Rosie's Little Café on the Riviera

by Jennifer Bohnet

  Seb had been right about lots of students being around looking for work, but few of them had the necessary documents to work in France. Rosie sighed as she turned yet another hopeful down. No way was she going to fall foul of the French authorities by employing anyone on the black.

  When Yannick, an ernest-looking French boy with glasses who looked in need of a proper meal appeared one afternoon, clutching all his necessary paperwork, she gave him a day’s trial. And then employed him.

  But it was Gina, taken on two days later as a waitress and takeaway assistant, who made Tansy raise her eyebrows.

  ‘Bit posh that one. I doubt she’ll last five minutes,’ she said. ‘Bet she’s got a trust fund.’

  ‘She’d hardly want to work in a café then, would she?’ Rosie said. ‘Give the girl a chance. She’s got the right papers to work in France and we do need the help.’

  While lunchtimes were manic, weekday evenings on the beach continued to be quieter than she’d anticipated. Rosie realised, looking at the accounts one afternoon, that she was losing money staying open after six o’clock. People clearly didn’t come back to the beach after spending all day there. Talking it over with Tansy she decided that, apart from Fridays and Saturdays, and the occasional ‘Jazz on the Beach’ evening, she’d close at six o’clock. So much for trying to gain a reputation to attract out-of-season customers later in the year.

  Seb was still clearly upset with her as he hadn’t called in since that Sunday in Monaco. Rosie managed to shrug indifferently when Tansy asked where he was.

  ‘I think he’s got a few personal problems,’ she said.

  ‘I miss him popping in,’ Tansy said, expertly piping meringues onto a tray. ‘I think you should go across and see him. You were always good onboard at helping solve the crew’s personal problems.’

  ‘Don’t think I can help Seb in this case,’ Rosie said. ‘Besides, you know who is still there. I don’t want to risk bumping into him.’

  Terry had walked past the restaurant a couple of times in the week and she’d stayed in the kitchen out of sight of customers. She knew, though, she owed Seb an apology for last Sunday. Besides, he might know if Terry was planning on checking out soon, having failed to meet up with her.

  ‘I might go over later tonight,’ she said. ‘I do need to talk to Seb.’ If she left it till after nine, dinners in the hotel restaurant should be finished and people would have started to leave for the evening’s entertainment in the local casinos and nightclubs. Including Terry.

  It was almost ten o’clock when Rosie pushed open the door at the hotel’s side entrance and spotted Seb in his ‘inner sanctum’ – the cubbyhole on the other side of the kitchen where he planned menus and did the books.

  The sous-chefs were doing what prep they could for the morning breakfasts, while other staff were busy cleaning the kitchen. A cleaner mopped the floors.

  ‘Is it safe to come in? Or are you too busy to talk?’

  Seb looked up from the accounts book he was studying.

  ‘No room in here,’ he said. ‘We’ll go up to my apartment.’

  ‘I don’t want to stop you when you’re obviously busy. I’ve only come to apologise for last Sunday,’ Rosie said. ‘I’m sorry I was so snarky.’ There, she’d done it. Now she could leave.

  ‘If you’re afraid of bumping into a certain person, he’s not here.’

  ‘He’s left?’ Rosie smiled. That would be good news.

  Seb shook his head. ‘No. He’s gone to Monaco for the evening.’

  ‘Monaco?’ Rosie said. ‘He hasn’t gone to see Olivia?’ She didn’t think much of his chances if he had.

  ‘Said he was going to the Casino and then the Sporting Club. Maybe he’ll bump into Zander and Olivia there,’ Seb shrugged. ‘So it’s safe enough for you to come through and have a drink. Please, Rosie…’ This as she shook her head. ‘I need to talk to you. I also owe you an apology.’

  Conscious of the interested looks the kitchen staff were giving them, Rosie gave in. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Have you eaten?’

  Rosie shook her head. She’d completely forgotten about food this evening. ‘No.’

  ‘Neither have I. I’ll have something sent up.’ He scribbled a note and handed it to one of the staff. ‘Ten minutes, please. My apartment.’

  Taking her by the hand, Seb led her to a cupboard and opened the door. Rosie looked at him and giggled. ‘It’s like Narnia only with a lift, not a wardrobe!’ As Seb gave her a puzzled look, she said, ‘I’ll explain another time. Childhood memory.’ Surely her favourite childhood book had made it across the channel?

