A French Affair Read online

  A French Affair

  Jennifer Bohnet

  This one is for my sister, Beverley, with love.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  More from Jennifer Bohnet

  About the Author

  About Boldwood Books

  1

  It was late afternoon on the last Friday before Christmas and Belinda Marshall, roving manager and chief troubleshooter for the Milton chain of Devonshire-based hotels had just been given some bombshell news from Nigel and Molly Milton, her employers. She’d been wondering why she’d been called into the inner sanctum so late in the day. Now she knew.

  ‘You’ve bought a new business in France? We’re finally expanding into Europe? That’s great news. I know you had a couple of holidays in France this year, but I thought they were just that – holidays for you both. You didn’t mention you were even looking at places,’ Belinda said, leaning against the filing cabinet as she accepted the champagne Nigel had insisted on pouring. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘It came up unexpectedly,’ Molly said. ‘In truth it’s all been a bit impulsive.'

  'Anyway, we both know the place and we’re thrilled with it,' Nigel interrupted. 'Molly can’t wait to spend time there when it’s all been rejuvenated. Bit run-down at the moment. Which is where you come in, of course.’

  Belinda sipped her champagne before saying, ‘So come on, you two, put me out of my misery. Where is our new hotel? Which particular part of France? Biarritz? St-Tropez? Paris?’

  Nigel laughed. ‘I know we run a successful company, Belinda, but prices for places like that are way out of our league. No, Camping dans La Fôret is in—’

  ‘Hang on – did you just say, Camping dans La Fôret?' Alarm bells began to ring in Belinda’s head. ‘That’s a funny name for a hotel.’

  ‘It’s not a hotel. It’s a boutique campsite in Brittany, Northern France. Finistère, to be precise. Huge potential, but we’re going to need your expertise to drag it into the twenty-first century. Bring it up to standard so that more people can enjoy the Milton Hotel experience,’ Molly said.

  Belinda looked from Nigel to Molly and back at Nigel again, stunned. ‘But we’re in the hotel business not camping, not even glamping.’ It had taken her three years of studying and hard work to be awarded her 2.1 in Hotel Hospitality Management. Not once had running a campsite, even a boutique one, ever crossed her path. Let alone one in Brittany.

  ‘Camping has just become our business,’ Nigel said. ‘It’s all the hospitality business. All about people. Making sure guests enjoy the experience of staying in a Milton hotel – and now a campsite. No difference really.’

  ‘But Finistère – isn’t it always raining there? Who in their right mind would want to camp in the damp? Morbihan maybe, but not Finistère. Not surprised it’s run-down.’

  ‘Don’t exaggerate. It’s an urban myth it’s always raining there,' Nigel said. ‘And with global warming and the movement of the jet stream, the weather is improving there every year. It could soon be The Breton Riviera!’

  ‘We had lovely weather the couple of times we were there,’ Molly chimed in. ‘It’s only run-down because our friends who owned it found it all too much to keep on top of. It’s in a beautiful spot – just needs some TLC to turn it back into a real paradise.’

  Belinda looked at them both as the news penetrated her brain. ‘So let me get this straight. You’ve bought a run-down campsite called Camping dans La Fôret in Finistère and you want me to help you transform the place and fill it literally with happy campers.’ This was nightmarish news to her, but she couldn’t say that to Nigel and Molly. She took a deep breath. ‘Okay. Is there a website I can look at? Start to get some ideas flowing. As it’s only a campsite, I won’t really need to visit. I can do it over the internet.’

  ‘No, no. We’re sending you to France ASAP in the New Year,’ Nigel interrupted. ‘You’ll have two months – maybe three – to sort out the site and get it ready to fill with those proverbial happy campers this summer.’

  Belinda felt a cold shiver run through her body. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way she could disappear off to France for weeks on end. There was Chloe and the twins to consider. Not exactly dependent on her, but they needed her to be around. And what about BB, her dog?

  It was Molly who broke the silence that had fallen. ‘We know it’s a lot to ask of you,’ she hesitated. ‘Especially given you and your mum’s circumstances, but we’re sure it’s something you’ll enjoy doing. It’s always quiet in the hotels after New Year, so it’s a good time for you to go.’

  With a grin, Nigel raised his glass in her direction for a toast. ‘Here’s to Camping dans La Fôret. We have every faith in you, don’t we, Molls? You’ll soon have the place up to scratch. You and Alain, the manager, who is already on site.’

  ‘He’s already on site? Surely he can oversee things then?’ Belinda asked quickly.

  ‘Needs a woman’s touch,’ Molly said. ‘And, in particular, your touch. You’ve always been good at seeing things differently and coming up with fresh ideas.’

