and tried to compose her thoughts. The text she’d promised to send Nigel was brief and to the point:
Arrived. Talk later.
She switched her phone to voice message, knowing that Nigel was likely to ring her back immediately, demanding to know what she thought of the campsite and, right now, she was incapable of talking to him coherently. Besides she’d not seen anything yet apart from the tatty reception cabin and the rudest man she’d encountered in a while. Even if she marched straight back in and demanded that Alain Salvin gave her an immediate guided tour of the place, she doubted he’d oblige. Which meant she needed to revise her original plans for the rest of the day.
She scrolled through to the notes app on her phone and read the list of the things she’d planned for this first day. Site visit. Take photos. Make notes. Start to formulate a campaign of improvement. Check-in at the auberge. Belinda glanced at her watch. Midday. Right, time for Plan B. Go to the village, explore what was on offer, maybe have a coffee if there was a café. Buy a ham and cheese baguette from the boulangerie for lunch. Find the auberge. Return to the campsite and explore by herself. She didn’t need a guided tour. In fact, it was probably better to be alone to uncover the horrors that she suspected would be lurking everywhere.
She picked up her tote and Buddy’s lead. She’d leave the car here and walk back into the village. The exercise would do her good and the fresh air would clear her head. Maybe even give her some idea on how to deal with Alain Salvin.
‘Come on, BB. Time for your first walk in France.’ The dog wagged his tail as she clipped his lead on and licked her hand.
Belinda took her time walking to the village. It was good to stretch her legs and BB was beside himself with all the strange smells he discovered in the grass-covered verges. The absence of traffic allowed Belinda to look around at the surrounding countryside. Too early in the year for any crops to be growing, but she could see several tractors in the fields, spreading the muck she could smell and spraying fertiliser over the earth. Smoke was rising out of a nearby farmhouse chimney and a cluster of wind turbines in the distance were turning.
The boulangerie, when she reached it, was closed for lunch. The village shop too had the shutters pulled down, the cardboard clock sign on the door pointing to 2.30 for reopening. Belinda sighed. She’d forgotten about the irritating French habit of shutting up shop for a couple of hours in the middle of the day.
Outside ‘Yann’s Place’, opposite the church, four cars were parked in a row and Belinda made her way over the square towards it. Hopefully it would be a bar-cum-restaurant and she’d be able to at least buy a sandwich and coffee.
A short silence greeted her entrance as she pushed the door open and walked in, as people glanced up and gave her a brief stare before dropping their gaze.
The man behind the counter called out a welcoming ‘Bonjour’ as Belinda made her way towards an empty table in the corner.
‘Bonjour,’ Belinda replied politely as she settled BB at her feet under the table. ‘Une café au lait, s’il vous plaît.’
Waiting for her coffee, Belinda studied the blackboards fixed to the wall advertising cassoulet as the ‘plat du jour’ and other meals and snacks, including savoury crêpes. A crêpe and a glass of rosé for lunch would be perfect. She wasn’t that hungry.
‘You like to eat?’ the man asked, placing her coffee on the table.
Belinda hid a smile. Her accent had clearly given her away as English. Good. The locals probably wouldn’t be eager to engage her in conversation now. She certainly didn’t intend to get involved in the local community or make friends with anyone while she was here.
‘Please,’ and pointing to the end blackboard, Belinda ordered a ham and egg crêpe and a glass of rosé.
‘Bien. Five minutes.’
The man returned to behind the bar and called her order through to someone in the kitchen.
Sitting there sipping her coffee, Belinda looked around. It wasn’t a big bar, but it had a welcoming vibe to it, which the wood burner burning away in the chimney recess at the end of the room enforced. She could imagine the place filled with locals on a winter’s weekend evening happily warming themselves by