Free The Little French Guesthouse by Helen Pollard Page B

tone in his voice stemmed from my looking cutely messy, as I hoped, or crappy messy, which I suspected was more likely.
    ‘Didn’t Rupert tell you about me?’ he asked.
    My mind was a blank. ‘I don’t think so.’
    Ryan gestured behind him. ‘I do the garden in the summer, except I missed last week because I was back in England. Rupert keeps it at bay himself in the winter.’
    ‘Oh, yes, he said something about the gardener being due back soon. Well, that’s good. One less thing for Rupert to worry about, what with his leg and everything.’ I floundered. ‘You do know about his leg and everything?’
    ‘Word gets around.’
    I saw a trace of pity in his eyes and flinched. He knew all right, and not only about Rupert’s leg. Madame Dupont must have been clogging up the local telephone wires half the night after Rupert called her.
    ‘Ah, so that’s how you know my name. Local gossip.’
    He pointed at my cup. ‘Smells good. Any chance of one?’ Deliberately or not, he was giving me a way out of the uncomfortable turn the conversation had taken.
    I was grateful. ‘No problem. I’ll get dressed and bring you one out.’
    ‘Thanks.’ As he headed back to the hedge, he looked back, a cute smile on his handsome face. ‘By the way, no need to get dressed on my account.’
    I couldn’t get to my room fast enough. Ten minutes later, I’d tousle-dried my hair, pulled on slimming denim crops and a low-cut T-shirt, ladled on nude lip gloss and made him his coffee, which I carried out onto the patio.
    He came back up the garden when he saw me. ‘Thanks.’ Taking a sip, he let out an exaggerated sigh, as though he’d gone to coffee-shop heaven. ‘You make good coffee.’
    ‘Just one of my many talents,’ I trilled girlishly, then winced at how flirtatious it sounded. The boy could be ten years my junior, for goodness’ sake. Flirting was definitely out – life was far too complicated as it was. Making a fool of myself by fawning over a handsome youth could only add to my pain. Besides, I imagined he had girls throwing themselves at his feet wherever he went. I wouldn’t be surprised if good old Gloria had tried it on. Poor lad.
    Thankfully, Ryan didn’t appear to notice my gaucheness. He was too busy savouring the sensory marvel that was my coffee. ‘Far superior to Gloria’s,’ he said. ‘Not that she offered too often. I was glad she didn’t, after tasting it. Awful stuff – sludgy and bitter.’ He made a face.
    ‘I know. I think she bought the cheapest she could find. I’m using Rupert’s secret stash of the good stuff now that she...’ I hesitated, then ploughed on. ‘Now that she’s gone. The grapevine announced to you that she left, I presume?’
    ‘Yep. Good riddance. Rupert’s better off without her.’ He grimaced. ‘Sorry, that was an insensitive thing to say. I heard your boyfriend went, too. This must be a pretty crap time for you.’
    ‘Well, it’s not been much fun so far. But I’m okay. I’ve got so much to do helping Rupert today that I won’t have time to wallow.’
    ‘You’re not leaving?’ he asked in surprise.
    I stared at him for a moment. The truth was, I was still processing the fact that Nathan had left me. The idea of cutting my losses and actually leaving hadn’t yet filtered into my beleaguered brain.
    ‘I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway. I couldn’t do that to Rupert so soon after... Well.’ No need to go into detail. ‘The least I can do is stay until he’s a bit better and we can sort out some help around here.’ Because I feel so cripplingly guilty about what my boyfriend has done. Because I have nowhere else to go. Because I don’t want to drive across France all by myself and go home to an empty flat and face up to family and friends and colleagues and reality in general.
    Ryan drained his cup. ‘That’s good of you, under the circumstances. If it makes it any easier for you, I’ll spread the word that you’re capable and coping and