Page 13 of A French Affair
Scott shrugged. ‘For as long as I want really. My ticket is open-ended. I retired a few months ago and there’s nothing urgent back home waiting for my attention.’
‘Where is home?’
‘New York City. I’m really here to check out how your Statue of Liberty compares with our Liberty Island one,’ Scott answered.
Fern laughed. ‘It’s a miniature version, that’s for sure.’
Scott flashed her a disarming smile. ‘At least I can stand up close without having to pay.’
‘Are you staying in Gourin?’
‘Not at the moment. I’ve rented a gîte on the outskirts, but, to be honest, it’s a bit isolated and I think I’d prefer to have company nearby. I’ll probably find a hotel, maybe even an Airbnb in town, when my jet lag finally clears. I only landed three days ago and it’s taking time to wear off.’
Fern nodded sympathetically.
‘You live locally I guess?’ Scott said.
Fern shook her head. ‘Not really. I’m fifteen kilometres away. Carhaix–Plouguer direction. I run an auberge.’
They continued to walk in companionable silence for a while before the front of the restored chateau came into view.
‘Wow. I wasn’t expecting it to be quite so splendid,’ Scott said, stopping in the middle of the path. ‘I’ve seen paintings and photos of the place, but…’ He shook his head. ‘Seeing it in the flesh, so to speak, it’s completely taken me by surprise.’
Fern, standing at his side, had to admit the old chateau was looking particularly beautiful in the sunshine, with the spring daffodils, primroses and the many camellia shrubs in flower.
Scott appeared to be transfixed by the scene. When Lady pulled on her lead wanting to move, Fern broke into his reverie.
‘It is rather splendid. Easy to imagine how lovely it must have been to actually live in it. Scott, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to walk – Lady is getting impatient. It’s been lovely meeting you and I hope you enjoy your stay in Brittany,’ and she began to walk away.
‘Sorry, I was miles away there,’ Scott apologised and he fell into step alongside her once again. ‘Is there anywhere here I can buy you a coffee?’
‘Thank you, but I don’t think there is a café here – maybe in the summer but not right now,’ Fern said, thinking it would have been nice to have stopped for a coffee. ‘And I have to get to the supermarché.’
Scott looked disappointed but didn’t argue as they walked back to the car park in silence.
Fern pressed the remote lock on her car and quickly bundled Lady into her basket in the back. When she straightened up, Scott had opened the driver’s door and smiled at her as she slipped into her seat. ‘Thank you.’
‘Would you and your husband like to join me for dinner one evening?’ Scott asked. ‘A bit ofentente cordiale?’
Fern froze. She hadn’t been expecting that. She should have remembered how hospitable some Americans were. She shook her head. She had to get away. Scott was a nice man and she didn’t want to upset him by bursting into tears because he’d unwittingly mentioned her husband.
‘Not possible, I’m afraid. Laurent, my husband, died in an accident eighteen months ago.’ She stared out over the dashboard of the car rather than look at him as she spoke. She switched the car engine on and prepared to drive away.
‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,’ Scott said, instantly contrite. ‘You take care – have a nice day.’ To Fern’s relief, he closed the car door and moved back.
Driving out of the car park, Fern glanced in her rear-view mirror to see him standing there watching her leave. At least she’d managed to keep the tears that were now coursing down her cheeks at bay in front of him. Tears were never very far away when she had to share her story with strangers, even after all these months.
She stayed in the car for several moments once she reached the supermarché, taking deep breaths and generally calming down. She managed to repair her make-up, add another slick of lipstick, comb her hair and give herself a quick squirt of perfume.
And berate herself for being so frightened at the thought of having dinner with a man on her own.
* * *
That evening, as she and Belinda enjoyed the poached salmon, new potatoes and early tender asparagus she’d cooked, Fern looked at Belinda as she handed her the hollandaise sauce. Could she tell Belinda about her reaction to Scott’s invitation? Having a girlfriend she could talk to in her own language and know she would understand was something that Fern had missed in the last few years. Both she and Laurent had made new French friends here in Brittany but she’d slowly lost contact with her old friends in the UK. After Laurent died she’d started to avoid their mutual friends, wanting to spare them the embarrassment of facing a grieving widow. She and Belinda might have only met recently, but she sensed that they were going to be good friends.
‘I met an American today, Scott Kergoëts, while I was walking Lady.’
‘And?’ Belinda looked at her. ‘Was he a nice American?’
