Page 2 of A French Adventure
The Tannoy crackled as a disembodied voice announced the flight to Nice was boarding. Vivienne fought back the tears she refused to let fall in front of him and tried to control the thoughts that were reeling around in her head. Should she stay, go home and talk things through with Jeremy? Would there be any point? By bringing her here with little time for discussion before her flight, to tell her about his affair, he’d indicated that he had no intention of talking about it in any detail. It was afait accomplias far as he was concerned. There was no point in her cancelling her plans, but if he thought she was just going to turn the other cheek, or whatever the saying was, and meekly go away and give in to his demands, then he was in for a shock.
Vivienne stood up. ‘That’s my flight being called. I can’t believe you’ve chosen to try and end twenty-nine years of marriage like this, but believe me, Jeremy, I’ll fight you every inch of the way. Move out if you must, but I don’t want a divorce and I’m not selling the house to suit you and your lover.’ She picked up her laptop and started to walk away before turning. ‘This woman you’re dumping me for? Is it someone I know?’
‘Yes,’ Jeremy said. ‘I’m so sorry. You deserve to hear the truth from me. It’s…’
Vivienne barely heard the name he whispered, but the shock must have registered on her face before she turned away for the last time and stumbled her way towards Departures. The name he’d spoken so quietly was the one person whom she would never ever have suspected Jeremy of having an affair with. This affair of Jeremy’s was about to wreck her life in more than one way.
2
Maxine Zonszain had finished planting the last one of six cosmo plants into its place in her favourite ornamental granite pot by the front door of her cottage in the old town of Antibes, when her mobile buzzed with a text. Simone apologising but she couldn’t do the airport pick-up for Madame Wilson that afternoon because one of the twins wasn’t well. Maxine quickly typed a reply, saying she’d cover it, not to worry. Simone rarely let her down and, of course, an ill child must come first. It was a lovely late spring day, a drive along the bord de mer would be enjoyable.
Three hours later, she was easing her car into the traffic on the coast road and leaving Antibes behind. Collecting holidaymakers for one or other of the several holiday lets she managed was a rare occurrence for her. She didn’t mind picking up clients from the airport but preferred not to do it on a regular basis. Besides, she knew that using people like Simone, who couldn’t commit to a regular routine day job for various personal reasons, gave them some welcome additional money. Now, driving along the bord de mer rather than taking the busyautoroute out of town, Maxine hummed along to the eclectic playlist of Riviera Radio coming through the car speakers.
The Mediterranean on her right was glistening in the sunlight, several yachts and a cruise ship were making their way across the bay and there were even a few brave souls swimming in water that hadn’t yet taken on its summer temperature. The opening bars of ‘All I Really Want is Love’ floated into the car as she sat waiting for the traffic lights at Villeneuve-Loubet to change to green. The last time she’d heard this song she’d burst into tears, unable to bear listening, and now her hand spontaneously moved to press the radio off button as Henri Salvador’s unmistakable voice began to croon the opening words. but she snatched it back and gripped the steering wheel tightly.
Her emotions were surely more under control these days. The memories it stirred would be good ones. Happy ones. This was ‘their’ tune. The one that had truly epitomised their relationship and their love. Lisa Ekdahl had joined Henri now singing the lyrics and Maxine felt a small smile touch her lips. She and Pierre had bought the CD and the pair of them had tried to imitate Henri and Lisa, but Pierre couldn’t hold a tune and she was too busy laughing at him to sing.
A sharp blast of the horn from the car behind brought Maxine out of her reverie and she hurriedly raised her hand in apology, took her foot off the brake and started to drive.
How different her life was now from those loved-up years after she’d finally met the love of her life, Pierre. She’d known from the moment he’d taken her hand as they were introduced by a mutual friend at a Parisian dinner party that this man was going to be a part of her life forever. After a whirlwind romance, they had married and Maxine knew this second husband of hers was her one true love and they were destined to grow old together.
Pierre dying nine months ago, just two days after their eighth wedding anniversary, had been an unexpected, seismic shock in her life. He’d gone off to his office on Friday morning promising to meet her at the airport later that day for their flight down south to spend their usual weekend in Antibes. Instead, his distraught PA Beatrice had phoned at eleven o’clock to tell her that Pierre was in hospital after collapsing in the office.
Maxine, rushing across the city to his side, arrived at his hospital bedside barely in time to hold his hand as he died. The following week had passed in a blur of officialdom, endless paperwork and, on the sixth day, the funeral. Pierre’s son, Thierry, had supported her as she’d staggered down the church aisle in a zombie-like daze, detached from reality. She remembered nothing of the service, the tributes paid, the eulogy read by Thierry, the hymns they’d sung. The single thought in her brain going round and round in an endless circle, drowning everything else out, was the knowledge that having finally found her soulmate, he’d gone, leaving her floundering. If she grew old, it wouldn’t be with him at her side, something that she couldn’t bear the thought of.
It was Thierry’s tight hold on her arm that prevented her from falling when her knees threatened to buckle as they stood at the graveside watching Pierre’s coffin being lowered into the grave. At that moment, she wasn’t sure she could summon the strength to carry on – or even if she wanted to – after this latest loss in her life. It was only when everyone had left after the wake and she was alone in the apartment that Maxine had allowed her memories and thoughts to chase each other around and around until she was exhausted. That night, though, as she had tossed and turned in her empty bed, she knew however much the loss of Pierre hurt, there was no alternative universe for her to run and escape into. Facts had to be faced. Once again she’d have to dig deep and find that almost superhuman strength that, years ago,she hadn’t known she possessed, to carry on. She could only pray that she’d find it again.
