After Belinda had left for the campsite and her anticipated difficult morning with Alain Salvin, Fern did her usual out-of-season housework routine, making sure the auberge was spick and span for any passing tourists.
It didn’t take long and by ten o’clock she was in the kitchen, making her morning coffee and writing a list for her planned visit to the supermarché, fifteen kilometres away. Since Laurent’s death she’d taken to shopping at the LeClerc at Gourin as she rarely saw anyone she knew there and in those early, strangely, detached-from-reality months, she couldn’t face the kind platitudes people expressed. It was easier to shop amongst strangers. Now it was a habit. A habit that included walking Lady in the nearby park of Tronjoly before heading for the supermarché.
Half an hour later, Fern pulled into the car park attached to the Chateau Tronjoly. Getting out of the car, she walked to the back to lift the hatchback door for Lady to jump out. Before she could clip the lead on, Lady ran towards the only car parked nearby. A tall, distinguished-looking man who reminded Fern of someone she couldn’t quite put a name to was standing next to a 4 x 4, looking around him.
‘Viens ici, Lady,’ Fern called out quickly.
The man glanced across at Fern before bending down to pet Lady. ‘Pas de problème.’
‘Désolé,’ Fern said, quickly clipping the lead on Lady.
‘N’est-ce pas un bel endroit?’
Fern nodded. His accent was different and she guessed French wasn’t his native language.
‘Yes, it is very beautiful,’ she answered in English. ‘Are you American? Your accent is…’
The man laughed. ‘That bad? That’s not good. Yep, I’m American. Scott Kergoëts.’ He held out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, ma’am.’
‘Fern LeRoy.’ She shook his hand, surprised by how firm his shake was.
‘Now that’s a French surname,’ Scott said, looking at her. ‘But you’re not French, are you?’
She smiled. ‘No, I’m English. I married a Frenchman.’
‘And who’s this?’ Scott asked, crouching down to stroke Lady again, who immediately sat and looked at him.
‘Lady. Whom I’m about to walk around the park.’
Fern sensed his hesitation before he asked. ‘Maybe I could walk with you? I sure could do with some company.’
‘Why not. I usually go this way,’ and Fern set off down the path that led past the chateau and around the lake. This was a public place and there were other people around and although this man was a random stranger, she didn’t think for one moment that he was a threat to her. She’d learnt to sum people up at a glance and to be a good judge of character running the auberge and had been known to turn people away that she instinctively didn’t trust. ‘How long are you here for?’ she asked.
Scott shrugged. ‘For as long as I want really. My ticket is open-ended. I retired a few months ago and there’s nothing urgent back home waiting for my attention.’
‘Where is home?’
‘New York City. I’m really here to check out how your Statue of Liberty compares with our Liberty Island one,’ Scott answered.
Fern laughed. ‘It’s a miniature version, that’s for sure.’
Scott flashed her a disarming smile. ‘At least I can stand up close without having to pay.’
‘Are you staying in Gourin?’
‘Not at the moment. I’ve rented a gîte on the outskirts, but, to be honest, it’s a bit isolated and I think I’d prefer to have company nearby. I’ll probably find a hotel, maybe even an Airbnb in town, when my jet lag finally clears. I only landed three days ago and it’s taking time to wear off.’
Fern nodded sympathetically.
‘You live locally I guess?’ Scott said.
Fern shook her head. ‘Not really. I’m fifteen kilometres away. Carhaix–Plouguer direction. I run an auberge.’
They continued to walk in companionable silence for a while before the front of the restored chateau came into view.
‘Wow. I wasn’t expecting it to be quite so splendid,’ Scott said, stopping in the middle of the path. ‘I’ve seen paintings and photos of the place, but…’ He shook his head. ‘Seeing it in the flesh, so to speak, it’s completely taken me by surprise.’
Fern, standing at his side, had to admit the old chateau was looking particularly beautiful in the sunshine, with the spring daffodils, primroses and the many camellia shrubs in flower.
Scott appeared to be transfixed by the scene. When Lady pulled on her lead wanting to move, Fern broke into his reverie.
‘It is rather splendid. Easy to imagine how lovely it must have been to actually live in it. Scott, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to walk – Lady is getting impatient. It’s been lovely meeting you and I hope you enjoy your stay in Brittany,’ and she began to walk away.
‘Sorry, I was miles away there,’ Scott apologised and he fell into step alongside her once again. ‘Is there anywhere here I can buy you a coffee?’
‘Thank you, but I don’t think there is a café here – maybe in the summer but not right now,’ Fern said, thinking it would have been nice to have stopped for a coffee. ‘And I have to get to the supermarché.’
Scott looked disappointed but didn’t argue as they walked back to the car park in silence.
Fern pressed the remote lock on her car and quickly bundled Lady into her basket in the back. When she straightened up, Scott had opened the driver’s door and smiled at her as she slipped into her seat. ‘Thank you.’
‘Would you and your husband like to join me for dinner one evening?’ Scott asked. ‘A bit of entente cordiale?’
Fern froze. She hadn’t been expecting that. She should have remembered how hospitable some Americans were. She shook her head. She had to get away. Scott was a nice man and she didn’t want to upset him by bursting into tears because he’d unwittingly mentioned her husband.
