Page 38 of A Riviera Retreat
Troy opened a set of French doors and the three of them walked out onto the terrace. Above them, a coloured glass canopy fixed along the back of the villa provided shelter from the sun. Standing there looking around, Matilda imagined herself living in the house, making it her own. Being happy there. Suppers out here on the terrace with friends. Swimming in the pool. Josh staying. But there was so much to do to the place, did she really want the hassle? She and William would have had fun doing the place up together, but on her own in a foreign country?
She turned to find Troy looking at her expectantly.
Matilda shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. I do like the villa, but it does need work. Probably more work than I want to take on. I’ll have to think about it.’
Troy drove them back to Cannes, promising to see them again after lunch. Matilda and Chelsea made their way to one of the many restaurants by the market, taking the last available pavement table at the one where they liked the look of the menu. Once they’d both settled on the plat de jour, and a carafe of wine had been placed in front of them, Chelsea said, ‘That last villa certainly has potential. I could see you living there.’
‘Could you?’ Matilda asked. ‘I could see William and me living there together, but I’m not sure about me on my own. Although getting it modernised and decorated would certainly give me plenty to do. A purpose in life again.’
Chelsea glanced at her. ‘How long were you married?’
Matilda looked down at her drink, biting her lip. ‘It would have been our thirtieth wedding anniversary last year.’
‘Oh, Tilly, I’m sorry you didn’t get to celebrate together,’ Chelsea said, placing her hand over Matilda’s that was resting on the table.
‘You called me Tilly,’ Matilda said, fighting back the tears. ‘My mother was the only person who’s ever called me that. William always called me Matty. Nobody else these days shortens my name.’
‘I promise I won’t again,’ Chelsea said. ‘It just slipped out. I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘No, you didn’t. I’d love you to call me Tilly from now on. Makes me feel young and happy.’ And Matilda squeezed Chelsea’s hand.
* * *
Vicky spent the morning, whilst the others were out house hunting, up in the summer house trying to do the writing she’d promised herself she’d do, but instead she found herself spending far too much time gazing at the view and letting her mind wander. She’d been surprised to realise just how fond she was becoming of the other women. Strangers a few days ago, they had become people she cared about.
Yesterday’s outing to Antibes and the late-night feast afterwards had made her realise how much she was enjoying the holiday and the company of the other women. There had been a feeling of real camaraderie around the pool last night.
Her few close girlfriends all came from the past – Lisa and Bella from school and university – Kylie and Jena from flat sharing when she was single and newly arrived in London. Not that she saw much of any of them these days. They kept in touch via Facebook, but not in real life, where they were all too busy to actually schedule a meet up. She still saw Emily and Sally, women she’d met at the school gate when the children were younger, but it was a long time since she’d made any new real female friends.
Her friends nowadays tended to be the wives of Anthony’s colleagues and weren’t really the type of women Vicky felt comfortable with. High maintenance was the phrase that sprang to mind and summed most of them up. But she liked all three women she’d met here. They were all so different and yet she could sense a bond of true friendship was drawing them all together. She would definitely make an effort to keep in touch after they left at the end of the holiday.
Chelsea’s story last night had been so sad and Vicky knew that she wasn’t the only one whose heart had gone out to her. She’d seen sadness reflected too, in Amy and Matilda’s eyes as they’d listened to Chelsea. Trotting out old clichés along the lines of ‘Your mum wouldn’t want you to feel guilty over what was a tragic accident. She’d want you to live a happy life’ had seemed trite and useless. All Vicky had wanted to do was give Chelsea a big hug. Matilda had been so right to encourage Chelsea to talk to her dad.
Vicky forced herself to stop looking at the view and tried to concentrate on chapter nine. Strange how this writing lark made one start analysing things and speculating about people and characters. Matilda for instance. She was a bit of an enigma. Quiet and self-contained, but at times there was a vulnerable air about her – something that Vicky suspected she struggled to hide. Whilst determined to make a new life for herself, she clearly missed her husband desperately.
Sitting there, Vicky’s thoughts drifted to her own life and Anthony. How would she cope if he suddenly died? Or they separated? Badly, was the honest answer to both questions. As cross as she was with him over this current diabolic shambles in his political life, she knew they’d survive beyond that particular problem, even if the worst happened and he lost his parliamentary seat. It was their personal lives that needed sorting. When he got here, she was more determined than ever to talk to him and make him understand that whatever happened in his career, things at home had to change.
18
Amy was in her room, about to take a quick shower and get ready for her meeting in Cannes when her mother rang.
‘I posted you the latest missive from Kevin a few days ago. Have you received it yet?’ Fleur asked.
Amy glanced across to the desk where she’d left the newly received envelope and its contents on top of the folder with all the others. ‘Yes, thanks. All well with you and Dad?’
‘We’re off to Cornwall for the weekend soon. I’ve been thinking about you and your problem.’
Amy sighed inwardly. The last thing she wanted this morning was a lecture, however well-meaning, from her mother. ‘Mum, I can’t talk right now. I’ve got a meeting in town in half an hour. I’ll call you back later, okay?’ With a flash of guilt, she ended the call. She should have told her mum that her meeting was with the notaire, but she knew that although Fleur’s reaction would be a heartfelt ‘thank goodness’, there would also be several questions. Questions that Amy didn’t know the answers to yet. She’d phone home later to say sorry and tell her she’d finally been to the notaire.
Standing under the hot water jets of the shower, using her favourite Jo Malone shower gel, Amy thought about the upcoming meeting. The meeting she’d delayed and delayed. Inheriting Belle Vue Villa had been the incentive she’d needed to leave Kevin and she’d put all her energies into making the retreat work, promising herself that once her business was established, she’d start divorce proceedings. At her first meeting with the notaire, two and a half years ago, she’d come away feeling daunted with the amount of paperwork the French authorities required her to produce. Life in France was good, Kevin was out of her life and her urgent need to get away from him had disappeared. Despite Fleur’s nagging to do something, it had become a case of out of sight, out of mind – until this week.
After her shower, Amy pulled on a pair of white capri pants and a blue sleeveless top that she knew would be cool as the day got hotter, grabbed the file of papers and the envelope from the desk and left the villa. Driving down to town, she tried to concentrate on what was likely to happen at the meeting, but thoughts of Aunt Tasha and her mother kept crowding into her mind. Thoughts that made it vital for her to do the right thing.
Amy found a space to park near the train station and walked up to and crossed over the busy junction of Boulevard Sadi Carnot before making her way down a side street.
She stopped in front of a tall building with a brass plate fixed to the wall, alongside an old-fashioned wooden door, announcing the offices ofLefevre, Mathias. Notaire. Amy took a deep breath and pressed the intercom buzzer.
‘Oui?’