  Two minutes later and they stepped out into Seb’s penthouse apartment.

  ‘Wow,’ Rosie said as Seb opened a pair of French doors onto a roof-top terrace hidden from general view. ‘You’re full of surprises.’

  Grecian urns filled with lavender and night-scented jasmine were placed randomly around the black-and-white, terrazzo-tiled marble flooring. A wrought-iron round table and two chairs were perfectly positioned by the rail for watching the sunset over the distant Esterel mountains.

  ‘What a wonderful secret place,’ Rosie said. ‘I had no idea this was up here.’ She wandered over to the balcony and gazed down onto the beach while Seb fetched a bottle of champagne and two glasses from the small, galley-type, outdoor kitchen discreetly hidden from view by three strategically placed pots containing palm trees. ‘You can spy on everyone from here.’

  ‘I rarely have time to come up here when there are people about. It’s great up here at midnight, though – relaxing,’ Seb said, pouring the champagne.’Good view for the fireworks festival, too.’

  ‘You could sleep out here in August,’ Rosie said. ‘Under the stars.’

  ‘Too many mosquitoes around,’ Seb said, handing her a glass. ‘Don’t worry – there are no bits in this one! Santé.’

  Rosie smiled. ‘Santé.’

  A buzzer sounded. ‘Supper,’ Seb said, walking back into the apartment and opening the door. Rosie watched as he pushed the small room-service trolley out onto the terrace and lifted the covers.

  ‘Try these first,’ he said. ‘While the batter is crisp.’

  ‘Mmmm,’ Rosie said appreciatively, taking a bite. ‘I’ve had – and made – courgette flowers before but this is… aubergine. I might pinch this idea!’ She grinned at him.

  Seb gave her a stern look.

  ‘What’s the terrine?’

  ‘Monkfish.’ Seb cut a slice and handed her a plate and fork.

  ‘This is seriously good,’ She said moments later as she scooped up the last bite. ‘Ever thought of being a chef?’

  As Seb topped up their glasses, she looked around the terrace. ‘Isabella’s?’ she asked, seeing a scooter tucked out of sight by the galley.

  ‘Yes. She uses the terrace like a race track. Rosie, about Zoe,’ Seb said. ‘I’m sorry she was such a bitch to you. I knew she wouldn’t be pleased with me but didn’t think she’d be so rude to you.’

  ‘That’s a jealous woman for you,’ Rosie said. ‘If I was really your girlfriend then it would be a problem, but I’m not, so it isn’t.’ She sipped her wine. ‘I still can’t imagine you two as a couple.’

  Seb shrugged. ‘It was an on-off thing – until she became pregnant. When it was definitely off.’

  ‘Babies do change things,’ Rosie said. ‘Especially if one of the parents doesn’t want it.’

  ‘You mean, especially if one of the couple decides the other has fulfilled their usefulness and wants out of the relationship.’

  Rosie looked at him. ‘You mean you ended it when Zoe became pregnant?’

  ‘No. I was about to end it when Zoe beat me to it,’ Seb said. ‘Without telling me she was pregnant.’

  Rosie looked at him. ‘But you said she’d questioned your morals. I assumed you’d walked out on her because of Isabella.’

  ‘You’re jumping to conclusions again, Rosie. You
really must break the habit.’ Seb shook his head. ‘Zoe wanted a baby but not a husband. She decided I had the necessary attributes for fathering her child, stopped taking her pills and got pregnant.’ He studied his glass of wine before looking up at Rosie.

  ‘She used me to get a baby. I didn’t find out it was mine until she was about to give birth. Which was when my uptight, old-fashioned morals were thrown into question. I was supposed to walk away. Not want the responsibility.’

  ‘Like many so-called normal men would,’ Rosie murmured.

  Seb downed the rest of his wine before pulling a packet of toothpicks out of his pocket.

  ‘Still not smoking? Well done.’

  Seb shrugged. ‘Thanks. Anyway, when I learnt Zoe didn’t want me involved I was furious. Isabella was as much my child as hers – she couldn’t deprive me of knowing her. But apparently she could, even though my name is on the birth certificate.’

