Page 12 of A French Affair
‘We need to get a team in,’ Belinda said. ‘Too much work here for you to carry out alone. Do you know of a local company? Or should we employ a couple of men and you supervise? We’re going to need a permanent groundsman once it’s sorted as well.’
Alain nodded. ‘Already organised a team to come in. Now the weather is improving, they’ll ’ave it sorted within a week. The machinery in the hangar is old but most of it works, just needs cleaning and oiling. I’ll let Yann in the bar know and he’ll spread the word about job vacancies. And we can notify the Pôle Emploi that we are looking for seasonal staff.’
‘Is that what I’d call the job centre?’ Belinda asked.
Alain nodded.
‘I’ll write out a list of jobs, both immediate and seasonal, like receptionist, cleaners, gardeners. I’ll check with Nigel about whether he wants to rent out the café when it’s ready or whether he wants to employ staff for it.’
Alain glanced at his watch. ‘I need some food. We go for lunch in the village?’
Belinda shook her head. ‘No thanks. I’ll work through. I’ll grab a cup of coffee and there’s a croissant left if I need it. I need to phone my daughter too.’
‘That decision marks you out as a true Englishwoman. Breaking off work for lunch is sacrosanct round here. No self-respecting French person would even consider taking less than an hour for lunch.’
‘And that’s what’s wrong with the French.’ Belinda shrugged. ‘I’d rather get the work done and finish the day early. Too long a lunch makes people lethargic. I’ll spend the time on the computer. Get familiar with the programs you have on there. See if the bookings and payment app is modern enough to cope. I take it the internet connection is good?’
‘It’s good,’ Alain said. ‘For rural Brittany. I’ll see you later.’
Belinda registered the speculative look he gave her as he went to say something before changing his mind and closing the door behind him.
She made herself a cup of coffee and gave BB a drink before settling herself in front of the computer. It was then she realised what was behind Alain’s look. Everything on the computer was in French and he didn’t expect her to understand any of it. Monsieur Salvin had made another mistake there!
9
After Belinda had left for the campsite and her anticipated difficult morning with Alain Salvin, Fern did her usual out-of-season housework routine, making sure the auberge was spick and span for any passing tourists.
It didn’t take long and by ten o’clock she was in the kitchen, making her morning coffee and writing a list for her planned visit to the supermarché, fifteen kilometres away. Since Laurent’s death she’d taken to shopping at the LeClerc at Gourin as she rarely saw anyone she knew there and in those early, strangely, detached-from-reality months, she couldn’t face the kind platitudes people expressed. It was easier to shop amongst strangers. Now it was a habit. A habit that included walking Lady in the nearby park of Tronjoly before heading for the supermarché.
Half an hour later, Fern pulled into the car park attached to the Chateau Tronjoly. Getting out of the car, she walked to the back to lift the hatchback door for Lady to jump out. Before she could clip the lead on, Lady ran towards the only car parked nearby. A tall, distinguished-looking man who reminded Fern of someone she couldn’t quite put a name to was standing next to a 4 x 4, looking around him.
‘Viens ici, Lady,’ Fern called out quickly.
The man glanced across at Fern before bending down to pet Lady. ‘Pas de problème.’
‘Désolé,’ Fern said, quickly clipping the lead on Lady.
‘N’est-ce pas un bel endroit?’
Fern nodded. His accent was different and she guessed French wasn’t his native language.
‘Yes, it is very beautiful,’ she answered in English. ‘Are you American? Your accent is…’
The man laughed. ‘That bad? That’s not good. Yep, I’m American. Scott Kergoëts.’ He held out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, ma’am.’
‘Fern LeRoy.’ She shook his hand, surprised by how firm his shake was.
‘Now that’s a French surname,’ Scott said, looking at her. ‘But you’re not French, are you?’
She smiled. ‘No, I’m English. I married a Frenchman.’
‘And who’s this?’ Scott asked, crouching down to stroke Lady again, who immediately sat and looked at him.
‘Lady. Whom I’m about to walk around the park.’
Fern sensed his hesitation before he asked. ‘Maybe I could walk with you? I sure could do with some company.’
‘Why not. I usually go this way,’ and Fern set off down the path that led past the chateau and around the lake. This was a public place and there were other people around and although this man was a random stranger, she didn’t think for one moment that he was a threat to her. She’d learnt to sum people up at a glance and to be a good judge of character running the auberge and had been known to turn people away that she instinctively didn’t trust. ‘How long are you here for?’ she asked.
