Page 7 of Summer on the French Riviera
It was late afternoon before the three Vincent men left, having spent the rest of the afternoon drinking coffee and helping the women move some of the furniture around.
Harriet’s suggestion that she’d make supper was greeted with enthusiasm. And early that evening they ate in the garden, balancing the bowls on their laps.
‘Philippe organised a pool man for us, earlier,’ Gabby said, helping herself to some baguette to soak up the sauce remaining on her plate. ‘Joel. He’s calling in tomorrow morning between jobs, to dose the pool with some chemicals and then he’ll be back in a day or two to backwash the filters. So it will be a few more days before we can swim.’
‘Brilliant. I can’t wait to have a swim,’ Elodie said, looking at the pool with its pea-green water in front of them.
‘As well as doing swimming pool maintenance, Joel is also a gardener. We definitely need him for the pool, but the garden? Do we manage it ourselves?’ Gabby glanced at Harriet. ‘I like gardening and I remember you used to like helping me.’
Harriet smiled. ‘I do enjoy gardening. I’m no expert but happy to help you.’
‘I’ll help as well,’ Elodie said. ‘But I can’t promise to be much use. I know a dandelion when I see one, but other than that,’ she shrugged. ‘What time is Joel coming? I was hoping to drag you both out to the brocante. There are a few things that I think we should get for around the pool.’
‘Joel is coming between nine and ten o’clock,’ Gabby said.
‘I want to finish painting the kitchen walls tomorrow,’ Harriet said. ‘I’m happy to stay for the pool man while you both go to the brocante. Between the two of you, I know you’ll make good choices. Oh, I’ve just remembered,’ and she took her phone out of her pocket. ‘Buying the paint this morning, I saw this.’ And she handed the phone over to Elodie.
Elodie took one glance and looked at her mother. ‘How could you forget her? She’s beautiful. Have you phoned about her? No? Please do it now.’ She passed the phone over to Gabby. ‘It’s a female dog looking for a home and she looks perfect for us,’ she explained. ‘And we did say we’d get a dog when we moved here, didn’t we?’
‘We did,’ Gabby agreed as she handed the phone back to Harriet. ‘And I have to agree she looks beautiful in the picture, but it’s a big responsibility. Still, between us, we should manage. And she’ll have plenty of space to run around in, the garden is quite secure.’
Elodie gave a happy laugh. ‘Sorted. I for one can’t wait to meet her and bring her home.’
7
After breakfast the next morning, Elodie and Gabby left for the brocante, leaving Harriet painting the kitchen and waiting to let Joel in. The sun was shining in a cloudless azure blue sky and Elodie almost skipped with happiness as they walked. She loved everything about Juan-les-Pins – the smell of the Mediterranean drifting in the air towards them, the narrow streets, the individual shops, the locals hurrying past clutching boxes of cakes from the patisserie and calling out jaunty ‘Bonjours’ as they greeted friends.
‘Someone is happy to be here,’ Gabby smiled at Elodie affectionately.
‘Oh, I am,’ Elodie said. ‘I can’t believe I’m actually living here – that all this will become familiar and I get to call it home. You must be happy too. You are, aren’t you?’ she added anxiously.
Gabby nodded. ‘Yes, I’m happy.’ She didn’t add that her own happiness was tinged with worry over the past. It was too late for those kind of thoughts. ‘Not sure about Harriet, though. She was quiet when we left.’
Elodie shrugged. ‘I didn’t notice, to be honest.’
Gabby sighed. ‘I don’t think she ever envisaged living in France when she left Australia,’ she said. ‘Getting home to the UK was her main aim. When we decided to move here, maybe she felt obliged to come with us when she really didn’t want to.’
‘She can always leave if she doesn’t like it,’ Elodie said. ‘Nobody’s forcing her to stay, but I hope she does.’
Gabby’s heart rose at Elodie’s words, only to fall sharply with her next.
‘I have several questions I want answered before she disappears again. I am determined to learn the name of my father, for a start.’ Elodie stopped suddenly and grabbed Gabby’s arm. ‘Do you know who it was? I mean, you’ve never ever mentioned who it is to me. And I’ve never really asked you before, not wanting to upset you by mentioning it. Did she tell you?’
Gabby closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The identity of Elodie’s father was one of the things that had hurt the most, the way Harriet had refused to talk about who it was, saying he didn’t need to know and it was none of her mother’s business. She’d so wanted Harriet to confide in her, but Harriet had never ever talked to her about Elodie’s father. ‘No, I don’t know the name of your father. Neither do I know the reason why Harriet refused to tell him about you,’ Gabby said as they reached the crossing on the main road and Elodie stabbed the pedestrian button on the traffic light control panel.
Silently, they stood patiently waiting for the traffic to stop and the little green man to indicate it was safe for them to cross the road. Once across, they made for the small lane that went under the arch and ended in the courtyard where the brocante was situated.
‘But you can tell me something,’ Gabby said quietly as they walked. ‘Why are you suddenly determined to find out who your father was? The last time I remember you asking was when you were about five or six and upset about something that had happened at school.’
Elodie took a deep breath. ’It’s because now Harriet is back in our lives I have a chance to learn the full story of what happened all those years ago. I want to know the truth about how I came into existence. How long they were a couple – if they were a couple. Were they in love? Do I look like him? Have I inherited any of his talents? Any of his habits? What else does she know about him?’
‘Sadly, I don’t know the answer to any of those questions, but sometimes it’s better to leave the past alone,’ Gabby said. There was no time to say any more as they stopped in front of the brocante. The bract leaves of the bougainvillea climbing the front of the building itself were starting to show their rich magenta colour. A few more weeks and the wall would be covered in the glorious dominate colour of the plant. The old-fashioned bicycle they’d seen in December propped against the wall of the building was still there. Tumbling scarlet and white geraniums full of buds ready to burst into flower had replaced the hyacinths in the wicker basket.
Looking at the brightly painted bike again, which, when she’d seen it for the first time at Christmas, she’d convinced herself was Colette’s old one, Gabby smiled. As small children, she and Colette had been close friends and by the time they were teenagers, inseparable, more like sisters. Standing there daydreaming about those times, a special memory popped into her mind.
The two of them frequently cycled along Cap d’Antibes towards Garoupe Plage, both of them singing at the top of their voices, ‘Les Bicyclettes de Belsize’, the Mireille Mathieu hit song of the late sixties. They had been convinced then that they would go through life best friends and be in each other’s life forever. That their children would be friends just like them. That nothing would change between them. How naive they’d been. Within a couple of years, Gabby’s own world had fallen apart and Colette had disappeared off to America and now the family brocante, although still in business, had a stranger at the helm. The fact that it was still going all these years later was good. If only it still belonged to Colette’s family, Gabby could maybe get in touch with Colette again but sadly that didn’t appear to be an option.
The front door of the shop was held open by a glossy large black and white pottery cat with beady blue eyes. Elodie and Gabby wandered in, answering the bright ‘Bonjour’ greeting from the young woman sitting by the table that served as a desk, with their own.