  ‘What made her change her mind?’

  ‘Oh, that’s a fairly recent thing!’ Seb said. ‘Initially she was furious with me when I wouldn’t disappear out of their lives. She did deign to agree to letting me see Isabella once a month – if she didn’t cancel. Which she did frequently.’ Seb took a draw of his cigarette.

  ‘But then the novelty of being a single mother wore off. A couple of years ago she decided perhaps she’d made a mistake. I had my uses, after all, so it was time for us to embrace life as a family – for Isabella’s sake, she said. Suddenly I was given full access any time I wanted. Which is wonderful. But I can’t accept the strings she’s now started to pull.’

  ‘She wants the two of you to get back together, doesn’t she?’ Rosie asked quietly.

  Seb nodded. ‘Says Isabella deserves a proper family – and a brother or a sister. I love Isabella and I’d lay my life down for her, but Zoe…’ He shrugged. ‘I was never in love with her and I don’t believe she ever loved me. The more I tell her I’ll do anything for Isabella but I don’t want to be with her, playing happy families, the more determined she becomes that I can’t possibly mean it. Which was why I thought if you came with me on Sunday she’d see I’d moved on from her and get the message.’

  Seb glanced across at Rosie. ‘I’m sorry. I shall have to think of another way.’

  ‘I think whatever you do you’re going to have problems for a very long time with Zoe,’ Rosie said. ‘I hope Isabella isn’t affected too much.’

  ‘I’ll do my damnedest to make sure she isn’t,’ Seb said. ‘Isabella isn’t the problem – Zoe is.’

  Rosie finished the last of her wine. ‘I’d better get going. Thanks for supper.’

  ‘I’ll walk you home,’ Seb said.

  ‘I need to collect Lucky from the restaurant first,’ Rosie said. No point in arguing with Seb. He’d simply shrug his shoulders at her in his usual infuriating way and do it anyway.

  Walking away from the Café Fleur, Lucky on her lead, a voice said, ‘Evening, Seb, Rosie.’

  Rosie caught her breath and quickened her step, refusing to acknowledge that she’d even heard the greeting.

  ‘Evening, Tiki. Good time in Monaco?’ Seb called out. ‘See you in the bar later?’

  ‘Do you have to collaborate with the enemy?’ Rosie asked, all the sympathetic thoughts regarding Seb’s problem with Zoe disappearing in an instant.

  ‘Your enemy – my guest,’ Seb said. ‘I’m rarely rude to guests – only if they deserve it. Joining them in the bar for an evening drink is part of being a good host.’

  Rosie shrugged. ‘Just don’t discuss me or Olivia with him.’

  ‘You have my word.’ Seb leant in to give her a friendly goodnight kiss on the cheek before saying, ‘Night, Rosie, see you tomorrow. And Rosie… thanks.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  While the others got on with the routine daily chores, Rosie gave Tansy’s wedding cakes their final brandy soaking. Now they just had to sit for a few weeks before the marzipan and icing needed doing.

  Rosie glanced around. Tansy was humming softly to herself as she sorted stuff in the fridge. James and Yannick were talking football in the restaurant as they sorted bottles and glasses. Gina was outside giving the terrace a sweep and wiping down the picnic tables.

  Having extra staff had made a huge difference although Rosie couldn’t help fretting about how much money she now payed out in wages. It was worth it to be less stressed. She’d just have to hope the sun kept shining and Café Fleur stayed busy.

  Gina and Yannick had both fitted in well. Rosie smiled to herself thinking about them and the way Yannick coloured up like a tomato whenever he had to speak to her. Probably something to do with the low-cut tops she favoured.

  As Rosie was putting the cakes away in their air-tight tins, Alicia came over. ‘I could do the cake decorating for you if you like? I love doing things like that. It’s a bit of a hobby of mine.’

  ‘You’re a star,’ Rosie said. ‘I can’t tell you how much I was dreading doing the icing. I’ll pay you, of course – or rather Tansy will.’

  Next job on her agenda was to find some musicians for the Café Fleur’s first ever Fête de la Musique. Rosie was conscious she’d really left it a bit late.

  The pianist from the party – gosh, that night seemed such a long time ago – was already booked but had given her the telephone number of a couple of mates who played guitar and sax. She prayed that they would be good – and free to come.

