Page 81 of The Village Cafe in the Loire

‘Oh, nothing. He likes to talk. He likes to think perhaps that he has to control everything in thecommune,’ said Pascal. ‘It is not important.’

‘Right.’

She was about to ask more when Pascal spoke again. ‘Ah, it is nearly time!’ he said, glancing at his watch.

‘Time for…?’

‘We must go and collect Maud. To show her the café!’ he said. ‘I told her I would do this tonight. I was not sure that you would be here so early, so it is perfect.’

‘Oh. Great.’ The last thing Becky felt like was getting in a car with Pascal and bumping down more French back roads. In fact, she’d been hoping for a bath – however cramped – and a bit of a lie-down before anything else. And at least a coffee or two. It was a café after all.

Then Pascal stepped forward and took her hands in his. ‘It is very nice to see you,’ he said, leaning forward and kissing her gently on the mouth.

She looked up at him. ‘How long have we got?’

He grinned. ‘Enough time for a proper reunion, if you’d like.’

When they arrived at the home two hours later, Maud was in the reception area sitting on a padded blue chair, dressed in a coat and hat, bag at her side. They helped her to the car and she sighed as she deposited herself on the back seat. ‘Why on earth they forced me to wear my coat in this weather, I’ll never know,’ she said, pulling her arms from the sleeves.

They talked for a little while about Amber and Becky’s stay in London – although Becky omitted her brief entrance and exit from the workplace – then fell into companionable silence. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, Becky saw that Maud’s eyes were fixed on the scenes that played themself out on the screen of the back door window – the familiar views that must seem like old friends to her aunt. When had she last been back to Vaudrelle?

‘Do you miss it?’ she said.

Maud looked at her. ‘Vaudrelle?’

‘Yes. It must be hard, coming back.’

‘You have no idea,’ she said, blinking rapidly. ‘Seeing it again. I mean, I have visited occasionally. But it is hard.’

‘But you’re happy at the home, too? They’re looking after you?’

She nodded. ‘As well as can be expected.’ She paused, thinking. ‘The thing is, Becky, you’ll find when you get older that the body ages much more quickly than the mind. My body needs the home – I can’t do things for myself in the way I used to. But my spirit… It never really left.’

‘Oh. I’m so sorry.’

Maud shrugged. ‘I’m better off than lots of others my age. I’m alive, for starters.’

‘Maud! I am sure you will live a very long life,’ Pascal interjected.

‘Yes, perhaps. But there are different levels of living. Not all of them are as wonderful as we’d like to think they are.’ She shook herself. ‘But listen to me, moaning on when you’ve given up your evening to show me all your wonderful changes. I’m grateful, I really am.’

After Pascal finished parking and Becky had offered thanks to the road gods for sparing their lives once again, they helped Maud across the road and into the café, where Pascal snapped on the light. Maud wasn’t the only one to gasp. Becky had only seen shapes in the darkened room when she’d arrived, and although she knew Pascal had been working hard throughout the days she’d been away, the final result was stunning: the painting was all complete, as he’d said it would be, but he’d also polished the woodwork, installed a glass-fronted display for cakes and pastries. The new coffee maker gleamed and her new mugs, as well as a set of new smaller cups for espressos, were stacked neatly beside it.

But what really drew the eye were the photographs. Black and white stills of people, vibrant views of foreign streets, local snaps of light hitting water, a crumbling yet charming building. One or two Becky was sure she’d seen before. But not here. Somewhere else. ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘It looks… it’s even better than I… wow.’

She looked at Maud who was sitting on one of the yellow chairs at a new table, wiping the corner of her eye.

‘Oh, what’s wrong?’ she said. ‘I know it’s different, but…’

Maud shook her head. ‘It is different.’ She paused. ‘And when you said you’d made changes, I was worried. Worried I’d be… written out of the history of this place. But you’ve made it… it’s even moremethan it was before,’ she said. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’

‘These are all yours?’ Becky gestured towards the walls.

Maud shrugged. ‘Just a few examples.’

‘They’re amazing. Mum said you’d been published inThe Timesquite frequently. I’m not surprised!’

‘Once or twice.’

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