Villa of Sun and Secrets

by Jennifer Bohnet

  Carla sipped her drink and sighed as she listened to the buzz of conversation around her, understanding little of it.

  ‘I wanted Mum to speak to me in French so often,’ she said quietly. ‘When I went to secondary school, learning French was one of my options and I was thrilled at the thought of Mum and I chatting away to each other. She wouldn’t even let me join the class. She seemed to eschew anything French.’ Carla looked at Josette, a rueful smile on her face. ‘At home she refused to cook anything French and Dad did love his magret de canard.’

  Josette was about to say something when a man stopped by their table and bent his head to kiss her in greeting.

  ‘Carla, this is my friend, Gordon,’ Josette said. ‘Gordon, my niece, Carla.’

  ‘Enchanté,’ Gordon said, shaking Carla’s hand. ‘Would you two ladies like to join my table? Sylvie and André will be here in a moment,’ he said to Josette. ‘We could have a party.’

  ‘Thank you, but not tonight, Gordon. We’ve already ordered.’ Josette glanced across at the waiter, making his way towards them. ‘I think our starters are about to arrive.’

  Gordon looked disappointed but didn’t argue. ‘Another evening then. Bon appétit,’ and he moved away just as the waiter placed their first course on the table.

  ‘Gordon seems nice – I love his Scottish accent. Is he a special friend of yours?’ Carla said, looking at Josette with a smile.

  ‘When you get to my age, all friends are special – there aren’t that many of them left,’ Josette said, picking up her fork to tackle the prawn and salmon terrine she’d ordered. ‘Your salade de chévre chaud looks good – best eat it while it’s still warm.’

  Carla sighed. Josette’s friendship with Gordon was clearly another subject that was not up for discussion.

  A couple of hours later as the two of them made their way home along the ramparts, Carla sighed happily. ‘I really enjoyed this evening. I hope you did to,’ she said, glancing sideways at Josette.

  ‘I did, thank you. Food is always good there,’ was Josette’s uncompromising reply before she surprised Carla by saying, ‘Peut-être we have a nightcap to finish the evening off? I’ve got a bottle of St Honorat liqueur which is rather good.’

  Sitting in the moonlit courtyard ten minutes later, sipping their nightcaps, Carla said, ‘You never did go through the family photos I brought over – shall I leave them here and maybe next time we can?’

  ‘We could have a quick look now,’ Josette said. ‘I can’t promise to know and name everyone, but hopefully I’ll recognise a few people.’

  Startled by the unexpected offer, Carla jumped up and fetched the packet from her room. Minutes later, Josette was thumbing through the black and white pictures.

  Josette smiled and joked her way through family groups, babies in huge perambulators, pictures of women strolling arm in arm along the Promenade des Anglais in Nice, she even named a couple of cousins – ‘all dead now of course’ – before sighing. ‘Il y a si longtemps – I feel so old looking at these. They’re a bit of a… Oh, what’s the English word? Time warp?’

  Carla had to agree. ‘Is this one of you and Mum? You’re both looking very glam in your long dresses. How old were you then?’

  ‘Let me see. That was taken at a dance in Cannes the year Amelia met and married Robert, your father, so we would have been eighteen.’ Josette sighed. ‘We were such good friends then. As close as it was possible to be. We could always tell what the other one was thinking.’

  ‘You look very alike in this photo,’ Carla said. ‘Hard to tell who’s who. Did you ever pretend to be each other?’

  ‘Oh yes, c’était très amusant. But it was something we outgrew. By the time this photo was taken we didn’t tease people so much, but at school we were always pretending to be each other.’

  ‘So what happened to stop the two of you caring about each other for all those years since? And for you to become known as the black sheep of the family,’ Carla said quietly, amazed that Josette was talking about Amelia and not daring to look at her face as she risked such a personal question.

  There was silence for a second or two before Josette shrugged her shoulders. ‘There was a family row, the details of which are best left buried in the past.’ She began to gather up the photos and put them back in the envelope.

