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Back A French Affair
Chapters (54)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. Epilogue
  51. Acknowledgments
  52. More from Jennifer Bohnet
  53. About the Author
  54. About Boldwood Books

Fern smothered a sigh. It was good to have a new friend, even knowing that it could never be more than a long-distance friendship when he returned to America. She’d enjoy his company while he was here, and take comfort from the fact that technology united everyone these days at the press of a smartphone button wherever in the world they happened to be.

And tomorrow another fun-filled day beckoned. Scott was taking them both down to the historic and picturesque coastal town of Pont-Aven, famous for the presence of the artist Paul Gauguin back in the nineteenth century. Fern was looking forward to showing Scott around the town she’d always loved visiting with Laurent.

23

Early evening on Easter Monday, Belinda wearily stepped out of the lift that stopped on the floor below her flat, unlocked the door marked private and climbed the hidden flight of stairs that led to her flat. She’d forgotten what it was like to be so busy that she couldn’t even stop for a break. Being short-staffed for the last day of the holiday hadn’t been in the plan and she’d had to help out on reception and in the restaurant. She couldn’t kick her shoes off quickly enough and change from her work clothes into her PJs – or leisure suit, as the advert had called them when she’d ordered them online. Once that was done, she fed BB, poured a glass of wine and stepped out onto her little secret terrace outside the sitting room.

The terrace was one of her favourite things about the flat. Big enough for a small circular table and two chairs and a lilac tree that was budding up to blossom in the terracotta pot she’d placed in one corner, she had a wonderful view of the inner harbour and river, but she herself was so high up and set back from the front of the hotel as to be unseen by the ant-like people she could watch below walking on the quayside. With a sigh of relief, she sank onto a chair, took a sip of wine and glanced at her watch. Jane had sent a text earlier saying she was back after spending Easter with her family and would see her about eight o’clock.

Time to make a phone call, take a shower and generally relax before Jane arrived. She’d asked the kitchen to prepare a supper tray for two people – slices of quiche, a salad, and chocolate mousses – which Jane would collect on her way through the hotel and bring up. A bottle of chardonnay was already cold in the fridge.