A French Pirouette Read Online Free Page A

last chance as Brigitte told me they’re selling the auberge.”
    Libby held out her hand for the photographs and took a deep breath.
    “Chloe?”
    “Mmm?”
    “When Brigitte told me they were selling, I had this crazy idea that I might buy the Auberge du Canal,” Libby said. “Of course I won’t,” she added quickly. “It’s a stupid idea really. Not worth thinking about.” She put the photos back down on the table and turned away.
    “No it’s not. I think it’s a brilliant idea.”
    Libby stopped and looked at Chloe. “You do? It would mean selling this house for a start.”
    “It’ll be a bit big for you anyway when I leave,” Chloe said practically. “You’ll need to downsize.”
    “The auberge is bigger! And there’s a gîte.”
    “Yes, but it would be a business. You love having people to stay, fussing after them and cooking.”
    “I so don’t fuss!”
    “You do but in the nicest possible way,” Chloe said. “I definitely think you should think about it seriously.”
    “Really? You don’t think it’s too big a risk at my age—on my own?”
    “Mum. You’re not exactly on the scrapheap yet. OK I know you’ve got the big four-oh coming up this year but you’re still in reasonable shape for an oldie.”
    “Oldie?” Libby said. “I’m not old. Besides forty is the new thirty.”
    “You will be old if you don’t start living again. I know you miss Dad,” Chloe said. “I do too. But you need to do something with your life. Besides, you might meet a sexy Frenchman. Get married again.”
    Libby shook her head. She doubted that would happen. She did need to do something with her life though; Chloe was right about that. She was definitely too young to vegetate the rest of her life away.
    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