  Realising the subject was closed, Carla started to hand Josette some of the loose photos for the envelope. ‘This one of Mum and Dad looks as if it was taken in the garden of Villa Mimosa,’ Carla said. ‘They look so young – and so happy together. Grand-mère’s standing by a pram in the background, so I guess that was taken the year I was born.’

  Josette held her hand out for the photo, looked at it for a couple of seconds and gave a brief nod.

  ‘In all the photos I have at home it’s hard to find a smile amongst them. After I left to marry David, they seemed to have grown even further apart.’ Carla glanced at Josette. ‘Do you think they were happy?’

  Josette gave a gallic shrug. ‘No idea. Other people’s marriages have always been complete mysteries to me.’

  Carla sighed as she picked up the remaining photos, knowing she was unlikely to get any more information out of Josette. ‘Okay, last one – oh, not sure which of you it is, with a man, taken in Cannes. I recognise the Le Suquet tower up on the hill. Lovely photo.’

  Josette held out her hand for the photo and the colour drained from her face. ‘I didn’t know Amelia had this.’ She sat looking at the photo silently. ‘It’s me, a lifetime ago.’ She slipped the photo on top of the others. ‘Right, I think we’ve done enough reminiscing. I’m off to bed. I’ll put these in the bureau for now, shall I?’

  Carla watched as Josette, not waiting for an answer, picked up the packet and went indoors, calling out ‘Bonne nuit’ as she went. The last photo had definitely spooked her. But why? And just who was the man in the photo with his arm around Josette’s shoulders?

  7

  The notaire’s office, situated on the third floor of a modern building on the bord de mer, positively hummed with quiet but serious efficiency. Monsieur Damarcus and Josette were clearly old friends as he greeted her with a kiss on the cheek as well as a handshake before turning and shaking Carla’s hand.

  ‘So, now we do the official paperwork for you to inherit your half of the Villa Mimosa. And then you sell, n’est pas? Like Josette has wanted to do for years.’

  ‘Josette and I haven’t discussed it, but would it be possible to keep it and carry on renting it out?’ Carla asked. She glanced across at her aunt who was shaking her head.

  ‘No discussion necessary. I want to be rid of the place,’ Josette said. ‘Amelia made life difficult, refusing to sell and leaving it to me to deal with while she stayed in England doing nothing. You’re not likely to be a hands-on landlord either, are you?’

  ‘I would come across on a regular basis,’ Carla promised.

  Josette stared at her. ‘Non. Selling is the better option.’

  ‘Ladies,’ the notaire interrupted. ‘The formalities will take a few weeks, once Carla’s name is on the deeds you can decide then. I have to say, if you do decide to sell, I don’t doubt there would be a lot of interest locally. It would probably sell for four or five million euros.’

  Carla felt her mouth fall open at his words, but before she could say anything, Josette ended the discussion.

  ‘Good. In that case we’ll go to auction.’

  The rest of their appointment time was filled with various forms Carla had to fill in and sign, but eventually it was done and Carla and Josette said their goodbyes to Monsieur Damarcus, who promised to be in touch very soon.

  Walking back to Josette’s cottage, Carla again broached the subject of not selling Villa Mimosa. It had been in the family so long, it felt wrong to sell it without at least exploring the possibility of keeping it.

  ‘I promise I wouldn’t leave you with all the hassle of managing the place and finding tenants. I’d come over whenever you n
eeded me.’

  ‘I need the money,’ Josette said. ‘I wasn’t going to say that to Monsieur Damarcus, but it’s the truth.’ She glanced at Carla. ‘I’m at the age when you start thinking about what happens when you need help. Residential care doesn’t come cheap.’

  ‘I understand,’ Carla nodded. ‘But if and when you need that help, couldn’t you sell your cottage?’

  ‘It’s rented, And my money would disappear with residential home fees très rapidement.’

  ‘I didn’t realise that,’ Carla said. ‘But how about when the tenants leave, you move into the villa? At least it would be rent-free.’

  ‘Rent-free maybe, but the maintenance wouldn’t be. Besides, it’s too big. What would I do with five bedrooms?’

