Page 8 of Summer on the French Riviera
Elodie led her grandmother down one of the narrow aisles with cupboards, chairs and tables on either side, before stopping in front of a large dresser. ‘What d’you think? We, or rather Harriet, could make something of this. Shabby chic or something.’
‘You don’t think it’s too big for the kitchen?’ The thought, would Harriet mind being tasked with the job of updating it flashed into her mind, but Gabby didn’t voice it.
Elodie shook her head. ‘No. I measured it yesterday. And it would fit on the end wall perfectly alongside the fridge. It would hold a lot of stuff.’ She moved a little further up the narrow aisle. ‘And look. Here’s our perfect table for the terrace.’
The table, a long wooden one, had an eye-catching mosaic top depicting an underwater seascape where dolphins, fish, crabs, coral, wrecks and even a diver bubbling his way through the sea were pictured.
‘Isn’t it wonderful? We can seat at least ten people round it when we have pool parties.’
Gabby laughed. Elodie’s enthusiasm was infectious. ‘You’re planning pool parties when we’ve barely arrived and don’t know anybody?’
‘We know the Vincents. And we’ve got to have a housewarming party sometime. There’s four of them and three of us, which already adds up to seven, so we only need another three people and the table is full.’
‘I will happily be the eighth person around this table on an evening,’ a quiet voice behind them said. ‘Bonjour, Gabriella.Ca fait longtemps.’
Elodie watched as Gabby’s face froze with shock and her whole body became rigid before she slowly turned to look at the elderly woman who had spoken. ‘Colette?’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
‘Oui.’
A bemused Elodie watched as the two women almost fell into each other’s arms, both speaking at the same time in rapid French, which Elodie made no attempt to decipher and understand. Both women had tears streaming down their faces that they tried in vain to stem, whilst all the time words of delight poured out from them. Elodie recognised Colette as the woman who had been serving yesterday when she came to look around and who had also been the one who had served her at Christmas.
‘Ever since your granddaughter bought the Hôtel Le Provençal ashtray as a birthday present for ‘Gabby her grandmother who had worked there years ago’, I’ve been expecting you,’ Colette said in English, as she finally stood back and caught hold of Gabby’s hands. ‘I knew it was for you and hearing that you were planning to return made me so happy. And now here you are.’
‘And now here I am,’ a dazed Gabby replied. ‘I can’t believe you’re here, running the brocante. The name on the business card you gave Elodie with the hotel ashtray was different. If I’d realised, I would have banged on your door at New Year. I thought your parents had sold the business on. How long have you been back? Are you staying? I have so many questions.’
Colette laughed. ‘We have so much to say, to learn about each other. You come tomorrow? We have lunch and tell each other our secrets like we did when we were young. I too have the questions for you.’
Gabby nodded. ‘Of course I can come. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
8
Once her mother and Elodie had left, Harriet began to finish painting the kitchen. Overnight, the two walls she’d painted yesterday had dried and were looking fresher. This morning, she had the opposite two shorter walls to do – one with the window overlooking the front garden and the other one that separated the kitchen from the hallway.
Harriet hummed to herself as she concentrated on painting around the window frame carefully, relishing the silence that came with being completely alone in the villa, and found her thoughts drifting to Gabby. It had to feel strange being back in her childhood home. A home she hadn’t returned to for well over forty years and where the last of those years had been less than happy. Harriet could only hope that new family memories the three of them were sure to make over the next few weeks and months would keep the old horrid ones buried deep in Gabby’s subconsciousness.
As she stepped back to check the edge of the window frame, the electric gate intercom buzzed. ‘Hi Harriet, it’s me, Jessica. Joel is also here.’
Harriet had met Jessica Vincent, wife of Mickaël, at New Year when she’d joined Gabby and Elodie in the apartment they were renting from them. A tentative friendship had sprung up between the two of them and she was looking forward to getting to know Jessica better.
Quickly, Harriet pressed the button for the small pedestrian side door of the electric gates and stood by the open front door to greet the two of them.
Joel introduced himself and went straight through to the garden to begin work on the pool.
Jessica waved a small cardboard box at Harriet. ‘I wanted to welcome you to Juan-les-Pins. Coffee? I have cakes. Oh, you’re painting? I can smell paint. Can I see?’
‘I’m painting the kitchen wall not creating a masterpiece,’ Harriet said, laughing. ‘Always happy to stop for coffee and cakes,’ Harriet said. ‘I’ve nearly finished anyway.’
‘Where are the others?’
‘Gone to the brocante. Elodie saw a few things there yesterday that she thinks we could do with,’ Harriet said, checking the water level in the coffee machine before pressing the button.
They took their coffee and the strawberry tartlets Jessica had brought into the sitting room.
‘This is a lovely room,’ Jessica said. ‘I wish sometimes we’d gone for a villa rather than an apartment.’ The owl painting leaning against the wall caught her eye. ‘That is a beautiful painting. Is it one of yours?’
Harriet nodded. ‘A very early one. I look at it now and can see all the amateur mistakes I made.’ She couldn’t tell Jessica how touched she’d been to discover that her mother had kept the painting for so many years, or the fact that she now planned to have it hung in pride of place on the chimney breast. Learning that had brought an unexpected lump to Harriet’s throat when Gabby had mentioned it.
‘Well, I simply see a beautiful picture,’ Jessica said, giving the painting another look before turning to face Harriet.
