Rosie's Little Café on the Riviera

by Jennifer Bohnet

  As they disappeared upstairs GeeGee said, ‘I have to go out this evening so you and Amelia can have a good catch-up.’

  ‘You don’t have to go out,’ Erica said. ‘If you’re just being considerate.’

  GeeGee shook her head. ‘I have to meet someone.’

  Erica raised her eyebrows. ‘Who is it this time?’

  GeeGee laughed and shook her head.

  ‘Promise I’ll tell you later if it works out.’

  It was gone nine o’clock before supper was finished and Amelia was reading Cammie her bedtime story while Erica tidied up. When Amelia reappeared Erica said, ‘Go on up to the terrace. I’ll bring the rest of the rosé up.’

  Amelia was standing taking in the view and took the glass of wine Erica handed her with a sigh before saying quietly, ‘Camilla tells me you’re selling this house and she’s getting a dog when you move?’

  Erica bit her lip. Damn. She should have realised Cammie would tell her grandmother about moving house and getting a dog at the first opportunity. It was all she talked about these days.

  ‘Long way to go yet,’ she said now. ‘The house isn’t officially on the market. And then we have to find somewhere we like.’

  ‘D’you remember the Bertrands?’ Amelia said. ‘Their place in the village is up for sale. It would be ideal for you. Camilla says she misses seeing us.’

  Erica sipped her wine. Thanks, Cammie. That little gem would add fuel to Amelia’s emotional blackmail.

  ‘Lovely house but there’s a slight problem. Two actually. I have Cammie’s school and the shop to think about,’ she said. ‘The school has been brilliant with Cammie since Pascal. They’ve been so understanding. She’s starting to shake off the melancholy although the refusing to set foot in a car still has to be dealt with. I don’t want to jeopardise things and set her back by totally changing her environment.’

  ‘Camilla would soon settle at the local school – the one Pascal went to. They’d look after her, too. As for the shop – you could sell it. You don’t need to work, anyway,’ Amelia said, dismissing Erica’s words with a wave of her hand.

  ‘Maybe not, but I can’t sit around doing nothing for the rest of my life,’ Erica said, taking a deep breath and trying to keep calm. Amelia meant well and clearly didn’t realise how much the shop meant to her.

  ‘We’d love to have you living closer. Families should be together. It’s been a long time since you came up.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ Erica said. ‘I’ve missed spending the weekends up with you, too.’ She hesitated before adding, ‘It’s just that at the moment I can’t bear the thought of being with you and the family without Pascal there.’

  There was a brief silence before Amelia said, ‘I can understand that.’ She looked at Erica sadly. ‘It’s our Ruby anniversary soon. Jean-Pierre wants to invite a few friends. Not exactly a party but it won’t be just family. Would that be easier? Could you bear to come up for that?’ she added gently. ‘It’s on a Sunday so the shop won’t be open. We can discuss things more then. Could even get the Bertrands to let you look around the house properly.’

  ‘I don’t know. It might be easier with other people around but…’ Erica’s voice trailed away and she took a deep breath. ‘One thing is definite, though. I don’t want to look around the Bertrands’ villa. It would be lovely to be nearer you but I have no intention of selling the shop. Besides, both Cammie and I like living down here on the coast. So please, forget the idea of the Bertrands selling me their place.’

  Erica took a sip of her wine before saying, ‘I do promise we will try to come for your anniversary party.’ She might struggle to get through a celebration of a long and happy marriage, when she’d be denied the chance of achieving the same with Pascal, but deep down she knew she had to be there for Cammie’s sake.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Sunday night and Rosie went home too tired to really think about putting on a a posh frock ready to party with Seb. ‘If I fall asleep on him, he’ll only have himself to blame,’ she muttered as she struggled to do the back zip up on her dress.

  ‘Seb, I warn you, I’m dead on my feet,’ she said when Seb arrived to collect her.

  ‘You’ll wake up when we get there. You can always have a snooze on the way. Nice dress.’

  ‘Not OTT, is it?’ Rosie asked. The sparkly flapper-style dress was the nearest thing to the ‘posh frock’ Seb had told her to wear that she currently possessed.

  ‘Not by Cannes standards,’ Seb said, opening the door of his Porsche Carrera.

