The Little French Guesthouse Read Online Free Page A

‘Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?’
    She shrugged as though she couldn’t care less, but there was a wariness in her eyes. ‘Shit happens, Emmy. You weren’t supposed to see what you saw, but you did. I’m not sure what you want me to say.’
    Flabbergasted, I slapped the undrinkable coffee down on the granite counter with so much force, I heard the cup crack.
    ‘Maybe you could start by apologising for sleeping with my boyfriend?’
    She folded her arms across her chest, a gesture which had the unfortunate effect of wrinkling the tanned skin above her cleavage so it looked like leather.
    ‘There were two of us, Emmy – you saw that for yourself. Yes, I had sex with Nathan. And he had sex with me. Maybe you should look to him for an apology.’
    ‘Nathan and I have already had words, thanks, which is more than I can say for you and Rupert. I presume you’re going to tell him when he comes home?’
    ‘Then you presume wrong.’ Her eyes narrowed in threat. ‘Nor do I expect you to tell him.’
    I was impressed by her nerve. ‘Don’t you think you should discuss this vow of silence with all relevant parties first, rather than assume it?’
    ‘I would have thought that even you would agree it won’t do him much good to find out something like that. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for a relapse, would you?’
    She had me there. No matter how furious I was, I couldn’t risk Rupert’s fragile health just to get my revenge on Gloria. But being backed into a corner by her made me see red.
    ‘You didn’t seem so bothered about Rupert’s health and well-being last night!’
    ‘Are you suggesting I don’t care about my husband?’
    I barked out a strangled laugh. ‘Let’s just say that sleeping with the guests is a funny way of showing it.’
    ‘Sleeping with a guest, Emmy. One guest. Get your facts straight.’
    ‘You want me to get my facts straight?’ I counted off on my fingers. ‘You’re married. You slept with my boyfriend. You’re nearly old enough to be his teenage mother. There. Is that straight enough for you?’
    Her mouth twisted in contempt. ‘If your relationship is so solid and I’m so geriatric, then why did your boyfriend rip off all my clothes like a wild animal while you enjoyed your middle-aged reminiscences with my husband downstairs?’
    I had no answer to that. Fortunately, I didn’t have to find one. As I desperately searched my besieged brain for a biting riposte, the phone rang in the hall and Gloria shot past me to answer it.
    I remained standing in the kitchen, dazed. Gloria’s parting shot had hit its mark. Was our sex life really so deep in the doldrums that Nathan had felt the need to do this? Up until yesterday, I wouldn’t have said so. I would have said we were probably the same as any other hardworking couple. We were often too tired, too busy, too stressed – but we still made love. Not as regularly as we used to. Not as passionately as we used to. But surely not many relationships could sustain the passion of a couple first getting together? I suddenly realised that I had assumed a gradual decline like that was normal. Even acceptable.
    It seemed Nathan hadn’t felt the same way.

    N athan made himself scarce the first half of the morning by pretending to sleep in, then moving all his stuff to his new room – something I only discovered when I went upstairs to see where he’d got to. The sheets and blanket I’d thrust at him last night were back on my bed, and when I peeped into his new accommodation, I saw that he had a full new set of bedlinen – which meant a) he had to have spoken to Gloria already and b) he didn’t seem to be thinking along the same lines as me with regard to us moving somewhere else.
    I couldn’t say I was happy about either of those things, but with Herculean effort, I curbed my temper and impatience until we could be alone. Gloria had already had intimate knowledge of my boyfriend last night. What was left of my