Their dreams had been cruelly shattered just two months later when Dan died. Dead from a heart attack at forty-six. Stress, the doctor had said.
Libby and Chloe had clung together and got through the awful time. Now here she was preparing to face ‘empty nest’ syndrome as Chloe looked forward to college.
Libby knew that, unlike some widows, she was lucky being financially secure—Dan had been well insured—but with Chloe growing up and becoming independent she was beginning to feel it was time to get her own life back on a course she was happy with. Maybe it was time to sell the house? A new start in a new place. The only problem being she didn’t have a clue as to which direction she wanted the rest of her life to go.
She picked up a photo of the auberge showing Dan sitting under the jasmine-covered loggia, raising a cool glass of rosé, a happy smile on his face. Libby could almost smell the sweet night air, hear the last of the daytime bees buzzing in the honeysuckle and see the swallows swooping around as Dan savoured the tranquility of the summer evening.
Outside the reality of January rain hammered at the windows. Snow had been forecast for the end of the week. Summer seemed a long way off. Deep in thought Libby put the photo down on the table. Maybe she’d book a holiday for later in the year. It would be something to look forward to. A week at the Auberge du Canal with Brigitte and Bruno would be a wonderful antidote to winter—and maybe get her in the right frame of mind to kick-start her life in a new direction.
She and Dan had become friendly with Brigitte and Bruno the very first time they’d stayed with them at the auberge. It was a friendship that had flourished over the generation gap from the moment they’d met, and with two or three visits a year, Brigitte and Bruno were more like elderly family relatives now. They’d even crossed the channel and stayed with Libby and Dan here in Bath.
Brigitte had written her a lovely letter when she’d heard about Dan. Telling her any time she felt the need to get away she knew she was more than welcome to stay with them. It was an offer Libby had so far failed to take up. Maybe now was the time?
There was a group photo of the four of them taken on a day out exploring the gardens of a restored chateau. Libby felt a pang of guilt. She hadn’t spoken to Brigitte since Christmas. Tonight she’d put that right and ring. Wish her happy new year. It wasn’t too late to do that the second week in January. French people wished each other bonne année all through the month.
At the same time she’d ask Brigitte about going to stay with them later in the year. Book the gîte next to the auberge for a fortnight’s holiday for her and Chloe. When should they go? Oh, June. June was always a lovely month in Brittany. It would be something to finally look forward to.
Libby crossed to the phone. Why wait until this evening? Having made the decision she wanted to get it organised. She’d phone now.
The phone rang and rang. Libby pictured the noise ringing around the large old-fashioned auberge kitchen where Brigitte spent most of her day preparing delicious meals. In the off season even though there were few guests staying the locals continued to use the restaurant, especially at weekends.
Libby was about to hang up thinking Brigitte was too busy to answer when a quiet voice in her ear said. “Bonjour. Qui?”
“Brigitte. It’s Libby here. A bit late I know, but bonne année. Comment allez vous?”
A slight pause. “Ça va, merci, Libby. Bonne année a vous aussi.”
Libby, sensing something wasn’t right said, “Brigitte, what is wrong?”
“Bruno. He has broken the arm.”
“The arm? Oh you mean his arm! Oh poor Bruno. Which one? Not his right one?”
“No, the wrong one.”
Libby struggled not to laugh at Brigitte’s misunderstanding. “His left arm then? Gauche?”
“Oui. And he drives me mad with his demands. All day he is wanting me to help him. I have people to dinner this evening and he wants me to 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