Читать книгу A French Pirouette - Jennifer Bohnet - Страница 9
ОглавлениеLibby
Discovering the photos of their last holiday as she searched for something in the ‘miscellaneous drawer’ of the kitchen dresser brought the memories flooding back for Libby Duncan. For years she and Dan had holidayed in France, staying at The Auberge du Canal in Brittany. Thoughtfully she laid the photos on the table one by one. That holiday three years ago had been one of their best. Dan had been so full of plans for their future.
They’d talked so often about moving to France. Dreamed about running a B & B, a gîte, enjoying the Good Life. But somehow something had always stopped them from taking the plunge. First it was Chloe’s schooling—it was never a convenient time for her to change schools. Then it was Dan’s job. A promotion meant more money but less time. Then it was Harriet, Libby’s mum, needing help after a hip replacement.
But on that last holiday Dan had insisted they started visiting the local immobiliers, looking for their dream home. “We’ve got to do it soon, Libby, otherwise we’ll be stuck in a rut for ever.”
Their dreams had been cruelly shattered just two months later when Dan died. Dead from a heart attack at forty-six. Stress, the doctor had said.
Libby and Chloe had clung together and got through the awful time. Now here she was preparing to face ‘empty nest’ syndrome as Chloe looked forward to college.
Libby knew that, unlike some widows, she was lucky being financially secure—Dan had been well insured—but with Chloe growing up and becoming independent she was beginning to feel it was time to get her own life back on a course she was happy with. Maybe it was time to sell the house? A new start in a new place. The only problem being she didn’t have a clue as to which direction she wanted the rest of her life to go.
She picked up a photo of the auberge showing Dan sitting under the jasmine-covered loggia, raising a cool glass of rosé, a happy smile on his face. Libby could almost smell the sweet night air, hear the last of the daytime bees buzzing in the honeysuckle and see the swallows swooping around as Dan savoured the tranquility of the summer evening.
Outside the reality of January rain hammered at the windows. Snow had been forecast for the end of the week. Summer seemed a long way off. Deep in thought Libby put the photo down on the table. Maybe she’d book a holiday for later in the year. It would be something to look forward to. A week at the Auberge du Canal with Brigitte and Bruno would be a wonderful antidote to winter—and maybe get her in the right frame of mind to kick-start her life in a new direction.
She and Dan had become friendly with Brigitte and Bruno the very first time they’d stayed with them at the auberge. It was a friendship that had flourished over the generation gap from the moment they’d met, and with two or three visits a year, Brigitte and Bruno were more like elderly family relatives now. They’d even crossed the channel and stayed with Libby and Dan here in Bath.
Brigitte had written her a lovely letter when she’d heard about Dan. Telling her any time she felt the need to get away she knew she was more than welcome to stay with them. It was an offer Libby had so far failed to take up. Maybe now was the time?
There was a group photo of the four of them taken on a day out exploring the gardens of a restored chateau. Libby felt a pang of guilt. She hadn’t spoken to Brigitte since Christmas. Tonight she’d put that right and ring. Wish her happy new year. It wasn’t too late to do that the second week in January. French people wished each other bonne année all through the month.
At the same time she’d ask Brigitte about going to stay with them later in the year. Book the gîte next to the auberge for a fortnight’s holiday for her and Chloe. When should they go? Oh, June. June was always a lovely month in Brittany. It would be something to finally look forward to.
Libby crossed to the phone. Why wait until this evening? Having made the decision she wanted to get it organised. She’d phone now.
The phone rang and rang. Libby pictured the noise ringing around the large old-fashioned auberge kitchen where Brigitte spent most of her day preparing delicious meals. In the off season even though there were few guests staying the locals continued to use the restaurant, especially at weekends.
Libby was about to hang up thinking Brigitte was too busy to answer when a quiet voice in her ear said. “Bonjour. Qui?”
“Brigitte. It’s Libby here. A bit late I know, but bonne année. Comment allez vous?”
A slight pause. “Ça va, merci, Libby. Bonne année a vous aussi.”
