A French Pirouette. Jennifer Bohnet

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