Sitting in her car the next morning waiting for the queue of cars in front of her to start leaving the ferry, Belinda set the satnav for ‘Camping dans La Fôret, Finistère’.
A feeble sun in the grey sky failed to break through to clear the early-morning mist that hung over the countryside as she left Roscoff behind her. Belinda took her time driving along, enjoying the surprisingly traffic-free roads taking her past field after field that would soon contain the artichokes and the renowned onions of the area. Trees with their bare branches stood tall alongside roadside hedges that were half the height of the Devon ones she was used to. Later, on the windswept Parc d’Armorique, as she reached the top of a hill, Belinda had a misty glimpse of a view that on a clear day would stretch for miles and miles away into the distance.
When BB whined at her from his seat alongside her, she pulled into a lay-by at the top of one of those hills, unclipped his seat belt harness and slipped his lead on before getting out of the car. Once the little dog had sniffed the new smells and peed, Belinda put him back in the car. She sat for a few moments looking out at the wild open moorland in front of her. Strangely familiar and yet new and unseen.
Not one hundred per cent comfortable with driving her beloved Mazda MX5 on the ‘wrong’ side of the road, she’d set the satnav to find the quietest route. Now, obeying its directions and leaving the wide-open space of the moor, Belinda found herself driving down quiet side roads taking her deeper into the heart of Finistère close to the border of Morbihan.
Driving through in some cases deserted villages and small hamlets, she experienced several unexpected feelings of déjà vu. Feelings she pushed firmly away, but her sense of unease grew as her destination drew closer. Long shut-down memories began to surface despite her attempts to keep them buried. She really didn’t want to be here in Brittany. To remember. She couldn’t – wouldn’t – allow herself to think about the past.
A quick glance at the satnav display on the dashboard indicated that she was nearly at the end of her journey. The next village with its ‘Welcome’ sign on the verge confirmed the fact that the time to change her mind and carry on driving until she was far away was running out. She barely registered the school or the church as she approached the main street. The aroma of freshly baked bread from the boulangerie drifted past her nostrils as she reached the centre of the village and her stomach rumbled, reminding her about her decision not to eat breakfast on the ferry. Another hundred metres and the village was behind her and she was approaching a T-junction.
Belinda gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white as she fought the desire to turn round and go back to England. To tell Nigel and Molly that she couldn’t do it and resign, like she should have done in the very beginning. She was experienced enough now to get another job.
Seconds before the satnav announced ‘In twenty yards turn left’, Belinda saw the ‘Camping dans La Fôret’ sign on the verge, pointing down a narrow tree-lined track. She stretched out her left hand and turned the satnav off. This was it. The point of no return. If she turned onto the lane, she would be committed to stay and do the job Nigel expected her to do.
Sitting there, her foot on the brake, Belinda mentally gave herself a good talking-to. She was a grown-up for goodness’ sake, no longer an impressionable teenager. That person had put the past behind her years ago and got on with life, never dreaming that one day she would be forced to once again come face to face with it. But maybe she was overreacting? After all, it had happened thirty-five years ago. Times were different. People were different. She was different.
Determinedly, Belinda lifted her foot off the brake and pressed the accelerator, turning the steering wheel slowly as the car moved forward onto the lane.
The gate at the campsite entrance was hanging off at a drunken angle to one side, a weather-beaten ‘Fermé’ sign pinned to the top bar. The first thing to put on her to-do list. Belinda forced herself to drive slowly, zigzagging the car up the potholed driveway that seemed to go on forever. The second thing to go on her to-do list. Finally, she pulled up in front of two tired-looking wooden buildings. One had the word ‘Shop’ above its doorway and sun-faded posters advertising bread, drinks and ice creams. The other had a shallow flight of steps leading to the door and the words ‘Reception – Accueil’ in faded paint across the top of the door.
Her heart thumping, Belinda parked the car alongside an ancient mud-splattered 2CV, picked up her laptop bag from the passenger seat, got out, promised BB she’d let him out again soon, slammed the door and looked around.
What on earth had Nigel and Molly been thinking about? The photos they’d shown her hadn’t looked like this. The place was so run-down, it was a joke. Like most campsites in France, Camping dans La Fôret had closed over the winter – if indeed it had even been open last summer. Looking at the sorry state of things, Belinda doubted that there had been many customers even if it had been open. She sighed. Without even having seen the complete site yet, she doubted that June next year was a realistic date, let alone June this year – a mere twelve weeks away.
She opened the laptop bag and pulled out the folder Nigel had given her with the details, plans and a few out-of-focus pictures that she’d slipped inside. With no website to study, the folder contained minimal information. Alain Salvin, would be there to greet her when she arrived Nigel had said and he would give her all the information and help she needed.
Presumably the old 2CV was his car and the light was on in reception. Surely he must have heard her arrive? Why hadn’t he appeared to greet her? It wasn’t as if there were hordes of cars or people descending on the place. It would have been good manners for him to come out and greet her. They were, after all, going to be working together. It was hardly the most promising of starts and Alain Salvin had lost a number of brownie points, as far as she was concerned.
Belinda took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, pulled her five foot three inch body up to its full height and climbed the steps to the reception. She didn’t bother to knock before she opened the door and walked in. ‘Bonjour.’
A large ginger cat curled up on the desk asleep opened its eyes briefly and looked at her, but the man concentrating on the computer screen in front of it didn’t even deign to look up before saying, ‘I’ll be with you in a moment.’
Belinda, recognising Alain Salvin from the brief look she’d had of him the night of the supposed video call, could feel her anger rising as he continued to ignore her. A course in front-of-house etiquette wouldn’t go amiss. Belinda tapped her foot, decided to count to ten slowly and then, if he was still engrossed on his computer, she’d leave and start to explore outside by herself.
She’d reached nine and was about to turn and leave when the man looked up and stared at her for several seconds with an unfathomable expression on his face. When he finally spoke, his voice was hard.
‘Bonjour. I don’t say welcome to Camping dans La Fôret because I sure as ’ell don’t need or want a troubleshooter ’ere.’
His rudeness took her breath away. Talk about a frosty reception. Belinda took a deep breath. ‘Well, Mr Salvin, that makes two of us then. Because, to quote you, I sure as hell don’t want to be here,’ and Belinda glared at him before turning on her heels, marching out and slamming the door as hard as she could behind her.
Shaking, she got in the car and sat with her bowed head resting on the centre of the steering wheel for a moment, trying to pull herself together. BB, sensing she was upset, gave her a gentle nudge with his nose, while guilt crowded in on Belinda. She shouldn’t have reacted like that. Totally unprofessional of her. But who exactly did Alain Salvin think he was? Nigel had never said a word about the manager being a man with a serious attitude problem. And how exactly was she going to deal with him?
Sitting there Belinda inwardly berated herself. ‘You’re here to do a job. A job you know you’re good at. Take notes, make plans and draw up a working campaign and then get Nigel to employ someone else to see it all to fruition.’
Before that happened though, she’d talk to Nigel and tell him exactly what she thought of his new manager. Monsieur Salvin had shown her he was the sort of person who couldn’t deal with authority and to whom compromise was a dirty word. The hospitality industry didn’t need rude employees like him and the quicker Nigel sacked him, the better.