Libby, sensing something wasn’t right said, “Brigitte, what is wrong?”
“Bruno. He has broken the arm.”
“The arm? Oh you mean his arm! Oh poor Bruno. Which one? Not his right one?”
“No, the wrong one.”
Libby struggled not to laugh at Brigitte’s misunderstanding. “His left arm then? Gauche?”
“Oui. And he drives me mad with his demands. All day he is wanting me to help him. I have people to dinner this evening and he wants me to help him in the garden.”
“How did he break it?”
“He fell off the ladder helping me decorate one of the chambres. So naturellement he blames me!” Brigitte said sighing. “And you? How are you?”
“Chloe and I are fine, thank you. Thinking of coming for a holiday this year if you have room for us?”
“Always, Libby, but there is un petit problem,” Brigitte said. “The Auberge du Canal will be up for sale soon. Bruno’s accident made him cross so now he decides to sell. We go to live in his mother’s old house in the village.”
Libby remembered visiting the imposing maison de maître in the middle of the village with Brigitte. With its wrought-iron railings and large double gates separating it from the main village street, the tall detached house had clearly been built by someone of importance in an earlier age.
“You are welcome to stay with us there, Libby, if we have moved. It has enough rooms. When is it you wish to come?”
“June?”
“A good month. Let me know the dates later. Now, I have to go. Bruno is yelling for me.”
“OK. I’ll phone you again. Bye.”
Libby replaced the receiver and moved across to the table. It would be strange going to Brittany without Dan. She picked up the photograph of a smiling Dan sitting under the loggia again. Tomorrow she’d buy a frame for this one and place it on her bedside table. It would remind her of happier times and help her believe she would have a future again.
When Chloe got back home later she’d talk to her too about an idea that had jumped into her mind as she talked with Brigitte. A crazy idea. An impossible idea. Wasn’t it?
After supper that evening Chloe picked up the photographs Libby had left on the table and flicked through them. “Dad was so happy on that holiday,” she said.
“He was,” Libby agreed. “He adored the process of visiting immobiliers and looking at property. I know he felt his dream seemed to be finally coming within his grasp.”
They were both silent for several seconds before Libby spoke. “I rang Brigitte earlier. I wondered if we might go for a holiday in June—before you go off to college.”
“That would be great, Mum.”
“You’d like to go again? Sure to bring up lots of memories,” Libby said.
“But they’d be good ones,” Chloe said quietly. “Sad but good.”
“Probably our last chance as Brigitte told me they’re selling the auberge.”
Libby held out her hand for the photographs and took a deep breath.
“Chloe?”
“Mmm?”
“When Brigitte told me they were selling, I had this crazy idea that I might buy the Auberge du Canal,” Libby said. “Of course I won’t,” she added quickly. “It’s a stupid idea really. Not worth thinking about.” She put the photos back down on the table and turned away.
“No it’s not. I think it’s a brilliant idea.”
Libby stopped and looked at Chloe. “You do? It would mean selling this house for a start.”
“It’ll be a bit big for you anyway when I leave,” Chloe said practically. “You’ll need to downsize.”
“The auberge is bigger! And there’s a gîte.”
“Yes, but it would be a business. You love having people to stay, fussing after them and cooking.”
“I so don’t fuss!”
“You do but in the nicest possible way,” Chloe said. “I definitely think you should think about it seriously.”
“Really? You don’t think it’s too big a risk at my age—on my own?”
“Mum. You’re not exactly on the scrapheap yet. OK I know you’ve got the big four-oh coming up this year but you’re still in reasonable shape for an oldie.”
“Oldie?” Libby said. “I’m not old. Besides forty is the new thirty.”
“You will be old if you don’t start living again. I know you miss Dad,” Chloe said. “I do too. But you need to do something with your life. Besides, you might meet a sexy Frenchman. Get married again.”
Libby shook her head. She doubted that would happen. She did need to do something with her life though; Chloe was right about that. She was definitely too young to vegetate the rest of her life away.
