Page 15 of A Riviera Retreat
Today was the day she intended to start writing her novel. So far, she’d compiled a list of characters with a few descriptive details, a beginning, a middle and an ending for the actual story, a vague plot outline and a jumble of jotted notes. She was itching to get stuck into the actual writing now, knowing that, as she wrote, further scenes would come to her. Except this morning she couldn’t stop thinking about the incident in Monaco yesterday. Amy’s ashen face and the dead tone to her voice as she’d told them about Kevin had stuck in her brain.
When they’d got back to Belle Vue, after a subdued journey, Amy had excused herself and gone straight to her room. A terse Olivia had served the three of them dinner and passed on Amy’s apologies. By mutual, unspoken agreement, they’d eaten and talked about everything else but Amy and Kevin. Once dinner was finished, they’d all gone their separate ways for the rest of the evening.
Vicky couldn’t help wondering about the story behind Amy and Kevin’s failed relationship. They certainly looked ill-matched in appearance, apart from anything else. The woman holding hands with Kevin coming down the steps of the Casino had screamed the same high maintenance look as he did and was the exact opposite of Amy. Amy… well, Amy was lovely. Not that she wasn’t smart and well-dressed, but it was in an understated, discreet and classy way, rather than an ‘in your face’, ‘look at my designer labels’ way. And she still moved so gracefully, like the dancer she’d once been.
As for Kevin, Vicky had recognised his type only too well. Arrogant. Self-entitled. Opinionated. A man who wouldn’t care who he hurt to get to what he wanted. Poor Amy. Marriage had probably been a mistake on Kevin’s part and Amy had been the one to suffer.
As Vicky sipped her coffee, her laptop pinged with an incoming email. Anthony. She smiled as she read it.
Really jealous of your visit to Monaco – maybe we can go together some day? How’s the writing going? How are you getting on with everyone? I hope you are enjoying your break – missing you. Love A.
Quickly Vicky typed a reply.
It’s wonderful. We’ll definitely do Monaco together one day. You’ll love it. Everyone here is lovely. I’ll tell you about yesterday’s small drama when I get home. I miss you too. Love V.
She pressed the send button and sat back. It was true – she was missing Anthony. They’d been apart for days at a time before when he was busy doing government things and she’d missed him then, but not like she did now. It probably had something to do with the fact that it was her away doing her own thing in a different country with Anthony being the one left at home. She felt strangely released from the guilt that had hung over her ever since she’d accepted the holiday, when she realised that.
The minute the email had whooshed off into cyberspace she remembered she hadn’t answered Anthony’s question about her writing. She needed to get on with what she was here for.
Vicky closed the email application and pressed the icon to open a blank page. Taking a deep breath, she typedTrouble on the Riviera. Chapter One.
* * *
Like Vicky, the morning after Monaco, Matilda was up and taking an early shower. Before breaking her ankle, at home she’d always gone for a long pre-breakfast walk on the Downs, enjoying the solitude and the glimpses of wildlife she occasionally saw; a tawny owl flitting across the sky, homeward bound as the sky brightened, a vixen and a cub purposefully crossing a path and disappearing into the undergrowth, and many different birds, of course. Her injury, just over four months ago, had put an end to those walks and she just hoped it would improve enough by the end of her holiday for her to get back into a walking routine. Although a bit stiff, her ankle had responded well to the walking yesterday and was definitely on the mend. So, from today, she intended to begin every day with a pre-breakfast stroll around the gardens and possibly one before dinner as well. The exercise would also help to get rid of some of the extra calories she was eating. If her ankle held up, she’d be as fit as a fiddle when she went home.
Closing her bedroom door behind her and walking down the shallow terrace steps to the path, Matilda turned left towards a part of the garden she hadn’t explored. She’d barely walked five metres before Lola bounded towards her, tail wagging furiously.
‘Morning, Lola, you coming with me? No biscuits, I’m afraid,’ Matilda said, thinking she should try and find some if the little dog was going to accompany her every morning.
Together, they wandered along, Matilda stopping occasionally to admire the view down to the Mediterranean or when a particular shrub or plant caught her eye. As she walked, she thought about Amy and her marriage. She’d looked so vulnerable and helpless after Kevin had left and Matilda couldn’t help wondering what had gone wrong between them. The next time she saw Amy on her own she’d ask if she’d like to talk about things, maybe she could offer some help in a small way from her own past experience.
Matilda remembered that feeling of helplessness and despair so well, but she could at least offer Amy hope, if nothing else. Tell her these things had a habit of working themselves out – sometimes in unexpected ways. She’d been far happier with the kindred spirit that was William. She still missed him so much it hurt. But the time was coming when she’d have to sort things out and make plans for living the rest of her life alone.
Matilda sighed. Decision time was hovering. She resolved to talk to Josh the next time she saw him. He knew her as well as anyone – their mother-son bond was strong. Josh had adored William too and felt his death keenly.
She was standing looking at a tree with lots of funny lychee like unripened fruit hanging from it and wondering what it was when Pierre appeared pushing a wheelbarrow. Lola greeted him like a long lost friend before sitting back on her haunches and regarding him hopefully. He laughed as he pulled a biscuit out of his pocket and gently gave it to the dog.
‘Bonjour, Pierre,’ Matilda said. ‘Ça va?’
‘Oui merci. Et vous?’
Matilda nodded. ‘Merci. Please tell me, this tree? What is it? The fruit looks interesting.’
‘C’est un Arbutus unedo. You Anglaise would call it a strawberry tree,’ Pierre said with a smile. ‘But you are too early to taste the fruit. It will be late summer before it is ready to eat.’
‘That’s what the fruit reminds me of,’ Matilda said. ‘Strawberries. One of my favourite fruits.’
‘Moi, je preferé the raspberry, but I grow both. I will pick some for you,’ Pierre said. ‘For dinner this evening. Maybe Olivia will make a pavlova to accompany.’
‘Thank you in advance,’ Matilda smiled.
‘You walk without a stick today,’ Pierre said. ‘Your ankle, it is healed?’
‘I just need to exercise and strengthen it,’ Matilda said. ‘I walk a lot at home, so a walk around the garden before breakfast every day will help.’ She glanced at Pierre. ‘I want to go down into Cannes and that is a bit too far to walk. I’m hoping Amy will have a taxi number.’
‘I am ’appy to take you, I ’ave some shopping to do,’ Pierre said. ‘I often chauffeur the guests.’
‘Are you sure? You have time?’
