Page 17 of Summer on the French Riviera
Yours in friendship, Jack Ellicott.
Harriet gave a frustrated sigh as she put the letter down on the table and picked up the photograph to study it properly. A family group standing on the steps leading into the church porch, all with happy smiles on their faces. The bride looking radiant; Lizzie, a typical mother of the bride the world over, wearing a large hat; John, her husband, smart in his morning suit, fatter and balder than when Harriet had known him. To the left of the handsome groom stood a tall elegant woman, a neat fascinator pinned at a rakish angle to her head, his mother presumably. And standing alongside her was the man who completed the family group – Jack Ellicott. Still as handsome as ever and clearly a successful family man.
Harriet closed her eyes in an effort to shut out the world, the photograph, the letter, Jack. There was no way she was going to meet up with him here in France. Their friendship was in the past and there was no point in trying to resurrect it in the present. Too much had happened since they’d last seen each other, the common ground between them would have shifted. She wasn’t the same person she had been back then and she was damned sure Jack would have little in common left with the man he’d been all those years ago.
It was the future that mattered now. The only part of the past she cared about was trying to heal the rift between her and Elodie. That was the most important thing; the thing she had to concentrate on. Her future did not include renewing her friendship with Jack Ellicott.
Harriet tore both the letter and the photograph into tiny pieces before standing up. No need to keep them. Walking down to the hedge at the bottom of the garden where Joel had installed a metal compost bin, she lifted the lid and sprinkled the pieces on top of the last load of coffee dregs. Jack might know she was living in France, but thankfully he didn’t have her address. She’d simply ignore his letter and surely Jack would get the hint and realise that she didn’t want to talk to him about how their lives had been after they’d gone their separate ways. In fact, she didn’t want to talk to him ever again.
16
It was a slow journey along the bord de mer to Cannes due to the traffic, but neither Gabby or Philippe minded. Gabby especially was more than happy to watch the passing scenery and leave Philippe to concentrate on his driving.
Cannes itself, when Philippe drove into the town, was heaving with both traffic and people, with several roads closed with ‘Route Barrée’ signs. It wasn’t until they passed the Palais des Festivals, they realised why. It was Film Festival week, always held in the middle of May, it was the biggest event in the town’s yearly calendar.
‘Wonder if we’ll see any stars we recognise,’ Gabby said. ‘Have to confess, I don’t know many of the younger modern stars, but I’d love to see Richard Gere or Clint Eastwood. It would make my day,’ she added with a cheeky smile at Philippe.
It took them twenty minutes to find a parking space several floors down in one of the underground car parks not too far from the centre of town.
‘Do we need a map? Do you know where the shop is?’ Gabby asked as they exited the car park into a busy street.
‘No need of a map. I know the shop,’ Philippe said, and within minutes he was opening the shop door and ushering Gabby in.
‘Bonjour Monsieur Vincent. Madame. You are well? It has been a long time since we see you. You enjoy your retirement?’ The man greeting them was clearly the owner and shook hands enthusiastically with Philippe as he explained what they were looking for.
Gabby, watching the two of them, realised she should have known that of course Philippe would be familiar with this well-stocked kitchen shop. He’d been a famous chef back in the day in the UK as well as in France, writing books and appearing in TV programmes.
‘We have just the one La Cornue stove in stock at the moment,’ the man said, turning to Gabby. ‘If you like it, we can deliver next week. If you desire another model,’ he shrugged, ‘there will be a delay.’
And he led them to a room at the back of the shop, where a gleaming cream stove with golden brass trim dominated the space. As Gabby looked at it silently, already visualising it in her kitchen, Philippe was opening oven doors, gesturing at the hotplates and asking question after question about the stove’s capabilities.
Finally, he turned to Gabby with a smile. ‘If your heart is set on a La Cornue stove, you should buy this one. Perfect for your needs.’
Gabby needed no further encouragement and turned to the shop owner. ‘I’d like to buy it.’
As they left the shop after the excitement of buying the stove, Philippe insisted they celebrate by having lunch.
‘I know just the place by the old harbour,’ he said.
Fifteen minutes later, they were being shown to the last available table with a perfect view of passers-by and the moored boats. Ordering a glass of rosé for Gabby and a non-alcoholic beer for Philippe they looked at the menu before both deciding on the set menu for the day.
Sitting there sipping her wine and people-watching, Gabby gave a contented sigh. If anyone had told her this time last year that she would be living back in France, she’d never have believed them, but here she was. It was too early to call it one of the best decisions she’d ever made, but the last few weeks had seen things definitely falling into place in a good way. It had been the right time to return. Living under the same roof as her daughter and granddaughter was a dream come true, even though there was so often an air of tension between Harriet and Elodie bubbling beneath the surface which would need to be addressed at some point. Elodie asking if she knew the name of her father had proved that she wanted to be told the truth about the past. Who knew how much longer she would wait before tackling Harriet again with the questions that her mother was loath to answer.
Thoughtfully, Gabby took another sip of her wine. Sometimes learning the truth about the past only stirred up trouble and more bad feeling. She could only pray that in this instance common sense would prevail.
‘Gabriella,’ Philippe’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘I heard some news about the old Hôtel le Provençal the other day. There’s talk that there is going to be an open day once all the renovations are finished and before the apartments are sold. It’s an opportunity for locals to have a look around. There isn’t going to be a charge, but one has to register. Would you like to go?’
‘I’d love to,’ Gabby said instantly, pushing her worries away. ‘To see inside the fabric of the old building would be wonderful. It would put to bed a lot of memories for me,’ she added quietly.
‘As soon as I can, I’ll register our names for a viewing,’ Philippe said. ‘Ah, our lunch is here.’
* * *
Harriet was ready and waiting for Hugo when he arrived that evening. Unsure of where he planned on taking her, she’d pulled on a favourite pale blue vintage-style dress with a scooped neckline and a gently flaring skirt that she knew suited her. It was a dress she felt comfortable wearing for all occasions. Sandals with a wedge heel gave her a bit more height and would be comfy if they went for a stroll before or after dinner.
Hugo was a little early and she took him through to the terrace to introduce him to Gabby and Elodie before they left for the restaurant.
Walking through the sitting room on their way out, Hugo stopped and looked at the owl painting now hanging in pride of place on the chimney breast.
