A French Pirouette Read online

  Chloe picked up a photo of the auberge. “It’s such a special place. I could move over with you for a couple of months before I go to uni. Help you settle in.”

  Libby held out her hand for the photo. Chloe was right. The auberge was a special place. Just looking at the photos evoked so many wonderful holiday memories. Evening walks along the canal path with the swallows swooping around their heads. Supper on the terrace overlooking the canal. Watching the occasional boat manoeuvre its way through the lock, making its way to a mooring alongside the village quay. The wonderful meals Brigitte had made them. Their dream of living the Good Life. Libby put the photo down on the table.

  “With an offer like that—how can I hesitate? Maybe I’ll ring Brigitte at the weekend and ask how much they want for the place. For all I know the price will be more than I can afford anyway.”

  For the next few days Libby’s thoughts kept returning again and again to the idea of moving to France on her own. Because she would be on her own once Chloe was at university here in England. Holidays in a foreign country were one thing—moving there permanently on her own was totally different.

  Time and time again, Libby thoughtfully fingered the photograph she’d framed and placed on her bedside table. Remembering how idyllic it had always been. The way she and Dan had dreamt of moving to France—of changing their lives. Could she resurrect the dream? Do it on her own?

  She agonised for days over what to do. So many questions and what-ifs tumbled around in her head. As Chloe had so kindly pointed out she had a Big Birthday coming up but hopefully she still had a lot of years ahead of her. She had to do something and working at something she enjoyed would be better than doing any old thing. But could she resurrect the dream by herself, for herself? She’d always liked having relatives and friends to stay. Loved cooking special meals for them. Was it up to French standards though? Was her French up to coping?

  It was remembering Dan describing how he longed to get out of the rut they were in that decided her. The rut could only get deeper as the years went by. The least she could do was to find out the price of the auberge.

  Brigitte, when Libby rang her Sunday morning, was thrilled at the thought of Libby buying the auberge.

  “You would be perfect. I do want it to go to someone I like,” she said. “It will be hard for you alone but I will ’elp you all I can.”

  The price when Brigitte told her, took Libby’s breath away in surprise. She’d forgotten how reasonable property still was in Brittany. Affording it would not be a problem. Dan’s insurance money and the money from the sale of the house would cover it.

  Decision time. Could she be brave and do it? Use Dan’s money to fulfil his dream for both of them. Libby took a deep breath.

  “I’ll have to sell here, Brigitte, but yes, I would like to buy the Auberge du Canal.”

  It was surprising how fast things happened after the decision had been made. Libby decided against going to Brittany to view the auberge, feeling that she knew the place well enough already. It wasn’t as if she was buying something unseen or unknown.

  Brigitte and Bruno agreed to her paying a large deposit and the rest when the house sold. Various official papers passed from France to England and back again—usually in triplicate and signed and initialled in several places. Brigitte also said Libby should move in as soon as possible to keep the continuity of the business going.

  The house was put on the market and Libby started on the endless decluttering and packing. Chloe helped and between them they decided on the various bits and pieces Libby should take to France.

  Furniture was easy. The auberge was coming fully furnished—apart from the two-bedroom owner’s apartment. So the beds and other furniture from both their bedrooms would be needed, as would the sitting-room furniture.

  It was the personal items that caused the most problems. Paintings, ornaments and books. What to keep and what to take to the local charity shops? Many of the books had been Dan’s on such diverse subjects as fishing, car mechanics, physics and his well-read Wilbur Smiths.

  Chloe took what she called ‘an executive decision’ and took all of Dan’s books, except the Wilbur Smiths, down to the Oxfam Shop in the High Street.

  “You can put everything else in the sitting room of the auberge,” she said.

  In between the decluttering and the packing, they had several couples view the house before Libby accepted an offer from a newly married couple expecting their first baby, who declared it to be a ‘perfect family house’. From then on, the number of urgent things on her to do list grew.

