Page 3 of Summer on the French Riviera
The last thing Elodie wanted to do was create a situation that would hurt Gabby, but deep down she knew that, come what may, there was one question in particular that she had every intention of pressing Harriet for an answer on. Who was her father?
And once she knew his name, the next two questions would need answering. Why wasn’t his name on her birth certificate and, importantly, why had he never been in her life?
3
Downstairs, Gabby was gazing around distractedly, wondering where on earth she could put things in this kitchen with its limited number of units. In her mother’s day, it had been a real family kitchen – large enough for free-standing cupboards, a long pine table and chairs and a big old-fashioned range-type cooker. Gabby smiled to herself as the memory of the day their first ever fridge arrived popped into her mind. Her mother had been beside herself with delight as she planned where in the kitchen it should go.
Today, the big American-style fridge they’d brought with them was plugged in, albeit on an adaptor for the English plug, in the same place. The one length of working surface under the window had the kettle, the microwave and the remains of the makeshift meals – sandwiches, crisps and tea – they’d eaten today. The bowl in the sink was full of dirty mugs and plates. Piles of crockery, cooking utensils, saucepans and cutlery were all piled haphazardly on the kitchen table they’d brought over from Dartmouth. Flattened empty cardboard boxes were stacked in a corner. Sorting the kitchen would have to be their first priority, Gabby decided. Turning it into a kitchen that was at the heart of the home she and her family were sharing.
Gabby smiled – her family. Having her daughter back in her life, as well as Elodie, was something that she’d long given up even dreaming about. Now it had happened, she was determined to do everything in her power to make it a success so that Harriet would never want to leave again and, importantly, she and Elodie would form a proper mother-daughter bond. The last twenty years of caring for Elodie alone, trying to be a mother as well as a grandmother hadn’t been easy but the love she had for Elodie had carried her through the difficult times. These days she and Elodie had a close, loving bond but Gabby knew that nothing could take the place of a real mother-daughter bond like the one she sensed still lurked in the shadows between herself and Harriet. They’d been so close once upon a time. Gabby smothered a sigh. She could only hope and pray that the fractured family bonds between the three of them would all heal in the coming months.
Gabby began to pick up the cardboard. Tonight, they were eating out, so she’d leave trying to sort the kitchen until tomorrow and take the cardboard to the garage out of the way. Opening the internal door to the garage in the hallway, Gabby stood at the top of the flight of steps that led down and threw the cardboard onto the garage floor below. She remembered how easy the steps were to fall down and there was no way she was going to risk the descent with her arms full. Coming back up empty-handed would be fine.
Once down in the garage, Gabby picked up the cardboard and placed it near the closed garage doors, ready to take to a recycling point when they found one, before looking around. The small window on the side had thick iron bars fixed to the outside, something she didn’t remember being there before. The garage was empty, save for the large box Gabby had remembered at the last moment being in the Dartmouth house attic and one of the removal men had peevishly climbed up to fetch it. A floor-to-ceiling unit of wooden shelves was in the centre of the back wall.
Absently she ran a finger along one of the empty shelves, cutting through a layer of dust. In the past, they’d held a diverse collection of what her mother had always called utter ‘déchets’, in a disparaging tone of voice. Tins of half-used paint, grease guns, spark plugs, nails, screws, brushes, broken tools. Like the kitchen was her mother’s domain, the garage had been her father’s, although rarely used for its original purpose back then, as he always parked outside on the drive in front of the double doors. It was only when he acquired a Renault 4L in the late sixties that he started to park the car in the garage, but even then there was always lots of boxes filled with the next dodgy business opportunity to come his way.
Now, standing in what had been his carefully guarded empire all those years ago, Gabby stifled a laugh as she realised something for the first time. Her father, Hervé, had been the French equivalent of Del Boy from the English sitcomOnly Fools and Horsesthat Eric had loved to watch. It was only now she realised why she hadn’t shared her husband’s love of the programme: in many ways, it had unconsciously reminded her of her father.
Hervé had inherited the house from his father, who, following the family tradition of being a successful businessman, had left Hervé not only the villa but a substantial fortune in the bank as well. Sadly, Hervé did not follow in the businesslike footsteps of his forebears. Instead, he flitted from one business to another like a moth around a flame, blaming everyone but himself when he failed yet again. If only he had been more like the lovable rogue that was Del Boy, instead of the man he was, her life might have been different.