Chloe picked up a photo of the auberge. “It’s such a special place. I could move over with you for a couple of months before I go to uni. Help you settle in.”
Libby held out her hand for the photo. Chloe was right. The auberge was a special place. Just looking at the photos evoked so many wonderful holiday memories. Evening walks along the canal path with the swallows swooping around their heads. Supper on the terrace overlooking the canal. Watching the occasional boat manoeuvre its way through the lock, making its way to a mooring alongside the village quay. The wonderful meals Brigitte had made them. Their dream of living the Good Life. Libby put the photo down on the table.
“With an offer like that—how can I hesitate? Maybe I’ll ring Brigitte at the weekend and ask how much they want for the place. For all I know the price will be more than I can afford anyway.”
For the next few days Libby’s thoughts kept returning again and again to the idea of moving to France on her own. Because she would be on her own once Chloe was at university here in England. Holidays in a foreign country were one thing—moving there permanently on her own was totally different.
Time and time again, Libby thoughtfully fingered the photograph she’d framed and placed on her bedside table. Remembering how idyllic it had always been. The way she and Dan had dreamt of moving to France—of changing their lives. Could she resurrect the dream? Do it on her own?
She agonised for days over what to do. So many questions and what-ifs tumbled around in her head. As Chloe had so kindly pointed out she had a Big Birthday coming up but hopefully she still had a lot of years ahead of her. She had to do something and working at something she enjoyed would be better than doing any old thing. But could she resurrect the dream by herself, for herself? She’d always liked having relatives and friends to stay. Loved cooking special meals for them. Was it up to French standards though? Was her French up to coping?
It was remembering Dan describing how he longed to get out of the rut they were in that decided her. The rut could only get deeper as the years went by. The least she could do was to find out the price of the auberge.
Brigitte, when Libby rang her Sunday morning, was thrilled at the thought of Libby buying the auberge.
“You would be perfect. I do want it to go to someone I like,” she said. “It will be hard for you alone but I will ’elp you all I can.”
The price when Brigitte told her, took Libby’s breath away in surprise. She’d forgotten how reasonable property still was in Brittany. Affording it would not be a problem. Dan’s insurance money and the money from the sale of the house would cover it.
Decision time. Could she be brave and do it? Use Dan’s money to fulfil his dream for both of them. Libby took a deep breath.
“I’ll have to sell here, Brigitte, but yes, I would like to buy the Auberge du Canal.”
It was surprising how fast things happened after the decision had been made. Libby decided against going to Brittany to view the auberge, feeling that she knew the place well enough already. It wasn’t as if she was buying something unseen or unknown.
Brigitte and Bruno agreed to her paying a large deposit and the rest when the house sold. Various official papers passed from France to England and back again—usually in triplicate and signed and initialled in several places. Brigitte also said Libby should move in as soon as possible to keep the continuity of the business going.
The house was put on the market and Libby started on the endless decluttering and packing. Chloe helped and between them they decided on the various bits and pieces Libby should take to France.
Furniture was easy. The auberge was coming fully furnished—apart from the two-bedroom owner’s apartment. So the beds and other furniture from both their bedrooms would be needed, as would the sitting-room furniture.
It was the personal items that caused the most problems. Paintings, ornaments and books. What to keep and what to take to the local charity shops? Many of the books had been Dan’s on such diverse subjects as fishing, car mechanics, physics and his well-read Wilbur Smiths.
Chloe took what she called ‘an executive decision’ and took all of Dan’s books, except the Wilbur Smiths, down to the Oxfam Shop in the High Street.
“You can put everything else in the sitting room of the auberge,” she said.
In between the decluttering and the packing, they had several couples view the house before Libby accepted an offer from a newly married couple expecting their first baby, who declared it to be a ‘perfect family house’. From then on, the number of urgent things on her to do list grew.
Eight weeks later Libby and Chloe drove onto the cross-channel ferry. Libby, with her remaining worldly goods piled around her, on her way to a new life in France and Chloe trying, and failing, to tell her mother about a possible change of plan in her life.
