How could she admit to Jane the real reason behind her reluctance to go to Brittany? About that promise she’d made her mother when she was so ill? That she would go back to Brittany, lay the ghosts to rest. But it was a promise made under duress. Since her mum’s death, Belinda had guiltily pushed it to the back of her mind. After all, her mother would never know if she kept or broke the promise. Briefly, she toyed with the idea of telling Jane the real reason why she was fighting going to Brittany, but there were things in her past she’d never talked about to anyone outside of the family. Even Peter had only known the sketchiest outline of her previous life before she met him.

Belinda sighed. Jane was right. It wasn’t forever. She’d agree to go, keep her head down, concentrate on work, stay on site and ignore everything else. If the opportunity came up, maybe she would try and do something about those ghosts. And the good thing was she’d be back home ready to pick up her normal routine with the hotels in time for high season and summer.

3

To Belinda’s unspoken relief, her departure for France was delayed until late February by two things. The first was the fact that the Plymouth–Roscoff ferry was out of service in the New Year for six weeks of maintenance. The second was the organising of BB’s pet passport with all the necessary vaccinations and form filling.

As soon as she had a definite date for leaving, Belinda googled the nearest village to the campsite and booked herself in for a couple of nights at the Auberge de Campagne. That way she could check out the state of the cabins before living on the site. No way was she in the mood for slumming it in less than ideal conditions.

Despite the hotels being quiet in the first few weeks of the New Year, the days at work were busy for Belinda. Determined to leave everything in order for Nigel and Molly to deal with while she was away, she spent hours on the computer organising things.

In the evenings of the week leading up to departure day, she cleaned the flat until every surface shone, emptied the fridge of its meagre contents and washed every shelf before switching it off. Anything to take her mind off the impending situation.

Her clothes were washed, ironed and folded ready to be put in the suitcase. Before she could reach the large suitcase that she’d stored in the understairs cupboard the day she’d moved into the flat, she had to practically empty the cupboard of stuff she’d shoved in there – out of sight out of mind, for the most part: vacuum cleaner, ironing board, wellington boots, a small fan heater and a large cardboard storage box with a lid.