  It was sure to be a late night. All the Fêtes de la Musique Rosie had ever been to had carried on well past midnight. Hopefully it would attract some new customers. As long as it wasn’t Terry Hewitt and his young blonde.

  Rosie had watched them walk past the restaurant a couple of times. The blonde had even bought ice creams from the takeaway. She knew Olivia and Zander had been at the Sporting Club in Monaco one evening when they’d walked in. Olivia had told her they’d left immediately before Terry had a chance to spot them.

  And Seb had told her yesterday that Terry had booked his best suite for another three weeks.

  ‘It’s good for my business you two not talking,’ he’d said. ‘Keep it up and he might stay all summer.’ Rosie shivered. What a terrible thought.

  She couldn’t help wondering what Terry thought he was up to – the message must be loud and clear. Neither she nor Olivia had any intention of talking to him, so why couldn’t he just get on the next flight out of Nice and go home? People must be clamouring for him after his big Cannes win.

  Olivia, meanwhile, seemed to be enjoying living a glamorous life with Zander whisking her here, there and everywhere. Off to Corsica for a week before heading down to St Tropez for a holiday on some yacht owned by a multimillionaire friend of Zander. At least the chances of her bumping into Terry with all this jetting around was less likely.

  Tansy handed her a cup of coffee. ‘What are you thinking? You’ve been standing there in a trance for about five minutes.’

  Rosie took a sip of the coffee.

  ‘Oh, this and that. Mainly the Fête de la Musique. Hoping it will be a good night.’

  No need to mention her worries about Terry. He was bound to leave soon. He couldn’t be on holiday for ever. He had to go home some time.

  ***

  Fête de la Musique day and the restaurant was busy with lunches. The French doors leading onto the terrace were folded back and all the tables on the terrace were occupied. Rosie, working behind the bar, hummed softly to herself as Hervé the guitar player strummed his way through a variety of songs. The atmosphere in the restaurant itself was lively, with happy customers tapping their feet to the music and clapping as Hervé finished a melody.

  GeeGee, Erica and Cammie came down during Cammie’s lunch hour. When Cammie got up and began to dance by herself, Rosie smiled. GeeGee had briefly filled her in about how losing her father had affected Cammie when Rosie had mentioned how quiet the little girl always was. To see Cammie dancing so happily was lovely and Rosie clapped her
enthusiastically when Cammie stopped in front of her and did a wobbly curtsy.

  ‘That was lovely, Cammie,’ she said. ‘Run and ask Mummy if I can give you an ice cream as a reward.’

  Watching her daughter dance, Erica had to swallow hard to stop herself crying. Cammie had always loved to dance and Pascal had encouraged her. Had joined her many times, doing silly movements that made her laugh. It had been a long time since Cammie had jigged around so unselfconsciously. The doctor who had gently said they would both need time had been right. Life was making small healing advances through their sorrow.

  Seeing Saskia walk in and sit at a table unnerved Rosie somewhat. Fleetingly she thought about asking her to leave but decided against it. If her father’s bimbo wanted to eat in the restaurant that was okay; she could handle that. At least he wasn’t with her.

  Rosie acknowledged Saskia’s presence with a nod and sent James over with a menu. Dealing with the bill of another customer, she saw James taking a small carafe of the chilled house rosé from the fridge and placing it on Saskia’s table.

  ‘I’ll take the order into the kitchen,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘She’s waiting for someone to join her? Okay.You stay out here and I’ll send Yannick out to help you.’

  ‘Salad niçoise,’ she called out back in the kitchen. ‘Table five. Yannick, go through and help James, please. I’ll take over in here for a bit.’ No way was she going to be forced into a face-to-face confrontation with Terry in the restaurant if that was who Saskia was waiting for. Which it was.

  ‘Tiki Gilvear’s arrived. D’you want me to tell him to leave? If not he’d like a salad niçoise, too, with chips on the side,’ James said. ‘He says he expects to pay this time.’

  ‘He hasn’t asked to see me?’ Rosie said.

  James shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll prepare his salad,’ Rosie said, reaching for a plate. Treat him as just another customer. Stay in the kitchen and everything will be fine.