scent of the locally made lavender soap in its brown paper wrapper.
“Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll bid you goodnight.” Rachel backed out of the room with a grin frozen on her face. In her own room, she collapsed onto the bed and groaned.
‘I’ll bid you goodnight?’ Why she had started speaking like a Dickensian landlady? And how could she forget a booking? She got up to brush her teeth and looked at herself in the mirror: she was wearing one of Michael’s old cardigans over a yellow sundress and jeans, with her hair tied back with a rubber band.
She groaned again as she loosened her hair and attempted to yank a comb through it.
“I’m really not sure we’re in the right business,” she said to the cat on the window sill. The look she got was not encouraging. “Well, it can only get better, eh Mousey?”
Chapter 15: A New Day
Josh had hardly taken in his surroundings on arrival – the furniture looked rather old-fashioned, but he had spent enough time in Europe not to expect shiny new fittings. Taking off his conference gear, he had just washed his face quickly and scrubbed his teeth before falling into bed.
Waking early the next morning, he slipped on the courtesy dressing gown – nice touch – and pattered over to the window. As he unlatched the shutters and folded them back he was impressed by the view: from the window at the top of the house what lay before him was the garden and, in the distance, the mound of St Martin’s church was backlit by the sun that was still low in the sky. Somewhere close by he could smell coffee brewing. He felt better. It was obviously going to be a beautiful day.
At the end of the garden he could see the owner hanging out washing, the wooden pegs clamped in her teeth. He ducked back into the room, not ready to deal with Madame quite yet.
He opened the bedroom door, made sure the coast was clear and dashed into the bathroom unwilling to encounter the other guests – assuming there were any – until he was decent. Washed, beard trimmed and freshly dressed in a pale-blue shirt and chinos, Josh felt ready to face the world.
Downstairs Rachel could hear the distant creak of floorboards and clank of plumbing that advised her that her guest was up. After the disaster of last night, she was determined to put her best foot forward.
When Josh came into the breakfast room, he found Rachel in a floral pinny with her hair brushed and lipstick on.
“Good morning Professor. Breakfast inside or on the terrace?”
“Call me Josh, please.”
“It’s lovely outside, if you have a sweater and don’t mind the chickens, er, Josh,” she added, even though it didn’t feel right to call a professor by his first name.
“You keep chickens?”
Rachel smiled. “It’s sort of an unwritten rule around here: if you’re English and you live in rural France, you have to have chickens or they kick you out.”
He gave her a look that suggested that he wasn’t entirely sure whether she was joking or not. Maybe it was true and Americans really didn’t do irony. This was not going well, but Rachel decided to keep calm and carry on with her impersonation of a competent hostess. “Would you like scrambled eggs and bacon?”
“Sure, that would be great.”
“And help yourself to coffee and fresh pastries. The honey is made by an elderly neighbour so that’s local, too.” She smiled nervously. “It’s just like The Little House on the Prairie here!” Why was she talking nonsense to the poor man?
Rachel retreated to the kitchen as Josh went onto the patio. From the window she could see him open a serious-looking magazine.
“I can’t see this one wanting to play ‘Guess the Troll’,” she muttered under her breath as she whisked eggs for Josh’s breakfast.
“Good morning, Madame. We have new guest?” Irina had come into the kitchen with the post.
“Yes, we do. And he looks rather serious.”
Irina shrugged. “Serious is good. I have to buy new
“Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll bid you goodnight.” Rachel backed out of the room with a grin frozen on her face. In her own room, she collapsed onto the bed and groaned.
‘I’ll bid you goodnight?’ Why she had started speaking like a Dickensian landlady? And how could she forget a booking? She got up to brush her teeth and looked at herself in the mirror: she was wearing one of Michael’s old cardigans over a yellow sundress and jeans, with her hair tied back with a rubber band.
She groaned again as she loosened her hair and attempted to yank a comb through it.
“I’m really not sure we’re in the right business,” she said to the cat on the window sill. The look she got was not encouraging. “Well, it can only get better, eh Mousey?”
Chapter 15: A New Day
Josh had hardly taken in his surroundings on arrival – the furniture looked rather old-fashioned, but he had spent enough time in Europe not to expect shiny new fittings. Taking off his conference gear, he had just washed his face quickly and scrubbed his teeth before falling into bed.
Waking early the next morning, he slipped on the courtesy dressing gown – nice touch – and pattered over to the window. As he unlatched the shutters and folded them back he was impressed by the view: from the window at the top of the house what lay before him was the garden and, in the distance, the mound of St Martin’s church was backlit by the sun that was still low in the sky. Somewhere close by he could smell coffee brewing. He felt better. It was obviously going to be a beautiful day.
At the end of the garden he could see the owner hanging out washing, the wooden pegs clamped in her teeth. He ducked back into the room, not ready to deal with Madame quite yet.
He opened the bedroom door, made sure the coast was clear and dashed into the bathroom unwilling to encounter the other guests – assuming there were any – until he was decent. Washed, beard trimmed and freshly dressed in a pale-blue shirt and chinos, Josh felt ready to face the world.
Downstairs Rachel could hear the distant creak of floorboards and clank of plumbing that advised her that her guest was up. After the disaster of last night, she was determined to put her best foot forward.
When Josh came into the breakfast room, he found Rachel in a floral pinny with her hair brushed and lipstick on.
“Good morning Professor. Breakfast inside or on the terrace?”
“Call me Josh, please.”
“It’s lovely outside, if you have a sweater and don’t mind the chickens, er, Josh,” she added, even though it didn’t feel right to call a professor by his first name.
“You keep chickens?”
Rachel smiled. “It’s sort of an unwritten rule around here: if you’re English and you live in rural France, you have to have chickens or they kick you out.”
He gave her a look that suggested that he wasn’t entirely sure whether she was joking or not. Maybe it was true and Americans really didn’t do irony. This was not going well, but Rachel decided to keep calm and carry on with her impersonation of a competent hostess. “Would you like scrambled eggs and bacon?”
“Sure, that would be great.”
“And help yourself to coffee and fresh pastries. The honey is made by an elderly neighbour so that’s local, too.” She smiled nervously. “It’s just like The Little House on the Prairie here!” Why was she talking nonsense to the poor man?
Rachel retreated to the kitchen as Josh went onto the patio. From the window she could see him open a serious-looking magazine.
“I can’t see this one wanting to play ‘Guess the Troll’,” she muttered under her breath as she whisked eggs for Josh’s breakfast.
“Good morning, Madame. We have new guest?” Irina had come into the kitchen with the post.
“Yes, we do. And he looks rather serious.”
Irina shrugged. “Serious is good. I have to buy new
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