effort.’
Of course, hindsight was a wonderful thing. I could look back now and wonder whether Nathan’s reluctance had all been down to job devotion. Maybe he simply hadn’t relished the idea of spending two whole weeks away with me.
I’d persisted. ‘I think it is worth the effort.’ I was adamant, and he knew it.
‘Fine, if that’s what you want, but you’ll have to do all the donkey-work.’ The resignation in his voice depressed me beyond words. ‘Go ahead and book something. Whatever you want.’ He’d looked up from his laptop long enough to give a cursory smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and then he was back in the land of spreadsheets.
Many women would have jumped at “whatever you want” and booked a fortnight in a five-star hotel in the Caribbean – and I can’t say it didn’t cross my mind – but I’d had a sneaking suspicion that secluded paradise could work both ways. Yes, it would mean being together, nothing to do but relax and talk to each other. But if we found out we had nothing to say, then two weeks of sun, sand and the new-found knowledge that our relationship was a boring pile of old crap could be two weeks too long.
No, what we needed, I had thought, was somewhere quiet and relaxing where we would have the opportunity to open up to each other, rediscover why we fell in love in the first place – and if that failed, some humanity in the vicinity and plenty of sightseeing to fall back on.
And so here we were at La Cour des Roses , “a delightful guesthouse in the popular Loire region of France, where you will be welcomed and pampered by your convivial hosts, Rupert and Gloria Hunter. Relax in our beautiful garden or explore the tranquil countryside, colourful local towns, magnificent châteaux ...”
Sounded great on the website.
2
T he morning after Nathan’s fall from grace, I was up with the larks – or more accurately, with the chickens. I hadn’t thought to close the wooden shutters before I went to bed, and as dawn crept through the voile curtains, I reckoned if sleep hadn’t come during the night, it was unlikely to come now.
Painfully aware of the empty pillow beside me in the bed, I sat up, glancing across at Nathan’s shirt and jeans folded on the small upholstered tub chair in the corner of the room, his wallet and watch neatly laid out on the beautifully grained surface of the antique dressing table. A large matching wardrobe dominated the wall across from the foot of the bed, but the room was spacious enough to accommodate it. The soft blues of the bedlinen and cushions, and of the rugs on the polished wooden floorboards, added a cool, calming contrast to the warm honey tone of the wood.
Pulling on a sweatshirt, I crept downstairs and out to the patio where the chickens and I could commune in peace. The morning was still chilly, so I grabbed a throw from inside and lay on a dew-damp lounger with the warm wool pulled up to my chin like an old lady on a cruise. I stared at the expanse of lawn, its length broken by colourful flower beds and small ornamental trees, old flagstones sunk into the grass leading off to little hideaway corners and arbours amongst the denser shrubs and trees lining the edges of the garden... But I took little pleasure in what should have been a beautiful view.
No matter how lovely this place was, it was clear to me that moving to different accommodation had to be our number one priority. Nathan had strayed. I was entitled to be upset, but things like this happened to couples all the time. Gloria couldn’t possibly mean anything to him. We’d been together too long to throw it all away over a lapse of judgment on his part. And we couldn’t make any progress with the evidence of Nathan’s infidelity under our noses.
I moved on to worrying about Rupert for a nice change of scene. I’d grown quite fond of him over the past few days, although I suspected he was an acquired taste. Nathan hadn’t taken to him at all. Whereas
Of course, hindsight was a wonderful thing. I could look back now and wonder whether Nathan’s reluctance had all been down to job devotion. Maybe he simply hadn’t relished the idea of spending two whole weeks away with me.
I’d persisted. ‘I think it is worth the effort.’ I was adamant, and he knew it.
‘Fine, if that’s what you want, but you’ll have to do all the donkey-work.’ The resignation in his voice depressed me beyond words. ‘Go ahead and book something. Whatever you want.’ He’d looked up from his laptop long enough to give a cursory smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and then he was back in the land of spreadsheets.
Many women would have jumped at “whatever you want” and booked a fortnight in a five-star hotel in the Caribbean – and I can’t say it didn’t cross my mind – but I’d had a sneaking suspicion that secluded paradise could work both ways. Yes, it would mean being together, nothing to do but relax and talk to each other. But if we found out we had nothing to say, then two weeks of sun, sand and the new-found knowledge that our relationship was a boring pile of old crap could be two weeks too long.
No, what we needed, I had thought, was somewhere quiet and relaxing where we would have the opportunity to open up to each other, rediscover why we fell in love in the first place – and if that failed, some humanity in the vicinity and plenty of sightseeing to fall back on.
And so here we were at La Cour des Roses , “a delightful guesthouse in the popular Loire region of France, where you will be welcomed and pampered by your convivial hosts, Rupert and Gloria Hunter. Relax in our beautiful garden or explore the tranquil countryside, colourful local towns, magnificent châteaux ...”
Sounded great on the website.
2
T he morning after Nathan’s fall from grace, I was up with the larks – or more accurately, with the chickens. I hadn’t thought to close the wooden shutters before I went to bed, and as dawn crept through the voile curtains, I reckoned if sleep hadn’t come during the night, it was unlikely to come now.
Painfully aware of the empty pillow beside me in the bed, I sat up, glancing across at Nathan’s shirt and jeans folded on the small upholstered tub chair in the corner of the room, his wallet and watch neatly laid out on the beautifully grained surface of the antique dressing table. A large matching wardrobe dominated the wall across from the foot of the bed, but the room was spacious enough to accommodate it. The soft blues of the bedlinen and cushions, and of the rugs on the polished wooden floorboards, added a cool, calming contrast to the warm honey tone of the wood.
Pulling on a sweatshirt, I crept downstairs and out to the patio where the chickens and I could commune in peace. The morning was still chilly, so I grabbed a throw from inside and lay on a dew-damp lounger with the warm wool pulled up to my chin like an old lady on a cruise. I stared at the expanse of lawn, its length broken by colourful flower beds and small ornamental trees, old flagstones sunk into the grass leading off to little hideaway corners and arbours amongst the denser shrubs and trees lining the edges of the garden... But I took little pleasure in what should have been a beautiful view.
No matter how lovely this place was, it was clear to me that moving to different accommodation had to be our number one priority. Nathan had strayed. I was entitled to be upset, but things like this happened to couples all the time. Gloria couldn’t possibly mean anything to him. We’d been together too long to throw it all away over a lapse of judgment on his part. And we couldn’t make any progress with the evidence of Nathan’s infidelity under our noses.
I moved on to worrying about Rupert for a nice change of scene. I’d grown quite fond of him over the past few days, although I suspected he was an acquired taste. Nathan hadn’t taken to him at all. Whereas