  ‘Nice car – even by Cannes standards,’ Rosie said, sliding in. How she was going to get out again without flashing her knickers crossed her mind.

  Approaching Cannes along the bord de mer, luxury, chauffeur-driven limousines with glamorous occupants were nose to tail. As they sat in a traffic jam near the Palais des Festivals, Seb glanced across at her.

  ‘Have you talked to your mother yet?’

  ‘No,’ Rosie sighed. ‘I think she’s avoiding me as much as I am her. I know we can’t avoid each other – or the subject – for ever. But right now, I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Wish her well, maybe?’ Seb said. ‘Zander’s a bit of a playboy but basically he’s an OK guy.’

  ‘He might be an “OK” guy,’ Rosie said. ‘But he’s ten years younger than my mum.’

  Seb shrugged. ‘If they make each other happy, so what?’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ Rosie sighed. ‘It’s just that I can’t get my head around my mother being a cougar in the eyes of the world.’

  ‘There are worse things to be called,’ Seb said.

  ‘Music was blaring from a grand belle époque villa when Seb turned into a driveway a few moments later. Rosie, remembering to turn her body so her legs exited neatly, congratulated herself when she managed to get out of the car without giving the attendant valet a flash. Leaving the Porsche for the valet to park, Seb took her hand and they walked up the steps and under the portico entrance.

  Glasses of champagne were being passed around and Rosie and Seb clinked glasses before they both took a sip. Rosie froze as she tasted her drink.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Seb asked.

  ‘It’s got bits in it,’ Rosie whispered. ‘What do I do?’

  ‘Drink it. It’s only tiny flakes of gold. All the rage down here this year,’ Seb said.

  ‘But…’ Rosie said.

  ‘It won’t hurt you,’ Seb said. ‘Come on. Let’s take in the view from the terrace.’

  Rosie, following him, took another sip of the champagne, wondering if she could somehow filter the gold bits through her teeth and save them. Gold was at an all-time-high price, she knew. How many glasses of champagne would it take to give her a decent amount? Surely it couldn’t take that many? If she did have to pay the food poisoning people off, it could be a lifesaver.

  Taking another gulp of her champagne, Rosie pushed the bits she could feel in her mouth against her back teeth and gum with her tongue and prayed they’d stay there until she could harvest them.

  ***

  The large terrace had an 180-degree view over the Bay of Cannes. With its discreet lighting, bougainvillea climbing up the golden stone walls, and night-scented jasmine covering the pergola at the head of a flight of steps that led down to the Olympic-size, horizon swimming pool in the grounds below, it could have been the setting for a scene out of the latest Hugh Grant rom-com.

  ‘Merde,’ Seb muttered. ‘Forgot Pierre would be bringing Veronique.’

  Rosie followed his gaze and saw an anorexic woman clinging to the arm of a much older man.

  ‘You don’t like her?’

  ‘She’s a nightmare – loud, vulgar and full of herself. And now she’s married to Pierre she thinks she merits the same VIP attention as him.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Ex-French diplomat. Nice guy. Why he had to go and marry that woman – should have kept her as h
is cinq à sept secret.’

  Rosie, who’d never understood the French acceptance of extra-marital affairs, said, ‘Shouldn’t have had a mistress in the first place!’ before glancing curiously at Seb. ‘So “cinq à sept” is still accepted here?’

  ‘Of course. Even expected in certain circles,’ Seb said. ‘Come on. Let’s dance.’ And taking her by the hand, he led Rosie back into the ballroom of the mansion where the disco was.

  ‘Not going to introduce me to Veronique then?’ Rosie said.

  ‘I’ve no doubt you’ll meet her later. She won’t be able to contain her curiosity about you,’ Seb said.

  Seb was right. An hour later, as Rosie begged for a rest from dancing, Veronique appeared at their side.

  ‘Seb, darling. It’s been ages. How are you?’

  ‘Veronique,’ Seb said, submitting to cheek kisses. ‘Fine. And you? Where’s Pierre?’

  ‘Been nobbled by an American who wants to talk business.’ Veronique turned to Rosie. ‘Hi. And you are?’

  ‘Rosie of Café Fleur next door to me,’ Seb said, his arm around Rosie’s shoulders.

  ‘Ah, so you’re the mad Englishwoman who’s taken it on. I wish you well with that place but personally can’t see it working.’

