A French Pirouette (6 page)

Remembering what Brigitte had said about the food required, Libby began to make a list of things she’d need to buy. She hadn’t yet done a supermarket shop to stock her store cupboard so the usual basics would have to be bought too. Stocking the kitchen from scratch. She and Chloe would go later in the week. In the meantime she wanted to take a proper look at the gîte and decide what needed doing.

Converted years ago by Bruno and Brigitte from what had originally been a traditional stone agricultural building, the rustic charm of the interior was starting to look shabby. A thin layer of dust over everything didn’t help either. Exposed stonework, ceiling beams, wooden floors and a wood-burning stove did give the place a certain ambience.

Glancing into the small
salle de bain
Libby wondered how she could update it all without spending a fortune. If it wasn’t going to earn its keep she didn’t want to throw money at it this year. Maybe just a good clean and rearrange the furniture.

She was standing there mentally rearranging the furniture when the gîte door opened and Chloe walked in. “Mum can I talk to you?”

Libby glanced at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just that…” Chloe fiddled with her hair, a sure sign she was nervous. “Before we came out here I heard about an intern’s job that would be absolutely perfect for me—and the day before we left I had an interview.”

Libby’s heart sank. “You’ve got it? You’re leaving?”

“I haven’t heard yet but it means I’d be leaving you on your own earlier than planned if I do get it, which is unlikely anyway. So many people will be after it. I just thought I’d better warn you.”

“What’s the job anyway?”

“General dogsbody on a London magazine. The experience would look good on my CV when I finish college.”

“You’re right; a lot of people will be after that,” Libby said. “Where were you planning on living if you get the job? Your student accommodation won’t be available until the new term.”

“Was hoping that Aunty Helen would give me bed and board.” Chloe glanced at her mother. “I feel so guilty even thinking about leaving you.”

Libby held up her hand. “Stop it, Chloe. You have no reason to feel guilty about anything. This is my new life not yours. Yours is university, hopefully followed by a career in journalism. Of course I want you here with me for as long as possible but we always knew you were going back to the UK in September.” Which she’d secretly been dreading anyway but she wasn’t about to tell Chloe that.

Chloe, clearly relieved, hugged her. “Thanks, Mum. Fancy a cuppa? I’ll go and put the kettle on.”

“I’ll just lock up here,” Libby said as Chloe left. Despite her insisting to Chloe that this attempt to make a new life in France was hers, and hers alone, she’d been looking forward to sharing the first few months with Chloe. Still there was no guarantee that Chloe would get the job—hundreds of would-be journalists must have applied—in which case she’d stay here for the summer as planned.

Guiltily Libby pushed the wish away that Chloe wouldn’t get the internship for the purely selfish reason that she didn’t feel ready to cope with the auberge without having her daughter around.

The morning of the rally Libby was up early. With Napoleon the cockerel shouting out his wake-up calls any time from four-thirty onwards she didn’t need an alarm clock that was for sure.

She’d quickly developed an early morning routine: shower, dress, cup of tea and then out to feed the chickens and ducks, before heading back into the kitchen to make breakfast for her and Chloe.

Libby loved spending early morning time alongside what she already thought of as her stretch of canal. Some mornings there was a mist hovering over everything; other mornings the sun had already broken through with the promise of a beautiful day.

This morning there was a heron high up in one of the trees on the opposite bank. She’d stood watching as he took off, unhurriedly making his way along the canal.

Back indoors she put the three eggs she’d found in the henhouse on the table and called out to Chloe. “Fancy scrambled eggs for breakfast?”

“Mmm sounds great. Down in five.”

Two days ago she and Chloe had done a big supermarket shop, stocking up on basic kitchen ingredients as well as the food for the rally. This morning she planned on making quiches, soup, a couple of sponges and some biscuits for the rally tea this afternoon. Brigitte was joining them later to help with the cooking and also bringing the bread for the sandwiches from the
boulangerie
and some ham for the baguettes from the village butcher.

Over breakfast she and Chloe made lists and planned the morning’s baking. By the time Brigitte arrived mid-morning the kitchen was a hub of activity. Sponges cooling on the rack, soup bubbling on the stove, quiches cooking and full biscuit tins.

