Page 29 of A French Affair
20
Saturday morning of the Easter weekend Fern drove to Huelgoat and collected Anouk as promised. The sun was shining, the cherry trees in the main square were in blossom as she drove through and people were strolling by the lake. It was a beautiful day that filled Fern with hope for the future. Everything would come right.
Anouk was ready and waiting for her and while Fern collected her suitcase from the bedroom and locked the front door, she walked with the aid of her stick and settled herself in the car.
‘It’s a long time since I had a weekend away,’ she said as Fern started the engine. ‘I’m really looking forward to it.’
‘Shall we stop for a coffee on the way, or even lunch?’ Fern said.
‘Knowing you, my dear, I’m sure you ’ave prepared something – and your coffee is better than most cafés. We go and sit on your terrace,’ Anouk said. ‘Tomorrow, maybe after church, we go out.’
Fern, as usual, took a scenic route home, taking her time so that Anouk could enjoy the scenery. Ten minutes before they reached the auberge, Fern said, ‘I’ve some guests tonight – just a couple, bed and breakfast, no evening meal, so I doubt we’ll see much of them. The room I’ve given you for the weekend is on the ground floor and opens onto a small private terrace. If you’d prefer one upstairs, you can choose another one. After the guests leave, you can have a look around and choose which room you’d like. If you decide to come permanently, of course.’
Anouk nodded and smiled but didn’t say anything.
Fern parked the car in its usual place to the side of the house and helped Anouk out. ‘Come and sit on the terrace while I make the coffee and get your suitcase out of the car. I’ll show you your room later. Look out for Lady – she has a dreadful habit of weaving in and out of legs. We don’t need her knocking you over.’
Anouk waved her free hand in the air. ‘Now don’t fuss, Fern. That, I think, will be our number one rule. I’ve got my stick.’
‘Sorry, I promise no fussing.’
Fern pressed the button on the coffee machine and went back outside to collect Anouk’s suitcase. As she was reaching in for it, she heard rather than saw a car drive in and park. Damn. She knew her guests had gone out for the day and she really didn’t want any more guests for this weekend. The next few days were to be all about Anouk and her. She lifted the suitcase out, slammed the car door and turned to see who it was.
The man getting out of the 4 x 4 looked vaguely familiar and Fern struggled to remember where she knew him from him.
‘Bonjour, Madame LeRoy. We meet again.’ An American accent and Fern recognised him then as the man she’d met in Tronjoly park.
‘Scott. What are you doing here?’
‘Hoping you’ve got a room for a night or two. The Tourist Office said you might have. If not, maybe you can point me in the direction of one.’ He regarded her hopefully.
Fern looked at him steadily. Some instinct told her that Scott turning up here asking for a room was no coincidence.
‘Would you like a coffee while I think about it?’ she said. ‘My mother-in-law is here and we were just about to have one.’
‘I’d appreciate a coffee for sure, so long as I’m not intruding,’ Scott said, taking the suitcase from her. ‘Let me carry that.’
‘Thank you.’ Fern led the way into the auberge. ‘Just leave the suitcase in the kitchen and come on out to the terrace.’
‘Anouk, we have company for coffee,’ she said, wondering what Anouk would make of Scott. She was about to make the introductions when Scott moved across to Anouk as she politely started to stand up.
‘Madame LeRoy – it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Scott Kergoëts. Please don’t get up for me.’
‘American?’ Anouk asked, settling back down. ‘With a Breton surname?’
‘Guilty as charged.’
‘Maybe you’d like to talk amongst yourselves for a couple of moments while I fetch the coffee,’ Fern said, leaving them to it.
She stood by the kitchen window watching the two of them for a moment. Should she give him a room? Or send him to the auberge in the next village? She’d decide after coffee. And after asking him a couple of searching questions.
When she carried the coffee and the plate of biscuits out, she smothered a smile. Anouk was holding her own interrogation of Scott.
‘Your Breton ancestors came from Gourin then?’
‘They sure did, ma’am. All I heard growing up was how beautiful the old country was and how desperate things had been, forcing them to emigrate.’
Anouk nodded. ‘My father had two uncles who emigrated, looking for that better life.’
