Page 13 of Summer on the French Riviera
The first time an English friend had cheerfully handed her a bunch of chrysanthemums, saying ‘I brought you these from my garden, aren’t they beautiful,’ she’d muttered her thanks, hidden how upset she was and put the flowers outside the back door.
Afterwards, Eric had gently explained that in England people loved chrysanthemums and liked to grow them in the garden and have them in the house.
‘But they’re a flower for graves,’ Gabby had protested.
Eric had shaken his head. ‘Only in France. Here they are just beautiful flowers.’
Colette’s voice brought her back to the present. ‘Aunt Theresa was very kind to me. She and my maman were like sisters.’ She stopped in front of a simple granite headstone with a mound of earth in front of it. ‘Here we are. I’ll go and pay my respects to my parents who aren’t far away.’
Gabby held out one of the bouquets of lilies. ‘Don’t forget these. Wrong time of the year for cyclamen or chrysanthemums, otherwise I would have bought them instead.’
Colette took them with a smile. ‘Take as long as you want or need, okay?’
Gabby nodded, before bending down and placing her own bunch of lilies by the headstone. Standing there with her head bowed, and eyes closed, she said a heartfelt ‘sorry’ to her parents. ‘I know I let you both down and I can never change that. Saying you were always in my thoughts, Maman, doesn’t make up for leaving you when you needed me. That guilt will never go away. I should have stayed for your sake. I loved you then and I love you now.’
Gabby stayed where she was with her eyes closed and tears flowing down her cheeks for several moments, before lifting her head up and opening her eyes as she searched for a handkerchief in her skirt pocket. Once her eyes were dry, she looked around for Colette. Five minutes later and the two of them were making their way out of the cemetery.
* * *
When Gabby got home after having a quick coffee with Colette, Harriet was doing an energetic front crawl in the swimming pool while Lulu watched her from the safety of the edge of the terrace. Gabby sat down on one of the now cushioned transats to wait for Harriet to finish her swim and Lulu instantly got up and walked over to her. She stroked the dog and watched Harriet swim a couple more lengths. As Harriet climbed out of the pool and picked up her towel, her phone rang.
‘Hugo, how nice to hear from you.’
There was silence as Harriet listened intently for thirty seconds or so.
‘It’s not a problem. I’ll be there in half an hour.’ She turned to Gabby as she ended the call. ‘Hugo wants me to help out in the gallery for a couple of hours today and tomorrow. Are you home now to keep Lulu company? Or shall I take her with me?’
‘Don’t worry about Lulu, I’m not planning on going anywhere else today. I expect Philippe will be here soon and we’ll take her for a walk later.’
‘Thanks,’ and Harriet went to shower and get dressed. Ten minutes later, she called out, ‘Bye. See you later.’ And she was gone.
13
A couple of customers were browsing in the gallery when Harriet arrived and Hugo flashed her a welcoming smile from behind the desk.
‘I can’t thank you enough for helping me out,’ he said. ‘I hope you didn’t have to cancel any family plans?’ As Harriet shook her head, he added, ‘Good. Right let me give you a quick run-down on things before I throw you in at the deep end.’
Harriet had always been a quick learner and soon mastered the till through which everything went and the card machine.
‘No card payments over one hundred euros without checking with me,’ Hugo explained. ‘Been caught out a few times by stolen cards. I know most of my art-buying clients personally, but well-dressed summer tourists aren’t always what they seem. Parisian thieves also takeles vacancesin the south of France.’
The gallery sold a wide range of cards, posters, prints of old Antibes, cards, framed prints, all things that Hugo described as ‘tourist-funded rent money’. Of course, there were original paintings and limited edition prints, as well as artist supplies, like water colour paints, oils, sketch books, paper, and a ‘framing and stretching service’ of canvas was offered. But Hugo told Harriet that customers over Easter would be mainly holidaymakers keen to buy souvenir pictures and cards.
At one o’clock, Hugo turned the door sign to 'Closed’ and popped next door to the takeaway cafe for two salad baguettes, two raspberry tarts and two cold low-alcohol lagers.
‘It’s easier to eat here,’ Hugo said. ‘The town will be heaving this lunchtime. Rather spend an hour here getting to know you. Come on through.’ He opened a door at the end of a small utility room that led into a backyard with a wrought-iron table and two chairs that almost filled the space. The yard wall was covered with a pale pink bougainvillea reaching up towards the azure sky and the sun. Muted sounds of people and traffic muffled by the thick walls of buildings in the old town’s narrow lanes drifted on the air. ‘All the salad baguettes had gone, so chicken or tuna?’ he asked, holding the baguettes out. ‘Oh, I didn’t think to ask – you’re not vegetarian or vegan, are you?’
Harriet laughed at the horrified expression on his face. ‘No, I’m not. Chicken baguette please,’ she said and the two of them sat companionably at the small table to enjoy their lunch.
‘I’m so grateful you could help me out today and tomorrow,’ Hugo said as they both finished eating. ‘I’d honestly planned on taking you out for dinner one evening so we could get to know each other before I asked you to work. That was before my part-time weekend girl sent me a text at seven o’clock this morning saying she’d got a crewing job on one of the floating gin palaces. Sorry to leave me in the lurch on a busy weekend, but it was an opportunity she couldn’t say no to. She’s currently on her way to Corsica.’ Hugo shrugged. ‘It’s annoying, but I’d probably have done the same thing at her age. In fact, I think I did something similar to get to St Moritz for skiing one winter.’
‘You obviously had a different childhood to me,’ Harriet said. ‘The nearest I got to a ski slope in my childhood was the dry run at Plymouth, but in later years I did get to the Blue Mountains several times.’
‘Now that’s somewhere I’ve never been,’ Hugo said, breaking off a piece of baguette. ‘I’ll have to take you to Isola 2000 skiing this winter. Nearest ski resort about an hour from Nice,’ he added, seeing her puzzled look. ‘Did you find the Blue Mountains and Australia inspirational for painting?’
Harriet looked at him, wondering how much she could share with him about her time in Australia. She liked Hugo and it was important to make sure he knew the truth about her past from the beginning of their friendship.
‘I hardly painted the whole time I was there,’ she said finally. ‘It was difficult. Todd, my husband, didn’t think my paintings were good enough to find a market so believed it was a waste of my time to even try.’ She unscrewed the cap on her lager and took a drink. ‘I realise how pathetic that must sound, but at the time not painting seemed to be the only thing to do. It definitely made life easier.’
