Page 10 of A French Affair
Belinda took a quick look at the screen. ‘Is that an aerial photo of the campsite? How old is it? The bit you’ve zoomed in on looks far too well maintained for it to be a recent shot.’
‘Eight years ago. Before everything started to fall apart.’
‘Could you scroll around a bit and show me more? I saw the café when I walked around yesterday. I’m interested to see how it looked then.’
Alain let out a sigh and moved the cursor, quickly giving her a brief glimpse of the building before moving it back to the area he’d been studying.
Belinda drummed her fingers on the desk. ‘Right. Earlier you suggested your version of a truce,’ she said. ‘Well, here’s my version. Basically, it involves you stopping being such a male chauvinist, with an attitude that dates back to the 1950s. You give me the guided tour. We discuss what you think needs doing. I tell you what I think. And then we discuss it.’ She stopped to draw breath. ‘I’ll be taking over the organisation of things, so I need the password for the computer. I also need keys to the office and any other buildings that are locked. You give me access to everything I need and we will work together to achieve what Nigel wants. And you need to realise I’m not going away. I’m here to do a job for Nigel – the new owner of this site – and I will.’
Ignoring her words, Alain reached out and picked up his mug of coffee and took a long drink. Belinda watched his face change as he swallowed and realised how awful the coffee was. She half expected him to spit the drink everywhere and silently awarded him full marks when he didn’t.
‘Sorry, did I make it too strong for you? Don’t expect you’ll tell me to make the coffee again, will you?’ and she smiled sweetly at him. ‘Have a croissant to take the taste away.’
This time, he took one out of the bag she held out.
‘For the record – I’m not bossy or uptight, but I will not be spoken to rudely or treated like an idiot. I admit I’m a bit of a perfectionist, though, when it comes to getting things done properly. Something which Nigel appreciates.’
Alain glanced at her as he swallowed a piece of croissant but didn’t acknowledge that she knew about him phoning Nigel.
‘I make my own coffee in future,’ Alain said and walked over to the small sink to throw the remains of his coffee away. ‘As for the rest of it, I don’t ’ave a choice, so truce it is.’ He looked at Belinda and sighed. ‘Peut-être I owe you an apology. I’m not normally rude and chauvinistic, not intentionally anyway, so I apologise for my behaviour. No excuse, but I ’ave a lot on my mind at the moment.’ He held his hand out. ‘Mais, I can’t promise to agree with everything you say or do.’
Belinda shook his hand. ‘Apology accepted.’ Inwardly, she breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness for that, a truce. Hopefully it would last. ‘Your English is very good by the way.’
She gave into temptation and took a croissant out of the bag. All the aggro had given her an appetite.
‘Did Nigel outline his plans for the campsite to you when he was over here?’ she asked before biting into the flaky patisserie.
‘No. We ’ave a brief telephone conversation when he offer me the job, but we’ve not yet met face to face to discuss things. Basically after I’d accepted, he told me to do what was necessary to get the site back up and running in the shortest time span possible, but nothing significant was mentioned,’ Alain said. ‘Other than warning me he was sending his right hand woman over to assist.’
Belinda let the interesting fact that Nigel and Alain had not met up to discuss things slip into the back of her mind. ‘Okay. The brief he gave me was to go upmarket. He wants to get into the glamping business.’
‘What the ’ell is glamping?’
‘Seriously? I can’t believe you haven’t heard of glamping. Where have you been for the last few years? Outer Mongolia?’
‘Africa,’ Alain muttered.
‘Oh. Anyway, I liken glamping to camping with attitude,’ Belinda said, wondering what he’d been doing over there. Working for Médecins Sans Frontières? Possible, although his bedside manner would have needed some tuition. He was fit enough to have been a mercenary in some war-torn state. But whatever had taken him to Africa was none of her business. ‘Permanent tents with modern-day equipment, self-contained facilities and comfortable beds,’ she continued. ‘A couple of modern luxury pods.’
‘Is he serious?’ Alain raised his eyebrows as he looked at her.
‘Oh yes. He reckons that’s the way to go – aspirational and upmarket.’
‘I don’t—’ Alain stopped. ‘The campsite does not need pods. The site, it ’as always been a family-friendly one, nothing upmarket about it. A place for families to relax. Kids to be carefree and run wild.’
Belinda looked at him, waiting for him to add the phrase ‘when my parents ran the place’, but he didn’t. Briefly she wondered why? Time to let him know she knew.
‘How long did your parents own the site for?’
‘About fifteen years.’ The look Alain gave her was defiant. ‘They bought it when they retired and enjoyed running it.’
‘Must be difficult for you, seeing how run-down it is now. Did it all just become too much for them?’
Alain nodded. ‘The fact I wasn’t around for some years made it worse. The so-called manager they employed basically took the money for five years and ran. To say they were pleased when Nigel offered to ’elp—’ He shrugged.
‘The thing is, these days most people have homes full of stuff: TVs, computers, dishwashers, power showers, fridges, hot tubs, everything on tap. The idea of coming away on holiday and roughing it—’ Belinda shrugged. ‘Well, that appeals to some people, but there is definitely a market for more comfortable holidays. For being at one with nature in comfort. It’ll still be a great family holiday destination when we’ve updated it – only better,’ Belinda said.
‘It’s going to cost tens of thousands of euros,’ Alain said. ‘Not to mention months of work. Much longer than the agreed agenda.’
