Return to the Little French Guesthouse

by Helen Pollard

  ‘Yes,’ I mumbled, burying my head against his chest, feeling the comforting thud of his heart against my ear. A few minutes couldn’t hurt, surely.

  When I’d hiccupped away the tears, he pulled away – as soon as he could have decently done so. That only made me want to cry more.

  I scrubbed my face as we continued to the exit. Rupert caught up with us in the car park, where I was in an awkward dilemma. Did I go back with Alain to fetch my car from Jonathan’s, or Rupert?

  Rupert came to my rescue. ‘Come back in mine to the guesthouse, Emmy. We can drive back to fetch your car later. You’re tired.’

  I turned to Alain. ‘Thank you,’ I managed, my voice small.

  ‘You’re welcome.’ And he was off, long strides across the car park, his tall frame slightly stooped.

  I got into Rupert’s car, allowing my head to fall back against the headrest. Feeling sick, I opened the window to let in some fresh air.

  ‘Why did you call Alain?’ Rupert asked.

  ‘Because Ryan was fifty miles away,’ I snapped.

  ‘It’s fine, Emmy. I’m glad you had help. And it was good of him to come.’

  I closed my eyes. ‘How did you get away from your guests?’

  ‘It wasn’t as hard as I thought. They’re a nice bunch. Sylvia overheard me talking to you on the phone about ambulances and didn’t like to interfere, but she could tell I was antsy, and after a while, she spoke to Julia and they all ganged up on me. They insisted they were perfectly capable of serving themselves dessert and hot beverages, and that I was to get off. It was good of them.’

  ‘Did you eat anything?’ I asked, concerned.

  ‘A mouthful or two. Couldn’t face much.’

  ‘Try not to worry about Jonathan. They said he’s stable.’

  ‘They said he’s stable, considering. He’s an old man, and his health isn’t fantastic in the first place. Pneumonia... There are no guarantees, love.’

  ‘Stubborn old men who won’t go to the doctor when they’re told. It’s enough to drive you mad!’ I said angrily.

  He grunted. ‘I bet you haven’t eaten anything either, have you?’

  I thought about it. ‘No.’ That was probably why I felt so travel-sick.

  ‘I want you to have something when we get back, Emmy. I don’t need you keeling over on me.’

  Back at La Cour des Roses, I followed him into the kitchen. He stopped dead in the middle of the room and looked around in astonishment. As did I.

  The table had been cleared, the cloth neatly folded in one corner. Leftover food had been covered and put away in the fridge. And every single glass, plate, and dish had either been loaded into the dishwasher or washed, dried and neatly stacked at one end of the kitchen.

  The innate kindness of strangers. That was when Rupert allowed a tear to fall.

  * * *

  I spent half the night worrying myself sick about Jonathan, and the other half about Rupert’s distress. Finally, after opening the shutters so the morning sun could slant across the bed, I allowed myself to worry about me. Or more specifically, about me and Alain.

  Our unexpected time together yesterday had been unsettling. When I thought about the gamut of emotions I’d gone through over the past few days – anger at Gloria’s revelation, disappointment at Alain’s presumed weakness, disdain at his betrayal of his friend, understanding and confusion over his explanation – I was surprised I hadn’t had a complete nervous breakdown. But all along, I had ruthlessly pushed to the back of my mind – and my heart – how much I cared about Alain, and that you can’t turn that kind of thing off like a tap.

  Yesterday, he had responded to my phone call without question. He hadn’t run when Rupert appeared. He hadn’t comforted me without asking permission, and when given permission, he had given that comfort without expectation of more, then walked away.

  And that last thing affected me more than I could say. Part of me had wanted to run after him and climb into his car and go home with him and make love with him and make the whole ugly rest of my world go away.

  And the sensible part had told me that unless I could come to terms with the fact that he might have slept with Rupert’s wife, and figure out my conflicting loyalties between him and Rupert, that could never happen.