Gabby pushed the memories of her father away. It was all too long ago to have any bearing on her life now. She might be living back in the house she’d been born in and where she’d spent her childhood, but it was a new beginning. Past memories would not be allowed to surface and spoil things.
Crossing the empty space and moving towards the stairs, she wondered about getting a car. Would they need one? Public transport in Dartmouth had always been somewhat hit-and-miss, making a car essential. Here on the Riviera, there were trains and buses running inland and along the coast all hours of the day. Harriet and Elodie might decide a car was needed, but she was quite happy to catch a bus or train if where she wanted to go was too far to walk. Besides, Philippe had a car and she knew he’d be more than happy to drive her wherever she wanted.
Gabby smiled to herself. Dear Philippe. Both in their seventies, both single, there had been an instant bond between the two of them from the moment they’d met last Christmas. Jessica Vincent, owner of the apartment Elodie had found for them to rent over Christmas and the New Year, had invited them to a festive drinks party. When they arrived Jessica had immediately taken Elodie off to meet some of the younger guests, including her son Gazz, whilst Mickaël, her husband, had taken Gabby to meet his ‘reprobate’ of a father. Gabby had found Philippe, still a handsome man with more than a touch of the French actor Jean-Paul Belmondo about him, to be delightful company that evening and in the following days.
This morning at the airport when she’d walked into Philippe’s open arms and received a tight welcoming hug, she’d felt an all-enveloping sense of relief and of being exactly where she wanted to be and, importantly, where she was wanted.
As Gabby reached the top of the stairs and stepped into the hallway, Harriet appeared from upstairs.
‘I’ve made up your bed, Mum, so you don’t have to worry about that before or after we go out. Anything interesting down there?’ she asked as Gabby closed the door to the garage.
Gabby shook her head. ‘Nothing. Shall we call Elodie down and go find somewhere to eat? I’m quite hungry. I’ve decided to leave the kitchen for now.’
‘No need to call, I’m here,’ Elodie said, running down the stairs. ‘I’m starving and ready to go.’
* * *
Twenty minutes later, they were sitting at a table on the pavement outside one of the restaurants they’d discovered at Christmas in the heart of Juan-les-Pins, a bottle of rosé on the table and their food order – moules and frites for the three of them – given to the young waiter. Around them, there was a buzz of chatter as locals were joined by early holidaymakers enjoying their meals sitting out in the warm night air.
Elodie sighed happily as she picked up her glass. ‘Santé. Here’s to us and our new lives.’
The three of them clinked glasses and took sips.
‘I can hardly believe we’ve made it to France,’ Elodie said. ‘I am so looking forward to living here.’
‘There’s a lot to sort out,’ Gabby said. ‘Starting with the kitchen. First, the walls need painting and we need to find either some units or some standalone cupboards that we can put things in. Goodness only knows where everything is going to go in the meantime.’
‘No worries,’ Harriet said, sensing Gabby was feeling overwhelmed. ‘I’ll get some paint tomorrow and make a start on the walls. Once they’re done, we can decide whether we want a fitted kitchen or a more traditional one – in which case, we’ll pay that brocante Elodie discovered at Christmas a visit and see what we can find. We’ll fill the fridge with salads and charcuterie, and eat croissants from the nearest boulangerie for breakfast. If we eat out a couple of evenings, use the microwave and order in takeaways occasionally, we can exist for a few weeks without doing any real cooking. Think that’s a plan?’
‘Definitely,’ Elodie said, for once in total agreement with her mother.
4
Elodie woke with a start the next morning as the alarm on her phone buzzed into life with a rousing chorus of ‘La Marseillaise’. She’d decided to use the French national anthem as a wake-up call to remind her she was now living in France. As if she’d ever forget.
She lay there for a few moments before flinging the duvet aside, getting up and making for the shower in her en-suite bathroom. Half an hour later, she was showered, dressed and heading out of the front door for the nearest boulangerie she could find, to buy the baguette and croissants ready for their first breakfast out on the terrace overlooking the pool.