Libby looked at Brigitte anxiously. “Is all this OK? What the men—I presume it’s mainly men—will be expecting?”

Brigitte nodded. “It’s fine. They are always hungry when they return.” She put the crash-hat she was carrying down on the table by the door. “I have told Bruno I will go with him this afternoon if we get everything ready before they leave and you can manage without me.”

“You ride pillion?” Chloe said. “Aren’t you…”

“
Oui
. It’s how we meet a long time ago.” She looked at Chloe. “I’m sure you weren’t going to say I’m too old, were you Chloe?” Brigitte said looking at her.

“No of course not. I was going to ask aren’t you frightened on the back?” Chloe said. “It’s just that motorbikes terrify me. I can’t imagine ever wanting to ride one.”

“Oh but Chloe they are such fun. Maybe one day you go with Bruno and…”

“No,” Chloe interrupted vehemently, causing both Libby and Brigitte to look at her in surprise. “Sorry. But no thank you. I’ll make a start on the sandwiches.”

Brigitte shrugged before turning to Libby. “Bruno has always had motorcycles but it is a long time since I’ve been able to go on the opening club outing with him. But only if we have everything organised. I’ll be back to help you serve anyway.”

“We’ll make sure we are organised,” Libby said.

It was two o’clock when the club members began to arrive. Vintage cars and motorcycles jostled for space in the parking area and on the canal path.

One of the first to arrival was Pascal and Brigitte quickly introduced him to Libby.

“Unfortunately I can’t ride this afternoon. I have to get back to the garden centre but as president of the club I like to send them on their way,” he said smiling at Libby as he shook her hand. “I return for tea. Please keep me a slice of that delicious-looking gateau. The chocolate one.”

Lucas was one of the last to arrive and Libby gazed in admiration at his car as he parked. As Brigitte had said it was a beautiful vintage Delage, which with its gleaming cream and dark blue bodywork and classic sports-car shape looked as though it was starring centre stage on a l930s film set.

“
Bonjour
,” he said, striding over to Libby where Brigitte made the official introductions.

“I know you’ve met in passing but Libby this is Lucas, our local vet and owner of the most lusted-after car in the area,” Brigitte said. “Lucas—Libby.”

“Nice to meet you, Libby. Thank you for not cancelling this afternoon.” Her hand, taken in a firm grasp was left tingling when he let go and turned to Pascal. “How are things? You joining us today for once?”

Pascal shook his head. “
Non
. Duty calls until six o’clock when I’ll be back. Enjoy the drive. Don’t get lost today.”

“Do people often get lost on these rallies?” Libby asked.

Lucas shook his head. “Only when Pascal here does the map directions. Today Bruno has done them so it will all be good, eh Brigitte?”

Brigitte nodded. “
Je pense
it’s time to get going,” she said.

Libby and Chloe joined Pascal as he stood watching the cavalcade depart. Lucas, the last to leave, gave them a wave and a toot on his horn as he followed Bruno and Brigitte out onto the path. As he too disappeared, Pascal jumped on his motorbike. “Must get back to the
pépinière
. I return for the gateau later!”

“Lots of sexy Frenchmen around here,” Chloe said glancing at Libby. “You’ll be spoilt for choice!”

“Chloe, stop it!” Libby laughed. “The last thing I need right now is a man in my life. Come on, let’s get organised for their return.” There was definitely no room in it for a sexy Frenchman. She had far too much to do for the foreseeable future, sorting out the auberge.

For the next couple of hours Libby and Chloe were busy setting out crockery, cutlery and glasses as well as the food on the long trestle table they’d set up on the lawn at the side of the auberge. At least the sun was shining; they could eat outdoors.

Noticing the mobile phone sticking out of the back pocket of Chloe’s jeans, she said, “Not heard yet then?”

Chloe shook her head. “Doesn’t look as if I got it. Today was the date of notification.”

“Doesn’t necessarily mean they’ve kept to it,” Libby said, placing the first of three large quiches on the table. “Sometimes things get delayed.” Looking at the despondent droop to Chloe’s shoulders though, she knew her daughter didn’t believe her. “And don’t forget the time difference.”

