Page 11 of A French Adventure
‘Busy morning?’ Vivienne said.
‘No more than usual, but I saw James’s yacht. When he cancelled our date, he told me he was off to Corsica for at least a week, but he is still in port,’ Olivia said, giving a small shrug. ‘It shouldn’t matter because our relationship is clearly over, but it hurts that he probably lied to me. I have zero tolerance of liars,’ she added.
‘Maybe there was a change of plan?’ Vivienne suggested.
Olivia shook her head. ‘I think it was easier for him to lie than to tell me face to face. Or give me the chance to dump him.’
Vivienne gave a sympathetic nod. ‘Men can be devious creatures, can’t they? Something I’ve only found out to my cost recently.’ She shook her head as Olivia gave her a concerned look. ‘Another time.’ Vivienne sipped her wine before moving the conversation on. ‘It was a lovely evening yesterday. I love Maxine’s house, and as for that garden, it’s so beautiful.’
‘She and Pierre worked hard on it. So sad when he died. They were so in love, such a shame they had such a short time together.’ Olivia finished her drink and stood up. ‘Come on. Let’s get Daisy.’
‘Daisy?’
‘My pet name for the pink taxi. I’ll give you and your tulips a lift back home.’
Vivienne gave a small chuckle as they headed over to the pink taxi.
Olivia drove them sedately along the coast road. The pink London taxi was definitely not built for speed. She was like some outdated blowsy actor still bowing to her admirers as she drove by. The number of people who smiled as they saw her and waved was astonishing. Vivienne was tempted to wave back like the Queen but left Olivia to do the acknowledging with a gracious wave of her hand and the occasional toot of the horn when she saw a friend.
Back at the villa, Vivienne took her tulips, thanked Olivia for the wine and the lift home and, humming happily to herself, climbed the stairs to the apartment. As she arranged the tulips in a jug she found in the kitchen, her mobile rang. Caller ID flashed up. Jeremy. No way was she ready to talk to him. She had planned a simple cheese and baguette lunch and then an afternoon writing up on the terrace. Talking to Jeremy would only disrupt that plan and she had no intention of allowing him to do that. She let the phone ring, hoping that he’d hang up when she didn’t answer.
She froze as the voice message kicked in and Jeremy’s voice filled the silence. Listening to his words almost broke her resolve not to talk to him. She desperately wanted to scream abuse at him. When Jeremy finally finished speaking and the phone clicked off, Vivienne opened the fridge. Her hand was shaking as she grabbed the bottle of rosé and splashed some into a glass.
To hell with not drinking at lunchtime. Right now, she needed something to take away the pain of Jeremy’s news. News which she had no idea how to deal with or how to tell the children that in a few months they would have a new sibling.
9
Maxine wandered down through her garden, absently pulling a weed here and there, smelling one of the early roses, bending to gently stroke a velvety grey leaf of the lamb’s ears plants that edged the path. Evening was her favourite time of day in the garden and tonight was a perfect late spring one. Still warm with the full heat of summer yet to arrive and everything was flourishing. Perfect and ready for their annual garden party.
Ever since they had owned ‘L’Abri’, she and Pierre had organised a garden party for their friends during the Cannes Film Festival. Pierre had always loved playing the genial host, welcoming his friends, spoiling them with good food and wine. Last year’s party had been one of the best ever. The thought of organising one without him at her side was unbearable. And yet deep down she knew Pierre would have been disappointed in her if she didn’t do it. Maybe a smaller party – fewer people would make it more intimate and people would understand.
Maxine gave a sigh. It was so hard rebuilding her life without him. She also knew that, in truth, she should host the party for herself. Another act of normality in her different world.
Standing by the pond watching the fish gobble up the food she’d thrown on the surface, Maxine forced herself to think about the Cannes Film Festival, starting in just a few days. Time to make a decision was running out. Maybe she could have a supper party instead. That way, she could limit numbers to just close friends, and reinstate the party next year when she would hopefully be feeling stronger.
She dangled her hand in the pond water and smiled as an inquisitive fish swam across and nibbled her finger before darting away. Mentally, she started to tally up the people she could invite for supper. Reaching twenty, she gave a short unladylike snort. Pierre had always reckoned that twenty-five was the ideal number for a garden party, so twenty was almost a full party already. It was definitely too many for supper. It would have to be a party or nothing. Decision made.
Strolling back to the house, Maxine thought about which day would be best. The first Saturday of the festival opening week had always worked well, so she’d stick to that date, which gave her seven days to invite people and to organise things. Keeping extra busy would at least stop her thinking too much.
Back indoors, Maxine emailed invitations to her friends.
A day later replies were pinging into her inbox. Eighteen acceptances to date, three ‘with regret’ refusals.
Maxine frowned. One of the refusals was from Vivienne, saying thank you but no. Maxine tapped her fingers on her laptop. She liked Vivienne and had a feeling that, given the chance, they could be good friends. How could she get her to change her mind? And, importantly, did she have time before the party?
Vivienne closed her laptop with a satisfied sigh. It had been a good writing day and she was back on target with the book. Jeremy’s phone call twenty-four hours ago had shaken her, but she’d been determined to push it into the ‘deal with later’ file at the back of her mind.
Time for a quick shower before Maxine arrived. She’d messaged early that afternoon, saying she had something for her and could she pop around this evening? Vivienne, grateful that Maxine hadn’t turned up without warning when she was busy writing, had happily messaged back to say she was looking forward to spending the evening with her.
Vivienne had just finished smoothing some foundation under her eyes in the hope that it would conceal the dark smudges when Maxine arrived.
‘Hi. Come on in,’ Vivienne said. ‘I thought we’d sit up on the terrace – no garden, but at least we can sit outside and look at the view. There’s a bottle of rosé in the fridge, but if you’d prefer something else? Coffee? Tea?’ Vivienne looked at Maxine questioningly.
‘A glass of wine would be lovely. You are okay? You have the look of working too hard.’
Vivienne laughed the remark off, realising that the foundation concealer had failed. ‘That’s because I have been today.’ No way was she going to admit to not sleeping because of that phone call.
‘How’s the writing going?’ Maxine asked.
