The remaining days before Belinda returned to the UK passed in a whirl of activity. The village shop owners had jumped at the opportunity to run the campsite shop rent-free over the Easter holiday period, even though Belinda had stressed there were unlikely to be many customers. They’d also indicated they’d be interested in a proper rent-paying lease for the summer months once the campsite was up and running.
Which meant that one morning, Belinda joined everyone in cleaning the shop, whilst Alain checked out the freezers and the electricity with one of the men.
When everyone disappeared for lunch, Alain ignored her protests and insisted that she joined him for a snack at Yann’s.
‘A crêpe and a glass of wine, an hour at the most,’ he said. ‘You’ll be back working before you realise it.’
‘I was going to do some admin over the lunch hour,’ Belinda answered, surprised by his offer. ‘Besides, I’m dirty from all the scrubbing.’ She glanced down at her grubby jeans and sweatshirt.
‘It’s a village bar. People, they go from work.’
Belinda sighed. She was hungry. ‘An hour, no longer. There’s still so much to do before I leave.’
‘We go in my car,’ Alain said. ‘Come on BB. Time to find you a sausage.’
Belinda couldn’t summon the energy to argue and followed him out to the 2CV. She bit back on the memory of a long ago yellow 2CV as BB jumped onto her lap for the short drive to the village and she gave him a tight hug.
Most of their current workforce had opted for lunch in the bar and smiled at her and Alain as they walked in. After asking her what she would like – ‘Ham and egg crêpe and a glass of white wine please’ – Alain went straight to the bar while Belinda found an empty table near the window and settled BB under it.
‘Five minutes for food,’ Alain said, joining her with the wine she’d asked for and a beer for himself. ‘Santé.’
‘Santé,’ Belinda echoed as they clinked glasses. ‘Hope it is only five minutes for the food. I can’t believe I Iet you talk me into coming here. I should be back at the office doing stuff I didn’t get to do this morning.’
Alain looked at her but didn’t say anything.
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ Belinda demanded.
‘I think if you ever relax. Ever stop thinking about work. Have fun.’
‘Yes, of course I do, but right now I need to stay on top of things here before I return to England.’
‘So what is it you do, when you are on top of things?’
‘I… I walk BB, read, talk with friends, meet up with my daughter and my grandchildren. All the usual things.’ Belinda took a sip of her drink, before throwing the question back at Alain. ‘What do you do?’
‘I like to walk in the countryside, cook delicious meals for my friends. Your grandchildren? How many ’ave you?’
Belinda kept the thought that Alain’s own list of two things wasn’t exactly fun-filled either to herself, and answered his question about her grandchildren. ‘Two. A boy and a girl – they’re twins. They’ll be three later this year. Do you have any?’
Alain nodded, a wry look on his face. ‘I ’ave a son, but no grandchildren yet.’
The arrival of their food at that moment stopped Belinda asking him about his son and for several moments they were silent as they both tucked into their crêpes. Once her initial hunger had been satisfied Belinda looked at Alain.
‘I’ve a couple of women coming in tomorrow at two o’clock about the receptionist job. Can you be around to meet them?’
‘Are they local? I might already know them.’
Belinda glanced around the bar. ‘One of them is sat over there with Bernie. The woman with the blonde hair tied back. She’s been helping around the site and asked me if we’d consider her. She’s never done a receptionist job before, so we’d have to train her from the ground up. Says she’s computer-literate, though, which is a bonus point.’
‘That’s Marie,’ Alain answered. ‘She’d make a good receptionist. She’s personable and good with people. She’s got my vote. So don’t waste your time, cancel the other interview. Would you like another drink?’
Belinda laughed and shook her head. ‘I can’t do that. No more wine, thanks, but I’d like a coffee please and then we’d better get back.’
Alain ordered the coffees as an assistant cleared their plates. ‘You see your daughter and her family while you’re in the UK?’
Belinda nodded happily. ‘Yes, she lives in the same town. I’ve missed her while I’ve been here, but we don’t see an awful lot of each other anyway. We’re both so busy. I do get to babysit once a week while she and her husband have a “date night”. And we have Sunday lunch together once a month in one of the hotels.’
When the waiter brought their coffees, he placed the bill on the table and Belinda reached for her purse to pay her share. Alain stopped her.
‘I pay for lunch,’ he said.
‘No, I’ll pay my share,’ Belinda said.
‘Please, I insist. Take it as an apology for my behaviour when you arrived.’
