Page 15 of A French Affair
‘Demat. Bernie.’ He prodded his chest with a finger.
The two words caught Belinda by surprise. Not so much the word demat, which was the Breton word for hello and one of the few words she remembered in her very limited Breton vocabulary. The real surprise was the man himself. For some reason, she’d been expecting Bernie to be in his teens or early twenties maybe. This man had to be in his late thirties or even possibly early forties.
‘You’re Bernie?’ she said, looking at him. ‘Do you speak French or English?’
He smiled and shook his head before saying something rapidly in Breton.
Belinda frantically tried to remember the few words of Breton her grandmother had taught her so long ago. She knew a lot of the older generation still railed against the use of French and tried to stop what they regarded as their true language from dying out. She suspected Bernie had been force-fed the old language from an early age.
She smiled at him and raised her hands in defeat. ‘Desolé.’ A conversation was obviously not an option. Not knowing what else to do or say, she waved her right hand in farewell before saying, ‘Bye-bye, à demain,’ trusting that he would know and understand the phrase, and calling BB to heel, Belinda walked on down the path.
Five minutes later, sitting on the bench overlooking the river, she took a bite of her baguette and thought about Bernie. When Alain had told her Bernie’s father had thrown him out, she’d immediately thought of a troublesome teenager, not a full-grown man. Bernie gave her the impression of being a gentle soul who liked a simple life. The fact he only understood Breton though must be a problem for him. Not many people these days spoke the old language, so meeting people and making friends must be difficult. And what was she going to do about him living in the cabin? Having met the man, she felt sorry for him and disinclined to move him on, although that would be the sensible course of action. If he remained, would it upset people? What would holidaymakers think of him when he didn’t reply to them? She’d talk to Alain again about Bernie before she spoke to Nigel to explain the situation and ask what he wanted her to do.
Belinda watched as a trio of ducks performed a fly-past before settling on the river. She sighed. It really was a beautiful spot. There was even a small sandy beach further along. It was easy to imagine families enjoying holidays on the campsite when it was fully operational again. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was in Brittany, she might even be tempted herself.
Pulling a small piece of ham out of the baguette, she gave it to BB before finishing the rest and getting to her feet. ‘Cup of coffee back at the office for me, water for you, and then it’s work again.’
There was no sign of Bernie as they walked back past the cabin and the bike had gone too.
Once she’d made her coffee, Belinda sat down and emailed Nigel and Molly with an update of the progress so far and querying the delivery for the new equipment Nigel was sending over from England. She also asked whether a decision had been made about running or leasing out the café. There was a lot of work to be done to get it up to the necessary hygiene requirements, but some of the expense of buying new catering equipment could be passed on to a tenant if they leased it out.
Around mid-afternoon she went across to the manager’s house to see how the team she’d organised to clean it were getting on. They’d started on the bedrooms and the bathroom that morning and everything upstairs was sparkling. Now they were working their magic downstairs. The sitting room and the small sunroom looked far more inviting than when she’d first seen it. In the kitchen, the loose covers from the small settee were whirling around in the washing machine, whilst the vigorous use of steel wool on the oven was getting rid of seasons of grease.
Thanking everyone for their hard work, Belinda returned to the office, deep in thought. A few more days and she’d be able to leave the auberge and move into the house. Leaving Fern and the auberge would be a real wrench though. The two of them had become firm friends and Belinda worried about leaving her alone. The campsite house would be basic accommodation, nowhere near as comfortable as the auberge, but living on site had always been the intention. At least there was a usable bathroom and the kitchen was adequate for her needs. Belinda sighed. She’d talk to Fern tonight about moving out and also insist that they went out for lunch one Sunday, her treat. Maybe they could meet up at least once a week while she was in France.
Alain was in the office when she pushed open the door, staring intently at the computer and muttering under his breath. Belinda hesitated, before moving to his side. Relations between them had been less strained recently but she was still wary of upsetting him and opening herself up to more rude comments.
‘Problem?’ she asked.
‘For me, not you,’ Alain answered, closing the email programme he had open on the screen. ‘I ’ave to deal with something this weekend in the UK. I’ll see you Monday morning peut-être.’ He picked up his jacket from the chair, looked at her, went to say something, changed his mind and walked out.
Belinda stared after him. What the hell? He couldn’t just walk away with no explanation, even if it was a personal matter. Maybe she could have helped, if only he’d told her. Belinda took a deep breath. Over the past week or two she’d realised that Alain Salvin didn’t confide in people or ask for help. But it was that ‘perhaps’ at the end of his last sentence that stayed in her mind and worried her.
* * *
Back at the auberge that evening while they ate dinner, Belinda told Fern she’d be moving out – probably at the end of the next week.
‘The cleaners have worked really hard on the manager’s house and I always intended to live on site as soon as possible. Just waiting for the bedding and other stuff from Nigel to arrive.’
Fern’s face fell. ‘I’m going to miss you.’
‘Not half as much as I’m going to miss you and your delicious food,’ Belinda said. ‘I’m only up the road, a nice afternoon walk for Lady. Once I’m settled in, I’ll make you cheese on toast one evening.’ She finished the last mouthful of rich chocolate mousse that Fern had made and replaced her spoon. ‘That was delicious.’ She glanced at Fern, who was still looking downcast. ‘Cheer up. The tourists will be arriving soon and you’ll be buzzing. I’ve got Sunday off and thought we could go out for lunch? My treat. You’ll know the best place to go. Book a table and we’ll be ladies who lunch, okay?’ Belinda smiled when Fern nodded her agreement. If only there was something tangible she could do to help ease the lingering grief in her friend’s life.
11
Belinda and Fern loaded the two dogs into Fern’s car mid-morning on Sunday in preparation for a walk alongside the river that was close to the restaurant where Fern had booked a table. Fern had insisted on driving, saying it was easier as she knew the roads.
‘My car has got satnav, you know,’ Belinda teased her.
It was when they’d been driving away from the village for ten minutes that a sense of déjà vu flooded Belinda’s body and she shivered with the intensity of it. She recognised the direction they were travelling in. A direction she’d deliberately avoided ever since she’d arrived. Why oh why hadn’t she asked Fern where they were going so that she could have mentally prepared herself for the journey. Although, even if she had known, she wouldn’t have anticipated the route.
Fern was steering the car down quiet country roads. Roads Belinda had travelled many times in the past. Roads she’d never expected to drive along again. As the car tyres swished over roads still damp in places from an early-morning shower, unwanted memories were surfacing in her mind. Haphazard recollections: the school bus; Amelie, her best friend; a cottage; Lucky spooking at a tractor. Belinda squeezed her eyes to shut out the passing scenery in an effort to stop the memories coming, and wished the journey over. In that moment, it came to her in an intuitive flash what Fern was doing.
‘You’re avoiding the N164, aren’t you?’ Belinda said quietly, opening her eyes and glancing across at her friend.
‘Yep. Can’t drive on it. Always go the scenic route these days.’ Fern’s over-bright voice masked the grief that lay behind the decision.
‘Fair enough,’ Belinda said. She’d rather put up with a few of her own unwanted memories than have an unhappy Fern drive on the busy dual carriageway when she was still feeling so raw. Belinda knew only too well that while life itself could change in a heartbreaking instant, the collective tsunami of the events it triggered in that nanosecond of time lingered for years. Seemingly forever in some cases.