  ‘Monsieur Damarcus mentioned a separate fund to pay for essential maintenance. You could even rent out a couple of the rooms and have an income.’

  ‘Non,’ Josette said. ‘It is best to sell. Close the past down.’ The look she gave Carla dared her to argue further.

  Regretfully, Carla let the subject go. She didn’t want to leave her aunt with bad feeling between them, but secretly she promised herself the next time she was over to sign the inheritance papers, she would talk again to Josette about the possibility of keeping Villa Mimosa. Surely if she was in need of money, giving up the cottage, moving to the villa and living rent-free made economic sense?

  Josette walked to the end of the rue with Carla, where the taxi ordered for the journey to the airport was waiting. The tight hug Carla gave her was unexpected.

  ‘Thank you so much, Tante Josette. I promise I’ll give you a ring before I descend on you next time. You take care.’

  The taxi was moving down the narrow street almost before Carla had slammed the door shut. Watching the car disappear, Josette sighed. She knew was going to miss Carla. Despite herself she’d enjoyed getting to know her better over the last few days and was already looking forward to her return once the notaire had the final papers ready for signature.

  Back indoors, Josette cleared the lunch things away and tidied the kitchen before taking her secateurs out of the gardening drawer in the cupboard and going into the courtyard. Trimming back the rampant honeysuckle, she inhaled its perfume, taking care to avoid the bees busy feeding on the flowers.

  Deadheading the geraniums in their pots and generally tidying up the jasmine and the passion flower she was encouraging to climb the trellis Gordon had fixed to the back wall for her recently, Josette hummed happily to herself. She loved pottering about out here, the nearest she got to a proper garden these days. Remembering how beautiful the garden at Villa Mimosa had been looking the other day, the old longing for a decent-sized garden sprang uninvited into her mind. Together with the thought, If I lived in the villa I’d be able to garden whenever I wanted to.

  ‘Not. Going. To. Happen,’ Josette said, startling herself by uttering the words out loud as she over-trimmed an unlucky plant. ‘Merde.’

  Whatever Carla said, the villa was going to be sold. Josette hadn’t been lying when she’d said she needed the money, but it wasn’t just that. It was the memories the place contained. Memories she’d be forced to confront on a daily basis if she lived there. Besides, it was too big for just one person. As for renting rooms out, she was too old for the hassle. Even if Carla was serious about visiting regularly, her own life for the next few months was likely to be difficult with the David situation.

  Placing her hand on the small of her aching back and rubbing it, Josette looked around the courtyard. Enough for today. Back in the kitchen, she loaded her favourite Ella Fitzgerald disc into the player while she waited for the coffee machine to do its stuff. Sitting out in the courtyard sipping her coffee and listening to Ella singing ‘The Man I Love’, her thoughts drifted back to the days when listening to Ella had literally gone hand in hand with loving Mario. They’d both adored Ella’s singing.

  The photograph of them that Amelia had kept for some strange reason evoked so many happy memories. Josette half started up to fetch it from the bureau to look again on Mario’s handsome face, before sinking back down onto her seat. Later. She didn’t need to look at the photograph itself to relive the day and her unrestrained happiness of that summer. The summer she’d believed she was destined to marry Mario and spend the rest of her life with him.

  She’d met Mario at a mutual friend’s party a year or two before. The attraction had been instant on both sides and their new friendship had quickly developed into something special. The day the photo was taken Mario had asked her to be at Antibes station ready to catch the morning train travelling in the Marseille direction. He wanted them to spend a day together in Cannes.

  Waiting on the platform clutching her ticket, she’d scanned the growing crowd, hoping to see him. When he still hadn’t shown up when the train arrived, she hung back, letting people board and cursing the fact he hadn’t turned up and she’d wasted money on a ticket. She turned her head at a sudden whistle from the third carriage and smiled. She should have realised he’d be on the train already.

