon as I can.’

  ‘There are two of us already.’ I failed to tell him who the other party was. ‘No need for you to drop everything. I’ll keep you updated.’ I clicked off.

  ‘Is Rupert okay?’ Alain asked awkwardly.

  ‘He’s worried. He wanted to drop everything and come, but we’re doing lunches every day of the jazz festival for all the guests. Jonathan doesn’t half know how to time his crises.’

  ‘I’m glad you phoned me,’ Alain said, his eyes fixed on the ambulance ahead.

  By the time a muddled Jonathan had been checked in and they were running tests, the adrenalin was fading and I felt like crap.

  Alain fetched plastic cups of black tea from somewhere and we sat, waiting and sipping.

  ‘You look shattered, Emmy.’

  ‘It’s been a long week, and now this... I’m so worried about Jonathan.’

  Alain reached out to take my hand, but stopped himself. ‘He’s in good hands now.’

  ‘Do you know what they’re doing to him?’

  ‘They said something about blood tests and an X-ray.’

  I couldn’t deny that I was grateful for Alain’s company. Solid, reassuring and French-speaking. All great qualities right now.

  I thought about the admissions forms. ‘I had no idea that Jonathan’s nearly eighty. I know he has his health struggles, but with all that hair and his full set of marbles, it’s easy to forget his age when you’re with him, isn’t it?’

  ‘If you ask me, there’s plenty of life in the old dog yet.’

  Eventually, the doctor came out to speak to us. Well, to Alain. As I got more and more frustrated that I couldn’t understand better, I heard rapid footste
ps and turned.

  Rupert, ignoring my advice as usual, was storming towards us.

  Great.

  Alain turned too, and he and Rupert stared for a long moment at each other, their faces shuttered.

  ‘Alain.’

  ‘Rupert.’

  A tense silence.

  ‘I couldn’t get anyone else,’ I explained to Rupert, knowing but unable to help that Alain would be offended to find out he was the last person on the list.

  ‘What did the doctor say?’ Rupert asked him.

  ‘Jonathan’s got pneumonia,’ Alain told us. ‘They’re worried it could lead to pleurisy.’

  ‘Oh, God,’ Rupert muttered, scrubbing his fingers through unkempt hair.

  ‘How bad is it?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s not good at his age. They’re putting him on an antibiotic drip and he’ll get fluids by drip, too. Oxygen as and when he needs it. They want to bring his fever down, make sure there aren’t any complications. We can pop into his booth and see him for two minutes, but the doctor says there’s no point in waiting after that. It will just be a question of transferring him to a room and starting treatment.’

  My eyes filled, but Alain’s voice was stern. ‘You can’t cry if you want to see him, okay?’

  I took several deep breaths. We plastered smiles on our faces and shuffled into Jonathan’s cubicle.

  ‘Now then, old trouper, what are you up to, causing all this worry?’ Alain said cheerily. ‘I know we all want to see Emmy’s French improve, but this is a drastic way to go about it. Good job I was on hand to save her.’

  Jonathan smiled weakly. ‘Thanks, you two.’

  I popped a kiss on his cheek. ‘You’re welcome. Do what you’re told while you’re in here.’ I reminded him that I’d brought him a bag and that his mobile was in it. ‘Phone us if you need anything.’

  He spotted Rupert hanging back, and lifted a hand weakly in greeting. ‘I won’t eat Bakewell tart. You’ll tell them, won’t you, Edith?’

  ‘I will. Don’t you worry.’

  Alain and I left Rupert with Jonathan, and walked slowly along the corridor towards the exit. Not yet, Emmy, not yet. Round the corner... Safely out of earshot, I burst into tears.

  Alain started to put his arms around me, then stopped. ‘Yes? No?’