The sound of rushing water woke Libby. It was several seconds before she remembered where she was. As realisation dawned, she smiled happily.
She’d done it. She and Chloe were actually in France.
Last night she’d deliberately opened the bedroom window slightly before closing the shutters so, as she’d collapsed exhausted into bed, the noise of the canal had lulled her to sleep. Lying in bed at either end of the day listening to the water’s rhythmic movement had always been a special part of past holidays. Now it was about to become a part of her future daily routine.
Stretching out her hand, Libby picked up the silver-framed photograph she’d placed on the floor beside the bed last night. Gently she stroked the glass. “Wish you were here with me, Dan,” she said softly.
Since the decision had been made and everything had snowballed into place, she’d been outwardly buoyed up with enthusiasm but at the same time she was secretly terrified at what she had set in motion. When Helen, Dan’s sister and Chloe’s godmother, had voiced her concern she’d tried to explain her feelings.
“It’s such a big step, Libby. I know it was always a dream of yours and Dan’s to do this together but on your own?” Helen shook her head, a worried frown on her face.
“I know,” Libby said. “But I have to do something and I’m a big girl now—I’m sure I’ll cope on my own. Chloe will be there for the summer too, don’t forget.” She’d smiled reassuringly.
When Helen failed to look convinced Libby said, “Helen, please don’t worry. I can’t tell you how energised I feel about this move. After the last couple of years I feel like I’m waking up again. I’m ninety-nine per cent certain I’m doing the right thing. If I’m not, and it all goes wrong, I can always sell up and come home but at least I’ll have tried to do something with my life.”
“Well, I wish you all the luck in the world,” Helen said. “Can I come and visit?”
“Of course. Give me a week or two to settle in and you’ll be more than welcome.”
Now, alone in the auberge bedroom, which she and Dan had occupied together so often, she could only pray that she’d done the right thing coming to France on her own. Thoughtfully Libby put Dan’s photograph back down on the floor. “I’ll make our dream come true,” she whispered.
“Morning, Mum.” Chloe pushed open the bedroom door with her foot. “Brought you breakfast,” she said, carefully placing a tray on the bed.
“Goodness,” Libby said, looking at the fresh croissants on the tray. “You’re up and about early.”
“Did my run to the village.” Chloe grinned. “Where the boulangerie just happened to be open. So I’ve earned my pain au chocolate—you’ll have to work yours off later!”
“That won’t be hard,” Libby said. “With this place to be sorted. Lots of unpacking to do today. Mmm, I’d forgotten how good these are,” she added, dunking her pain au chocolate in the bowl of coffee in true French style.
The sudden noisy crowing of a cockerel startled them. “Napoleon,” Chloe said. “Wants his breakfast.”
Libby looked at her blankly.
“You remember, Mum. Brigitte told you she was leaving the hens and ducks for you. Napoleon the cockerel comes with them. I’ll go and let them out if you like, while you shower.”
“Thanks.”
Libby sighed as Chloe left the room. She was going to miss having her around so much when she left for college, leaving her to live alone for the first time ever. Running her shower and standing under the hot invigorating water, Libby pushed all thoughts of Chloe leaving away. She wouldn’t start worrying about it now. There was a whole summer to enjoy before she left.
“Mum! Come here quickly.” Chloe’s urgent shout broke into her thoughts as she towelled herself dry. Quickly she pulled on some clothes and ran downstairs.
“Whatever is the matter…?” she asked, her voice trailing away as she saw exactly what the matter was. The kitchen was flooded and water was pouring out through the back door and down the steps.
“Thought I’d put some washing on but the machine won’t stop taking in water,” Chloe said. “Even though I’ve turned it off.”
“We need to turn off the stopcock,” Libby said. “And I have no idea where that is. I’ll phone Brigitte. But first I’ll turn the electricity off at the mains—I think the switch for that is in this cupboard by the door. Yes!” She pushed the big switch on the right down to the off position.
She picked up the phone and dialled Brigitte’s number. After quickly explaining the situation she listened intently as Brigitte told her where the stopcock was.
