Page 4 of Summer on the French Riviera
At Christmas, when she’d regularly done ‘the breakfast run’ to the boulangerie, her route had taken her along the Promenade du Soleil for several metres before needing to turn down one of the small streets leading into Juan-les-Pins centre. Today, because the villa was set back inland from the seafront, Elodie found herself in the centre of Juan within minutes, the tantalising smell of freshly baked bread drifting towards her from a boulangerie she recognised.
Both the croissants and the baguette were still warm and Elodie was glad she’d remembered to bring the canvas shopping tote with her. Leaving the shop, she hesitated before turning for home. Part of her longed to wander along the bord de mer first, see if Gazz was on the beach early, preparing for a busy day with the holidaymakers. Much to the worry of his parents, Gazz had decided at the end of the previous year that living and working in Paris was not for him and he was now the new owner of a jet-ski and paragliding beach business in Juan. But another part of Elodie was worried that she’d be a nuisance if he was busy. Yesterday, when he and Philippe had driven them from the airport to the villa, he’d said he was expecting a delivery today of some new paddleboards.
Elodie gave a sigh. It would be better to go straight back to the villa with breakfast just in case. Maybe she’d wander down to the beach later in the day.
* * *
Back at the villa, Gabby was in the kitchen organising coffee, while Harriet was out on the terrace arranging the small garden table and a couple of outdoor chairs they’d brought from Devon.
Elodie, placing plates and the croissants on the table, glanced at her mother. Was the time right to start asking questions? Or should she leave it until they were all more settled into life here? As she finally decided she would say something and opened her mouth to speak, Gabby appeared with the coffee and Elodie knew the moment was lost, her questions would have to wait a little longer.
As they ate breakfast, the three of them began to plan their day. Harriet wanted to buy some paint and make a start on the kitchen walls. Gabby said she’d potter around the villa and unpack some more things. Yesterday, Philippe had promised he’d pop in during the morning to give her a hand if she needed it, and she was looking forward to that. Elodie loved how Gabby’s face lit up these days whenever she mentioned Philippe.
‘I need to take a few photos for my first column in theChronicle,’ Elodie said. ‘And I thought I’d find the brocante again and see if they have a dresser and possibly some outdoor furniture.’ She looked at Harriet. She had to make the effort. ’Shall we walk into town together?’
‘Why not.’
And the two of them left for town as soon as breakfast was finished.
As they walked to the end of the impasse and reached the bigger road that would lead them into the centre of Juan-les-Pins, Elodie sighed happily. ‘I’m so happy Gabby decided we could come and live here.’ She took a deep breath. She’d be even happier when she had the answers to the questions she was determined to ask Harriet and now seemed like a good opportunity. ‘You told me at Christmas that you loved me and hated leaving me behind, but you still married Todd and went to Australia without me.’
Harriet tensed. She should have realised Elodie would seize the opportunity to probe into the past, particularly her past, she just hadn’t expected it this morning.
‘You also said it didn’t take long for you to realise you’d made a huge mistake. But you did nothing to change things. To come back.’ Silence followed Elodie’s words as she looked at Harriet.
‘It became impossible to leave,’ Harriet said eventually. ‘My pride wouldn’t let me admit to Gabby how things were. She’d never really taken to Todd and had urged me several times not to marry him. She always thought, apart from being too old for me, that he wasn’t the right man for me. I decided I had to stick it out and try to change things. Basically I determined to change Todd’s behaviour towards me. I naively thought that was a real possibility,’ Harriet shrugged. ‘Never believe that loving someone will be enough to change them. People have to want to change themselves. And Todd liked me being under his control so was never going to change.’
‘But even when you finally returned to Europe last year after being away for twenty years you didn’t seek us out immediately. You went and lived in Bristol and it was months before you contacted Gabby. You also promised you’d help with packing up to move here, but you were very last minute, so in the end not much use at all.’
Harriet gave a rueful nod, hearing the accusatory note in Elodie’s voice. ‘I know. I’m sorry. Stupidly, when I first came back, I was terrified that neither of you would want me in your lives again. And then when we did get together, down here over Christmas and the New Year, Gabby welcomed me back with open arms. But you, you had to make more of an effort, true?’
