by Celia Imrie
Theresa noticed that Carol was wearing the same red dress she had bought on the wet afternoon when she persuaded Theresa to buy the turquoise mac. Theresa did that, too, wore bright clothes to cheer herself up.
‘Why is life so complicated?’ said Carol quietly into her drink. ‘I was so happy here.’
No one could answer. There was a long silence.
‘Sounds like my business plans,’ said Brian, in a voice that was aimed at lightening the tone.
‘If only we could simply map out our future, like a train timetable,’ said Theresa. ‘It would be so much easier.’
‘I agree,’ said Carol with a doleful smile.
‘You’re both wrong,’ said Brian. ‘It’s allowing change in which makes life so wonderful. Look, you both took the plunge once before and came here.’
Carol shrugged.
‘Yeah. I suppose we did.’
‘It was very sudden and spur of the moment for me,’ said Theresa. ‘No one wanted me to. But the risk seemed worth it, in exchange for a clean slate.’
‘It’s kismet, you see.’ Brian looked Theresa in the eyes and said: ‘Sometimes something comes along, and you have to seize it, or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.’
Theresa tingled inside.
This was a proposition.
She was certain.
‘I see what you’re saying, Brian.’ Carol looked up from her drink and gave a weary smile. ‘There comes a day when you realise you’ve been so busy clinging to the life raft that you missed the passing ship. So where are the flares? I’m looking to get picked up by that ship.’ She gulped down the last of the wine in her glass and stood up. ‘Anyhow, I’m bushed. I’m going to turn in.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Brian. ‘It is late.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I might just make the train back to Nice.’
He helped Theresa into her jacket, then stuck out his elbow. ‘Allow me to walk you to your door, madam.’
Carol gave them a little wink and a wave as they went their different directions.
Brian took Theresa to her front door and waited for her to open it.
Her heart beat as she stepped across the threshold and he followed.
Before she had a chance to flick the light switch, his lips were on hers. It was the briefest of kisses, but it was a kiss! Theresa felt like a teenager again.
‘Goodnight then, Theresa. Don’t want to miss that train,’ he said, pulling the door shut after him as he left.
She heard his footsteps running away.
What a turn up!
She lay on the bed fully clothed, staring up the blank wall of the Hôtel Astra, wondering what would happen next.
Within minutes she was asleep.
After leaving the bar, Sally and Faith meanwhile had had a much more eventful half an hour than they would have wished.
When they arrived at Faith’s house, Sally could see that the house was dark but the front door was ajar.
Faith stepped forward to go inside.
‘Wait!’ Sally commanded, pulling Faith back from entering. ‘They may still be in there. Does Alfie have a key?’
Faith shook her head. ‘Maybe I didn’t shut it properly,’ Faith suggested.
‘It’s not worth the risk, Faith.’ Sally dialled the gendarmerie to report a burglary.
Meanwhile they both sat on the wall opposite Faith’s home, looking at the windows for signs of movement.
The police arrived remarkably quickly.
‘Second one tonight, third one just reported,’ said the sergeant. ‘Whoever they are, they’ve been busy.’
Holding torches, the gendarmes swept into the house and a few minutes later were back at the front door.
‘No one inside,’ said the sergeant. ‘But they’ve left quite a mess. Change the lock in the morning.’ He tore a piece of paper from his notebook and scribbled on it. ‘Here’s the form for your insurance.’
Minutes later they were gone, bar one officer who was taking fingerprints, leaving Sally and Faith in his wake picking through the emptied drawers and rearranging the upturned furniture.
‘What a scene for Alfie to arrive to,’ said Faith. ‘I wanted it to be so nice for him.’
‘We should be making a list of what’s gone, Faith. Alfie will understand.’
The two women started downstairs, Sally writing while Faith called out the missing items.
It was a shambles. The obvious things – the radio, the television – were gone. Drawers emptied and pulled out, the contents spewed across the floor.
Upstairs things were not so bad.
