Page 12 of The Village Cafe in the Loire

‘Well, it’s complicated,’ she said. ‘But I think I need to talk to you in private, if that’s OK?’

‘René!’ The man yelled, making her jump. One of the farmer-looking chaps at a far table looked over. A conversation ensued that sounded close to an argument, but eventually René got to his feet and came up to the counter.

‘Merci,’ the server said. Then, ‘Come, we will go to the back where it is quiet.’

It occurred to her that she was going into a private space with a man she didn’t know, which she would never usually do. But he seemed friendly and the café was well populated – if he decided to murder her, she’d probably be able to raise the alarm, she decided, and followed him through the door that led to Maud’s former kitchen.

He closed the door and the noise of the café was shut off, reduced to a murmur. ‘Pascal,’ he said, holding out his hand.

‘You’rePascal?’

‘Oui. Why?’

‘Nothing. I just… nothing. You live here?’ Someone must have got it wrong. This youngish man couldn’t be a sitting tenant, surely.

‘Oui. What is this about?’ his eyes narrowed a little. Perhaps he thought she was from the tax office.

‘I’m Becky.’ She shook his hand awkwardly and he looked surprised, as if this hadn’t been what he’d expected, but said nothing.

‘Take a seat, Becky.’ Her name – she’d always hated its ordinariness – sounded different on his tongue. Somehow exotic, with his French accent.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

She perched on a chair and he sat opposite her. ‘You wish to speak to me.’

‘Yes. It’s a little awkward. But I’m Maud’s great-niece. She used to run…’

‘Ah,mon Dieu!’ He exclaimed, raising a hand to brush back some of his thick brown hair. The wayward curl sprang forward stubbornly after it was briefly flattened by the manoeuvre. ‘But of course you are! You are the image of some of her pictures. I should have recognised you.’ He smiled. ‘It is wonderful that you have come at last. And you will be running the café now, I expect?’

‘No. Not exactly.’

His face dropped like a child’s refused an ice cream. ‘Non? Then why are you here?’

‘Well,’ she explained her predicament; she had no intention of moving to France and becoming a barista, she had a perfectly good job in the UK. But things had become so complicated with the sale, it seemed easier to address the issues first-hand. She didn’t mention the burnout or the fact she’d been signed off work but, as if on cue, her eyelid started to twitch as if it were trying to communicate the missing piece of the story to this man via Morse code.

Pascal looked at her, his thick eyebrows knitted together. ‘But this is not possible,’ he told her.

‘Well, certainly not for a good price while it’s tenanted,’ she said. ‘Is it… you’re the one living here?’

‘Yes! I am your great-aunt’s friend and have been looking after everything.’ He seemed inordinately pleased with himself at this revelation.

‘Sorry, I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘Why do you want to stay here?’

He shrugged. ‘It is my home, I suppose.’

‘But can’t you find, like, another home?’

‘Oui, of course. When it is time, I will go.’

‘Oh,’ she said, fiddling with the edge of her coffee cup. ‘Well, I’m not sure how much you’ve been told, but I’m afraid I need you to vacate the property so that I can sell. I know it’s possible to sell with youin situ, but I’d lose thousands.’

The confused look was back. ‘But Maud did not want you to sell immediately! And there is no urgency. I will stay as long as I need to.’

‘But,’ she said, wondering how well he’d known her great-aunt, ‘well, without being indelicate, the café’s mine now. And it’s not as if Maud will mind.’

He shook his head vehemently. ‘Non. She would mind! It would break her heart! She told me she was gifting the property to you, of course. But I know that she hoped you might spend some time here, perhaps even fall in love with it the way she did.’

‘That’s very… sweet. But the letter said only that the property was being gifted to me. There was no mention of any terms. Nothing in writing.’

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