Page 41 of A Riviera Retreat
Chelsea nodded. ‘In more ways than one. I did speak to Dad before I went out with Matilda and he’s sent me a photo of the flowers he took to the cemetery. Looking at houses with Matilda did help to take my mind off things though.’ She tipped some potatoes into the sink and started to peel one.
‘I lost Tasha about the same time as your mum died,’ Amy said quietly. ‘She was my godmother as well as my aunt and I still miss her dreadfully, so I can understand a little of how you must feel about your mum. Certain anniversaries like today will always be difficult to get through.’
‘You weren’t responsible though, were you?’ Chelsea said, trying and failing to hold back the tears. ‘You can’t possibly understand the guilt I feel over living while she died. It never goes away. It’s always there in the back of my mind.’
Amy was at her side immediately and put her arms around Chelsea and hugged the younger woman tightly before she sighed. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right. I can’t comprehend the guilt you are carrying. It was presumptuous of me to think I could understood what you continue to go through.’
Chelsea sniffed and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blub all over you. I think having an email from Kit, today of all days, has pushed me over the edge.’
‘The guy you dated who turned out to be married?’ Amy asked gently.
Chelsea nodded.
‘In the words of the song, Let it go.’ Amy gave Chelsea a final squeeze before smiling at her. ‘Now, is there anything I can do?’
‘Grate the cheese for the scallop sauce?’ Chelsea suggested, relieved that her cross words hadn’t upset or hurt Amy. She knew Amy had only been trying to console her, but she also knew there was no getting away from it. The guilt over her mother’s death would stay with her forever. Even if she lived to be a hundred, she’d never get over, or forget, the part she’d played in it.
* * *
Matilda sat on the terrace outside her room drinking a cup of tea and enjoying the quiet of the garden, cicadas notwithstanding. She could see Pierre hard at work digging over a patch in the vegetable garden. She’d wander down that way in a few moments and have a chat with him. She’d discovered, talking to him over the course of the holiday, that he had a dry wit and his genuine down-to-earth opinion on any subject was always worth hearing. She suspected he’d been regarded as quite a catch in his younger days, with that twinkle in his eye. He always seemed pleased to see her too, didn’t make her feel a nuisance for interrupting him.
Matilda’s mind was darting all over the place as she drank her tea, throwing up more negative thoughts than positive ones regarding the big change of lifestyle she was contemplating. Was this sudden urge to move to France a fad? A reaction maybe to being a widow? Would she and William have actually sold up when he finally retired and leapt into a new life over here? As William had done nothing but drawn up plans and talked about it for months before he’d had the final fatal heart attack, she had to believe that, yes, they would have moved over here. And she would have come more than willingly with him.
Matilda stood up and took the cup and saucer into her room and rinsed them under the hot water tap in the bathroom sink. She’d have that walk in the garden, see if she could clear her head and talk to Pierre.
Pierre was starting to put his tools in the wheelbarrow that accompanied him everywhere in the garden. Lola, his faithful companion, barked a welcome at Matilda and she bent down to pet the little dog.
‘Find a villa you like today?’ Pierre asked, smiling at her.
‘No. Nothing gave me that “this is the one, I could live here happily” feeling.’
‘Like taking a wife, you definitely need a coup de Coeur when buying a house,’ Pierre said, his face inscrutable.
‘There was one that almost had that heart stopping moment but…’ Matilda shrugged and lifted the cane basket with its small hand tools into the wheelbarrow as Pierre balanced the spade and hoe and began to push the barrow down the path. ‘The last one Troy took us to was down in the village and I was really hoping it would be “the one” as I like it around here, but it was so small and ugly, I couldn’t bear it,’ Matilda sighed. The path being narrow, she walked to one side of the barrow, talking to herself more than directly to Pierre. ‘I think I’m going to have to come back later in the year for a serious look – that is, if I decide moving here is what I truly want to do. Maybe it’s a silly idea and I’d be better off just forgetting the whole thing.’
She was so wrapped up in her own mutterings that it was a minute or two before she realised that Pierre had stopped a few yards behind her and was talking on his phone.
‘D’accord. À bientôt.’ Switching off his phone, he joined Matilda. ‘You come with me to the village. We ’ave time before dinner. I show you something.’
‘Right now?’ Matilda said.
Pierre nodded. ‘Oui. It is important for you to see.’
* * *
Vicky sighed happily to herself as she pressed ‘save’ on her laptop and closed it down. For the past hour, the muse had definitely been with her. She’d barely been able to keep up with the flow of words as she typed. Finally she was getting to grips with this story.
She stood up and stretched in an effort to loosen her neck and shoulders, stiff with hunching over the laptop. Glancing at her watch, she decided she had time for a quick soak in the bath before going down to the kitchen to help Chelsea with dinner.
As usual, the huge bath filled with perfumed water and bubbles was wonderful and Vicky lay there, her eyes closed and her shoulders under the water, completely relaxed, losing all track of time. Lying there, blissfully peaceful, the bathroom scene inEnchanted Aprilpopped into her mind. Lottie had invited her husband, Mellersh, to join them and the day he arrived, he decided to take a bath in the old-fashioned bathroom. When the Italian staff tried to explain the workings of the temperamental boiler to him, he’d humoured them by smiling and agreeing before ushering them away. The resulting explosion of the boiler he didn’t understand the workings of had been impressive and Vicky laughed to herself as she remembered it.
The ping of her mobile signifying an incoming text brought her back to reality with a jolt. Reluctantly, she clambered out of the bath and slipped into the towelling robe before picking up and checking her phone. Anthony.
?? Be with you about midday tomorrow xxx
Tonight was her last night of freedom then. Immediately, she felt guilty for thinking like that about Anthony’s arrival. But she couldn’t help it, even though she was also looking forward to seeing him. This holiday on her own had given her space to be herself for days at a time rather than snatching the occasional hour out of a life dominated by family and politics. To say she’d enjoyed being Vicky again was an understatement. She knew she was looking better too. Her skin had acquired a gentle tan and she’d lost her usual city girl pallor.
Selecting a pair of white jeans and a scarlet floaty chiffon top from the wardrobe, she stroked her new velvet coat she’d hung up alongside. She couldn’t help but wonder what Anthony would make of it when she wore it. It was a lifetime ago since she’d worn anything as bohemian. By tomorrow evening she’d be back in the role of Anthony’s supportive wife – standing at his side, facing the world together. A role she didn’t want to relinquish, but she wasn’t ready to resume it quite so wholeheartedly as she had in the past. Getting Anthony to understand her needs and to change the basics of how things were in their marriage would be difficult if he wasn’t ready to compromise.