  Speechless, Belinda could only clink her glass with theirs. Nigel and Molly might have every faith in her, but there was no way she wanted to go and live in Finistère. Whenever the possibility of going to Brittany had come up in the past, she’d vehemently vetoed it. As for spending two or three months there, well, she couldn’t do it, however much Nigel and Molly insisted. She’d have to resign. Find another job with another hotel chain. Either that or find a way of persuading Nigel and Molly to send someone else. Someone who didn’t get heart palpitations at the thought of returning to Brittany.

  For the next ten days, Belinda pushed all thoughts of Brittany to the back of her mind, which was surprisingly easy during the day as the hotels filled with customers getting into the festive mood, leaving little time for her to think about Nigel and Molly’s bombshell, let alone make any contingency plans.

  All the hotels had some regular ‘Christmas’ clients returning and there was lots of laughter and fun everywhere. Some of the regular holidaymakers even brought presents for Belinda and other staff members, thanking them for always making their holidays so happy.

  The Christmas decorations Belinda had organised for all three hotels had included several real fir trees hung with bands of simple silver lights. A large tree was placed in each foyer and small ones in every available space throughout the hotels. The effect, with every window and polished surface reflecti
ng a myriad of twinkling lights, was magical. The oohs and ahhs from guests as they arrived made Belinda smile.

  The busy days took her mind off things, but the nights were something else. Night after sleepless night, Belinda wrestled with her conscience. There was no way she wanted to let Nigel and Molly down after they’d given her this second chance in the hotel industry.

  Four years ago, when her life had fallen apart and she’d been in desperate need of a job, every other hotel she’d approached had turned her away, saying her college diplomas obtained in her twenties were way out of date and she had no recent hotel industry experience. Milton Hotels Ltd had been the only business willing to take a chance on her. Not only had they thrown her a lifeline with a job but also a new home after the house she’d shared with Peter, her husband of twenty years, had been sold. She’d suspected in the beginning that it was because Molly had been good friends with her mum, Joan, and felt sorry for her. But she’d quickly proved herself more than capable of doing the job and the three of them had soon settled down into a good working relationship.

  They were like a second family to her now and seeing her ideas being put into practice in the hotels was a great feeling. The variety between the three Milton hotels made the job interesting. One was in historic Tavistock, another was on the quay in Dartmouth where she lived and the third was a real seaside hotel in Torquay with clients who returned year after year with their families for the acres of golden beach across the road. All different and all providing different challenges in the clientele they attracted and the way they were run. The thought of leaving, even for a few weeks, and managing a campsite didn’t appeal. Especially one that was in Brittany.

  Belinda had almost everything back in place that she’d dreamed of having while growing up. Her plan for surviving life after divorce had, once she’d woken up and realised she needed a plan, succeeded. She’d successfully climbed out of the second black hole in her life and was in a happy place. A place where she wanted to remain. She was happier with her current lifestyle than she’d ever expected to be after the cruel way Peter had left her the day after Chloe’s wedding. She loved her tiny penthouse flat at the top of the old hotel in Dartmouth, her evenings with Jane, her best friend, shopping in Torquay and walking BB, her dog.

  Three years ago, when she was wallowing in the depths of despair after the divorce, followed nine months later by her mother’s death, Chloe had found a little wriggling grey and white puppy, huddled under the hull of one of the boats laid up for winter in a nearby riverside park. Despite asking around, no one claimed him and Chloe had brought him home to Belinda, insisting it was meant to be.

  ‘You need each other, Mum,’ she’d said. ‘He’ll be your Best Buddy.’ She was right. Belinda and the dog had quickly bonded and became inseparable. The vet pronounced him to be a Tibetan terrier when they took him to be checked out and vaccinated. ‘Best Buddy’ quickly became shortened to BB and he’d become a familiar sight, padding along at her side as she strode through the hotels. There was no way she could leave him behind.

  Belinda and BB spent Christmas Day with Chloe, Max and the twins, Aimee and Charlie. With the twins nearly three years old, it was the right age to turn the day into a real family celebration. It wasn’t until the twins were tucked up in bed and the adults had collapsed in the sitting room that Belinda told Chloe and Max about Nigel’s latest acquisition and how he wanted her involved.

  ‘He wants me to go and stay over there for possibly three months.’

  ‘Brittany?’ Chloe said, looking at Belinda concerned. ‘Are you going?’

  Belinda shrugged. ‘I don’t want to. I’ll miss you all. It’ll be like putting my life here on hold.’

  ‘Brittany is lovely, especially in the spring,’ Max said. ‘I remember family holidays there growing up. We’ll bring the twins to see you once you’ve sorted the place out.’

  Belinda smiled at him. ‘That would be something to look forward to,’ she said. ‘If I go.’

