Page 54 of A Riviera Retreat
Amy muttered ‘good luck’ under her breath, hoping that Simon would be able to convince Chelsea to forgive herself, before making her way indoors.
Pierre had collected the post from the box at the bottom of the drive and placed it on the kitchen table. Amy glanced through it. Telephone bill, some junk mail and an envelope with ‘Mathieu, Lefevre – Notaire’ franked across it. Amy stared at it apprehensively for a few seconds before reaching for a small knife and carefully slitting open the envelope.
Taking out the letter, she scanned it quickly, before smiling. The notaire wanted yet more official English papers translated into French, but the good news was that under French law, Kevin had no claim to Belle Vue Villa. Tasha’s inheritance was safe.
23
Matilda saved the email she’d written to Josh in draft and closed down her iPad. She’d send it later when she could send some pictures with it. Time to get ready to go down to Cannes.
At two o’clock, Matilda made her way through the garden and was waiting outside the gates when the taxi she’d ordered arrived. Ten minutes later, the taxi had dropped her by the Palais des Festivals and she was making her way to see Troy and tell him her good news about finding her dream villa. Of course, it was bad news for him and it took time to convince him to take her name off his mailing list. In the end, though, he accepted she was unlikely to want to move again in the near future, but, yes, she’d bear him in mind if she ever did need to sell.
Leaving the estate agents with Troy’s ‘Bon chance dans votre nouvelle maison’ ringing in her ears, Matilda took her time to wander up through the narrow streets to Rue d’Antibes. To think in a few months’ time this would be her home town.
Matilda smothered an inward sigh as the daunting thought of all the organising she had to do before she moved floated into her mind. William had been at her side the last time and they’d packed up the house and solved any problem that arose together. This time, on her own, she’d have to deal with not only selling up but moving countries as well, and knowing the French, there would be a lot of bureaucracy to get through. She’d need to be super organised.
Matilda straightened her shoulders. She’d cope, come what may. A new life in a wonderful villa was within her grasp and she was determined to give it her best shot.
Passing a couple of street musicians enthusiastically performing with a violin and a saxophone, Matilda dropped a few euros into the hat on the pavement and paused to enjoy the lively music for a few moments. The town had such a vibrant air about it today. She loved the way the streets and ancient alleyways nestled together in a seemingly never ending route around the town with its enticing shops and restaurants – soon all this would become a familiar, daily sight for her. Familiar maybe, but Matilda promised herself she’d never take any of it for granted when it became her home ground.
Despite the crowds all jostling for space on the pavements and the afternoon heat, Matilda was enjoying her walk, but when she saw the entrance to the shopping arcade, she slipped inside. Fewer people and cooler with its marble floors, the mall would give her a brief respite from the heat outside. A beautiful painting of a cottage in a Provençal lavender field in the window of the art shop had her fantasising about hanging one like it on a wall in the villa. It was, of course, far too soon to start buying pictures and, anyway, a quick glance at the discreet label on the frame told her, with all those noughts, she wouldn’t be buying that particular painting. But once she was settled in, she’d look for a similar evocative painting for the sitting room wall.
Matilda walked past the next two shops with barely a glance. One she registered as a wine merchants and the other was clearly aimed at tourists and holidaymakers with souvenirs and crudely made ornaments. The boutique further along was busy changing its display and had placed a large orange ‘Promotion – 50 per cent’ label in the window. Matilda stopped in her tracks as she suddenly realised she was in the mall where she’d seen the coveted blue leather jacket.
Without stopping to think, Matilda pushed open the boutique door. She recognised the sales assistant who greeted her with a smile.
‘Bonjour. Puis je vous aider?’
Matilda shook her head. ‘Puis-je regarder, s’il vous plait?’ She wanted to ask about the jacket, but structuring the sentence in understandable French defeated her. Something else to put on the to-do list for when she lived here – French lessons. She made her way across to a rail where she could see various jackets hanging under a large ‘Promo’ sign, but the blue leather one wasn’t there.Think, Matilda, think, what’s the French for blue leather jacket?Blue was easy – bleu and leather she remembered was cuir, but jacket?
‘You look for this vest, peut-être?’
Matilda turned to see the sales assistant holding out the blue jacket.
‘You still have it. Oui. Merci,’ and Matilda slipped her arms into the jacket, instinctively knowing that this time it was going to be hers when she left the boutique. A birthday present to herself. What had Chelsea said when she’d shown the jacket to her? Something about wearing it all the time and it becoming her signature South of France look.
‘Promo?’ she said, pointing to the sign and then at the jacket.
‘The woman frowned. ‘It is not included in the promo. Mais peut-être I can give you a little – 20 per cent discount, d’accord?’
‘30 per cent would be better,’ Matilda said bravely, smiling hopefully at the woman. William had always maintained, if you don’t ask, you don’t get, but she’d always held back before. Today the ‘moving to France on her own’ woman was in charge and she dared to ask.
The assistant pursed her lips before saying a definite, ‘Non, 25 per cent is the best I do.’
‘Merci beaucoup,’ Matilda said, delighted. Tempted to keep the jacket on, she reluctantly took it off and the assistant wrapped it carefully in tissue paper and placed it in a posh carrier bag.
‘Voila. La vest – ça vous va, madame,’ she said as she handed it over. ‘It suits you.’
Matilda smiled her thanks. She’d wear the jacket tomorrow night for the last dinner of the holiday – and her birthday. Although, of course, nobody was aware of it being her birthday. Should she tell them? She didn’t want anyone to feel obliged to buy her a present, but she would like to celebrate the day and the end of a wonderful holiday with her new friends. Perhaps a bottle or two of champagne secreted in the fridge and produced with tomorrow night’s dinner was the answer? Leaving the boutique, she re-traced her steps to the wine merchants.
Matilda took her time walking back towards the Hotel de Ville where she knew she could pick up a taxi, the bag with the jacket in it swinging from one hand, two bottles of champagne, boxed and in a bag, held tight in the other. As she walked, she found herself thinking about the others, hoping they were all enjoying spending the day doing their own thing. Waiting for the pedestrian lights to change on the crossroads near the market, she thought she caught a glimpse of Vicky and her husband, but they were quickly swallowed up in the crowd and disappeared from her view. Never mind. She’d meet both Anthony and Chelsea’s father later at dinner.
* * *
Chelsea smiled as she climbed out of the pool and saw her father sitting on one of the sunloungers.
‘I’m pleased to see you swimming again,’ Simon said. ‘I was beginning to think you’d never get back into the water and that would have been sad. You used to love swimming so much.’
Chelsea shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I thought you were coming in?’
