dragged the machine out to reach the pipes behind and pulled out a piece of perished rubber hose. “The machine is old. It happens occasionally,” he said. “I fix it for now but a new machine might be better.”
“Thanks, Bruno,” Libby said. Looked like her shopping list had just gotten even longer.
Once Bruno had left and she’d tentatively switched everything back on with no mishaps, Libby breathed a sigh or relief. First crisis over.
“Everybody knows things go wrong when they move,” Libby said philosophically as she and Chloe began the final clean-up. “Could be worse.”
For the next few days Libby and Chloe were busy sorting out the auberge. Together they inspected the whole place, with Libby making notes about everything she would need to buy. She was determined to give it a twenty-first-century makeover, change the slightly old-fashioned style of the place, and to put her own mark on it, all without upsetting Brigitte.
Six double bedrooms, sitting room, dining room, cloakroom and the kitchen. The bedrooms were all pretty much as Libby remembered them. Heavy Bretagne carved beds, four-drawer chests with a mirror placed above each, wardrobes to match the carved wooden bed ends and en-suite salle de bains. Even with the large furniture the rooms were still spacious with plenty of room to add a comfortable chair or two—cane Lloyd Loom ones if she could find some. Also some bedside tables. For some reason Brigitte had never considered it necessary to supply those. Or tea-and-coffee-making trays.
Brigitte had always insisted that guests were free to use the kitchen and didn’t need to make drinks in their rooms. Libby had often wished she could make herself a warm drink though when she’d woken at three a.m. and didn’t fancy trekking downstairs to the kitchen. Bedside tables with lights and a tray with tea-making facilities were essentials in her book.
“Love the white bedlinen, Mum, but blankets?” Chloe said, opening the large armoire on the first floor landing where all the bedlinen was stored. “Mmm smell that lavender.”
“Definitely replace with duvets,” Libby said scribbling a note. “Some toile de Jouy covers and pillowcases would be pretty. Need some more white bath towels too.”
Some of the rooms could also do with decorating, she decided. After his accident Bruno had clearly given up on that front. A fresh coat of paint on the walls to freshen things up before the season began would be enough this year. Next winter would be the time to tackle any major decorating. The first guests were booked in for three weeks’ time, so no time to do them all. She’d tackle the three on the first floor first. Large tins of paint went on the list.
“Now for my apartment,” Libby said as they climbed the final flight of stairs to the top floor and opened the apartment door with its private ‘interdit’ sign. “It’s going to feel funny living up here on my own,” she said glancing at Chloe. “D’you realise I’ve never lived on my own before?”
“Mum, stop worrying. It’s going to be fine,” Chloe reassured her.
The couple of occasions in the past when Brigitte had invited them upstairs Libby remembered the sitting room being small and full of large old-fashioned furniture. Now with her own modern furniture left higgledy-piggledy by the removal men, waiting for her to decide where to place it all, the room seemed bigger. Full of possibilities. There was even a little balcony with room for one of those snazzy wrought-iron round tables and a chair. A perfect place to unwind in the evening, overlooking the canal and the woods on the opposite side.
Her bedroom too was a good size—big enough for the king-sized bed and the various other pieces she’d brought with her. She smiled ruefully looking at the unmade bed with boxes of clothes dumped on it. Really she should have left it behind in the UK and bought a new, smaller one, in France. But it was so comfortable and she’d gotten used to having the luxury of so much space.
“Right, you ready to hit the shops?” Chloe asked, looking at the list in Libby’s hand.
“I was going to check out the gîte as well,” Libby said. “See what’s needed in there but that can wait for another day. Let’s go.”
Three hours later Libby called a halt to the shopping, feeling that her bank account had been hit hard enough for one day.
“Think that’s it for today. Don’t think the car will hold another thing,” she said. “Time to go home and get to work.”
Turning off the main road onto the narrow canal path with the car filled to the roof with boxes and bags, Libby slowed down to a crawl to avoid the potholes. The last thing she needed was to damage her car.
“At least we’re not likely to meet anything thank goodness. There’s so much stuff in the car I couldn’t possibly see to reverse,” she said.
“Umm think you’ve spoken too soon,” Chloe said, indicating a dirty blue estate car in the distance moving at a fair speed towards them.
“Damn,” Libby muttered. “D’you think they know I’ve just passed a lay-by? I’m going to keep going—I can’t see to reverse properly. I’m sure there’s another passing place further down—hopefully they won’t mind reversing.”
As she continued to edge slowly towards the other car Libby was relieved to see it finally stop and then begin to go backwards quickly. The sun shining on the windscreen of the other car made it impossible to see who was driving other than it appeared to be a man.
Thirty seconds later as she drew alongside to pass, Libby raised her hand in acknowledgement and Chloe wound the window down to say “Thanks.”
“If you’re going to live here you need to learn to reverse,” the man said wagging a finger at them. “See you soon.” With that he was gone, churning up the road dust in his wake and leaving Libby and Chloe looking at each other.
“Bit rude,” Libby said. “I’m quite capable of reversing normally.”
“Wonder who he is?” Chloe said. “He was quite dishy in a laid-back scruffy French way. Wonder what he meant by see you soon?”
Libby shrugged as she pulled into the parking space outside the auberge. “No idea. Can you take this box inside please—needs to go in the sitting room. I’ll bring the first of the duvets and then I’m going to put the kettle on. I need tea after all that shopping.”
They were sitting in the kitchen drinking tea and making plans to start on the unpacking and sorting things out when Brigitte arrived.
“I thought I’d pop in to see how you were after the flood,” Brigitte said. “And to offer to give you a hand Saturday.”
“Saturday?” Libby asked, pouring a cup of tea and handing it to Brigitte.
“The rally tea.”
Puzzled, Libby looked at her.
“The local vintage car club. Bruno’s a member and we’ve always had the season’s opening rally start and finish from here. It is in the reservations book,” Brigitte said.
“I haven’t opened that book,” Libby said. “In fact I’m not even sure where it is. I’d assumed the booking for three people at the end of the month you’d mentioned was the first date I had to worry about.” She looked at Brigitte. “How many people come on this rally? What kind of
