Page 15 of The Village Cafe in the Loire

‘But I?—’

‘I know. You think I should give it up. And maybe I will.’

‘No, I?—’

‘Speak tomorrow!’ she said, feeling suddenly exhausted and ending the call.

She lay down on the tiny bed, feeling strangely enormous, and gazed at the pictures on the wall in the half-light until her eyes grew heavy and she finally slept.

6

The next day, when Becky woke, it took her a minute to work out where she was. The wall behind her bed was wallpapered in an outdated, floral pattern, the cladded walls just visible where slivers of daylight peeked in from gaps in the wooden shutters. She raised herself on her elbows and let her brain update with the events of yesterday. She was in France – stuck, potentially for a month. She didn’t feel much clearer on things, but at least she’d slept. Now, as her mum would say, was the time for action.

Sitting up, she picked up her phone and discovered that it was already nine o’clock. Already she was slipping. Back in England she’d have been up for a couple of hours already. Downstairs she could hear the hum of a coffee machine, the noise of people talking. The café was open.

She pulled her laptop onto her bed from the side table, opened up a notes page on her screen and wrote down her options:

Clarify legal situation.

Becky was no lawyer, but the whole situation around Maud’s conditions felt a little left field. Was everything strictly legal? She’d find out. If there was no legal basis for them, she could go ahead and sell, return to London and resume life as planned.

Cancel flat reservation.

The flat, the opportunity to buy something without involving Mum or too much of a mortgage, was a chance in a lifetime. But she could still withdraw from the transaction if she couldn’t find another way to force the sale. Then she’d just have to leave Pascal in perpetuity to run the café until he got bored and finally vacated.

Stay and see it through.

Fate had given her a café, and had also somehow given her a month in which to fulfil her great-aunt’s wishes. She didn’t have anything else she had to do. But the thought of taking over the café, even for that short window of time, seemed exhausting. Surely she was meant to be having a break, not taking on a whole new enterprise?

The list, at least, clarified her thinking. Out of the three possibilities, she decided, the best situation would be if someone spoke to Pascal on her behalf, explained that Maud’s letter wasn’t legally binding, and sent him on his way. Then she could finally get the café on the market for a fair price and get on with her life.

With a new burst of energy that came from having a plan, she slipped off the bed and made her way to the small bathroom that Pascal had told her was hers to use. There was an unfathomably small tin bath there, with no shower attachment and just enoughroom to sit with her knees up. With no other options, she popped in the plug and filled the tub with lukewarm water.

Stepping in, she gasped, realising the metal surface had yet to heat, and had the uncomfortable sensation of a cold bottom in a bath of warm water. But she soon adjusted, washed and towel-dried her hair before giving it the best blow-dry she could with her foldable travel hairdryer.

Thenotairewho had sent the letter and presumably dealt with the rest of Maud’s estate was in a town twenty kilometres away. But he’d already shown himself to be borderline incompetent. Perhaps it would be better to get some independent advice? An internet search revealed that the local mayor had some say over these matters and might be able to advise her; and seeing as the town hall was in the next street, this seemed like a sensible place to start.

She pulled on a pair of navy jeans and a green, short-sleeved blouse, teamed with the heels from yesterday, then made her way down through the café with a cursorybonjourto Pascal, and out into the street.

The freshness was the first thing she noticed. It was as if all her life she’d been breathing in smog, but had suddenly been gifted clear, cool morning air. She found herself gulping it in hungrily as if oxygen-starved. The sun was shining unencumbered by clouds, in a sky that was a deep blue. She felt the warmth on her shoulders and shivered after the coolness of her old-fashioned room.

Right. This was it. She would be confident, self-assured, and channel her inner mum – steely and determined. She would march into that office, request a meeting and outline her problem. Perhaps she could be booking plane tickets back by the end of the week.

Stepping forward, she instantly stumbled on the uneven pavement, her heel catching in a crack in the stone, sending heralmost flying. Her bag dropped to the ground and she crouched down to gather her things back into it: purse, phone, tissues, tampons, pens and make-up scattered in her wake.

‘Can I help you,madame?’ A youngish man in beige shorts and a sky-blue T-shirt crouched down opposite her. His face was lightly tanned, and he sported a neatly clipped black beard. But his eyes were what her eyes were drawn to most – sharp and intelligent and almost the same colour as the sky.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘No, it’s fine.’ She checked her phone, but luckily the screen wasn’t cracked.

‘You forgot these!’ he said, retrieving a pair of tights that she kept in there in case of in-office snags. They unfurled as he handed them over, waving slightly in the gentle breeze. To her horror, a pair of knickers that must have got caught on them in the wash shook loose and landed at their feet. He looked slightly confused, but said nothing.

‘Thanks,’ she said, stuffing the tights into her bag and no doubt snagging them in the process, then bending down for the knickers. ‘I’d better…’ She gestured ahead of her and the man nodded.

‘Well, be careful,’ he said, looking pointedly at her shoes, clearly judging her choice of footwear.

She felt a surge of familiar short temper. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

He looked taken aback. ‘Perhaps these are not the best shoes to be wearing in Vaudrelle? The roads, they are not even.’

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