  ‘Josie, over here,’ Mario had shouted from the open door of the carriage. She ran across the now empty platform and jumped in next to him. The doors had closed as Mario moved away from them. Josette realised later he’d illegally kept his foot against it to prevent its closure. Seconds later, the train had begun to move.

  ‘I thought you weren’t coming,’ she’d said.

  ‘I had to work at the pizzeria last night, Mama, she’s not well,’ Mario had replied, his face clouding. The family lived just over the border in Italy at Ventimiglia and his parents had run a lively pizza bar for decades after taking over from Mario’s grandparents. Mario’s brother, Alexandro, had gone into the family business as soon as he left school.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Josette had said. ‘What’s wrong?’ She’d met Mario’s mother several times and liked the Italian woman who welcomed everyone as part of her extended family. She loved it when Mario invited her to eat with his family. Mealtimes at Mario’s home were so different to those at her own home, especially since Amelia had married and gone to live in England, leaving Josette alone with their parents.

  ‘A bad cold. She’ll be better tomorrow and back at work. But my father, at times like these, he take the opportunity to try to bully me into working full time at the pizzeria along with Alexandro. He knows I will do anything for Mama, but I will not work for him,’ and his face had clouded over at the thought.

  Seconds later, he’d shrugged before smiling at Josette. ‘Enough. Today belongs to us and we enjoy! You can take some more of your photographs,’ he’d said, looking at the camera Josette carried with her everywhere.

  She’d always loved taking photos from the moment her grandfather had placed an old box camera in her hand when she was about twelve. By the time she met Mario she’d graduated to a five year old Canon and was saving hard to buy one of their new models.

  Moving through the carriage, they’d found a couple of seats together and sat holding hands as the train rattled along the coast towards Cannes. Watching the waves of the Mediterranean lapping the various beaches they passed, some sandy, some full of pebbles, Josette couldn’t imagine living anywhere else – although if moving to Italy to be with Mario was necessary, she wouldn’t hesitate.

  ‘Your sister, she arrive for a visit soon, yes? I’m looking forward to meeting another you.’

  Josette had laughed. ‘I’m looking forward to her coming too, but I’m still worried. Robert says she is still far from well. I think he’s placing too much hope on their visit helping Amelia recover.’

  When Amelia had married and moved to England, Josette had felt a shift in their unique twin relationship. No longer in daily contact, it was only natural their total oneness would diminish somewhat now that Amelia was married and had a new family. But even before Robert had told them of Amelia’s recent illness, Josette had suffered some terrible nightmares that she knew were telepathically linked to Amelia and her fear
s. Robert had simply told the family that Amelia was suffering from depression and it would take time before she was completely well.

  ‘I’m sure being back in France and seeing you will be good for her,’ Mario had said. He stood up. ‘Come on, Cannes station is next.’

  Jumping off the train in Cannes, they’d run down through the narrow streets towards the front and the old quay where the fishing boats unloaded their catches. They’d stopped by the imposing Hotel de Ville building to watch a wedding party posing for photographs in front of the entrance.

  ‘One day, my Josie, it will be our turn,’ Mario had breathed in Josette’s ear. ‘But first I make my business work. Make some proper money. Come, we buy ice cream and look at the boats.’

  The words ‘our turn’ had stayed in Josette’s mind long after Mario had whispered them. She was still hugging them to herself as, hours later, they’d climbed up to Le Suquet tower and stood looking out over the town and its curved bay with the Îles de Lérins in the distance. She knew she was in love with Mario and surely with those words he’d confirmed he loved her too. Even if he’d not actually said so.

  She’d taken a step back from the wall and Mario, lifted the camera to her eye and taken a snapshot of him gazing out to sea, the expression on his face unfathomable. As the shutter clicked, she’d asked, ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘That one day I will have a boat or three taking the tourists out to the islands every day. Tourism is on the up down here. A few years and it will be the biggest employer in town. And it’s going to be good for you and me, Josie. You wait and see.’

  A passing tourist had offered to take a photo of the two of them and Josette had handed over her precious camera. She remembered the excitement she’d felt collecting the developed film from the pharmacy days later and seeing her and Mario standing so close.