  Eight weeks later Libby and Chloe drove onto the cross-channel ferry. Libby, with her remaining worldly goods piled around her, on her way to a new life in France and Chloe trying, and failing, to tell her mother about a possible change of plan in her life.

  The sound of rushing water woke Libby. It was several seconds before she remembered where she was. As realisation dawned, she smiled happily.

  She’d done it. She and Chloe were actually in France.

  Last night she’d deliberately opened the bedroom window slightly before closing the shutters so, as she’d collapsed exhausted into bed, the noise of the canal had lulled her to sleep. Lying in bed at either end of the day listening to the water’s rhythmic movement had always been a special part of past holidays. Now it was about to become a part of her future daily routine.

  Stretching out her hand, Libby picked up the silver-framed photograph she’d placed on the floor beside the bed last night. Gently she stroked the glass. “Wish you were here with me, Dan,” she said softly.

  Since the decision had been made and everything had snowballed into place, she’d been outwardly buoyed up with enthusiasm but at the same time she was secretly terrified at what she had set in motion. When Helen, Dan’s sister and Chloe’s godmother, had voiced her concern she’d tried to explain her feelings.

  “It’s such a big step, Libby. I know it was always a dream of yours and Dan’s to do this together but on your own?” Helen shook her head, a worried frown on her face.

  “I know,” Libby said. “But I have to do something and I’m a big girl now—I’m sure I’ll cope on my own. Chloe will be there for the summer too, don’t forget.” She’d smiled reassuringly.

  When Helen failed to look convinced Libby said, “Helen, please don’t worry. I can’t tell you how energised I feel about this move. After the last couple of years I feel like I’m waking up again. I’m ninety-nine per cent certain I’m doing the right thing. If I’m not, and it all goes wrong, I can always sell up and come home but at least I’ll have tried to do something with my life.”

  “Well, I wish you all the luck in the world,” Helen said. “Can I come and visit?”

  “Of course. Give me a week or two to settle in and you’ll be more than welcome.”

  Now, alone in the auberge bedroom, which she and Dan had occupied together so often, she could only pray that she’d done the right thing coming to France on her own. Thoughtfully Libby put Dan’s photograph back down on the floor. “I’ll make our dream come true,” she whispered.

  “Morning, Mum.” Chloe pushed open the bedroom door with her foot. “Brought you breakfast,” she said, carefully placing a tray on the bed.

  “Goodness,” Libby said, looking at the fresh croissants on the tray. “You’re up and about early.”

  “Did my run to the village.” Chloe grinned. “Where the boulangerie just happened to be open. So I’ve earned my pain au chocolate—you’ll have to work yours off later!”

  “That won’t be hard,” Libby said. “With this place to be sorted. Lots of unpacking to do today. Mmm, I’d forgotten how good these are,” she added, dunking her pain au chocolate in the bowl of coffee in true French style.

  The sudden noisy crowing of a cockerel startled them. “Napoleon,” Chloe said. “Wants his breakfast.”

  Libby looked at her blankly.

  “You remember, Mum. Brigitte told you she was leaving the hens and
ducks for you. Napoleon the cockerel comes with them. I’ll go and let them out if you like, while you shower.”

  “Thanks.”

  Libby sighed as Chloe left the room. She was going to miss having her around so much when she left for college, leaving her to live alone for the first time ever. Running her shower and standing under the hot invigorating water, Libby pushed all thoughts of Chloe leaving away. She wouldn’t start worrying about it now. There was a whole summer to enjoy before she left.

  “Mum! Come here quickly.” Chloe’s urgent shout broke into her thoughts as she towelled herself dry. Quickly she pulled on some clothes and ran downstairs.

  “Whatever is the matter…?” she asked, her voice trailing away as she saw exactly what the matter was. The kitchen was flooded and water was pouring out through the back door and down the steps.

  “Thought I’d put some washing on but the machine won’t stop taking in water,” Chloe said. “Even though I’ve turned it off.”

  “We need to turn off the stopcock,” Libby said. “And I have no idea where that is. I’ll phone Brigitte. But first I’ll turn the electricity off at the mains—I think the switch for that is in this cupboard by the door. Yes!” She pushed the big switch on the right down to the off position.

