A French Pirouette. Jennifer Bohnet

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 Brigitte 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.”

      “The rally will have to be stopped if you cancel the tea. It would be impossible to find somewhere else local at such short notice,” Brigitte said. “Please, Libby. I promise you it is not difficult.”

      Libby sighed. “I don’t suppose I have much choice really.” She looked at Brigitte. “OK. You’d better fill me in with all the details—times, kind of food, et cetera and we’ll work out a plan of action.” Talk about being thrown in at the deep end but at least she’d have Brigitte and Chloe to help.

       Chapter Three

      Brigitte

      Standing in the sitting room of the old mas in the centre of the village, Brigitte determinedly rubbed her eyes in an effort to keep the tears she could feel threatening from running down her cheeks.

      Bruno might be full of enthusiasm about moving back into the house where he was born but it was the auberge that had meant everything to her. Living in the maison de maître in the village would simply not be the same. Of course she realised things changed and nothing stayed the same for ever. She also knew the auberge had been getting, not too much for her as Bruno insisted, but more old-fashioned and in need of updating. Something she’d hoped Bruno would help her do when he retired but instead after his broken arm he’d said he wanted more time for them to do things together and insisted on putting the auberge up for sale.

      “We haven’t had a proper vacance in twenty years,” he’d said.

      “We’ve been to Paris and Venice, several times,” Brigitte had protested. “And London, Barcelona. We even got to Amsterdam.”

      “They were just long weekends—and mainly out of season.” Bruno had dismissed them almost as non-events. “I want a proper holiday, not something snatched between bookings.” He glanced at her before adding, “I’m sure you’d like to spend time with Isabelle too down on the Riviera.”

      She hadn’t been able to argue with that. She’d missed Isabelle when she’d married and gone to live down south, with infrequent visits back home because of a busy work schedule. So she’d half-heartedly agreed that they’d sell the auberge, secretly planning to delay it as long as possible. Libby ringing up and saying she wanted to buy the place was something she’d not anticipated.

      She’d genuinely tried to point out to Libby how hard she’d find it on her own but Libby had been adamant. Saying she was doing it for Dan. And that it would do her good to have something to focus on. In the end Brigitte had given up and accepted the inevitable changes to her own life she seemed powerless to stop.

      Crossing over to the window Brigitte looked out over the village street. After just two days she missed the view and the noise of the canal water whooshing over the weir. Listening to people going about their daily business and the traffic trundling through the village did not have the same appeal.

      To give Bruno his due though, he had spent a lot of time down here sorting things out while she’d packed up their personal belongings and prepared the auberge for handing over to Libby. The mas had not been lived in since Bruno’s mother died two years ago and Brigitte had made him promise to clean it thoroughly before she moved in. But it still needed a lot done to it.

      “We can decorate and get it to our taste slowly,” she’d told him. “But we need a proper bathroom and I want a new kitchen.” For years she’d dreamt about having a kitchen designed just for her. Whatever Bruno said, it had to be the first thing—together with a new salle de bain—to be done in their new home. Her reward for leaving the auberge and her life there.

      He’d been as good as his word and in the eight weeks it took for all the legal paperwork to go through, a new kitchen and a new bathroom had been installed. If only she felt like using the new kitchen but somehow cooking was the last thing she felt like doing these days.

      Brigitte moved across to the boxes in the centre of the room. Better get on with it and at least try to make the place look a bit more like home.

      An hour later she was putting the last of the books on the shelves when Bruno returned.

      “Everything good at the au…Libby’s?” She knew that was where he’d been. Something about collecting some tools he’d left in the garden shed, showing Libby the secret places where the hens sometimes laid their eggs. He’d suggested Brigitte went with him, had a coffee with Libby, but she’d declined.

      Initially she thought she’d spend a lot of time up at the auberge helping Libby settle in but she’d realised it wasn’t a good idea for her to hang around up there too much. She knew Libby would always ask if she needed help or advice.

      “You’ve been busy up here,” Bruno said looking at the empty boxes waiting to be thrown away, their contents now displayed around the room.