‘They were interrupted,’ said the officer pointing towards a laptop computer on the dressing table in Faith’s bedroom. ‘Otherwise that wouldn’t still be here. Or that.’
He pointed to a boxed smartphone, the latest model, unopened.
‘It’s a present for my son,’ said Faith. ‘It was something he said he needed the money for.’
A loud rap on the front door silenced them.
‘That will be him,’ said Faith, slipping the phone into a drawer.
The police officer led the way downstairs.
He stood behind Faith while she opened the door.
It was Alfie.
‘I came here about an hour ago,’ he said to his mother, with a smile. ‘But you were out. I got an earlier flight.’ He then saw the gendarme. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Your mother was burgled this evening,’ said Sally.
‘When you were here before,’ asked the policeman, ‘did you see anything?’
Alfie shook his head. ‘The house was dark and silent. Nothing unusual at all. Except that my mother wasn’t inside.’
‘If I’d known you were going to be early,’ said Faith. ‘I would have been here.’
‘If this was happening when I was outside I’m very glad you weren’t here,’ said Alfie. ‘It could have been serious.’
After the gendarme left, Sally made tea for Faith and Alfie, then left, turning down the hill towards her own place.
Sally was thinking about Tom and Zoe, and cocky little Alfie, and how there was no predicting how your children turned out or what they would want in life, when she saw the detectives again. They were all gathered outside the house next door to hers. This place must have been the thieves’ third outing of the night.
Now Sally felt very lucky.
The burglars had not picked her house to turn over.
21
When she went out early to get her morning loaf, Theresa saw Jessica strolling along the seafront in deep conversation with Ted.
She gave them a little wave but they were so engrossed that they didn’t even notice her.
She watched them turn into a street heading up towards the Old Town, and then she sat alone on the sea wall for a little while, watching a pair of fishermen coming in and offloading their early morning catch. She looked at the swimmers out in the bay, and the sunbathers putting up their umbrellas and rolling out their towels on the patch where only the other day Imogen had been playing so happily with her children.
She wondered where Brian was now. Was he thinking of her? Would they meet again soon? Would it go further, maybe turn into a romance or even a marriage?
She was interrupted from her reveries by her mobile phone ringing in her handbag.
It was Imogen.
‘It’s your fault!’ she cried. ‘Why did we ever come out to horrible France? It must have been that dump of a vile brasserie on the seafront. I thought that waiter had a shifty look about him. The whole place is crammed with crooks and criminals.’
‘I’m sorry, Imogen,’ said Theresa, interrupting the deluge of vitriol emanating from the phone. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘My bank,’ snapped Imogen. ‘I’ve been cleaned out. Someone cloned my debit card. They’ve taken thousands.’
Theresa’s heart skipped a beat. ‘It happened here?’ she asked.
‘Yes. According to the bank,’ said Imog
en. ‘I’ve been on the phone to them for the last two hours, trying to go through everything. The first use of it, the card, was at that nasty brasserie next door to you.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m bloody sure,’ Imogen yelled down the phone. Theresa had to hold the receiver away from her ear. ‘All of the other withdrawals happened in Nice, Antibes and Monte Carlo.’
‘But we didn’t go to Antibes or Monte Carlo.’
‘Exactly,’ said Imogen. ‘Anyway I can’t talk now. I have to get on to the insurance company and the police, and everyone else. I’ve got a day from Hell ahead and I am so angry with you.’
Theresa spoke, apologising, but realised that Imogen had cut her off.
With a dry mouth, she sat holding the phone in both hands and taking deep breaths. Should she go into the brasserie, where only last night she had been so happy drinking with Brian, and tell them there might be a thief among their staff, or should she leave it to Imogen and the police to deal with?
Theresa decided against making waves. After all, no one knew for sure that it was definitely the waiters in the bar who cloned the card. Theresa decided to warn her friends to be careful, but before doing anything else to wait till the police or bank report might pin down the culprit more surely.
