help him in the garden.”
“How did he break it?”
“He fell off the ladder helping me decorate one of the chambres. So naturellement he blames me!” Brigitte said sighing. “And you? How are you?”
“Chloe and I are fine, thank you. Thinking of coming for a holiday this year if you have room for us?”
“Always, Libby, but there is un petit problem,” Brigitte said. “The Auberge du Canal will be up for sale soon. Bruno’s accident made him cross so now he decides to sell. We go to live in his mother’s old house in the village.”
Libby remembered visiting the imposing maison de maître in the middle of the village with Brigitte. With its wrought-iron railings and large double gates separating it from the main village street, the tall detached house had clearly been built by someone of importance in an earlier age.
“You are welcome to stay with us there, Libby, if we have moved. It has enough rooms. When is it you wish to come?”
“June?”
“A good month. Let me know the dates later. Now, I have to go. Bruno is yelling for me.”
“OK. I’ll phone you again. Bye.”
Libby replaced the receiver and moved across to the table. It would be strange going to Brittany without Dan. She picked up the photograph of a smiling Dan sitting under the loggia again. Tomorrow she’d buy a frame for this one and place it on her bedside table. It would remind her of happier times and help her believe she would have a future again.
When Chloe got back home later she’d talk to her too about an idea that had jumped into her mind as she talked with Brigitte. A crazy idea. An impossible idea. Wasn’t it?
After supper that evening Chloe picked up the photographs Libby had left on the table and flicked through them. “Dad was so happy on that holiday,” she said.
“He was,” Libby agreed. “He adored the process of visiting immobiliers and looking at property. I know he felt his dream seemed to be finally coming within his grasp.”
They were both silent for several seconds before Libby spoke. “I rang Brigitte earlier. I wondered if we might go for a holiday in June—before you go off to college.”
“That would be great, Mum.”
“You’d like to go again? Sure to bring up lots of memories,” Libby said.
“But they’d be good ones,” Chloe said quietly. “Sad but good.”
“Probably our last chance as Brigitte told me they’re selling the auberge.”
Libby held out her hand for the photographs and took a deep breath.
“Chloe?”
“Mmm?”
“When Brigitte told me they were selling, I had this crazy idea that I might buy the Auberge du Canal,” Libby said. “Of course I won’t,” she added quickly. “It’s a stupid idea really. Not worth thinking about.” She put the photos back down on the table and turned away.
“No it’s not. I think it’s a brilliant idea.”
Libby stopped and looked at Chloe. “You do? It would mean selling this house for a start.”
“It’ll be a bit big for you anyway when I leave,” Chloe said practically. “You’ll need to downsize.”
“The auberge is bigger! And there’s a gîte.”
“Yes, but it would be a business. You love having people to stay, fussing after them and cooking.”
“I so don’t fuss!”
“You do but in the nicest possible way,” Chloe said. “I definitely think you should think about it seriously.”
“Really? You don’t think it’s too big a risk at my age—on my own?”
“Mum. You’re not exactly on the scrapheap yet. OK I know you’ve got the big four-oh coming up this year but you’re still in reasonable shape for an oldie.”
“Oldie?” Libby said. “I’m not old. Besides forty is the new thirty.”
“You will be old if you don’t start living again. I know you miss Dad,” Chloe said. “I do too. But you need to do something with your life. Besides, you might meet a sexy Frenchman. Get married again.”
Libby shook her head. She doubted that would happen. She did need to do something with her life though; Chloe was right about that. She was definitely too young to vegetate the rest of her life away.
Chloe picked up a photo of the auberge. “It’s such a special place. I could move over with you for a couple of months before I go to uni. Help you settle in.”
Libby held out her hand for the photo. Chloe was right. The auberge was a special place. Just looking at the photos evoked so many wonderful holiday memories. Evening walks along the canal path with the swallows swooping around their heads. Supper on the terrace overlooking the canal. Watching the occasional boat manoeuvre its way through the lock, making its way to a mooring alongside the village quay. The wonderful meals Brigitte had made them. Their dream of living the Good Life. Libby put the photo down on the table.
“With an offer like that—how can I hesitate? Maybe I’ll ring Brigitte at the weekend and ask how much they want for the place. For all I know the price will be more than I can afford anyway.”
For the next few days Libby’s thoughts kept returning again and again to the idea of moving to France on her own. Because she would be on her own once Chloe was at university here in England. Holidays in a foreign country were one thing—moving there permanently on her own was totally different.
Time and time again, Libby thoughtfully fingered the photograph she’d framed and placed on her bedside table. Remembering how idyllic it had always been. The way she and Dan had dreamt of moving to France—of changing their lives. Could she resurrect the dream? Do it on her own?
She agonised for days over what to do. So many questions and what-ifs tumbled around in her head. As Chloe had so kindly pointed out she had a Big Birthday coming up but hopefully she still had a lot of years ahead of her. She had to do something and working at something she enjoyed would be better than doing any old thing. But could she resurrect the dream by herself, for herself? She’d always liked having relatives and friends to stay. Loved cooking special meals for them. Was it up to French standards though? Was her French up to coping?
It was remembering Dan describing how he longed to get out of the rut they were in that decided her. The rut could only get deeper as the years went by. The least she could do was to find out the price of the auberge.
Brigitte, when Libby rang her Sunday morning, was thrilled at the thought of Libby buying the auberge.
“You would be perfect. I do want it to go to someone I like,” she said. “It will be hard for you alone but I will ’elp you all I can.”
The price when
