The Little French Guesthouse Read Online Free

I’d sworn I’d never put myself through it again. Here at the guesthouse, our booking included daily breakfast and three dinners a week, leaving us free to discover the local restaurants the rest of the time, and I thought that a happy medium.
    Rupert did all the cooking at La Cour des Roses , and as I lay in my stupor the morning after his collapse, I wondered what would happen now. We were the only house guests at the moment, but more were imminent. Would Gloria take over? Casting my mind back over the past few days, I began to wonder what Gloria actually did – other than seduce other people’s boyfriends. She was more your meeter-and-greeter than your do-er, looking decorative in a tight-jeaned, low-topped sort of way, fluttering and faffing. I suspected she was more skilful at the appearance of being busy than the real thing.
    At least they had a cleaner. She was a tiny, elderly, weather-beaten woman who worked like a demon and chattered continuously at you, incapable of understanding that your French hadn’t been used for years and had been inadequate in the first place.
    Sounds began to drift across the courtyard from the gîtes – a toddler crying, a car door opening, a woman calling for her husband to bring in the map, the coffee was ready – and I felt a stab of envy. That should be Nathan and me, relaxed and ready to explore.
    Heaving a sigh of self-pity, I levered myself up. That disembodied mention of coffee had woken my caffeine alarm. Like a sleep-deprived zombie, I ventured inside in search of a fix.
    Gloria, all full make-up and backcombed bleached blonde hair, put in an appearance as I fumbled with the shiny technical wizardry that was the coffee machine.
    ‘Here, let me,’ she said, shoving me aside. She pushed buttons and twiddled knobs until jets of steam plumed up to the raftered ceiling, then handed me a cup. It was sludgy and tasted like something scraped from the bottom of the chicken house. Rupert was clearly the coffee whizz – another downside to his absence.
    Squaring my shoulders, I prepared to tackle her over her coupling with Nathan. Such a time-honoured confrontation should have taken place the night before, of course, but Rupert’s inconsiderate medical emergency had scuppered that.
    It would have been nice if Gloria had made the first move and proffered an apology. After all, if she’d broken my necklace or insulted my favourite aunt or even trodden on my toes, I imagine she would have said sorry. Yet there she stood after having had rampant sex with my boyfriend, and not a sniff of one. Unbelievable.
    Even so, I couldn’t ignore the fact that the woman’s husband was in a hospital bed. I reined myself in. First things first.
    ‘How’s Rupert?’
    There was a flicker in her eyes, something icy and cold, but it was gone before I could decipher it. ‘I phoned the hospital,’ she said. ‘They’re discharging him this morning.’
    ‘Did they say what was wrong?’
    ‘It wasn’t a heart attack.’ Gloria shot me an accusing look, as if to criticise my incorrect diagnosis that had so rudely interrupted her extramarital activities last night. ‘It’s angina. They’ve given him some medication. He’ll have to be more careful about what he eats and drinks.’
    Rupert wasn’t a light drinker, and I had a feeling this would be a bone of contention between them.
    ‘Will he have to rest?’
    ‘Apparently so. They think he damaged a ligament in his leg when he fell. He can barely walk.’ Again, that hint of accusation, as though I’d somehow let everyone down by not throwing myself across the kitchen to catch a six-foot, fourteen-stone bloke all by myself.
    ‘Well, I’m glad he’s alright,’ I said truthfully. And now on to the main attraction... ‘Time for you and me to have a little chat, then, don’t you think?’
    The hint of shock in her eyes suggested she thought she’d got away without a confrontation. ‘Oh?’
    I found her brazen attitude astonishing.