  * * *

  ‘Who’s Edith?’ I asked Rupert over double-shot espressos on the patio. Heaven knew we needed them. The tent foursome had once more sung and strummed their guitars until nearly midnight, while Gloria whined her accompaniment. She was already banished from being in the orchard or garden unless she was properly chaperoned, partly because of the two labradoodles and partly because she couldn’t be trusted not to explore the tent’s interior and avail herself of any tasty morsels left lying around. The singing must be topping it off for the poor animal.

  ‘Edith?’ Rupert asked, puzzled.

  ‘Jonathan kept calling me Edith yesterday.’

  ‘Hmm. I’m not sure. It might be his sister.’

  ‘Do you think we ought to try to contact his family back in England, with him being so ill?’

  ‘I thought he told you about that? That he hasn’t seen hide nor hair of them in twenty-five years?’

  ‘He did. Are you saying that if I phone his sister or brother and tell them he’s on death’s door, they won’t come?’

  ‘I’m saying that his brother or sister may not even be alive. His sister was older than him by a few years, his brother by a couple of years.’

  ‘But he has nieces and nephews.’

  ‘Who will have been indoctrinated against him for the past quarter of a century. Besides, what are the chances that anyone lives at the same address or has the same phone number after all this time? More to the point, we would be going against Jonathan’s wishes. He’s had a hard life, Emmy. It’s his choice how to live out what’s left of it.’

  Upset, I stared out across the garden. Down on the lawn, Sylvia’s cousin Fred had a group of kids gathered around him, and he was trying to keep them entertained with badly performed magic tricks. In reality, he was keeping them entertained because they could see exactly how he did them, which delighted them. Both sides seemed happy with the arrangement, and his wife, Annie, looked on indulgently.

  ‘Right then!’ I said suddenly, making Rupert jump.

  ‘Don’t do that, Emmy. I’m not up to it.’

  ‘Jonathan does have family. He has us and Bob and Alain.’ I ignored his sour face at Alain’s name. ‘There are plenty of us for hospital visits, and when he’s well enough to go home’ – my voice quavered, since that was not necessarily a given – ‘then we’ll all have to chip in. What do you think?’

  Rupert smiled warmly. ‘I think, Emmy, as ever, that you are a very kind girl. And I’d like to apologise for that ridiculous show of emotion last night. It was pathetic. But it had been such a long day and I was worried about Jonathan...’

  ‘Is this another of those stupid generational things, Rupert? Were you brought up to believe that men shouldn’t cry?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, it’s bollocks. Everyone has feelings, and everyone’s entitled to express them from time to time. I don’t think anyone would have been surprised, least of all me, after what you’ve been through these past few weeks. You’ve had the worst time imaginable. Heaven knows Gloria’s delightful burst of sudden honesty would be enough to make anyone cry. But now your friend is in the hospital and you’re worried he might... That he might not pull through. You’re entitled, Rupert, and if you can’t let go with me, then it’s a poor do. Understand?’

  Startled by my outburst, he smiled. ‘Yes. Thank you. You’re quite scary when you’re cross, you know.’

  ‘Hmmph. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past few weeks, it’s that if we didn’t have an outlet for everything that’s been going on around here, we’d all go stark-raving mad!’

  We decided that Rupert would phone Bob to put him in the picture, I would visit Jonathan that afternoon and R
upert would visit in the evening if Bob wasn’t back in time. He didn’t mention Alain and I didn’t dare bring it up. I’d been impressed by the way he’d put his animosity aside yesterday to put Jonathan’s needs first, but I didn’t want to push it.

  No gîte changeover on a Saturday seemed like a luxury to me. And to Madame Dupont – she’d taken advantage of this unexpected treat to spend a long weekend with her sister. But Rupert and I had instead battled our way through breakfast for over thirty, and we couldn’t yet contemplate lunch.

  Ellie phoned just as I was thinking we should make a start on it. ‘Emmy. So sorry you couldn’t make it for drinks yesterday. Everything okay?’

  Urgh. ‘Oh. Not too bad, thanks. It’s just been so busy...’

  ‘It sounds like you’re having quite a weekend of it. Sophie and I were wondering if you could get away for a while. Maybe have a drink tonight? It would do you good to relax a bit.’

