The Little French Guesthouse by Helen Pollard Read Free Book Online Page B

Mrs Henderson enquired what the meat was. She might have been used to eating rabbit, but I certainly wasn’t. I paled at the revelation, but since it was too late for the rabbit, and I’d already eaten some, I recovered my poise and finished what was on my plate, declining seconds.
    As I contemplated the tropical fruit salad, I tried to swallow my resentment towards Rupert for such a labour-intensive menu. I knew the poor man couldn’t have guessed his wife wouldn’t be at his side helping him, but there’d been an inordinate amount to do.
    The large kitchen table was welcoming as usual, with its matching pale blue linen tablecloth and napkins, the cut-glass wine glasses glinting in subdued lighting... But the atmosphere was less than jovial. Hardly surprising, since most of us weren’t talking to each other. Gloria unkindly left it to Rupert to make the evening swing, but his face was etched with tired lines and he ate very little.
    It was the Hendersons, oblivious to any undercurrent of strain or malice, who unwittingly saved the evening by regaling us with horror stories of the “dreadful” B&B they’d stayed in on the journey down and their lavish plans for living it up in Paris on the way back.
    ‘Honestly, I have never stayed anywhere with such cheap, nasty bed sheets,’ Mrs Henderson exclaimed with disgust. ‘Heaven only knows what the cotton count was. The towels were bald, and there was a chip in my water glass – disgraceful. Almost cut my lip. I’m positive the bedroom shutters had woodworm.’ She shuddered. ‘And the breakfast!’
    ‘Cold bread rolls and jam,’ her husband chipped in. ‘And coffee. That was it. No fresh pastries like you have here, Hunter. No offer of eggs. Not even a decent cup of tea. Bloody disgrace. Never again!’
    I suspected the owners of the B&B were probably saying the same thing about the Hendersons.
    Soon after the meal, for which they managed a cursory compliment, they retired to their room. Exhausted from cooking and keeping up a pretence in front of Rupert, I was desperate to do the same – but I had to wait until Nathan retired to his. I wanted to know exactly where he was for the night.
    I followed him up the stairs. ‘So have you thought yet? About what’s happening tomorrow?’ I asked him, closing his door behind us.
    He frowned. ‘I thought that was the point of staying another night. To give us time to think.’
    My eyebrows shot up. ‘You’re hardly going to be thinking when you’re asleep. You’ve had time today, surely?’
    He stared at his feet. ‘Of course I have, but... All I know is that it’s obvious things aren’t going too well between us.’
    ‘I think we’ve already established that.’ I sighed. ‘Maybe we need to try to remember the good times. When we were first going out together, we wanted to see each other all the time.’ I tried a smile. ‘You used to ring me from accounts to tell me how much you fancied me in my suit. We had a sandwich together instead of working through. And deciding to buy the flat... We felt good about that. We had fun choosing the furniture, getting things how we wanted them. Having people round. It’s only this last year or so that it’s... deteriorated. I think we need to be asking ourselves why. And where do we take it from here?’
    He looked up. ‘Where do you want to take it from here?’
    ‘I don’t know. But I do know we need to get away from here so we can talk about what we both want, how we might make things work. Is that a problem?’
    A sad look crossed his eyes. ‘I think the problem, Emmy, is that you’re obviously not going to forgive or forget what happened with Gloria.’
    I balked. ‘Of course I’m not going to forget! I might forgive, but that takes time and work. From both of us.’
    He nodded. ‘I’m tired. Let’s sleep on it. We’ll talk in the morning.’

    B y the time I staggered down for breakfast, the Hendersons had already set off on a château -and-culture