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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

A day later, the last weekend in February, it was time to leave. But not before first dropping in on Chloe, Max and the twins. Belinda read several bedtime stories to the twins and kissed them goodnight after promising to bring them a present each back from France. She made her way downstairs and enjoyed an early supper with Chloe and Max before hugging them both and leaving to drive to Plymouth to catch the cross-Channel ferry for an overnight sailing to Roscoff.

Thankfully, the crossing was calm, but sleep eluded her and she tossed and turned the night away. Even knowing that she’d be returning for a week to help out over the Easter holiday when the hotels were busy didn’t help. She had to survive until then, first.

4

Sitting in her car the next morning waiting for the queue of cars in front of her to start leaving the ferry, Belinda set the satnav for ‘Camping dans La Forêt, Finistère’.

A feeble sun in the grey sky failed to break through to clear the early-morning mist that hung over the countryside as she left Roscoff behind her. Belinda took her time driving along, enjoying the surprisingly traffic-free roads taking her past field after field that would soon contain the artichokes and the renowned onions of the area. Trees with their bare branches stood tall alongside roadside hedges that were half the height of the Devon ones she was used to. Later, on the windswept Parc d’Armorique, as she reached the top of a hill, Belinda had a misty glimpse of a view that on a clear day would stretch for miles and miles away into the distance.

When BB whined at her from his seat alongside her, she pulled into a lay-by at the top of one of those hills, unclipped his seat belt harness and slipped his lead on before getting out of the car. Once the little dog had sniffed the new smells and peed, Belinda put him back in the car. She sat for a few moments looking out at the wild open moorland in front of her. Strangely familiar and yet new and unseen.

Not one hundred per cent comfortable with driving her beloved Mazda MX5 on the ‘wrong’ side of the road, she’d set the satnav to find the quietest route. Now, obeying its directions and leaving the wide-open space of the moor, Belinda found herself driving down quiet side roads taking her deeper into the heart of Finistère close to the border of Morbihan.