  2

  Once Christmas and the New Year festivities were over, Belinda tried at every opportunity to get Nigel and Molly to change their minds about her overseeing the rejuvenation of the campsite in Brittany. Both of them insisted, together, and individually when she cornered them separately, that she was the one they wanted to head up the makeover of the campsite and drag it into the twenty-first century. According to them, it was the perfect project for her and they really didn’t understand her reluctance to accept it. They showed her pictures and a short video they’d taken on their phone.

  ‘It’s got everything families could want for a holiday in unspoilt countryside,’ Nigel said.

  Belinda had to agree. The place, with its log cabins scattered higgledy-piggledy around the site rather than in regimented rows and the long low stone building down by the river that served as the restaurant-cum-café for the site, looked to be picturesque, if in need of some tender loving care.

  When Nigel insisted she’d have to stay in Finistère for most of the time to oversee the workmen, she had almost resigned.

  ‘But what about the hotels here? I visit them all at least twice a week. Sometimes more. And the weekly accounts? I know I can do most things remotely, but surely I need to come home at least once every ten days?’

  Molly had said she and Nigel would manage everything between them. ‘Be like the old days for us, before you came into our lives.’

  Even trying to get Nigel to believe that her French wasn’t good enough didn’t work.

  ‘You forget I’ve heard you in action with French tourists. Your language skills are better than most and using it every day you’ll soon be word-perfect.’

  Her final argument was BB. ‘There is no way I’m leaving BB,’ she said. ‘That is non-negotiable.’

  ‘Completely understand that,’ Nigel said. ‘Take him. I’ll even pay for his pet passport.’

  Belinda sighed, sensing that nothing was going to change their minds and she was limited to the two choices. Go or resign. Neither of which she wanted to do.

  Talking to Jane, her best friend, was no help.

  ‘It’s a challenge,’ Jane said.

  ‘I like to set my own challenges,’ Belinda said. ‘Besides, there’s a difference between a challenge and an unwanted surprise. And you know how much I hate surprises and change.’ Changes in her life had always tended to be unexpected and more than catastrophic.

  ‘You’ll be so busy, time will fly by. Nigel and Molly wouldn’t be insisting you go to France if they didn’t think you could do it. And let’s face it, nothing much ever happens here until spring. The hotels aren’t exactly busy – oh, except for Easter of course, which is late this year anyway. Being surrounded by all those hunky Frenchmen will be a bonus,’ Jane added with an innocent look on her face, which induced a resigned laugh from Belinda.

  ‘At least you won’t be there trying to matchmake,’ Belinda said. She and Jane had met at a book club three years ago when Belinda was struggling to cope after her unexpected divorce. Jane had been on a mission ever since to find Belinda a replacement husband, determined her new friend wouldn’t sink into a lonely middle age.

  Several friends of Jane’s husband, Brett, had duly been introduced to Belinda at supper parties, but sadly not one of them had come up to Belinda’s new, exacting, requirements. Certainly none had given her even a tiny frisson of excitement when she met them. Jane had declared only last week that Belinda was impossible to please. She wasn’t really, she was just determined never to be hurt in the way Peter had hurt her ever again.

  ‘We’re talking northern Brittany here, not the Côte d’Azur, which, as we all know, is where all the hunky Frenchmen hang out. If Nigel had bought a campsite in Cannes or Antibes, I’d have gone like a shot. All that sunshine and je ne sais quoi, mmm.’ Belinda glanced at Jane. ‘Guess that makes me somewhat shallow?’

  ‘Just a bit. I don’t understand why you’re so upset at the thought of spending time in France. You’ve had holidays ov
er there and loved it. You adore Paris and you’ve had several holidays in Nice. Paris and the Riviera aren’t the sum total of France, you know. Besides it’s not forever. You’ll be back before you know it.’ Jane looked at Belinda. ‘Anyway, you haven’t come up with a real reason yet for not going.’

  ‘I do know there’s more to France than the major tourist destinations, but Brittany is not somewhere I’ve ever longed to visit.’ Belinda shrugged. ‘I don’t like being out of my comfort zone these days. And, honestly, what do I know about campsites? I’ve never stayed in one. I like five-star hotels,’ was the only excuse she could think of without lying to her friend.

  How could she admit to Jane the real reason behind her reluctance to go to Brittany? About that promise she’d made her mother when she was so ill? That she would go back to Brittany, lay the ghosts to rest. But it was a promise made under duress. Since her mum’s death, Belinda had guiltily pushed it to the back of her mind. After all, her mother would never know if she kept or broke the promise. Briefly, she toyed with the idea of telling Jane the real reason why she was fighting going to Brittany, but there were things in her past she’d never talked about to anyone outside of the family. Even Peter had only known the sketchiest outline of her previous life before she met him.