Page 19 of A Riviera Retreat
Chelsea slowly took her hands away from her and looked at herself properly before letting out a huge breath.
‘Gaspard is not a good cutter – he’s absolutely brilliant. I love it. Thank you, thank you,’ and she jumped up and flung her arms around Bibi.
Gaspard still had the scissors in his hands and was staring at her with an unreadable expression on his face. No way was she going to hug him. Instead she gave him a beaming smile and when he smiled and held out his hand, she shook it, vigorously.
‘Merci beaucoup. Merci beaucoup.’
* * *
Vicky bit her lip as she concentrated and tried to think of a hobby for one of her female characters and how it could link into her main storyline. She needed it to be something easily accessible to a single mum and not too expensive to do. So that ruled out horse riding, tennis or joining a gym, to name but three expensive hobbies, leaving her with? Knitting? Jogging? Watercolours? Cooking? As a mum, cooking would be an everyday ritual, so why would she want to do it for a hobby unless it had a fun element. Vicky knew that personally it wasn’t something she would do. Cake making? Could making batches of cupcakes be a relaxing thing to do for her character? Something she maybe did at home when stressed.
Vicky had been surprised by how relaxed Chelsea was last night preparing dinner, something she never managed to be in the kitchen. She’d have to pick Chelsea’s brains and extract a few tricks for when she went home. But maybe baking cupcakes could be on the agenda for her heroine.
By the time Chelsea returned from the village, Vicky had given up writing for the day and was sitting by the pool, reading the Edith Piaf biography from her room. She looked at a Chelsea she barely recognised.
‘Gosh. You look different. Your hair looks amazing. Really suits you. You look younger than ever.’
‘Thank you. It feels great too,’ Chelsea said. ‘You not writing this afternoon?’
Vicky shook her head. ‘No. Thought I’d have a break – I am on holiday after all – and mull over some scenes in my head. I was wondering too if I could ask you some questions? One of my characters needs a hobby. I’m thinking about having her bake cupcakes as a way of relaxing and I know nothing about cakes. Apart from those in Marks and Sparks food hall. If you’re going swimming, we can do it later.’
‘I’m staying out of the water today. Can’t ruin the blow-dry,’ Chelsea laughed. ‘And I’m going to catch up on all the celebrity gossip with this,’ and she waved the magazine at Vicky.
Vicky’s heart skipped a beat as she recognised the cover photo. ‘Out-of-date gossip. That magazine is last month’s, so the gossip is at least six weeks old.’
‘What? Oh damn. It didn’t occur to me to check the date,’ Chelsea said. ‘I haven’t read it anyway, so it’ll be news to me.’ She settled down on one of the loungers before glancing across at Vicky. ‘You like reading the gossip mags then?’
‘Not really. Usually just look at the pictures. I read that particular one in the dentist’s waiting room and recognised the cover,’ Vicky said, turning a page in her book in the hope that Chelsea would not keep talking about the magazine. No need to tell her she’d bought that very copy and stashed it away because there was a picture of her and Anthony in there arriving for a Parliamentary dinner. With luck, Chelsea wouldn’t spot her as she was thumbing through the pages. If she did, Vicky would have to admit Anthony was more than a mere civil servant, but unless that happened, she was determined to keep her anonymity. She was enjoying being incognito as good old Vicky Lewis.
‘Yeah, me too, especially the interiors of famous people’s homes. But some of the pics of celebrities are so Photoshopped. I bet in real life they’d be unrecognisable. So shoot: what d’you want to know about baking?’ Chelsea said, looking up from the magazine.
Vicky stood up. ‘Actually, can we do it later? Maybe when we’re in the kitchen tonight. I’ve just remembered I need to text my husband. I’ll leave you to enjoy your celebs.’
‘Oh, okay,’ Chelsea agreed, absently, glancing back down at a page of photos.
As Vicky picked up her things and turned to go to her room, she was conscious of Chelsea watching her.
There was no way she could stay as Chelsea continued to look through the magazine. The photo of her and Anthony definitely hadn’t been Photoshopped. There was every chance that Chelsea would see it and recognise her.
* * *
Amy had had only one idea in her head as she got in her car that morning – to get away from Belle Vue and spend some time alone. Coming face to face with Kevin in Monaco had unsettled her more than she’d expected. Leaving the village behind, she automatically joined the east-bound traffic on the main road and impulsively decided to make for Juan-les-Pins, one of her favourite places on the coast.
As she left Cannes behind and began the drive along the bord de mer, Amy found herself in a stream of slow moving traffic, which suited her mood fine. Driving slowly allowed her glimpses of some of the old belle-époque villas that littered this part of the coast. Built to impress at the end of the nineteenth century, several had been lovingly restored, but others were mere shells of their former opulence and open to the elements.
She and Tasha had often played a game of ‘I wonder who lived in that house’ as they drove along the coast road. Tasha had been interested enough to start to research the history of several of the villas and had told her some gossipy tales she’d discovered about the people who had lived and holidayed in the houses. Some of her favourite stories had involved L’Horizon, an opulent villa, out of sight on the cliffs in front of the railway line that ran along the coast that was visible only from the sea. Winston Churchill, Wallis Simpson and Aly Khan to name but three people had apparently partied there.
Amy’s initial reaction to hearing about L’Horizon had been one of disbelief. ‘Who would want trains thundering past so close to a luxury home? Rather takes the romance of it all away.’
Francois, Tasha’s husband, had often spoken too of the tales his parents had told him from the early forties, when Cannes had been occupied by the Germans and daily life had been lived in fear. Rumour had it that several local resistance groups had operated in the area.
Today, driving past the locked and graffitied steel gate leading to the hidden villa, Amy glanced seawards, wondering if it was still intact or whether it had suffered a similar fate to some of the other villas and was now derelict. It was impossible to believe that a place with such a rich, opulent history had just been left to rot. Tasha had often teased her, saying she hoped her romantic rose coloured view of life would never be challenged.
Pulling up at the lights in Golfe Juan, Amy sighed. Not only had it been challenged, it had been so damaged and broken, she doubted she had a romantic vibe left in her body. Marrying Kevin Peake had seen to that.
Kevin. Amy had known Tasha had never taken to him. She’d never badmouthed him to Amy but had made it quite clear that she couldn’t understand what Amy saw in ‘that man’, as she called him. The tension between the two of them on the few family occasions when they met had been palpable. It was the main reason she’d seen less and less of Tasha once she’d married Kevin. When she did come to France during the five years of her marriage, it had always been alone. If Tasha had guessed she wasn’t as happy as she made out, she’d never probed, believing that Amy would talk to her when the time was right.
But Amy had hugged the hurt to herself. It was her mistake, up to her to deal with it. Besides, she couldn’t bear to tell either her mum or Tasha how ashamed she was for not listening to them. As the rows had become more frequent, Kevin more volatile, she’d really struggled, trying to keep a brave face on things. Keeping her distance from family and friends had become second nature. Thankfully, when the break-up finally happened, everyone accepted her version of things: ‘We discovered we wanted different things from life and decided we were better off apart.’ Not even Fleur knew all of the details, the lies and the depth of her heartbreak behind the split. Amy took a deep breath. It was in the past. She'd moved on.
