Page 33 of A Riviera Retreat
She quickly typed a message, added a couple of kisses and sent it. She knew her dad would love seeing her happy and laughing. But she didn’t think she’d mention her faux pas with the waiter.
* * *
Matilda took a sip of the rosé wine the three of them had chosen to accompany their lunch before placing the glass down on the table. Sitting back thoughtfully, she shut out the buzz of conversation around her and let her memories bubble to the surface.
She hadn’t mentioned it to the others, but she’d had lunch here before. William had heard about the wonderful food to be had in a garden restaurant in the heart of Antibes from a friend and had been determined they would sample its delights. Their secluded table for two that day had been opposite to where she sat now and the wisteria hadn’t yet embraced the entire pergola. A large parasol had been necessary that day to give them shade. The fountain was the same, there were more sculptures than she remembered and the various plants and shrubs dotted around had matured well.
Matilda picked up her glass again as she remembered the conversations she and William had had time and time again during that holiday. Conversations that centred around their shared dream of moving to France. She’d laughed at him one evening, saying, ‘No matter the subject of the conversation in the beginning – books, politics, films – it always ends up the same. It seems all roads lead to France for us.’ William had laughed with her before holding her hand and saying soberly, ‘We must do our best to make it happen, Matty.’
She smothered a sighed. They’d failed though. Life had caught them up in other plans – work plans that took William further and further away from his dream. But then she smiled to herself. William was the only person who’d ever shortened her name to Matty. She so missed being Matty.
‘Earth to Matilda,’ Chelsea’s voice broke into her daydream. ‘Are you all right? You’ve got a funny look on your face.’
Matilda nodded. ‘I’m fine. Just inwardly reminiscing about a happy holiday long ago. Now, is anyone else going to indulge in a dessert with me? I see my favourite tiramisu is on the menu.’
‘Oooh, I’ll have one of those too,’ Chelsea said, but both Amy and Vicky shook their heads, opting to have just coffee.
After lunch was finished, the four of them sat there, relaxed, chatting away and happy to let the world slip by. It was almost four o’clock when Amy said, ‘Come on, let’s go and ogle the luxury yachts.’
Once they’d sorted out the bill between them, they started to make their way from the garden out through the restaurant. Matilda smiled as she saw the young waiter standing politely by the door, saying ‘Au revoir’, slip a piece of paper into Chelsea’s hand. A Chelsea who blushed and smiled as she responded with her own muttered ‘Au revoir’.
Amy led the way along a narrow street and, after passing underneath an arch, they were down by the harbour. Following the road round to the right, they walked alongside the waterfront. The boats moored here, stern end in towards the quay, were a mixed variety. Some were clearly houseboats, with the occasional cat peering out from behind curtained windows. There were wooden hulls moored alongside modern sleek fibreglass ones and neglected boats with ‘À Vendre’ signs attached to their rails waiting for a new owner to buy them and make them beautiful again.
People were milling everywhere, dodging around each other and the chauffeur driven upmarket cars – Bentleys, Aston Martins, Mercedes – that swept past them, ferrying their owners to and from their luxury yachts. When, a quarter of an hour later, the four of them finally reached the long length of quay where a dozen or so mega yachts were moored, Amy said, ‘And this, girls, is affectionately known as Billionaire’s Quay.’
They walked the length of the quay slowly, before turning and beginning to make their way back.
‘They’re like mini cruise ships,’ Matilda said, gazing in amazement at the boats. ‘But nicer somehow. I can’t even begin to imagine having the kind of money needed to own one.’
‘Look – there’s a helicopter taking off from the helipad,’ Chelsea said, pointing. ‘Wonder who’s on board that.’
They all stood watching as the helicopter gained height before bearing away to fly along the coast in the direction of Nice Airport.
‘Come on,’ Amy said. ‘Let’s get back to the real world and have a wander round the Marché de Chineurs, that should be set up and open now. See if there are any bargains.’
Half an hour later, the four of them were mooching around the brocante stalls that varied from pottery and wooden crafts, to books, vintage and second-hand clothes, collectible kitchen utensils, jewellery and postcards. Some things were clearly old, even antique, whilst others were brand spanking new. Matilda and Vicky stood by one of the clothing stands and Matilda heard Vicky’s sharp intake of breath.
‘Seen something you like?’ Matilda asked.
Vicky nodded. ‘That coat,’ she said, pointing to a mannequin at the side of the stall with a lightweight velvet coat draped over it. ‘Isn’t it wonderful? A real Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat, isn’t it? I love it.’ And she reached out to gently stroke a velvet sleeve with its myriad of colours. ‘I had a similar coat years ago when I was a student. I wore it until it dropped to pieces. I felt so cool and bohemian whenever I wore it.’ Vicky looked at Matilda. ‘It gave me confidence to do things.’
The stallholder, her short blonde hair highlighted on the left side with a single wide stripe of scarlet, approached. ‘You try,’ she said, taking the coat and holding it out to Vicky.
Vicky hesitated for a second before slipping her arms into the sleeves.
‘It fits you,’ Matilda said. ‘And not only that, it suits you.’
Vicky smiled. ‘I wonder how much it is. Combien ça coûte?’ she said, turning to the stallholder. When the woman told her the price, Vicky turned to Matilda. ‘I’m going to buy it. I feel it was meant for me.’
* * *
As she’d promised, going home, Amy took the coastal road out of town. Along Cap d’Antibes, down past the Eden Roc Hotel hidden out of sight, past the Belles Rives Hotel and the shell of the much loved Hôtel le Provençal before parking alongside the beach in Juan-les-Pins.
‘I thought we’d stop and maybe have a salad baguette with our glass of wine here and then tonight we’ll have a midnight feast around the pool. Okay with everyone?’
‘Brilliant idea,’ Chelsea said. ‘We can have a paddle too. Can’t come to the beach and not paddle.’
‘Come on then, let’s get some food,’ Amy said. ‘There’s a mini supermarche just over the road.’