  She picked up the phone and dialled Brigitte’s number. After quickly explaining the situation she listened intently as Brigitte told her where the stopcock was.

  “Outside by the gîte. I send Bruno to help you. He knows what to do.”

  Libby ran outside, found the stopcock under a large metal cover and turned the water off. By the time Bruno arrived carrying his bag of tools, she and Chloe were busy mopping up the water in the kitchen.

  Bruno dragged the machine out to reach the pipes behind and pulled out a piece of perished rubber hose. “The machine is old. It happens occasionally,” he said. “I fix it for now but a new machine might be better.”

  “Thanks, Bruno,” Libby said. Looked like her shopping list had just gotten even longer.

  Once Bruno had left and she’d tentatively switched everything back on with no mishaps, Libby breathed a sigh or relief. First crisis over.

  “Everybody knows things go wrong when they move,” Libby said philosophically as she and Chloe began the final clean-up. “Could be worse.”

  For the next few days Libby and Chloe were busy sorting out the auberge. Together they inspected the whole place, with Libby making notes about everything she would need to buy. She was determined to give it a twenty-first-century makeover, change the slightly old-fashioned style of the place, and to put her own mark on it, all without upsetting Brigitte.

  Six double bedrooms, sitting room, dining room, cloakroom and the kitchen. The bedrooms were all pretty much as Libby remembered them. Heavy Bretagne carved beds, four-drawer chests with a mirror placed above each, wardrobes to match the carved wooden bed ends and en-suite salle de bains. Even with the large furniture the rooms were still spacious with plenty of room to add a comfortable chair or two—cane Lloyd Loom ones if she could find some. Also some bedside tables. For some reason Brigitte had never considered it necessary to supply those. Or tea-and-coffee-making trays.

  Brigitte had always insisted that guests were free to use the kitchen and didn’t need to make drinks in their rooms. Libby had often wished she could make herself a warm drink though when she’d woken at three a.m. and didn’t fancy trekking downstairs to the kitchen. Bedside tables with lights and a tray with tea-making facilities were essentials in her book.

  “Love the white bedlinen, Mum, but blankets?” Chloe said, opening the large armoire on the first floor landing where all the bedlinen was stored. “Mmm smell that lavender.”

  “Definitely replace with duvets,” Libby said scribbling a note. “Some toile de Jouy covers and pillowcases would be pretty. Need some more white bath towels too.”

  Some of the rooms could also do with decorating, she decided. After his accident Bruno had clearly given up on that front. A fresh coat of paint on the walls to freshen things up before the season began would be enough this year. Next winter would be the time to tackle any major decorating. The first guests were booked in for three weeks’ time, so no time to do them all. She’d tackle the three on the first floor first. Large tins of paint went on the list.

  “Now for my apartment,” Libby said as they climbed the final flight of stairs to the top floor and opened the apartment door with its private ‘interdit’ sign. “It’s going to feel funny living up here on my own,” she said glancing at Chloe. “D’you realise I’ve never lived on my own before?”

  “Mum, stop worrying. It’s going to be fine,” Chloe reassured her.

  The couple of occasions in the past when Brigitte had invited them upstairs Libby remembered the sitting room being small and full of large old-fashioned furniture. Now with her own modern furniture left higgledy-piggledy by the removal men, waiting for her to decide where to place it all, the room seemed bigger. Full of possibilities. There was even a little balcony with room for one of those snazzy wrought-iron round tables and a chair. A perfect place to unwind in the evening, overlooking the canal and the woods on the opposite side.

  Her bedroom too was a good size—big enough for the king-sized bed and the various other pieces she’d brought with her. She smiled ruefully looking at the unmade bed with boxes of clothes dumped on it. Really she should have left it behind in the UK and bought a new, smaller one, in France. But it was so comfortable and she’d gotten used to having the luxury of so much space.

  “Right, you ready to hit the shops?” Chloe asked, looking at the list in Libby’s hand.