With ten minutes to go before they could expect the first drivers to arrive back for the celebration tea, they’d finished setting everything out. Libby, looking at the table with its bright yellow-and-blue tablecloth laden with all the food she’d prepared, breathed a sigh of relief. It looked good but the real test would come when people started to eat.

Bruno and Brigitte were among the first riders to return and Brigitte immediately joined Libby to help serve the food, which seemed to be disappearing at an alarming rate.

“Don’t worry, they’ll slow down in a moment,” Brigitte whispered.

“Is everybody here?” Libby asked, frantically trying to count heads. Had more than the thirty people she’d been told to expect turned up? “Have I made enough food?”

“Lucas isn’t back yet, a couple of bikers have probably gone straight home and Pascal, we know, will be late,” Brigitte said. “So, yes I think we have enough. It’s delicious too—so stop worrying.”

Libby cut a generous slice of chocolate cake and put it to one side. “Pascal,” she said. “Asked me to save him a piece.” She glanced across at Chloe down at the other end of the table talking animatedly into her mobile phone. Her heart sank.

Chloe flashed her a quick smile and gave her a thumbs-up sign. Did that mean she’d got the job?

“Ah here’s Lucas,” Brigitte said as the mud-splattered vintage car drew to a stop.

As Lucas stepped out of the car and made his way over to Libby and the food, Chloe switched off her phone, looked at Libby and mouthed, “I’ve got it!”

“Your daughter looks happy,” Lucas said.

“Mmm,” Libby said absently. “I think she’s just got a job—back in England.” She sighed.

“Is that a problem for you?” Lucas asked, taking the plate of food she handed him.

“I’m pleased for her but I shall miss her terribly. I’d hoped she’d be here for summer. The main problem though is I shall now have to find another car quickly.” She’d promised Chloe her car when she returned to the UK, knowing she needed to buy a left-hand drive one once she was settled in. “I thought I’d have more time to find one.”

“You know about cars?” Lucas asked.

“No. Dan—my husband—always used to deal with things like that. I’m a total dunce when it comes to all things mechanical.”

Lots of things had been a steep learning curve when Dan died—finances, insurances, surviving—but Libby knew she’d never master the art of telling a good car from a bad car. She’d have to trust the garage on that.

“Me, I know a lot about cars,” Lucas said. “If you like, I help you find one?”

Libby looked at him, surprised. “Thank you, if you’re not too busy. I have to warn you though, I can’t afford vintage!”

“I will ask around. I also have a friend with a garage in Quimper. He will help as well if necessary.”

As Libby went to say thank you again, a taxi pulled up on the canal path and she watched as the driver got out and looked around before making his way over to Brigitte.

“You have guests arriving today?” Lucas asked.

Libby shook her head. “No. My first guests aren’t due for a couple of weeks.” She waited as Brigitte and the taxi driver made their way over to her.

“André has a passenger who would like to stay. He forget when he bring her here that I’m not the owner now. But I tell him that’s not a problem,” Brigitte said. “His passenger is welcome.”

“But, I’m not open,” Libby protested. “Isn’t there anywhere else locally the taxi driver can take her? I’m really not ready.”

Brigitte wagged a finger at her. “Libby, you ’ave a business now. You have to take the guests when they come. André here always recommends me with the tourists. You turn him away today perhaps he no come with others. You have a room ready,
oui
?”

Libby nodded slowly. She had this feeling that once again she was being bulldozed by Brigitte, this time into agreeing to accept her first guest.

“The lady has been ill and she wants simply to rest and recover in the countryside for a week.”

Libby took a deep breath. “OK. I’ll just go and check the room while André gets her things out of the taxi.”

No time now to put a vase of fresh flowers on the dressing table, but Libby grabbed a box of Bretagne biscuits from the kitchen to put on the tea tray she’d set up on all the bedside tables.

Libby had a quick look around the front bedroom to satisfy herself that everything was in order and there were enough towels and soaps in the en-suite bathroom before going back downstairs ready to greet her first guest.

Her first thought, when she saw the woman standing in the hallway, was how frail she appeared. “She’s so thin,” Libby whispered to Chloe. “She must have been very ill.”

Moving across to the woman Libby said, “Welcome to The Auberge du Canal Madame…?”

“Patem. Madame Evie Patem.”

Libby smiled. “If you will follow me, Madame Patem, I will show you your room.”