Page 46 of The Village Cafe in the Loire

Curling up luxuriously between the sheets, she relived a little of last night. The soft kisses, Pascal’s gentle touch. The way he’d gathered her to him passionately once they’d reached his room. The way he’d softly, teasingly touched her until she’d felt almost desperate to have him inside her. The orgasm that had rippled through her body like a wave.

Then, later, sleepy in each other’s arms, they’d made love a second time – more slowly – eyes fixed on each other’s. It had been – without doubt – the most mind-blowing, body-fizzing sex of her life.

She stretched her arms out, feeling her body begin to come back to life, then forced herself to get up, pulling the sheets back over the bed tidily, before gathering her clothes and popping her head around the door to ensure that nobody was there to witness the naked dash back to her own space. Sure, Pascal had seen everything last night. But she was still keen he didn’t clap eyes on her naked bottom in the cold light of day.

After a quick dip in the tiny bath, she stood in her bedroom, still sporting just her underwear. Everything she’d brought with her was laid out on the bed, but it was impossible to know what to wear. She’d already tried slipping on neat trousers and a short-sleeved blouse, then a long summer dress, followed by a pair of shorts with a casual T-shirt. Her bed was a jumble of discarded clothing, her floor scattered with sandals and shoes. She’d literally tried on every outfit she’d brought with her and nothing seemed right.

Earlier, she’d tried to ring Amber to get a debrief on her literal debriefing with Pascal, but there’d been no answer. Now, in the middle of a brand-new crisis, she tried again. But no reply.

She checked the time. Half past eleven. Soon they’d close the café exceptionally for the afternoon and head off in Pascal’s rattling motor to the care home where Maud had moved just over a year ago. And although she knew it was unimportant in the grand scheme of things, it felt as if she needed to select the right outfit to ensure things went well. Every time she thought about seeing Maud again, she felt the flapping of a thousand butterflies in her stomach and chest; what would she look like? How would she be? What would she say about the epicmisunderstanding that had led to Becky thinking she was six feet under?

‘At one point, I think we all thought we would lose her,’ Pascal had said last night, leaning up on his elbow, his expression sad. ‘She seemed quite young for her age, but when she fell on the steps and her hip was broken, I realised that she was frailer than I thought. She has such a personality that it made her seem strong, solid. But after the accident she seemed smaller.’

‘Poor Maud.’

‘Oui, but she has made a good life for herself now. And I began to run the café full time, but we both knew it couldn’t be forever. Then she had the idea to make you a gift – in advance of her Will. I think her dream is to see you running the café before she dies. And if not, at least to see you.’

‘And you don’t think she meant to mislead me?’

‘Non,’ he’d shaken his head firmly. ‘I suspect nobody ever told you directly she had died.’

Becky had tried to remember the wording in the letter. Had it mentioned a death? Perhaps she’d just assumed benefitting from such a gift must mean it had been left to her in a Will.

‘She must have thought I was very rude not to reply to her.’

‘Perhaps. But she did not say so. She still hoped, I think. Then thenotairetold her you wanted to sell.’

Becky had made a face. ‘She must hate me.’

‘Non. Not at all! In fact, although I haven’t called yet to prepare her for our visit, I imagine Georges has told her why you didn’t contact her already. She is kind. And she is British.’

‘Meaning?’

‘She will probably laugh.’

Becky had smiled. ‘But she wouldn’t if she was French? Don’t French people have a sense of humour too?’

Pascal had grinned and shrugged. ‘Yes. We French have our own humour. But we are very good at embracing the darkness too,’ Pascal had admitted. ‘Perhaps too good. It means we have some wonderful literature. But it also means that we are too often sad.’ He’d made a face to indicate he was joking, but Becky had felt there was truth at the heart of it.

‘Is your book sad?’ she’d asked.

He’d looked up. ‘It is the first time you ask me about my book,’ he’d said, seemingly delighted.

‘Sorry.’

‘Non. I am pleased you asked.Oui, there is melancholy there, but joy too. And there is a happy ending, so it is OK.’

Now, she finally settled on a pair of shorts with a neat T-shirt. Sandals, loose hair and a slick of lip gloss. Before she had time to judge it all wrong and rip off the outfit again, she forced herself to pick up her bag and walk out of the room, closing the door behind her. She then went to seek out Pascal and found him sweeping the floor of the café. He’d seen the last patrons out, and turned the sign to ‘Fermé’, adding a little explanation underneath.

He looked up as she entered, and his features softened into a smile. ‘Good morning,’ he said, walking towards her and giving her a gentle kiss. ‘I hope you didn’t mind that I didn’t wake you?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Georges called by just now,’ he said. ‘He wanted to know how you are. I think he feels very guilty to have given you such a shock yesterday.’

‘Yes. It must have been odd for him too. Did he speak to Maud?’

‘Yes. And it is like I thought. She found the situation quite funny once she understood.’

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