Elodie pulled a face, acknowledging the truth of Harriet’s words. ‘Yes. I found it hard to trust or accept you the way Gabby wanted me to.’
Harriet gave her a look. The unspoken question ‘you still don’t totally, do you?’ somehow manifested itself in the air, and Elodie looked away.
‘It was difficult for me too,’ Harriet said quietly. ‘When we all returned to the UK and I left you at Bristol airport, I started to worry about it all going wrong, that the apparent success of the Christmas get-together was merely an illusion, all down to the fact that Christmas is always traditionally supposed to be a happy time and reunite families. I became convinced it was all bound to fall apart again. That’s why I kept putting off joining you. But I am here now.’
In the silence that followed her words, the two of them continued to walk, their pace slower, both deep in thought. It was Elodie who broke the silence a couple of moments later.
‘Yes, you’re here now – will you stay though? You need to think about Gabby. She loves the fact that we’re all living here together. She’d be heartbroken to lose you again. So please make it work for her sake – she’s mourned your absence for years,’ she said. ‘Our relationship has time to sort itself out, reach an even keel, if we work on it, you just need to tell me the truth.’ Elodie stopped and pointed down a side street. ‘Not sure where you are headed, but I think the brocante is down there. I’ll see you later back at the villa. Hope you find the paint,’ and Elodie strolled off down the street.
Harriet stared after her for several seconds before pulling herself together and continuing on her way to the centre of Juan. There was no doubt about it, Elodie was going to keep probing. One day soon, Harriet would have to sit down with her and answer her questions as best she could. But if there was to be any hope of them bonding in the future, maybe it would be best if she told Elodie an edited version of her past.
5
Making her way through the town looking for a hardware store where she could buy paint, Harriet passed several art galleries and stopped to have a quick browse at the window displays of one or two of them. Seascapes, street scenes of old Antibes, belle époque villas and portraits of local characters seemed to be very popular, with the occasional modern piece in clear homage to Pablo Picasso and Marc Chagall thrown in to the mix. One of the galleries also sold artist’s materials. Easels were lined up against the wall and a bureau with numerous shallow drawers evidently held small tubes of oil paint. Harriet made a mental note to return and check it out another day, buy a sketchpad and some pencils, perhaps even some brushes and oil paint for when she felt ready to tackle an actual canvas.
A woman pulled open the gallery door and disappeared inside. Before the door closed behind her, Harriet smelt the air, filled with the mixture of paint, turpentine and the soft smell of the gesso primer used for preparing the canvas before painting. It was a perfume that transported her back to the heady days of working in her studio at the top of the Dartmouth house. The studio her dad had lovingly created for her in the attic, with two large Velux windows that flooded the space with light.
Her dad had been so proud of her artistic talent, convinced that one day she would be world-famous. Harriet had always gently laughed at his ambitious belief in her. If only she’d had such strong belief in her talent. Besides, she’d always known just how difficult it was to survive in the art world. Her dad’s answer to that was as long as she made the best art she could, had more faith and, importantly, kept trying, she would succeed. Instead, she’d given up as soon as things became difficult.
Early on in their marriage Todd had started applying subtle pressure, with phrases like, ‘For me, it’s not quite there yet, you’ll have to try again.’ Which she did once or twice, but it wasn’t long before she realised that however many times she tried again, Todd could never see any improvement in her painting.
Before their first wedding anniversary arrived, Todd had convinced her she’d never be good enough to earn any money with her art. ‘But don’t let that stop you. If you enjoy it, by all means carry on.’ And then he’d proceeded to keep her so busy looking after his needs that she rarely had time to think about painting anyway. She still painted though. Apparently her painting was more than good enough to paint the walls of their house. ‘So much better and cheaper if you do it, darling,’ Todd had said. ‘And you enjoy painting, so it’s a win-win.’
Harriet lost the will to argue that painting walls was a totally different experience to painting art. She’d tentatively asked if she could paint a mural on the sitting-room wall. The answer to that had been a definite, ’Oh, I don’t think so, darling. You’re not exactly Picasso, are you?
The stupid thing was, she’d allowed him to diminish her self-worth, barely noticing and without protest until it was too late. Life with Todd was easier when she didn’t protest or, heavens above, dare to argue with him.