  “I was going to check out the gîte as well,” Libby said. “See what’s needed in there but that can wait for another day. Let’s go.”

  Three hours later Libby called a halt to the shopping, feeling that her bank account had been hit hard enough for one day.

  “Think that’s it for today. Don’t think the car will hold another thing,” she said. “Time to go home and get to work.”

  Turning off the main road onto the narrow canal path with the car filled to the roof with boxes and bags, Libby slowed down to a crawl to avoid the potholes. The last thing she needed was to damage her car.

  “At least we’re not likely to meet anything thank goodness. There’s so much stuff in the car I couldn’t possibly see to reverse,” she said.

  “Umm think you’ve spoken too soon,” Chloe said, indicating a dirty blue estate car in the distance moving at a fair speed towards them.

  “Damn,” Libby muttered. “D’you think they know I’ve just passed a lay-by? I’m going to keep going—I can’t see to reverse properly. I’m sure there’s another passing place further down—hopefully they won’t mind reversing.”

  As she continued to edge slowly towards the other car Libby was relieved to see it finally stop and then begin to go backwards quickly. The sun shining on the windscreen of the other car made it impossible to see who was driving other than it appeared to be a man.

  Thirty seconds later as she drew alongside to pass, Libby raised her hand in acknowledgement and Chloe wound the window down to say “Thanks.”

  “If you’re going to live here you need to learn to reverse,” the man said wagging a finger at them. “See you soon.” With that he was gone, churning up the road dust in his wake and leaving Libby and Chloe looking at each other.

  “Bit rude,” Libby said. “I’m quite capable of reversing normally.”

  “Wonder who he is?” Chloe said. “He was quite dishy in a laid-back scruffy French way. Wonder what he meant by see you soon?”

  Libby shrugged as she pulled into the parking space outside the auberge. “No idea. Can you take this box inside please—needs to go in the sitting room. I’ll bring the first of the duvets and then I’m going to put the kettle on. I need tea after all that shopping.”

  They were sitting in the kitchen drinking tea and making plans to start on the unpacking and sorting things out when Bri
gitte arrived.

  “I thought I’d pop in to see how you were after the flood,” Brigitte said. “And to offer to give you a hand Saturday.”

  “Saturday?” Libby asked, pouring a cup of tea and handing it to Brigitte.

  “The rally tea.”

  Puzzled, Libby looked at her.

  “The local vintage car club. Bruno’s a member and we’ve always had the season’s opening rally start and finish from here. It is in the reservations book,” Brigitte said.

  “I haven’t opened that book,” Libby said. “In fact I’m not even sure where it is. I’d assumed the booking for three people at the end of the month you’d mentioned was the first date I had to worry about.” She looked at Brigitte. “How many people come on this rally? What kind of food do they want?” She shook her head. “I’m not sure…”

  “It’s just sandwiches, cakes and tea. If it’s cold, a bowl of soup is welcome,” Brigitte said. “I think last year there were thirty people.”

  “Thirty! No, I can’t possibly. Who’s the organiser? I’ll ring tonight and cancel. I’m sure they can find somewhere else when I explain I’ve only just moved in.”

  “Mais, Libby, it’s not a problem with me to help this year,” Brigitte protested. She hesitated. “I have told Lucas earlier that it will be OK.”

  “Lucas?”

  “Lucas Berrien. He is the organiser. When he called to see me earlier I promised him there was no problem with you because I would help. He said he’d driven down here to see you but then he got an emergency call so he had to leave.”

  “Emergency? Who is he?”

  “He’s the local vétérinaire,” Brigitte replied.

  “What kind of car does he have?” Chloe asked.

  “He has a vintage Delage that is the envy of all but for his work he drives…”

  “A muddy blue estate,” Libby finished the sentence for her.

  “Oui. You’ve met him?”

  “Only in passing,” Libby said.

  “So that’s why he said see you soon.” Chloe laughed. “Go on, Mum. You can do it. Think of catering for the rally as your first challenge in France.”