  ‘Ah. I... Er.’ Oh God, this was awful. The last thing I could do was meet up with those two. The whole sorry saga would come pouring out, and I couldn’t do that. For Alain’s sake. For Rupert’s sake. I needed to be more together before I risked it. My mind scrabbled and lit on a genuine excuse. ‘I’m so sorry, Ellie, I’d love to, but you see...’ I told her all about Jonathan and how busy I would be with hospital visits.

  ‘Oh, Emmy, I’m so sorry to hear that,’ Ellie said with genuine concern. ‘If you need me to do anything, to fill in on a visit if you or Rupert can’t manage it, please just let me know.’

  ‘I will. Thank you.’

  * * *

  When I arrived at the hospital that afternoon, I was stopped short by the sight of Alain striding down the corridor towards me.

  ‘Hi. I didn’t know you were coming. Is Jonathan all right?’ I asked him.

  ‘I couldn’t see him. They asked me to come back in a little while.’

  Panic hit me. ‘Why? Is everything okay?’

  ‘They’re doing some routine stuff with him and preferred privacy, that’s all.’

  I blew out a puff of relief. ‘I’ll wait, then.’

  ‘I was going to take a walk outside. Do you want to come with me?’

  I almost said no, that I would wait indoors, but that would be petty. And I disliked hospitals at the best of times. ‘Okay.’

  We negotiated the corridors in silence.

  ‘Did the staff say how Jonathan is?’ I asked as we began a circuit of the car park. I felt a pang that his hands were shoved in his pockets instead of holding mine.

  ‘He’s stable.’

  That was good news compared with the terrible thoughts I’d had during the night.

  ‘Was Rupert okay yesterday?’ Alain asked.

  ‘He was upset about Jonathan.’

  ‘Understandable. It can’t have helped, me being there.’

  ‘He was grateful that you could help, Alain.’

  Another silence, and then, so quiet that I could hardly hear him, ‘I’ve lost one of my best friends. For good.’

  I didn’t answer. I had no answer.

  ‘You know, when that awful night happened, I’d only known Rupert for a year. I didn’t feel it was my place to jeopardise his marriage over something I wasn’t even sure had happened. The irony is, the closer we became, the worse I felt about it, and the more I felt I couldn’t say anything. But I think he knows what Gloria is now, and if he knew what really happened...’

  ‘I tried to tell him what you told me. He didn’t want to hear it.’

  He nodded. ‘I don’t blame him. But thank you for trying.’

  After a while, we turned back and made for Jonathan’s room. There were two beds, but the other was empty. Jonathan lay with an oxygen mask at his side, attached to drips and looking as pale as the white pillowcase.

  ‘Jonathan.’ Hiding my upset, I went over and kissed his cheek.

  Sweetly, Alain did the same, then brought two chairs over.

  ‘How are you?’ I asked.

  Still wheezing, he announced, ‘Feel awful.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. You gave us quite a scare.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry. Just get better.’

  He drifted off for a few minutes, and the next half hour was spent that way – a few words, and then Jonathan would doze. I glanced across at the empty bed and wondered if it would have been nice for him to have another patient for company, or just more distressing.

  When we stood to leave, I took his hand. ‘Jonathan. Is there anyone you want me to phone?’

  ‘No!’ Short and sharp.

  ‘Okay. I… I needed to check.’

  ‘Thanks, Emmy.’ And his eyes were closed again.

  ‘What was all that about?’ Alain asked as we walked to the exit.

  I filled him in about Jonathan’s family.

  Alain shook his head. ‘Poor bastard. What a thing to go through.’

  We reached our cars and stood for a long moment, saying nothing, until Alain dared a peck on the cheek. ‘Bye, Emmy.’

  * * *

  When I got back, I told Rupert about Jonathan, then went to my room to update Kate, remembering to ask about Jamie first.

  ‘I called it a day.’

  ‘Oh, Kate. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘I’m not. Neither of us is heartbroken. Unlike certain people I could mention.’

  She fixed me with a glare and demanded to know what was happening with Alain, so I told her about his explanations and Rupert’s refusal to listen.