  Before Rosie could reply, Seb said, ‘She’s doing a great job of turning the place around.’

  Veronique pulled a face. ‘Really? I’d heard she was already in trouble.’ She shrugged. ‘Whatever you say.’ Veronique turned her back on Rosie. ‘How’s Isabella these days, Seb? See much of her now you’re not in Monaco?’

  ‘Enough,’ Seb said. ‘Come on, Rosie, let’s dance. See you around, Veronique.’ And taking Rosie by the hand, Seb practically dragged her in the direction of the dance floor.

  Rosie, dying to ask ‘Who’s Isabella?’, found herself caught up in an energetic rock number and had no breath to talk .

  It was gone two o’clock when Seb looked at Rosie. ‘Shall we call it a night?’

  Rosie nodded tiredly. ‘Please. You okay to drive?’

  Seb shook his head. ‘No. We’ll grab a taxi back. I’ll pick the car up tomorrow.’

  Traffic was quiet and the taxi soon had them back at the hotel. Rosie looked at Seb.

  ‘Thanks for taking me – I enjoyed it. I’ll see you tomorrow – I mean later!’

  ‘Hang on. I thought we’d share a nightcap before I walk you home,’ Seb said.

  ‘You don’t have to walk me home,’ Rosie protested.

  Seb raised his eyebrows at her and said, ‘I’ll get the drinks.’

  Rosie waited on the beach while Seb went into the hotel. The cool air down by the sea was refreshing and she breathed in the salty tang. It was a beautiful night; although there was too much light pollution to see the stars, the moon was clearly visible. Watching Seb walk back to the hotel, Rosie smiled. The fact she’d enjoyed this evening so much was down to him. He had a definite way of making you feel special, that was for sure.

  She glanced across to where Café Fleur was in darkness save for a dim light behind the curtain of the studio. James was home then. Slipping off her shoes, Rosie walked slowly along the shoreline towards Seb’s habitual rock, enjoying the feel of the cold water lapping over her bare feet. She sighed happily. Life would currently be better than good if it weren’t for the food poisoning threat hanging over her.

  ‘Feels good?’

  Rosie nodded, taking the glass of orange-coloured liquid and ice and looking at Seb.

  ‘Cointreau. Santé.’

  Rosie took a sip of her liqueur. ‘Thanks for singing my praises to Veronique, by the way. D’you really think I’m doing a great job? Have you changed your mind about my cooking?’

  Seb shook his head. ‘I had to shut her up somehow,’ he said. ‘Your cooking’s all right, I suppose.’

  Rosie, about to protest, saw his lips twitch and asked instead, ‘I wonder what she meant by saying I was in trouble already? I thought we’d managed to contain the food poisoning accusation after we’d told James not to talk about it. I suppose the damage was done before.’ Rosie sighed.

  Seb shrugged. ‘You know what it’s like down here for gossip. Veronique’s probably got a friend working at the Mairie where the complaint would have been lodged originally.’

  ‘But that means the details could be common knowledge,’ Rosie said.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s not affected business, has it?’

  ‘Not sure. We’ve been really busy with lunches recently. Evenings started off good but are a bit on the quiet side now, though,’ Rosie said. ‘Whereas you, you always have a full car park in the evening.’

  ‘I’ve already got my reputation. People know me,’ Seb said. ‘So it’s easier.’

  ‘I’m beginning to wonder whether it’s worth staying open past six o’clock,’ Rosie said. ‘But I do need to get the Café Fleur name out there in time for the locals to know about me for winter.’

  ‘You’re planning on staying open all year then?’

  ‘I need an income from something,’ Rosie shrugged. ‘I’m hoping the locals will have taken me to their hearts by then. And there’s sure to be a few tourists around, too. Let’s face it, winters down here are mild and people still come to the beach. It’s got to be worth a try.’ She didn’t add that the food poisoning episode should be settled one way or the other by then.

  ‘So, who’s Isabella by the way?’

  ‘Someone who lives in Monaco,’ Seb said. ‘You’ll meet her one day soon.’

  Rosie waited for him to say more but when he didn’t she drained her glass and said, ‘I need to go home, Seb.’

  ‘Let’s go. Don’t forget your shoes.’

