Page 16 of A Riviera Retreat
Pierre nodded. ‘Of course. 10.30, okay for you?’
Matilda nodded.
‘Bon. Enjoy your walk and your breakfast.’
Matilda watched as Pierre trundled off with his wheelbarrow, with Lola following companionably at his heels, before making her way to the kitchen in search of coffee. She was delighted to find Chelsea there, already helping herself to a couple of pains au chocolat.
‘Morning. Shall we keep each other company for breakfast or are you going back to your room?’ Matilda asked.
‘Definitely keep each other company. Here or out on the terrace – it’s such a beautiful day,’ Chelsea said.
‘Let’s sit on the terrace,’ Matilda answered. ‘Is Amy around this morning?’
‘She was, but said she had to go down to the village quickly for something.’
* * *
At 10.30, Matilda found Pierre waiting for her by the bougainvillea at the front of the villa, ready to drive her into Cannes.
‘That is such a beautiful colour,’ she said, stopping to admire the huge spread of purple across the front of Belle Vue before turning to Pierre. ‘If I had a proper garden at home, I’d be begging you for a cutting.’
‘No need to beg. If you want a cutting, you can have one,’ Pierre smiled, opening the car door for her. ‘It would survive in a big pot.’
Matilda shook her head. ‘Sadly, my balcony is small and already overcrowded.’
Pierre shrugged. ‘Un petit problem. If you ever have the space, let Amy know and I’ll send you a cutting.’
‘Thank you.’
Matilda settled back in the front passenger seat as Pierre navigated around the slight horseshoe bend leading to the village, before turning onto the bord de mer. Both the sky and the Mediterranean were blue and the sun was glinting off the sea as the waves lapped the beach where children were already playing.
‘I’d forgotten how beautiful it is down here,’ Matilda sighed. ‘Years ago, I came with my husband and our son. We stayed in Antibes and it was one of the best family holidays we ever had. We even talked about moving here one day.’
‘Amy, she tells me she is taking you all for an outing to Antibes soon. It will bring back the good souvenir for you, n’est pas?’
‘Souvenir?’ Matilda said, puzzled for a moment. ‘Ah, memories. Yes, it will.’
Good memories for certain, but tinged with sadness now that William was gone. If only Josh could be with her as she relived that precious holiday. Maybe she’d suggest a short holiday there together in the autumn if he was back in the country and not off helping on another crusade to save whales and dolphins with Sea Shepherd.
She hesitated for several seconds, unsure of Pierre’s reaction, she didn’t want him thinking she was gossiping, before saying. ‘Amy has been quiet since we saw her husband in Monaco. Is there anything we can do to help her?’
Pierre’s hands on the wheel stiffened and he gave a Gallic shrug of his shoulders. ‘Peut-être you know a hitman?’ A smile touched his lips as he glanced sideways at her.
‘Sadly no. I wish I did.’
‘Olivia, she tells her she ’as to get on with the divorce now. It is hard, but there can be no going back.’ Pierre’s face as he pulled up at a red traffic light was stern and Matilda sensed how angry and hurt the whole business of Amy and her husband made him feel. As the car inched forward when the lights changed, Pierre glanced at her. ‘Do you have something definite to do in town?’
Matilda shook her head. ‘No. I just fancied a wander around really. And maybe a coffee somewhere. I don’t want to be a nuisance if you have things to do.’
‘I have some errands from Amy and Olivia. Is an hour long enough for you?’
‘I suspect my ankle will have had enough by then.’
‘Bien. I park here,’ and Pierre expertly manoeuvred the car into a small space on the bord de mer. ‘I wait for you at that café,’ he said, pointing over the road, ‘In about an hour and we have a coffee together before we return for lunch. D’accord?’
‘D’accord,’ Matilda agreed. ‘And the coffees are on me.’
They crossed the road together and then Pierre left to make his way to Marché Forville, while Matilda wandered along in what she hoped she remembered as being the direction of the famous rue d’Antibes for an indulgent spot of window shopping. Passing an estate agent’s on the way, she stopped and looked at the upmarket luxury properties displayed in the window. ‘Très cher’ didn’t begin to describe them – although some were so expensive, prices had been replaced by the letters POA. Which, in Matilda’s book, translated as ‘if you have to ask, you can’t afford it’. There didn’t appear to be any what she’d term as normal houses up for sale. Lots of apartments were in her price range though.
