Page 18 of A Riviera Retreat
In a lightbulb moment, Vicky realised that Kevin the not-yet-ex-husband would make a good villain in her novel. Suitably camouflaged and unrecognisable of course. She’d kill him off, for Amy’s sake.
Quickly reaching for her laptop, Vicky smiled as she made a few notes while the idea was fresh in her mind.
Day Five Of The Holiday – June 10
10
After breakfast the next morning, Chelsea took the wicker basket she’d discovered earlier hanging in the kitchen cupboard, picked up her list, slung her slouchy tote over her shoulder and set off for the village. Amy had said there was a small market there a few mornings a week and today was one of those days. She planned on sticking to the menus Olivia had worked out already for the next couple of evenings but had realised she needed some more eggs, fresh cream and possibly some extra local cheese.
Walking down the plane tree lined small road leading to the village, Chelsea smiled happily to herself. Being in France, a world away from everything back home and having new people in her life, was helping to clear her head. Crossing the road to reach the market, Chelsea noticed a hairdressers next door to the Credit Agricole bank. Now she was swimming again, she knew the chlorine would play havoc with her long hair. Maybe it was time for a change. Impulsively, she pushed open the door and walked into the salon. A familiar smell of shampoo and hair lacquer hit her nostrils as she made her way to the desk.
‘Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Puis je vous aider?’
Chelsea opened her mouth and realised the little bit of French she spoke had deserted her. She stared at the girl’s name tag – Bibi – closed her mouth and prayed that inspiration would strike.
‘I speak English,’ Bibi said, smiling at her. ‘If that helps?’
Relief flooded Chelsea. ‘You do? Wonderful. I’d like a haircut please.’
Bibi ran a practised scarlet fingernail down the page of the appointment book in front of her. ‘Gaspard could fit you in later. Twenty-five minutes? You want cut and blow-dry?’
‘S’il vous plait,’ Chelsea said, pleased that she could at least remember that most basic of phrases.
‘You want to wait?’ Bibi asked.
‘I’ll do my shopping and come back if that’s okay?’
Bibi nodded. ‘But don’t be late.’
‘I promise,’ and Chelsea hurried out of the salon.
She practically flew round the market, carefully stowing things in the wicker basket, and began to make her way back to the hairdressers. Passing a newsagent with a stand of magazines and papers on the pavement, she was surprised to see an English edition of her favourite celebrity magazine. Quickly pulling it off the rack, paying for it and tossing it in her tote, she ran back to the salon.
Bibi took Chelsea’s basket and her tote before sending her to sit at a washbasin, where a junior washed her hair. Once that was done and she was sitting there with her head wrapped in a towel, Bibi came over.
‘Gaspard will be with you in a moment. He doesn’t speak English, so I will translate. Please tell me how you would like your hair? A little shorter or more short?’
‘Definitely more short,’ Chelsea said. ‘A pixie cut?’ She looked at Bibi, hoping she knew the style she meant.
‘Ah, peut-etre à la Audrey Tatou?’
Chelsea looked at her blankly. ‘Who?’
Bibi reached out and took a style catalogue off a shelf. ‘Here. Like this?’
Chelsea took one look and nodded. ‘À la Audrey Tatou, definitely.’
When Gaspard appeared at her side, Bibi simply showed him the photo and left him to it, muttering ‘Bon courage’ as she went. Chelsea wasn’t sure which of them she’d aimed the comment at.
As Gaspard flashed his scissors and the first long tresses of her hair fell to the floor, Chelsea closed her eyes, praying that Gaspard did know how to make her look like a French starlet.
Half an hour later, Bibi tapped her on the shoulder.
‘You open your eyes now.’
Chelsea opened them and promptly covered her face with her hands. It took several seconds before she plucked up the courage to peer between her fingers and sneak another look at Gaspard’s work. She’d never had a haircut like it.
‘You no like?’ Bibi asked anxiously. ‘Gaspard is a good cutter. He is our star.’