As soon as she was dressed, Sally phoned Faith asking whether she needed any help, but Faith told her that Alfie was being wonderful and that she was fine. ‘It was only things,’ she said. ‘No one was hurt.’
But Sally felt on edge, nonetheless, and when her front doorbell rang, she jumped.
Sian stood on the threshold. ‘Came in on the red-eye,’ she said. ‘Ted is out, probably fiddling about with the boat and I’m still on Los Angeles time, so I’m ready for a late-night cocktail.’
‘You’ll only get tea, I’m afraid,’ said Sally inviting her inside. ‘It’s already on the table.’
Sian slumped into a chair. ‘I hear that in my absence Ted’s been a very good boy.’
Sally thought of all his flirting with Jessica at Theresa’s Cookery Club, and said nothing, but made a fuss with the teapot, pouring out the tea, going into the cupboards for biscuits.
‘It’s been rather cheering to hear how good he’s been.’ Sian opened her bag and laid her mobile phone on the table. ‘My secret assistant is a hundred times better than anyone I’ve ever employed,’ she said. ‘I adore her.’
Sally wondered whether she should tell Sian that the very girl she appeared to be paying to keep an eye on Ted was the one with whom he seemed to be philandering. She decided against it, and instead told her about the burglaries at Faith’s house and next door.
‘Albanians,’ snapped Sian. ‘They come in through Italy. It’s the downside of being part of the European Union.’
Again Sally knew she had to change the subject.
‘How was Los Angeles?’
‘Same old same old,’ said Sian with a yawn. ‘How’s your son? Glad to have him back?’
Sally decided not to elaborate on the details of Tom’s dirty weekend with Zoe, so just said yes, and suggested that after Sian caught up with a little sleep they met up for lunch later on the terrace of the brasserie.
Theresa paced around her flat, fretting about Imogen’s loss. She prayed the bank would be able to sort it all out and that anything they couldn’t do would be covered by Imogen and Michael’s insurance policy.
She also decided that she would go down to the brasserie and have a sharp talk with the manager.
Just as she was heading for the front door her phone rang again. It was Brian.
‘I’d like to take you to lunch. How about it?’
‘I can’t really. Imogen had her bank card cloned. I have to have words with the manager at the brasserie.’
Brian told Theresa that he would help. The man must be spoken to firmly, he said. These people paid more attention to other men. It was even more reason why they should take lunch together.
Theresa spent half an hour changing, putting on make-up and choosing suitable afternoon jewellery and still arrived early for her luncheon date.
The brasserie was already quite full. David and Carol were sitting happily chatting at a table in the sun. Carol looked radiant, and as she and Theresa caught eyes, she threw her head back in a deep laugh at something David said. Clearly the contretemps of the last few days had blown over, which was a relief to see.
Theresa wondered whether she should say something immediately to the maître d’ about the cloned bank card, or wait till Brian was there to help.
She decided to go inside and have a quick word on her own. The manager told her that every restaurant along the coast and throughout the world had this kind of thing happen. He could check through the receipts but all it would show would be what she already knew. Waiters here brought the card machine to the table, they never took the card away, so they didn’t have time to clone it. Someone may have used the proper card or the cloned card here but it was nothing to do with the restaurant – and he was very sorry for her loss.
She realised he was right. She made her way out into the sunshine. Just as Theresa got herself comfortable at the table for two, she noticed that, since she’d gone inside, Sally had taken one of the corner tables on the terrace and she sat chatting with William, Ted and the dreaded Sian. Sian was facing her way. Theresa didn’t want a scene with the woman coming over here and giving her another slap, so she got up and changed places, now sitting with her back to the others, facing the sea.
She watched a large motor cruiser set down anchor, and some kids near the shore messing about on surfboards. A row of people in T-shirts sat on the sea wall, as though waiting for a coach to arrive. A gaggle of tourists passed close by on her side of the street, following a guide holding up a blue and white stick, cameras at the ready. One man was actually holding up his video camera, filming everything as he walked along.
