Page 22 of Rendez-Vous in Cannes
Two young people, arms entwined around each other, smiled happily at the camera. Anna bit her lip, recognising herself and Philippe in the photograph. In the white space at the bottom Anna could just read the words that had been scrawled across the bottom of the original photograph: ‘One Life. One Love.’
Standing there holding the old photograph of herself and Philippe, Anna felt all the emotions of her teenage love flooding through her body. She remembered being so happy the evening this photograph was taken. They’d taken a boat across to Sainte-Marguerite with a group of Philippe’s friends and spent the day lazing on the beach and swimming. She and Philippe had slipped away from the group for a couple of hours when Philippe had taken her to see an empty cottage with wonderful views across the bay.
‘It belongs to my family,’ he’d said. ‘I shall restore it and we will live the simple life here. Our children will have a childhood to remember.’
Laughingly, Anna had protested, ‘We’ve only known each other five days and you’ve already got us married.’
Philippe had taken her in his arms then. ‘But, already, I know you’re the only one for me. I want to spend the rest of my life making love to you. I hope you’re ready to be the wife of a famous film director because that’s what I intend to be. And you will be a wonderful mother to our children.’
Anna had laughingly poked him in the chest. ‘And I hope you, Monsieur Cambone, are ready to be the husband of a famous set designer, because I intend to have a career as well as being a wonderful mother to our family.’
A barbecue on the beach later that evening had been the perfect end to a wonderful day for Anna. As they’d sat side by side in the boat on the return journey, Philippe, his arm around her shoulders holding her tight, had whispered repeatedly, ‘Je t’aime. I love you,’ and Anna had thought she would explode with happiness.
Now, as she stared blurry-eyed at the photograph, the question was, who had sent her the print?
Apprehensively, as the tears finally began to flow down her cheeks, Anna unfolded the writing paper and read the message it contained.
Please, I beg you, have lunch with me today – 1.p.m. The Auberge, Cannes. I need to talk to you about Philippe Cambone.
The message was signed simply,
Bernard.
Sinking down onto the settee, Anna gazed unseeingly out of the window, questions spinning around in her head. How had Bernard come by the photo?
Thoughtfully, Anna brushed the tears away. She’d come to Cannes this year determined to talk to Philippe Cambone and put the past to rest, only to have his unexpected death put paid to her plans in that respect. Could Bernard answer some of the questions she’d planned to ask Philippe? Could she talk to him as she’d planned to talk with Philippe? Should she?
Resolutely she stood up. Yes. She would have lunch with Bernard and listen to what he had to say. Then, when Leo got here later this afternoon, she’d talk to him truthfully about the past and they would decide together how to deal with it as she finally put it behind her.
Picking up the phone, she booked a taxi to collect her at quarter to one. She’d spend the rest of the morning swimming and relaxing by the pool, and try not to think about the past too much. Or about why Bernard wanted to talk to her after all these years.
12
Anna dressed carefully for her lunch appointment with Bernard and was ready and waiting when the taxi arrived. Fighting a sudden inclination to tell the driver to go away, she’d changed her mind and didn’t need a taxi, she climbed into the back and hoped he knew where The Auberge in Cannes was.
The streets were busy with the midday rush hour traffic and Anna was five minutes late arriving at the restaurant in one of the quieter streets on the outskirts of town. The maître d’hôtel came forward to greet her as the doorman ushered her in.
‘Mon ami, Monsieur Bernard…’ she started to say, before realising she didn’t remember, possibly had never known, Bernard’s last name. Anna hesitated, looking around her hoping to spot Bernard.
The maitre d’ glanced at a list of reservations, ‘Madame Carson for Monsieur Audibert, Bernard?’ When Anna gave a relieved nod, he said, ‘This way, s’il vous plaît,’ and he led Anna through the full restaurant and out into a wisteria covered courtyard, where Bernard was waiting for her at a secluded table in the corner.
‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ Anna apologised. ‘I’d forgotten how busy the traffic is at this time of day.’
‘I was afraid you’d decided against coming,’ Bernard said.
‘I almost did,’ Anna confessed. ‘I don’t normally accept lunch invitations from…’ she hesitated. ‘Strangers.’
‘But I’m not a complete stranger,’ Bernard said. ‘I think you know I’m an old acquaintance you lost touch with. Shall we order?’
Anna took the menu from the waiter. ‘I’m not really hungry. I’ll just have a salad.’
Bernard sighed and she glanced sharply at him.
‘Anna, this is one of the finest restaurants in town, it would be a crime not to enjoy your meal here. So order something you like, then, if we fall out and never speak to each other again, at least you will have had an enjoyable meal to remember.’
In spite of herself, Anna smiled. ‘Okay. Do you recommend anything in particular?’
‘For starters, I’m going to have roasted figs with goat’s cheese, followed by the sea bass baked in a salt crust, speciality of the house. If I’ve got any room left, I shall then indulge in the chef’s splendid chocolate truffle cake.’