  She shook her head sadly. ‘All this hurt that Rupert’s carrying around, it should have been directed at Gloria, or at least shared out between all relevant parties, but it’s being directed at the one person he thinks he can blame. I never met Gloria, but that sounds just like her, doesn’t it? Alain was drunk and he was hurting.’ She paused. ‘Surely it must have changed the way you feel about this?’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘But you’re not going to forgive him?’

  ‘I may not have anything to forgive him for, Kate. Besides, it’s not really my place, is it? That’s up to Rupert, and he’s a stubborn bastard. He won’t relent. Even if Alain and I made up, I’d be shuttling between two people who can never reconcile. I don’t think I can handle that.’

  ‘You’re making yourself choose between Rupert and Alain.’

  I sighed. ‘I suppose so. And at the moment, as the innocent party, Rupert’s ahead of the race.’

  Kate considered for a long moment. ‘Can I be blunt?’

  I smiled. ‘When were you anything but?’

  ‘I think you’re allowing Gloria to ruin your life.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She wrecked your last relationship – not that that was a bad thing – but now you have a real chance of happiness, and you’re allowing her to ruin that too, with something that may or may not have happened such a long time ago. Don’t let her win, Emmy. She’s not worth it.’

  21

  With Kate’s words ringing in my ears, I went back through to Rupert. ‘Are you still going to the hospital this evening?’

  ‘Bob’s back. He wants to go.’

  ‘That’s good. It’ll give you a break. Are you going to eat?

  ‘Not hungry.’

  ‘I really think you should…’

  Ellie appeared at the patio doors, Sophie a step or two behind, making us both jump. ‘Rupert. We’re kidnapping Emmy for the evening. That okay with you?’

  He stared at her. ‘Er. Yes. Fine. No problem.’

  ‘Oh, no, girls, thanks, but I can’t…’

  ‘Of course you can,’ Rupert interrupted. ‘God knows, I still owe you for the other day when I went AWOL. Go for it, Ellie.’

  And so I was bundled into Ellie’s car, with Sophie squished into the tiny backseat, as she was the most petite. ‘We’re going to my house. Supper and drinks,’ Ellie declared.

  ‘We are? But…’

  ‘Yes, we are. No buts.’

  When we got there,
she led us inside and I gazed around the gorgeous interior – not at all farmhousy, as I’d expected from the exterior, but light and airy and open-plan. It reminded me a little of an artist’s studio. We went through to the garden at the back, a small space with a view that seemed to stretch for miles, where I was shoved onto a chair and instructed to relax while Ellie and Sophie fetched wine and supper on a tray. We sat and sipped and nibbled, enjoying the quiet and the view for a while.

  ‘So, Emmy,’ Sophie finally said, putting on a casual tone that was anything but, ‘How’s it going between you and Alain?’

  ‘Oh. Er. Well, we’ve been busy with Jonathan, and I have this anniversary thing going on, and…’

  ‘But you need to make time for each other. If you don’t, things can go downhill so quickly…’

  ‘Oh for heaven’s sake, Sophie,’ Ellie cut across me. ‘Never mind all that softly-softly stuff. It won’t work.’ She gave me a direct look. ‘What’s going on between you and Alain? And don’t say “nothing”, because we know something is. I saw Alain in town yesterday, and he was positively suicidal. You’ve been avoiding us. And you look ill.’

  ‘I’m just tired.’

  ‘Emmy…’ Ellie’s tone was low and drawn out, a warning not to mess with her.

  My hackles rose. ‘I don’t like this heavy mob technique, you two. If there was something wrong, don’t you think that’s my business?’

  ‘No.’ Sophie took hold of my hand and gripped it when I would have pulled away. ‘It is our business. We are your friends and we want to help. Please let us.’

  I jutted out my chin in defiance, but my lip wobbled. When Ellie, scary Ellie, took my other hand, well, that was me undone. A lone tear fell, followed by another. And another. And soon a tsunami of pent-up emotion and frustration and anger and secret-keeping poured from me, streaming down my face, making my shoulders shake and my head hurt.

  I expected Ellie to tut and be uncomfortable. She didn’t and she wasn’t. She waited patiently, as did Sophie, until I was spent.

  ‘Better out than in, as my mother used to say,’ Ellie said matter-of-factly. ‘I’ll make us some tea.’