Pierre’s apartment in one of the iconic Haussmann buildings in the 7th arrondissement of Paris had been in his family for generations and Maxine had always known Thierry would inherit it. A day or two after the funeral, Thierry had gently told her she was welcome to stay there for as long as she wanted, but as the days slowly turned into weeks, she had realised she didn’t want to be there. When Pierre had been alive, it hadn’t mattered that it was full of mementoes of his family, his boyhood, his life before her, and she’d lived uncomplainingly with the fact that the ghost of his first wife still lingered in several of the rooms she’d redecorated when in residence there.
During those first weeks as she had grieved for the loss of Pierre, Maxine’s thoughts had turned more and more to the mews house she and Pierre had bought together in Antibes. They’d bought it jointly soon after they were married, but Pierre had insisted it was registered in her name only. He’d wanted her to always be secure, just in case. Spending time there together had been some of the happiest times of Maxine’s life and they’d often talked of the day they would eventually retire down there. One month after Pierre’s death, Maxine had decamped to Antibes and shut herself away to grieve until she felt able to return to Paris and face her friends and the world again.
She and Thierry had spent that first Christmas without Pierre, together in Antibes. When, after a quiet and thoughtful day, Thierry had asked her, did she have any plans to return to Paris yet, she’d hesitated. The thought of returning to her old life in Paris without the presence of Pierre at her side made her shudder. Thierry had understood and gently told her that she had to do what was best for her and that the Paris apartment was hers to live in if she wanted to return and pick up the threads of her old life. But, if not, then he’d like to make it his Europeanbase, a home to return to from his current job in Singapore. ‘But there’s no rush to decide,’ he’d said. ‘Take your time and make the right decision for you.’
After he’d left, Maxine had wandered around the streets and harbour of Antibes for hours, thinking about the future. Her future alone. The truth was, her old normal life had gone, never to return, and she had to acknowledge that, and create a new normal life for herself. Would staying permanently in Antibes make that a little easier than returning to Paris?
She had phoned Thierry on New Year’s Day and apologised for selfishly keeping him out of his family apartment and told him she’d decided Antibes would now be her permanent home. Knowing that as animmobiliershe could work anywhere – her professional ‘estate agent licence’ was up to date and she was already registered as self-employed – it seemed the obvious and sensible thing to do.
When they had realised she was staying, a couple of local friends from her life with Pierre, had asked her to manage their holiday apartments – organising the advertisements, the bookings, the cleaning, the refurbishment, the airport collections and dealing with any problems that might arise. Nobody had batted an eye at the prices she worked out she needed to charge. And slowly she’d started to rebuild a new life for herself.
Now, at the beginning of May, she was living a completely different life to the one she’d anticipated to be living at sixty-three, but it was becoming a busy life, if a little lonely, and it helped to keep the bouts of depression, which still overcame her occasionally, at bay.
Once at the airport, Maxine collected a ticket from the machine and parked as close as she could to the Arrivals Hall, before making her way back down to the concourse. A glance at the information board told her the plane had landed, sopassengers with nothing to declare in customs should be coming through soon.
After writing the name ‘Madame Vivienne Wilson’ on the card she would hold up to catch the eye of the unknown passenger she was meeting, Maxine stood at the back of the small crowd that was waiting to greet friends and family. As people started to come through, there were shrieks of excitement and lots of hugs being exchanged. Patiently Maxine waited, holding her card aloft and searching for a lone woman amongst all the groups and couples spilling out into the foyer.
Two women walked through the doors together and one of the women was instantly accosted by a small child who ran towards her shouting, ‘Gangan. We’ve come to get you.’ The woman laughed and picked up the little girl before turning to her companion and saying something quietly and pointing in Maxine’s direction. The woman glanced across and, as Maxine gave her a questioning look, nodded and pointed to herself.
Maxine waited as Vivienne said goodbye to the woman and walked towards her. She looked terrible, a defeated air hung over her and, having been there, Maxine recognised the symptoms of the walking wounded. Judging by her bloodshot eyes and smudged make-up, Vivienne Wilson was clearly in a state of shock.
Moving forward, Maxine grabbed hold of Vivienne’s wheeled suitcase, worried that she was about to keel over at any moment. ‘Bonjour et bienvenue sur la Riviera. Do you speak French?Non? I’m Maxine Zonszain, the agent in charge of the apartment. You have a good flight? No screaming babies, I hope.’
‘To be honest, I plugged myself into my laptop and shut everything out for the majority of the flight,’ Vivienne said tonelessly. ‘I wouldn’t know if there were screaming babies or even drunken passengers.’
Maxine led the way to the car, paying the parking fee on the way, and opened the passenger door for Vivienne to get in while she put the suitcase in the boot. Stopping at the barrier on the way out, Maxine put the ticket in and waited for the barrier to rise.
‘You have visited the Riviera before?’ she asked as she drove towards the exit road.
Vivienne shook her head. ‘No.’