As she picked up the menu, Theresa wondered how many times that man would actually watch his film of a normal street scene full of strangers.
She glanced at her watch, noticing that Brian was now a few minutes late. She wondered where he had to come from. Central Nice perhaps, or further afield? Would he move back in to her house if their friendship progressed, or was it more sensible to keep a romantic distance?
It was nice to daydream.
As she lay the menu down again she recognised Jessica sitting on the sea wall in the middle of the group of tourists. She too was holding up a camera, taking pictures of the brasserie, it seemed. Theresa gave a smile for the camera, at the same moment Brian loomed over her.
Blushing, she scrambled to her feet as he stooped to kiss her hand.
‘Good day to you, my dear.’ He sat down opposite her, facing back towards the other tables and flicked open his napkin. ‘If I may say so, you’re looking ravishing today, Theresa.’ He picked up the menu. ‘I thought I’d speak to the manager about your daughter’s problem after we eat,’ he said. We don’t want them spitting on to our plates, do we? Now, what’ll we have?’
He raised his hand for the waiter, and, while Theresa studied her menu, Brian whispered into the waiter’s ear.
A few moments later an ice bucket arrived, with a bottle of champagne.
‘There we are,’ said Brian, grinning as the waiter uncorked the bottle. ‘A bubbly drink for an effervescent lady.’ He held up his glass for a toast. ‘May all of our wishes come true.’
Theresa turned to see whether anyone else had noticed the champagne arrive. She caught Carol giving Brian a surreptitious wink. They had obviously concocted the idea together last night.
How wonderful.
She too raised her glass and, looking into Brian’s eyes, repeated: ‘May all of our wishes come true.’
As the dessert plates were placed on the table, Brian said ‘There’s a little something I need to do this afternoon, and I’m going to be rather cheeky and ask Carol if she wouldn’t mind driving me up to La Turbie.’
‘I�
��ve always wanted to go there,’ said Theresa. ‘To see the Roman Trophy.’
Brian gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘Not today, I’m afraid. Let’s just say there’s a little something I saw in a jewellery shop up there. A gift for a special lady. So I hope to see you later when I’ve got . . . what I’m off to get, as it were.’
Theresa blushed.
Was he going to buy a ring, perhaps? When he came back might he propose to her?
‘I was thinking, Brian.’ Theresa was flustered. ‘Can you give me your mobile number again? ’
‘Sure. Lovely new smartphone. Look!’ He held up the latest model – in green. ‘Do you have a pen?’
Theresa rooted about in her handbag. She pulled out a notebook, but only came up with a pencil with a broken lead. ‘Oh dear . . .’
Moments later Carol and David rose to go, leaving William alone at the table. Theresa saw the pair stop for a few brief words with Sally, Sian and Ted, then they passed through the space by their table.
Fumbling in his pockets for a pen, Brian stood. ‘Carol, a few weeks ago you said if we ever needed your car . . .’
Carol laughed. ‘And I suppose you’re asking me to drive you somewhere this afternoon?’
Brian winced. ‘If it wouldn’t inconvenience you too much.’
‘But I was going to . . .’ Carol turned to her husband. ‘Oh Lord. You don’t mind do you, David, darling? Look, why don’t you go back to William and the pair of you polish off the rest of that bottle while I whisk Brian off to wherever it is he wants me to go?’ She glanced at her watch. ‘It would have to be right away, Brian.’
Brian glanced down at Theresa.
‘Oops! Sorry about lunch. But you understand, Theresa, I know.’
Brian handed her a pen and as he recited the number, Theresa wrote it down.
As she looked up to hand him back the pen Theresa noticed that Jessica was still there over the road, taking pictures. She waved again.
‘Who are you waving at?’ asked Carol.
‘It’s Jessica, look. She’s taking pictures of us.’
Brian put a hand up to cover his face. ‘Let’s be off,’ he said.
Theresa held out the pen, but Brian was already walking briskly away.