Page 36 of Rendez-Vous in Cannes
‘So, tell me about Ben,’ Nat said. ‘Marcus told me you were going to join him in Australia.’
Daisy sighed. ‘That’s probably my fault. Marcus was starting to come on to me, nothing wildly out of the way, just annoying things, like constantly kissing me on the cheek, putting his arm around my shoulders.’ Daisy shrugged. ‘You know the kind of thing. I wanted to get the message over that I wasn’t interested in him, so I inferred Ben and I were probably getting back together simply to get him off my back – and also to stop him realising how friendly you and I were becoming. I didn’t want him making innuendos about you and me. But it’s backfired on me a bit.’
‘I know what Marcus is like,’ Nat said, squeezing her hand. ‘How long were you and Ben together?’
‘Nearly eighteen months when we came down here for a holiday with Poppy and Dan. The night before we went home, I joked about how we could follow their example and find a property to renovate together. That simple remark was apparently enough to trigger a commitment phobia in Ben.’
Nat let go of her hand as a group of holidaymakers monopolised the pavement. Minutes later, as they approached the shops and restaurants that lined the coast road of Juan-les-Pins, the crowded pavements narrowed and they were forced to walk in the road for a while. Nat’s arm around her shoulders made Daisy feel protected – unlike the occasions when Marcus had done the same. Once they were on the wider pavement above the beach and could walk easily, Nat kept his arm around her as Daisy began to speak.
‘We’d been home a week when Ben announced our relationship was crowding in on him. He wasn’t ready for any kind of commitment. What he really wanted was space. Turned out to be Australian space.’ Daisy went quiet. ‘That was six months ago. I had my first letter from him last week, suggesting if I was missing him as much as he missed me, I could join him out there.’
‘Are you going to? Marcus gave me the impression you couldn’t wait to book your ticket.’
‘Like I said, I deliberately misled Marcus,’ Daisy said. ‘I did think about going out for a holiday. See Australia and finally decide how I feel about Ben when I saw him face to face, but I’ve realised I don’t need to do that.’ Daisy smiled at Nat. ‘Ben is definitely in the past. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about him before.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
Daisy bit her lip. Why hadn’t she told him? Was it simply a question of the right moment not showing up? Or was it because she was still flirting with the idea of her and Ben getting it together again? No, definitely not that.
‘I didn’t really know how to. I felt a bit self-conscious telling you about an ex-boyfriend when you and I had only just met. I knew I liked you a lot, but I didn’t know how serious you were about me.’
‘Oh, I’m serious about you,’ Nat said. ‘Have been from day one.’
‘Oh,’ Daisy said. ‘That’s nice.’ And immediately felt silly for using such an inadequate, ordinary word. It was more than nice. ‘Seriously nice,’ she added as Nat looked at her, laughing.
‘Come on, let’s try one of these Italian glacés. They look “seriously nice” too!’ Nat said.
Sitting at the brasserie on the beach, spoon feeding each other with tastes of their different delicious ice creams, Daisy knew that her feelings for Nat went far, far beyond what she’d felt for Ben. Feelings that were confirmed when, four hours later after a visit to a jazz club in the hills behind Cannes, Nat took her home and kissed her goodnight when he left.
Daisy trembled. There it was again. That delicious tingling feeling that only Nat aroused in her. But what would happen when the festival ended and they went their separate ways?
20
Bernard was waiting outside the ‘Chez Cambone’ restaurant when the car dropped Anna off on Tuesday morning. The window blinds were still lowered, making it impossible to see inside. The heap of floral tributes lying in the restaurant entrance had been carefully placed to one side.
The door was ajar and as Bernard pushed it open, a bell jangled. ‘Jacques, nous sommes arrivés,’ he called out, closing the door securely behind him.
‘J’arrive,’ and Jacques Cambone materialised out of the gloom of the bar area. ‘Bonjour, Anna,’ he said gravely, taking her by the hand.
Anna, steeling herself for the usual cheek kissing from this man who reminded her so much of Philippe, felt her hand shake in his.
‘Thank you for coming. Please sit.’ Jacques gestured towards three chairs around a table with a pot of coffee and a plate of biscuits.
Anna regarded Jacques intently as he poured coffee. Identical twins they might have been, but she’d never mistake him for Philippe. For her, there had been something about Philippe’s charisma that had simply outshone his brother’s.
Now, though, she found herself wondering whether Jacques was still the mirror image of Philippe. Had Philippe’s hair greyed at the temples like Jacques? Had he needed reading glasses like the ones Jacques had placed on a folder in front of him? Had his eyes still crinkled when he smiled?
Of course she’d seen photos of Philippe at various festivals over the years, but these days so many were photoshopped, keeping up the pretence of youth for both women and men.
The stress of the last week was clearly etched across Jacques’ face as he pushed a coffee across the table to Anna.
‘I’m sorry we meet again under such sad circumstances,’ he said quietly. ‘It is a pity you did not return to Cannes before. Philippe would have loved to have met up with you again.’
Anna accepted the rebuke and the coffee silently, willing him to tell her what the meeting was all about, wishing Leo had felt able to come with her, and wishing she was anywhere but here.
‘I’ve found something amongst my brother’s possessions that I think by rights belongs to you. Also,’ Jacques paused, ‘Philippe left you some papers.’
Anna stared at him as he reached into the folder and pulled out two envelopes. One, small and brown around the edges and bearing an old-fashioned stamp, was clearly old. Anna recognised her father’s writing scrawled over the crossed out address:Gone Away. Return to Sender. She fought back the tears as she realised it was Philippe’s reply to the news of her pregnancy all those years ago. The envelope had never been opened. The other, larger envelope was new, unstamped and bare, except for her name written across it.