Belinda looked at him, a half-smile on her face. ‘You’ve already apologised for that, but thank you,’ and she put her purse away.
‘Can I ask you something?’ Alain said.
‘You can, but I reserve the right to remain silent.’ Belinda looked at him as he carefully replaced his coffee cup on its saucer.
‘Do you remember that first day when you arrived and I told you I didn’t want you ’ere and you stormed off saying you, and I quote, “sure as ’ell” didn’t want to be ’ere. Why was that?’
‘As I remember it, I quoted your own words back at you. So I could ask you the same question.’ Belinda closed her eyes and sighed. ‘It’s personal and, actually,’ she opened her eyes as she spoke and looked at him, ‘I’d really rather not talk about it right now, especially in a public place.’
‘Fair enough,’ Alain said. ‘I was just curious.’ He stood up. ‘Let’s go. I pay the bill and see you by the car.’
A gentle rain was falling as Belinda waited outside for Alain under the shelter of a nearby tree. She glanced at her watch. Lunch had taken less than an hour. There was time to do something she’d been putting off ever since she’d arrived for one reason or another. And if she didn’t come back, would she ever have the chance again? Could she ask Alain to take her somewhere, no questions asked?
As he appeared and they got in the car, Belinda took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry if I was rude back there. Would it be possible to take a short detour? There’s something I’ve been meaning to do for weeks, ever since I got here in fact.’
Alain glanced at her, curious. ‘You going to tell me why?’
‘When we get there I will,’ Belinda said quietly.
‘Okay. Where are we going?’
‘Huelgoat direction via the scenic route, not the N164, for about five kilometres.’
Sitting in the car listening to the mesmeric swish of the windscreen wipers swiping rhythmically across the screen, Belinda wondered if she was doing the right thing. She should have done this journey alone, not dragged a man who knew nothing about her past life along because she didn’t want to go alone. Alain wasn’t a total stranger, but it wasn’t fair on him. On the other hand, it was because of the question he’d asked that she’d impulsively decided to go. It would have been far more sensible to have asked Fern to have taken a detour when they’d met on Sunday for lunch.
‘Oh,’ she said, realising the crossroads they needed were approaching. ‘Turn left here.’
The narrow road twisted and turned, a tall church spire guiding them into a small village.
‘If we can park near the church,’ Belinda said quietly.
Alain parked, turned the engine off and turned to her. ‘And now?’ he asked, his voice gentle, his attitude concerned.
Belinda gripped the door handle and pressed it down, ready to push it open before answering.
‘My paternal grandmother lived in this village. I lived on a smallholding a few kilometres away from here from the age of one until I was seventeen when… when I left.’ Belinda pushed open the car door and got out, relieved the rain had stopped. Without waiting for Alain, she walked towards the open gates of the churchyard and immediately turned left along a path. When he caught up with her, she said, ‘It’s strange, isn’t it, the things you remember? I haven’t been in this churchyard for nearly forty years, but I know exactly where the old family grave is.’
A minute later she stopped in front of a gravel-filled plot with a carved granite angel standing at its head. Of the names carved on the lichen-covered headstone, it was just possible to make out part of the names and the dates from the eighteenth century. The last name was still clearly visible: Martha Odette Rochelle Belrose. 1915–1979.
‘I was twelve when she died and missed her so much,’ Belinda said quietly. ‘I spent a lot of time with her. She’d have been spinning in her grave if she’d known what was going to happen five years later.’ Belinda stopped speaking and blinked rapidly.
‘You okay?’ Alain asked.
Belinda nodded. ‘Thank you.’
‘You like a few minutes alone? I see you back at the car,’ Alain offered.
Belinda shook her head. ‘I’ve been wanting to come and pay my respects for a long time. I just couldn’t face it alone,’ Belinda said. ‘When – if – I get back after Easter, I’ll come with flowers. Thank you for bringing me today.’ She gave Alain a wobbly smile. ‘We’d better get back.’
She was relieved when Alain turned and began to walk back to the car and didn’t press her for details on what had happened five years after her grandmother had died.
‘Your turn,’ she said as they drove out of the village.
‘My turn?’
Belinda nodded. ‘Yes. You know a little now of why I didn’t want to be here, but why didn’t you want me here?’
‘That, I’m afraid, I’m not going to tell you today. As you said earlier, it’s personal and I don’t wish to discuss it.’
Belinda opened her mouth to protest and closed it again. If Alain didn’t want to tell her, she couldn’t make him. She hadn’t told him the full story surrounding her grandmother either. Some things were better kept private.