Page 11 of A Riviera Retreat
Amy quickly skimmed through the bookings chart. ‘First week in July is currently free. After that, there’s only one weekend free in late August. Shall I pencil you in for the July week?’
‘Please.’
‘Done – already looking forward to it.’
‘So how are the competition winners?’ Fleur asked.
‘All three are really nice,’ Amy said, knowing her mum had been sceptical at the wisdom of giving three people a free holiday.
‘Good. Glad it’s working out. Heard anything recently from…?’ Fleur said, leaving the question hovering in the air.
‘No. Why should I? All communications go to you. He doesn’t know where I am. Besides, it’s in the past. Over,’ Amy sighed. She knew Fleur couldn’t help bringing up the subject of her ex-husband every time she phoned, but she wished she wouldn’t.
‘Darling, you know that’s not true. It’s unfinished business,’ Fleur said gently. ‘You need proper closure so you can move on with your life.’
‘I have moved on – or doesn’t moving to France count?’
‘You know what I mean. You’re still young, I hate to think of you on your own forever. Apart from running away to France, you’ve done nothing about anything. I’m surprised he hasn’t really put the pressure on yet, remembering how forceful he could be. It’s not good, the way you’ve ignored things. It’s been five years now. You need to get closure.’
‘I know how long it’s been, Mum,’ Amy said. She also knew how much Fleur herself had been hurt when things had gone wrong for her. ‘I promise by the end of this summer I’ll have looked into sorting out all the legal stuff. All the paperwork is here – including a letter from the notaire who has agreed to act for me. I just haven’t had the energy to kickstart things.’ Or the inclination if she were honest. It was easier to let things drift.
‘Good. You owe it to yourself to sort things. We’ll talk about it more in July when we see you.’
After a few more minutes’ general chat, Amy said goodbye and put her phone down on the desk. She loved her mum dearly and deep down knew she was right about getting closure on the past, but ignoring it and hoping it would all miraculously sort itself out had been the easier option. It wasn’t as if she’d met anyone new and needed to have the past all tidied up and pushed away into the recess of her mind. Somehow, she couldn’t see herself ever forgetting how hurt she’d been at what had happened.
Amy took a deep breath. She’d concentrate on Belle Vue for the summer months and then, come September, she’d start to organise things to bring an end to the biggest mistake of her life. For the next week or so, though, she was going to enjoy having the three competition winners here and giving them a good holiday. She’d enjoy taking them to Monaco later this week – it had always been a favourite place of hers and was full of happy memories. It had been too long since she’d spent time there.
* * *
The gardens surrounding Belle Vue were absolutely beautiful and extensive, Matilda discovered as she wandered along various paths deep in thought, little Lola bouncing in front of her leading the way.
Matilda, who’d owned several dogs in the past and missed not having one in her current life, slipped back without noticing into her old habit of talking things through with her canine companion. Saying things out loud to a dog couldn’t be misconstrued as talking to yourself. Everybody did it. And somehow stating the problem out loud made it easier to think about.
‘So, Lola, what d’you think I should do then?’ Matilda said. ‘Admit to Josh that I’m glad he stopped me selling up quickly after William died, but I feel the time is now right. A small cottage with a garden somewhere in the countryside – maybe on the outskirts of a village. Even here in France. Or do I give it another six months and see if I feel more settled?’
The little dog stopped and looked back at her briefly before charging off down a path to the right.
Deep in thought, Matilda failed to notice Lola bound up to a man pulling weeds out of a flower border and jumped when a voice said, ‘Bonjour, Lola, ma petite. Et bonjour à vous, Madame.’
She looked around in surprise and saw Pierre, the gardener, regarding her quizzically. He’d clearly heard her talking to herself. Had he understood her words though?
‘Bonjour,’ Matilda said, greeting Pierre with a smile. He was as slim as Olivia was plump, but the eyes that were studying her were the same intense blue and his smile a genuine one.
‘The garden is beautiful,’ Matilda said, hoping she’d used the right French words. ‘You must work very hard.’
‘The work is hard, yes, but the results are my reward,’ Pierre replied in English.
‘You speak English very well,’ Matilda said, relieved she didn’t have to struggle to try and remember her basic French.
‘I live there many years ago. I work in a big garden there when I learn to garden. Kew Gardens. You know it?’
Matilda nodded. ‘Of course. I haven’t been for some time, but years ago, William, my late husband, and I visited frequently. And we went to Chelsea Garden Show every year too.’ She stopped. She hadn’t gone this year, or last year. Simply hadn’t been able to face it.
‘You have a garden in England?’ Pierre asked.
‘Not any more,’ Matilda said. ‘I miss it. I have pots, but it’s not the same.’
‘Then you definitely need to move again and have a garden. It is good for the soul,’ Pierre said. ‘While you stay here, you must enjoy this garden.’