  Walking back to the apartment with Seb’s arm companionably around her shoulders, Rosie struggled to keep the yawns at bay. At the door to the villa, Seb hugged her briefly and placed a light kiss on her forehead.

  ‘In you go then. Sweet dreams. See you in a few hours.’ As he turned to go, he said, ‘I’m glad you enjoyed the party – and the champagne. Incidentally, I’m not a big fan of gold teeth!’ And then he was gone.

  Rosie raced upstairs straight into the bathroom and stared intensely at her teeth, before triumphantly removing three flecks of gold with her finger and carefully placing them on a piece of tissue.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Rosie was enjoying the luxury of a sleep-in the morning after the party, knowing that Tansy was in charge of the weekly prep at the restaurant, when her mobile rang.

  ‘Are you coming in soon?’ Tansy asked. ‘Only there’s a man here asking for you.’

  ‘It’ll only be a rep,’ Rosie said sleepily. ‘Can you deal with it? Just don’t order anything too expensive! Otherwise tell him to come back later. I’ll be there in about an hour.’

  ‘Okay. See you.’

  Rosie glanced at her watch. Nearly eleven o’clock. Another five minutes and she’d have a shower and go to the beach. She was going to miss the slower pace of Monday mornings when the restaurant was open seven days a week. It was only a matter of days before that happened and the summer season totally took over her life.

  Both Tansy and James were in the restaurant when Rosie got there.

  ‘You cope with that rep all right?’ Rosie asked, helping herself to a coffee.

  ‘Turns out he wasn’t a rep,’ Tansy said. ‘Said it was a personal matter.’

  ‘Did you get his name?’

  Tansy shook her head. ‘Wouldn’t leave it. Said he’d call back some other time.’

  ‘Weird.’ Rosie frowned. The only thing she could think of was it being something to do with the food poisoning thing – in which case she was glad she hadn’t been there. ‘Did he look like a lawyer?’

  Tansy shook her head. ‘If you mean was he wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase – no. Just the usual South of France uniform: Ray-bans, polo shirt, shorts and deck shoes. Oh, he had longish hair tied back in a ponytail.’

/>   ‘And as there’s always an asshole under a ponytail, we’ll take it he wasn’t a lawyer then!’ Rosie said, laughing. ‘Oh well, if it’s important he’ll be back.’

  ‘How was the party last night?’ Tansy asked. ‘You and Seb have a good time? See any celebs?’

  ‘It was good,’ Rosie said. ‘If there were any celebs there I didn’t recognise them. I did meet this local woman called Veronique, though, who seems to think the Café Fleur is doomed already.’

  The café phone rang just then.

  ‘That’s probably Olivia,’ Tansy said. ‘Sorry – forgot to tell you she phoned here earlier. Seems to think you’ve been avoiding her – which you have!’

  Rosie sighed before lifting the receiver. ‘Hi, Mum. How are you?’

  A minute later, Rosie found herself agreeing to go to Monaco for supper.

  ‘Zander’s in Italy until later so we can have a good chat. Clear the air? I know you’re worried about me. If you get here early enough we could even do a spot of retail therapy? My treat before you say you can’t afford anything.’

  ‘I’ll see you later, Mum – about seven,’ and Rosie closed her phone.

  ‘That’s my quiet evening in sabotaged then,’ she said. ‘Right, let’s get on.’

  It was late afternoon when Rosie fed Lucky and gave her a quick walk, before racing home and settling her in the apartment and running to the station to catch the train.

  Rosie loved the ride along the coast to Monaco. Working on the yachts she’d seen it from offshore so often she’d barely glanced out of the galley window towards the end. Now she enjoyed looking at the Med from the other side as the train hurtled past villas and huge apartment blocks and she caught glimpses of the luxury yachts out at sea that had once been a familiar part of her life.

  Strange to think Olivia was now becoming a part of this different world – if only temporarily. Surely her relationship with Zander wouldn’t last? And then Rosie would be left to pick up the pieces.

  As the train lurched into the long tunnel at Cap d’Ai that would take her into Monaco/Monte Carlo station, Rosie resolved to talk to Olivia about the fact she was setting herself up for disappointment/heartbreak by living with Zander. They’d have to have a proper mother/daughter talk – ironically the wrong way round.