Page 43 of A Riviera Retreat
Standing in what was clearly the master bedroom at the front of the villa watching the rain lashing down, Matilda jumped as a sudden flash of lightning lit up the room and was instantly followed by a thunderclap that shook the whole house. The storm was now right overhead. The lane outside had become a tumbling stream under the latest onslaught, but the drains on either side of the road appeared to be coping. A tantalising smell of coffee drifted into the room from the kitchen below. Matilda turned and went downstairs, eager for a coffee but also to take the opportunity to quiz Pierre about the villa.
A cafetière stood on the small bistro-type table tucked away in an alcove at the end of the kitchen, two cane chairs alongside it. Pierre placed a couple of traditional French coffee bowls and two plates on the table.
‘A few mini croissants are defrosting in the microwave,’ he said, pushing the plunger down on the coffee. ‘My cousin, he always keeps pastries in the freezer.’ He poured the coffee and pushed one of the bowls over to her as the microwave pinged. ‘Voila,’ Pierre said, placing the plate with its selection of tempting mini pastries on the table. ‘We pretend it’s breakfast time, non?’ His eyes twinkled mischievously at her.
‘Non, no, I mean oui, I think.’ Matilda laughed nervously. An unexpected frisson in her body as Pierre smiled at her raised an equally unexpected improper question in her mind. What would it be like to live in this house and have breakfast with someone new? Someone like Pierre? Now where had that insane thought come from? She wasn’t some gauche woman desperate to fill the empty space in her life with a man. She quickly picked up a delicious looking apricot tart and took a bite.
The weather outside showed no signs of improving. The wind was howling around the house in strong gusts and the rain splattering against windowpanes was heavy, but right at that moment, Matilda couldn’t think of anywhere she’d rather be. This house made her feel safe.
‘So you think you buy the house?’ Pierre asked, his eyes watching her carefully. ‘It’s a happy house and you suit it.’
Matilda looked at him, surprised. She suited the house? What did he mean by that remark?
‘It’s the kind of villa I’ve dreamed of living in. It all depends on the price. I won’t be surprised if it’s out of my reach.’
‘I tell you the price – you can always make an offer.’
When he told her the amount his cousin wanted, she gasped.
‘Oh.’
‘Trop chèr for you? Je suis desolé. I really thought I was doing the right thing bringing you here. But now I make you unhappy,’ Pierre said, genuine regret in his voice.
‘No, no. It’s near the top of my budget, but I think, maybe with a bit of juggling, it’s within reach.’
Pierre jumped to his feet, pulling his phone out of his pocket. ‘Bien. I tell him to take a few thousand euros off the price and voila – the house is sold. Two happy people.’
‘Wait, wait. I need to think about it. Talk to Josh. Put my house in England on the market. So much to think about and do,’ Matilda said. She took a deep breath. ‘I love this house. Buying it would be a dream come true. But… but the inescapable fact is that I’m terrified.’
‘Why?’
‘As much as I dream of moving to France, I’m afraid I’d be making a huge mistake. That I’m too old for such a change. That I’m not strong enough, physically or mentally, to cope with everything on my own.’
‘Mais ton âge n’est qu’un chiffre,’ Pierre protested. ‘Merde. I can’t remember how to say that in English.’
‘I think it’s probably the same saying we have in English,’ Matilda said. ‘Age is just a number.’
‘It must be true then,’ Pierre said. ‘If both the French and the English agree.’
‘I know but…’ Matilda shrugged her shoulders. ‘It can’t help but have an effect on things.’
Pierre took the empty plates and bowls over to the sink before turning to face Matilda. ‘Have you read any of the essays of James Baldwin, the American novelist and activist?’
Matilda shook her head, surprised at the change of subject. ‘I’ve heard of him, but no, I’ve never read any of his work.’
‘He lived for several years in a villa down here near Saint Paul de Vence. He was a great one for quotes. Quotes like this one.’ Pierre’s voice softened. ‘The moment we break faith with one another, the sea engulfs us and the light goes out.’
Matilda closed her eyes and sighed. ‘As I understand that, you’re trying to tell me that even though William is dead, if I don’t follow our dream through, I’ll be letting him down and breaking the faith that we always had in each other.’
Pierre nodded. ‘Oui.’ He hesitated before continuing, ‘But you also have to find the courage to live your own life and move on without him. You’ve got so much still to live for. Don’t waste the coming years in regret. Keep looking forward.’
There was a long silence before Matilda took a deep breath and said, ‘Go on then. Phone your cousin. Tell him if he’ll take five thousand euros less than the price you told me, I’d like to buy his house. While you talk to him, I’m going to have another wander around.’
Upstairs in the master bedroom, Matilda sank into a comfy chair that had been placed near the window. Was she doing the right thing? Shouldn’t she at least have told Pierre she’d think about it for twenty-four hours before deciding? Matilda fiddled with the wedding ring that she still wore. If only William could tell her what to do. She knew she loved this house, knew too that William would have jumped at the chance of the two of them living here and was already imagining the kind of life she’d have living here. Gardening, lunches with new friends on the terrace, wandering down into the village, finding favourite shops. Oh, the life she could imagine would be so good.
She stood up, hearing Pierre bounding up the stairs, and held her breath as he joined her, a big smile on his face.
‘Well?’ she said.
