Page 37 of A Riviera Retreat
Chelsea hesitated. ‘Do you ever think about meeting someone new? Being happy again? Growing old with someone else?’
‘Occasionally. It would have to be a special woman to take your mum’s place. But I’m not unhappy.’ There was another brief silence before he added, ‘Anyway, enough about me. We need you to meet someone decent first.’
Chelsea laughed. ‘I’ll let you know when that happens – although a waiter did give me his telephone number when we were in an Antibes restaurant.’
‘I’d rather it was the maître d’hôtel than a mere waiter,’ Simon said, a teasing note in his voice.
‘Dad, that’s very snobbish of you. He spoke four or five languages. I got the feeling he intends to be more than a mere waiter in a few years.’
‘In that case, I’m sure he’s a good prospect. Have you heard from Elsie? She coping all right with the business while you’re away?’
‘Haven’t heard for a couple of days, too busy probably. I’ll drop her a text later today. Right, I’d better get going. Tell Mum I love her and miss her. Phone me later? Love you,’ and Chelsea ended the call just as Matilda came looking for her.
Pierre dropped the two of them outside the estate agent’s office, where an enthusiastic and smartly dressed man in his thirties greeted them.
‘Bonjour. I’m Troy and I’m yours for the day.’ As they walked to his car parked in a nearby back street, he explained the itinerary he’d planned. ‘We’ll start with the house at Cagnes-sur-mer. The owners are expecting us in half an hour, so we have plenty of time. Afterwards, we’ll make our way back to Antibes for the two properties there you want to view. And then back to Cannes for lunch. This afternoon, we’ll meet up again and I’ll take you to see the garden apartment in Mandelieu-la-Napoule – in a very nice complex, that one – and finally the one in Cannes la Bocca, before I drop you at Belle Vue.’
Traffic on the A8 was busy and Matilda and Chelsea sat quietly, letting Troy concentrate on his driving. Twenty minutes later, he turned off the autoroute onto a one way system before heading into a quiet street with several villas on one side and a high bank on the other. He pulled up in front of one with a large ‘Vendre’ attached to its front gate.
‘Here we are, ladies. Very conveniently located, this one, for transport and the shops. Here comes Madame Smythe.’
‘Love the rambling rose hedge,’ Chelsea whispered to Matilda as they got out of the car.
‘Mmm,’ Matilda murmured, before turning to shake Madame Smythe’s hand and follow Troy into the house.
The tour of the house didn’t take long and they were soon standing outside in the garden. Matilda smothered a sigh of relief. Finally, something she could be positive about. ‘Lovely garden. You must work hard on it.’
‘I’m going to miss it. Lovely sitting out here in the evening. Would you like a coffee?’
‘I’m afraid we don’t have time,’ Troy said. ‘On a tight schedule this morning.’
‘Thank you, anyway,’ Matilda said, her attention drawn to a loud rumbling noise. She and Chelsea both turned to look in the direction it was coming from. Thirty metres away on the bank across the road, a train whooshed in and began disgorging its passengers onto the platform. Passengers who had a clear view of everything and everyone in the garden as they walked to an exit. Chelsea raised her hand in response to a cheeky little boy, who smiled before waving at them vigorously. Thirty seconds later, the train rumbled on its way.
‘Well, Troy did say transport was convenient,’ Chelsea said sotto voce in Matilda’s ear, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of having TGVs virtually in your garden.
‘Well, that’s one off the list then,’ Matilda said as Troy drove them back to Antibes. ‘I hope none of the other places you’re showing me have such obvious drawbacks?’
‘You don’t harbour a secret love of trains then,’ Troy said, a suspicion of a smile on his lips.
The drive back to Antibes was trouble free and Troy was soon parking in front of a villa in a quiet street at the top end of town.
Matilda and Chelsea followed him as he opened a gate and led them down a long path that curved around flower beds before ending in a short flight of steps stopping in front of a scarlet front door framed by a white wisteria.
Troy unlocked the door, explaining as he did so, ‘The owners are at work all day, so feel free to tell me what you think as we go round.’
‘I love this conservatory,’ Chelsea said as Matilda wandered over to the double French doors to look out over the garden, where several trees provided shade over the pool.
Upstairs, the three bedrooms and two bathrooms were spacious and immaculate. Matilda sighed as they went back downstairs and out into the garden. ‘It doesn’t feel very French, does it? It could be a suburban house in England,’ she said to Chelsea. ‘No interesting little quirks. And it’s overlooked from all sides.’
‘True,’ Chelsea said. ‘But you could add some French touches, grow the hedges taller.’
Matilda shook her head. ‘No. It’s a nice enough house, but it doesn’t feel right for me. Sorry,’ she said, turning to face Troy. ‘Next one please.’
The next one was only five minutes away down the hill. The third house in a cul-de-sac, it was clear from the moment Troy opened the large electric gate that the villa needed decorating and the garden shrubs and trees were in desperate need of pruning.
A trough of lavender by the side of the steps at the front door smelt heavenly and Matilda couldn’t resist running her fingers over the deep blue flower heads as she walked into a narrow hallway. Two huge dressers against one wall made approaching the sitting room difficult and that area too, was stuffed with leather sofas, tables and a third dresser. Two small sunrooms overlooking the garden and a pool were behind patio doors and filled with boxes.
Matilda sighed when she saw the size of the kitchen. It was minuscule and badly in need of modernising. As was the downstairs bathroom.