‘Not possible, I’m afraid. Laurent, my husband, died in an accident eighteen months ago.’ She stared out over the dashboard of the car rather than look at him as she spoke. She switched the car engine on and prepared to drive away.
‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,’ Scott said, instantly contrite. ‘You take care – have a nice day.’ To Fern’s relief, he closed the car door and moved back.
Driving out of the car park, Fern glanced in her rear-view mirror to see him standing there watching her leave. At least she’d managed to keep the tears that were now coursing down her cheeks at bay in front of him. Tears were never very far away when she had to share her story with strangers, even after all these months.
She stayed in the car for several moments once she reached the supermarché, taking deep breaths and generally calming down. She managed to repair her make-up, add another slick of lipstick, comb her hair and give herself a quick squirt of perfume.
And berate herself for being so frightened at the thought of having dinner with a man on her own.
That evening, as she and Belinda enjoyed the poached salmon, new potatoes and early tender asparagus she’d cooked, Fern looked at Belinda as she handed her the hollandaise sauce. Could she tell Belinda about her reaction to Scott’s invitation? Having a girlfriend she could talk to in her own language and know she would understand was something that Fern had missed in the last few years. Both she and Laurent had made new French friends here in Brittany but she’d slowly lost contact with her old friends in the UK. After Laurent died she’d started to avoid their mutual friends, wanting to spare them the embarrassment of facing a grieving widow. She and Belinda might have only met recently, but she sensed that they were going to be good friends.
‘I met an American today, Scott Kergoëts, while I was walking Lady.’
‘And?’ Belinda looked at her. ‘Was he a nice American?’
‘I got the feeling that he was a real gentleman. Obviously well educated. Easy to talk to.’ Fern picked up her wine glass and took a sip before saying quietly, ‘He asked if “my husband and I” would have dinner with him one evening.’ She glanced at Belinda. ‘I told him Laurent was dead and then basically ran away, fast. I feel so stupid. I’m fifty-four years old, my kids behave more grown-up than I do.’ Fern gave a heavy sigh.
‘Ah,’ Belinda answered, a thoughtful tone to her voice. ‘Moving on is hard, isn’t it? I found it difficult being alone after my husband left me and I couldn’t shake the apathy off for months. Nigel and Molly giving me a job was my saving. I had to get out of the house and go to work. It must be even harder after a bereavement to pull yourself back into the world.’
‘True. My first marriage, which ended in divorce, was different. It was my decision. I did the right thing for me and the children and I got on with life. But I never expected to lose Laurent like I did.’ Fern bit her lip knowing tears were dangerously close again.
‘Do you like running the auberge on your own?’
‘Honestly? Laurent and I were a team. It was fun opening our home and entertaining people. We really enjoyed it.’ She sighed. ‘On my own, it’s different. Harder. I love it when I’m busy in the summer with guests, cooking and gardening, but I’ve learnt that the majority of holidaymakers prefer to drive south in search of the sun. It’s rare all six rooms are filled. And, as you can see, from November to April, it’s dead around here.’
‘Does the auberge give you a good life?’ Belinda asked.
‘Yes, but being solely responsible for everything, with no one to talk through problems with is a drain. I rather fancy working for someone else and not being the person in overall charge.’
‘And how’s the social life around here? How many times this winter have you been out for lunch or dinner with friends?’
‘I have lunch once a month with my brother-in-law,’ she said. ‘And Laurent’s son, Fabian, comes for dinner occasionally. That’s about it.’ She shrugged. ‘I walk Lady a lot. So plenty of fresh air.’
‘No girly natters with friends? No Ladies Wot Lunch around here?’
Fern laughed. ‘If there are, I’ve never met them.’
Belinda regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Speaking as a very new friend, you’ve got to get to grips with life again. Would you consider selling this place and starting somewhere new? Or does it hold too many happy memories for you to leave?’
‘It’s complicated and not that easy to sell up,’ Fern said. ‘This place has been in the LeRoy family forever. When Laurent and I married, I sold my house in the UK and we used the capital to do up this place. We were in our forever home, where we were going to grow old together. And that’s the problem now. Under French inheritance laws, as Laurent’s widow, I can live here until I die, but in reality it is Fabian’s inheritance. It’s an arrangement which gives me a home but no access to capital. Or the ability to move,’ she added quietly. ‘Without an income, I can’t afford to even rent somewhere.’
‘Can Fabian buy you out? Or agree to sell it? Does he want to live here? Run the auberge?’
‘I think Fabian and his family will eventually live here. Whether they will run the place as an auberge, I don’t know. Fabian doesn’t have any money and couldn’t afford a mortgage large enough to pay me back. There have been a few hints about me closing the auberge and letting them move in with me.’ Fern shook her head. ‘As fond as I am of Fabian and his wife, that arrangement would be a disaster. Selling the place is out of the question, the extended family would be horrified at the thought. It’s such a large part of their heritage.’
‘Difficult,’ Belinda said. ‘I hadn’t realised French inheritance laws were so complex. Would you like to return to the UK?’
Fern shrugged. ‘To be honest, I don’t know any more what I do want. I do know things have to change though. Bumping into Scott today has made me think a bit more about the future. Oh.’ She looked at Belinda. ‘I’ve realised who he reminded me of – Richard Gere.’
‘Shame you ran away from him then.’ Belinda smiled. ‘Dinner with a Richard Gere lookalike could have been your first step into a new life.’