Page 5 of A French Inheritance
Briony held her breath in anticipation as the plane began its descent onto the runway at Nice airport, glad that Jeannie had the window seat. That way, she could avoid looking out of the window as the sea got closer and closer. In her heart, she knew it was safe, pilots landed plane after plane here every day of the year, but she’d never get used to how narrow the runway looked from the air, or how close it was to the sea.
As the wheels touched down smoothly onto the tarmac and the aircraft slowed and taxied along the runway, Briony exhaled with relief.
Jeannie looked at her, amused. ‘That landing still get to you? I love it.’
‘I love flying, but this landing always scares me,’ Briony admitted.
It took them longer to get through customs than Briony remembered it taking in the past. ‘Still setting up the visa thing we now need in addition to our passport,’ Jeannie said crossly as they finally made their way to the luggage collection point. ‘So much red tape these days. Still, we need the security, I suppose.’
They both waited for their luggage to show up on the conveyor belt before walking through customs and out into the Arrivals Hall and making for the car-hire building to collect car keys.
‘How lovely of them to upgrade us to a Renault 5 all electric,’ Jeannie said, smiling. ‘Can’t wait to drive it. Come on. Let’s go find it. The man said we can’t miss it.’
The blue sky and the warmth from the afternoon sun as they exited the building hit them both. Briony stopped pushing the luggage trolley and took off her jacket. ‘Forgotten how warm it is down here even this early in March. Right, let’s find that vehicle.’
‘The man was right,’ Briony said, laughing a few moments later when they found the car. Bright yellow, it stood out in the rental car park filled with black and grey vehicles, like the first bright daffodil of spring.
‘Ooh, I’m looking forward to driving this,’ Jeannie said. ‘Unless you want first go? We’re both named drivers.’
‘It’s fine. You’ve had more recent experience than me driving on the wrong side,’ Briony answered, relieved that she didn’t have to drive a strange car immediately into the busy traffic that she knew existed outside the airport. Something which didn’t seem to bother her mum at all.
Humming happily to herself and ignoring the autoroute signs, Jeannie made for thebord de merand they were soon bowling along surrounded by traffic in the direction of Cannes.
‘After Cannes, we’ll take the scenic route up into the back country,’ Jeannie said. ‘Oh, it feels so good to be back down here.’
Briony glanced at her mum. ‘You’re looking forward to this holiday, aren’t you?’
Jeannie nodded. ‘I’ve always loved it down here. I’m sorry that Giselle is no longer with us and I know Owls Nest is going to feel strange without her there but…’ She shrugged. ‘It’s good to be back.’
‘Have you thought about keeping the cottage as a holiday home?’
‘No, of course not. Besides, it’s out of the question. Things are complicated.’ There was a certain tightness in her mother’s voice that made Briony look at her.
‘Why is it out of the question? What’s complicated? You’re on your own. Dad’s been gone for seven years. You can please yourself where you live. You could even move down here permanently if you wanted to.’
‘It’s not as simple as that, so much bureaucracy these days after Brexit,’ Jeannie said. ‘And right now it’s not up for discussion. Another ten minutes and we should be turning up into the back country. Shall we have some music?’ And with that, Jeannie touched the screen in front of her and Riviera Radio was playing.
Sitting there watching the Mediterranean on the left-hand side glistening in the sunshine, Briony wondered why her mum had suddenly become so uptight about keeping and using the cottage as a holiday or even as a permanent home. There had to be something she wasn’t saying.
After leaving thebord de meron the other side of Cannes and following the signs for Mougins, they were soon on the quieter country roads leading to Giselle’s old village. The old farmhouse, built nearly two hundred years ago from local sandstone, with its red tiled roof, its shutters painted an olive green and its front door shaded by an ancient wisteria in spring and early summer was three hundred metres or so from the village. Set back from the road, there was a short driveway edged with pretty plumbago shrubs and one or two palm trees. An outbuilding on the end had been converted into a garage and Jeannie pulled up in front of it. She turned off the ignition and applied the handbrake on.
‘That was fun,’ she announced. ‘I’m going to enjoy this car whilst we are here.’
‘I’d forgotten how traditional the cottage looks,’ Briony said as they got out of the car. ‘I love the long shape of a traditional Provençal farmhouse.’
Jeannie held out the front door key. ‘Open up and let’s get our things in. I’m gasping for a cup of tea.’
Briony pushed the key in the lock and turned it. As the door opened to show the hall with its terracotta tiled floor, the old-fashioned polished coat stand with its mirror and seat, the wooden staircase with its curved steps at the bottom, she swallowed hard to stop the urge to call out ‘Granny Giselle, I’m here.’
The house felt strange and empty, as if it were silently waiting to be brought back to life. Quickly, she walked through to the kitchen. On the table was a wicker basket filled with a loaf of rustic bread, some home-made palmier biscuits, tea bags, coffee, tomatoes, lettuce, a jar of olives, a packet of crisps and some local almonds. A handwritten note was propped up against the basket.
Milk, eggs, cheese, ham and a bottle of rosé are in the fridge. Do come up to the farm for coffee in the morning – about ten o’clock? No worries if you’ve already got plans. Lucy.
‘That’s so kind of Lucy,’ Jeannie said, coming into the kitchen. ‘She’s been keeping an eye on the place since Giselle came to us. I’m looking forward to seeing how Adam has got on with dragging the farm into the twenty-first century. He took on a mammoth task.’
Briony moved across to the tap and let the cold water run for a moment before filling the kettle.
Jeannie unlocked the French doors and stepped out onto the terrace. ‘Shall we drink our tea out here – it’s certainly warm enough. Can’t believe it’s only just the second week of March.’