“Outside by the gîte. I send Bruno to help you. He knows what to do.”
Libby ran outside, found the stopcock under a large metal cover and turned the water off. By the time Bruno arrived carrying his bag of tools, she and Chloe were busy mopping up the water in the kitchen.
Bruno dragged the machine out to reach the pipes behind and pulled out a piece of perished rubber hose. “The machine is old. It happens occasionally,” he said. “I fix it for now but a new machine might be better.”
“Thanks, Bruno,” Libby said. Looked like her shopping list had just gotten even longer.
Once Bruno had left and she’d tentatively switched everything back on with no mishaps, Libby breathed a sigh or relief. First crisis over.
“Everybody knows things go wrong when they move,” Libby said philosophically as she and Chloe began the final clean-up. “Could be worse.”
For the next few days Libby and Chloe were busy sorting out the auberge. Together they inspected the whole place, with Libby making notes about everything she would need to buy. She was determined to give it a twenty-first-century makeover, change the slightly old-fashioned style of the place, and to put her own mark on it, all without upsetting Brigitte.
Six double bedrooms, sitting room, dining room, cloakroom and the kitchen. The bedrooms were all pretty much as Libby remembered them. Heavy Bretagne carved beds, four-drawer chests with a mirror placed above each, wardrobes to match the carved wooden bed ends and en-suite salle de bains. Even with the large furniture the rooms were still spacious with plenty of room to add a comfortable chair or two—cane Lloyd Loom ones if she could find some. Also some bedside tables. For some reason Brigitte had never considered it necessary to supply those. Or tea-and-coffee-making trays.
Brigitte had always insisted that guests were free to use the kitchen and didn’t need to make drinks in their rooms. Libby had often wished she could make herself a warm drink though when she’d woken at three a.m. and didn’t fancy trekking downstairs to the kitchen. Bedside tables with lights and a tray with tea-making facilities were essentials in her book.
“Love the white bedlinen, Mum, but blankets?” Chloe said, opening the large armoire on the first floor landing where all the bedlinen was stored. “Mmm smell that lavender.”
“Definitely replace with duvets,” Libby said scribbling a note. “Some toile de Jouy covers and pillowcases would be pretty. Need some more white bath towels too.”
Some of the rooms could also do with decorating, she decided. After his accident Bruno had clearly given up on that front. A fresh coat of paint on the walls to freshen things up before the season began would be enough this year. Next winter would be the time to tackle any major decorating. The first guests were booked in for three weeks’ time, so no time to do them all. She’d tackle the three on the first floor first. Large tins of paint went on the list.
“Now for my apartment,” Libby said as they climbed the final flight of stairs to the top floor and opened the apartment door with its private ‘interdit’ sign. “It’s going to feel funny living up here on my own,” she said glancing at Chloe. “D’you realise I’ve never lived on my own before?”
“Mum, stop worrying. It’s going to be fine,” Chloe reassured her.
The couple of occasions in the past when Brigitte had invited them upstairs Libby remembered the sitting room being small and full of large old-fashioned furniture. Now with her own modern furniture left higgledy-piggledy by the removal men, waiting for her to decide where to place it all, the room seemed bigger. Full of possibilities. There was even a little balcony with room for one of those snazzy wrought-iron round tables and a chair. A perfect place to unwind in the evening, overlooking the canal and the woods on the opposite side.
Her bedroom too was a good size—big enough for the king-sized bed and the various other pieces she’d brought with her. She smiled ruefully looking at the unmade bed with boxes of clothes dumped on it. Really she should have left it behind in the UK and bought a new, smaller one, in France. But it was so comfortable and she’d gotten used to having the luxury of so much space.
“Right, you ready to hit the shops?” Chloe asked, looking at the list in Libby’s hand.
“I was going to check out the gîte as well,” Libby said. “See what’s needed in there but that can wait for another day. Let’s go.”
Three hours later Libby called a halt to the shopping, feeling that her bank account had been hit hard enough for one day.
“Think that’s it for today. Don’t think the car will hold another thing,” she said. “Time to go home and get to work.”
