Page 25 of A French Affair
‘Okay. I’m coming. See you sometime tomorrow, Dad.’
She’d pretended not to see the knowing look that passed between her parents as she got in the car and pulled her seat belt on.
‘So where are we staying? Please not Agatha’s!’
‘We’re catching the evening ferry and going to live in England,’ her mother had answered as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be doing. She’d started the car and turned the wheel slowly until the car was facing down the drive.
A jolt had gone through Belinda’s body at her mother’s words and she’d felt physically ill. ‘What? I don’t want to live in England,’ she’d shouted and struggled to undo her seat belt as her mother revved the car and started to drive down the lane. ‘Stop the car and let me out. I want to stay here. You’ll ruin my life if you take me to England.’ Belinda forced down the bile that was forming in her throat at the thought of losing touch and not seeing her dad regularly.
‘No I won’t. I’m giving you a new one. You’ll soon get used to living in England. And the fact we’re never coming back.’ As the words sank into Belinda’s brain, her mother had wound down the car window and yelled at her husband, ‘I hate you. I’ll never forgive you and I’ll make sure Belinda doesn’t either.’ She’d revved the car even harder, spinning gravel from out under the wheels as she sped down the lane.
Belinda took a deep breath.
‘The next day when we arrived in Devon and the knowledge that the only life I’d ever known and wanted was over sank into my numb brain, I was finally physically sick.’ As she finished telling Fern the sorry tale, Belinda’s voice cracked. ‘She never did forgive him, she refused to tell me the whole truth about what had happened or to let me contact him. This is the first time I’ve been back to Brittany since we left.’
Fern stared at her. ‘Belinda, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. My marriage didn’t have the most civilised of break-ups, but I did try to make sure the children had a relationship with their dad.’
‘My mother was so bitter, it coloured the rest of her life. It wasn’t until she was ill and dying that she seemed to regret things. Even extracted a deathbed promise from me to return and lay a few ghosts.’
Fern looked at her questioningly, but Belinda shook her head.
‘What about your dad?’ she asked instead.
‘I did write to him secretly a couple of times, wanting to know how he was and asking about Lucky and Butch. But then one of my letters was returned, marked “Gone Away”. I began to believe the vitriolic things mum was constantly saying about him to me were true, so I gave up. I figured it was up to him.’ Belinda shrugged. ‘Now I don’t know whether he’s alive or dead. Down the years I did think about trying to contact him without telling mum but life was busy. Besides I knew that if she did find out what I’d done the fallout would be massive. And then she lands me with a deathbed promise – ironic or what?’ Belinda sighed. ‘I did think though it was something I might investigate while I was here. You know, visit the old home, ask questions, but somehow there hasn’t been time.’
‘Maybe when you come back after Easter? I’ll come with you, if you want me to,’ Fern said quietly.
‘Thank you. I might take you up on that offer. It was a long time ago, maybe it would be best to let sleeping dogs lie, but it’s something that had a huge impact on my life. Don’t know about everyone’s life having baggage by a certain age, mine seems to have gained a few ghosts loitering under the surface too. Every now and again, it hits me just how different my life has been against what I expected at seventeen. Anyway, enough about me,’ Belinda said determinedly and picked up her empty wine glass. ‘I think another glass of red please, while you tell me about your day.’
Fern cleared the plates and placed their main course on the table as she told Belinda about her day. ‘I’ve got another booking for the weekend after Easter – two couples for two nights. That will stop me missing you.’ She picked up a serving spoon. ‘I hope you like fish pie with white wine sauce?’ She ladled a generous amount onto Belinda’s plate when she nodded. ‘Help yourself to broccoli and carrots.’ She paused. ‘I went to Huelgoat today and had coffee with Anouk, my ma-in-law. We saw Fabian, my stepson – Anouk’s grandson – who told me the lovely news that Carole, his wife, is expecting their second child. Which is lovely and I’m truly thrilled for them.’
‘I sense a but coming,’ Belinda said.
‘Fabian had another go at me about the auberge being half his and wanting to live here.’ Fern sighed. ‘It does seem unfair when you look at it from his point of view.’ She pushed a piece of broccoli around her plate before glancing at Belinda. ‘Can I run something past you? And please will you give me your honest opinion?’
Belinda nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘I’m thinking of suggesting that Anouk moves in with me. And Fabian takes over her house. I’m not even sure that she’ll agree. I know she’d prefer to spend the rest of her days in her own home, so the chances are she’s going to say no.’
‘Do you get on with her?’
‘Yes. Anouk is lovely. She is getting increasingly frail though, and I know at some point in the future, if she does come and live with me, I’d end up as her carer. Which is something I’m happy to do.’
‘Would you still run the auberge?’
‘Yes, but more like a B&B – no evening meals. I have to keep some income coming in and there would still be five bedrooms available for guests.’
‘Would Fabian be happy about moving into Anouk’s house and not this one?’
‘He’s already suggested we house-share. He’ll inherit his grandmother’s house in due course,’ Fern said quietly. ‘As well as this one.’
‘It’s a colossal decision to make, which will impact hugely on your life, as well as Anouk’s,’ Belinda said as she studied her friend. ‘I know you’d be doing this for Anouk, someone you’re very fond of, but it’s one hell of a commitment to take on someone you’re not technically related to. She could live for another ten years. What happens to your own life in that time? You put it on hold?’
17
Waiting for the first woman to turn up for her interview about the receptionist’s job, Belinda began to tick things off her action plan. The shop cleaned and spruced up, tick. All current painting jobs done, tick. Picnic tables pressure-washed and placed in position, tick. Boules pitch down by the entertainment area, tick. Manager’s house clean and tidy, tick. Office ready for action, tick. Not that there would be a lot of action, Easter would be like a dry-run experiment for the season when, hopefully, everything would be in tip-top condition. Information board, tick. She glanced across at it in position already by the door.
The Tourist Office had sent a large bundle of brochures and she’d been amazed at the number of attractions there were these days in Brittany, especially local ones that she’d never dreamed existed back in the day, which, of course, some of them hadn’t. Château de Trévarez, known locally as The Pink Chateau, had always been there, but the Valley of the Saints was definitely new, with its hundreds of granite statues standing on a hillside. There was Lac de Guerlédan for a day of water activities and the newly discovered Roman remains in Carhaix – so much to take Chloe and the twins to see when – if – they still came for their holiday at the end of May.
