Page 65 of The English Professor

‘That you did.’

‘Shall we walk over to the B&B? It’s not far.’

We walk the two hundred yards or so down the road and come upon the B&B. I hadn’t noticed it before because it’s set back from the road, nestled within the lush green of the valley, an impressive stone-built house standing tall against the wild on the edge of the lake. The sky is darker today and the tops of the hills almost seem to touch the wispy, dark clouds just above, the parts of them we can still see, that is. This is why tourists don’t visit the Lake District in droves at this time of year—we’d seen fog, and haze, and mist for three days straight.

A chicken runs past us, followed by an older gentleman with a mop of white hair underneath a flat cap. He stops when he sees us standing in the drive.

‘Bernard!’ Jack shouts across the distance and waves.

The man heads toward us and gives Jack a big hug. ‘Jack, lad, how are you? Huguette said you were in town.’

‘Yes, just a quick visit. Had to sort out a few things. This is Leyna, by the way.’

Bernard nods. ‘Pleased to meet you, Leyna. Well, come inside, come inside. Let’s get out of this cold.’

‘What about the chicken?’ Jack asks.

‘Oh, right. At this point, I think, for his sake, it’s better if I don’t catch him. Come on.’

Bernard leads us inside the grand house which seems like it had been converted to a bed and breakfast quite some time ago. It has a rustic charm about it, with exposed wooden beams and polished stone floors, which gives it a cosy but elegant feel. Old world charm with a modern touch, I decide, casting a cursory glance at each room as we head towards the back of the house.

‘She’ll be in the kitchen, as always,’ Bernard says as he leads us through hallways and corridors.

The smell of fresh bread wafts through the air as we get closer to the kitchen. I thought staying at Jack’s cottage was amazing, but this place is a whole other level of picturesque, countryside decadence.

The kitchen has high ceilings and lots of windows which let in plenty of natural light. Huguette stands in front of an enormous, oak kitchen island, stirring something in a mixing bowl. She sets it down immediately when she sees us walk in.

‘What a lovely surprise!’ She rushes over and kisses both of us on the cheek. ‘Come you must stay a while.’

She sets about making the tea while we sit on the bar stools and watch her work.

‘We can’t stay too long, but we couldn’t drive back to Castle Eden without saying hello.’

‘What a shame! One of these days, you’ll have to come to visit for a long time, like you used to do when you were a boy, Jack. No working, no running around the towns. Arelaxed holiday. And in the summer, not in the winter when it’s like this all the time, damp and rainy. All the time rain,’ she says, almost to herself.

‘Honestly, Huguette, I’d stay here all year round if I could. But unfortunately, work at the university beckons.’

‘Such a hard worker, this boy!’ Huguette winks at me.

‘Not by choice,’ Jack smiles.

‘Mais, si! By choice! You’ve always been a hard worker.’ She looks at me. ‘Ever since he was so young. Once he got fixated on something, he would not give it up. He would go and go until he finally achieved it. Like this one time—’

‘Huguette...’ Jack groans.

‘You don’t even know what I’m going to say!’

‘I can guess...’

‘It’s a nice story,’ she reassures me. ‘You know he’s very good at drawing, our Jack.’

‘Yes, he’s very talented,’ I admit. ‘I’ve seen his drawings before,’ I say, trying to catch his eye.

‘Ah, then you will already know he’s very gifted. He used to draw portraits of us all. He had a little notebook, a sketchpad. And he would go around and draw people, the landscapes, the animals, whatever took his fancy. Mostly he used to draw hisbeau-père—his stepfather. He would get so focused, sitting there for ages trying to get every line, every bit of hair just right. It was so sweet.’

Jack shrugs.

‘But then one day, they were both outside. Jack was sitting on this rock, as still as a statue, drawing his stepfather and Bernard was doing something, I don’t quite remember, and unbeknownst to Jack, this chicken came along and—’ Huguette claps her hands together, ‘The chicken tried to take the sketchpad! Young Jack wasfurious. He got up to chase the chicken and guess what happened while he was chasing the chicken?’ She pauses for dramatic effect. ‘Another chicken came along and,’ she makes a loud, squelching noise. ‘Right on the sketchpad that was lying on the ground.’ Huguette starts to laugh. ‘But that wasn’t the best part. Your stepfather, he had a great sense of humour, too. Didn’t he, Jack?’

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