Turning off the main road onto the narrow canal path with the car filled to the roof with boxes and bags, Libby slowed down to a crawl to avoid the potholes. The last thing she needed was to damage her car.
“At least we’re not likely to meet anything thank goodness. There’s so much stuff in the car I couldn’t possibly see to reverse,” she said.
“Umm think you’ve spoken too soon,” Chloe said, indicating a dirty blue estate car in the distance moving at a fair speed towards them.
“Damn,” Libby muttered. “D’you think they know I’ve just passed a lay-by? I’m going to keep going—I can’t see to reverse properly. I’m sure there’s another passing place further down—hopefully they won’t mind reversing.”
As she continued to edge slowly towards the other car Libby was relieved to see it finally stop and then begin to go backwards quickly. The sun shining on the windscreen of the other car made it impossible to see who was driving other than it appeared to be a man.
Thirty seconds later as she drew alongside to pass, Libby raised her hand in acknowledgement and Chloe wound the window down to say “Thanks.”
“If you’re going to live here you need to learn to reverse,” the man said wagging a finger at them. “See you soon.” With that he was gone, churning up the road dust in his wake and leaving Libby and Chloe looking at each other.
“Bit rude,” Libby said. “I’m quite capable of reversing normally.”
“Wonder who he is?” Chloe said. “He was quite dishy in a laid-back scruffy French way. Wonder what he meant by see you soon?”
Libby shrugged as she pulled into the parking space outside the auberge. “No idea. Can you take this box inside please—needs to go in the sitting room. I’ll bring the first of the duvets and then I’m going to put the kettle on. I need tea after all that shopping.”
They were sitting in the kitchen drinking tea and making plans to start on the unpacking and sorting things out when Brigitte arrived.
“I thought I’d pop in to see how you were after the flood,” Brigitte said. “And to offer to give you a hand Saturday.”
“Saturday?” Libby asked, pouring a cup of tea and handing it to Brigitte.
“The rally tea.”
Puzzled, Libby looked at her.
“The local vintage car club. Bruno’s a member and we’ve always had the season’s opening rally start and finish from here. It is in the reservations book,” Brigitte said.
“I haven’t opened that book,” Libby said. “In fact I’m not even sure where it is. I’d assumed the booking for three people at the end of the month you’d mentioned was the first date I had to worry about.” She looked at Brigitte. “How many people come on this rally? What kind of food do they want?” She shook her head. “I’m not sure…”
“It’s just sandwiches, cakes and tea. If it’s cold, a bowl of soup is welcome,” Brigitte said. “I think last year there were thirty people.”
“Thirty! No, I can’t possibly. Who’s the organiser? I’ll ring tonight and cancel. I’m sure they can find somewhere else when I explain I’ve only just moved in.”
“Mais, Libby, it’s not a problem with me to help this year,” Brigitte protested. She hesitated. “I have told Lucas earlier that it will be OK.”
“Lucas?”
“Lucas Berrien. He is the organiser. When he called to see me earlier I promised him there was no problem with you because I would help. He said he’d driven down here to see you but then he got an emergency call so he had to leave.”
“Emergency? Who is he?”
“He’s the local vétérinaire,” Brigitte replied.
“What kind of car does he have?” Chloe asked.
“He has a vintage Delage that is the envy of all but for his work he drives…”
“A muddy blue estate,” Libby finished the sentence for her.
“Oui. You’ve met him?”
“Only in passing,” Libby said.
“So that’s why he said see you soon.” Chloe laughed. “Go on, Mum. You can do it. Think of catering for the rally as your first challenge in France.”
“The rally will have to be stopped if you cancel the tea. It would be impossible to find somewhere else local at such short notice,” Brigitte said. “Please, Libby. I promise you it is not difficult.”
Libby sighed. “I don’t suppose I have much choice really.” She looked at Brigitte. “OK. You’d better fill me in with all the details—times, kind of food, et cetera and we’ll work out a plan of action.” Talk about being thrown in at the deep end but at least she’d have Brigitte and Chloe to help.
