Page 54 of Summer on the French Riviera
‘You sure I shouldn’t be worried?’
‘It’s good, so no, please don’t worry.’ Gabby stood up and took a deep breath, needing to come back down to earth. ‘I feel so special at being able to have a look at the show apartment in Le Provençal,’ she said. ‘I know you told me the tickets were limited, do you have any idea how many people will be at the open viewing this afternoon?’
Philippe shook his head. ‘No. Does it matter? Come on, I’ve settled the bill, let’s go.’
Gabby looked at him. That was a bit snappy for Philippe, he was normally so placid. ‘It’s my turn to ask, are you okay? You seem a bit tense.’
‘I’m fine. I just want to get there on time.’
Gabby was surprised minutes later when, instead of going to the main entrance, Philippe opened the door of a building alongside and ushered her in. She looked at him curiously.
‘This is the office of the developers. We register here and then they will take us into the apartments.’
The office, with its thick carpet and highly polished desk, an Apple computer placed in the centre and a large banana tree plant in a terracotta pot, felt more like the study of a very successful person to Gabby. A woman behind the desk looked up as they entered and was immediately on her feet to welcome them.
‘Bonjour. Monsieur Vincent and Madame Jacques?’
‘That is us, yes,’ Philippe answered.
‘Monsieur Roget will arrive immediately,’ and she pressed a discreet button under the desk. Seconds later, a door behind her opened and a well-dressed middle-aged man came out to greet them. After shaking hands, he picked up the two brochures from the desk and ushered them towards the door. And then, for the first time in forty years, Gabby was once again entering the building that unknowingly had played such an important part in her life.
Walking in through the main entrance of Le Provençal took Gabby’s breath away. Everything was so pristine and of the highest quality. The chandelier hanging over the reception desk was dazzling in its brightness. The marble floors, the leather Chesterfield placed at an angle to the highly polished oak desk with another high-tech computer, an array of glossy brochures on its surface, another receptionist with a welcoming smile standing behind it to welcome them.
Gabby was transported back to those far-off days when it had been her standing in the shabby hotel foyer as a lowly receptionist greeting guests who still came to stay in the famous hotel. So many celebrities had stayed in Le Provençal down through the years its registers had read like a Who’s Who of politicians, actors, singers, jazz musicians and the rich. Now of course, it was no longer a hotel but a block of luxury apartments with several high-class boutiques on the ground floor. Once the apartments were occupied there would be a full-time concierge rather than a receptionist sitting behind that oak desk, to help residents with anything they might need.
Monsieur Roget ushered them into the waiting lift and as he pressed the button for the seventh floor Gabby stared at her reflection in the mirrors that lined the spacious elevator.
Gabby turned to look at Philippe. ‘I would have expected the show apartment to be on a lower floor. And there doesn’t appear to be anyone else looking. I thought it was going to be busy.’
Monsieur Roget gave Philippe a puzzled look. ‘The show apartment is on the first floor, madame, but you and Monsieur Vincent have been booked to see this empty and unfurnished one.’
As the lift came to a gentle silent stop and the doors opened, they stepped out into a hallway with an open door into an empty apartment.
Gabby walked straight through to the window. ‘Oh, what a view. I never came up to this floor when I worked here. Strictly out of bounds.’
Monsieur Roget gave a visible start. ‘Madame Jacques, you knew the old Le Provençal?’
‘Yes, I was a young receptionist here in the late sixties and very early seventies.’
‘May I ask,’ he hesitated. ‘Do you happen to recall a woman called Agnes Roget? She worked here during that time also,’ the man asked quietly.
Gabby looked at him and smiled. ’Yes, I remember her well. Agnes was very kind to me at a difficult time in my life. She had a son who had a Saturday job as a bellboy. I think his name was Clovis.’ Gabby stopped as she saw the smile cross the man’s face. ‘Is that you?’
‘Yes.’
‘You worked with Old Henri, the oldest bellboy in the business I always thought.’
Clovis laughed. ‘Taught me a lot did Old Henri. Mind you, some of it was stuff that my mother wouldn’t have wanted me to learn.’
‘So how have you ended up here?’
‘Long story. Went off to Paris, trained as an architect. Worked all over the place, eventually landing up with the developers that bought this place and here I am.’
Philippe cleared his throat.
‘I’m so sorry, Philippe, for the trip down memory lane, but isn’t it great that Clovis here still has a connection to the place?’
Philippe nodded and smiled.
