Villa of Sun and Secrets

by Jennifer Bohnet

  Gordon took a drink of his coffee.

  ‘Has Josette said anything to you? Would you tell me if she had?’ Carla asked. ‘If she’s told you things in confidence, of course I don’t expect you to break that, but if there’s anything you can tell me? Anything to help me understand. Have you seen her since her birthday?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen her a couple of times.’

  When Gordon didn’t expand on that statement, Carla said, ‘How was she?’

  ‘Worried about the effect the news has had on you. Worried about if she’s done the right thing. Worried that she’s ruined any chance of building a proper relationship with you. Worried she didn’t take the secret to the grave. Let’s just say, she’s worried.’ Gordon glanced at Carla. ‘She’s not had much practice at being a part of a family for the last fifty years. She’s very fond of you, despite not being in your life for so many years.’

  ‘You see, that’s the kind of thing I need to know. Surely she could have insisted I was told the truth when I was old enough?’

  Gordon shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Like you say, you need to talk to her. Maybe give it another week and then if she hasn’t come to see you, you’ll have to be the brave one. I do know she hates the thought of being outside the family again.’

  ‘D’you think she’s ready to talk to me? To tell me about the past? A past she clearly wishes she’d left buried.’

  ‘I think she’s braced for your questions but frightened about your reaction to the answers.’

  Carla sighed. ‘A letter came here for Josette this week. I popped it into her box this morning. It had an Italian stamp. The family name on the back rang a bell with me, but I can’t place it. I nearly knocked on the door to give it to her, but I chickened out.’

  ‘Was the name Grimaud by any chance?’ Gordon asked.

  ‘It was.’ Carla looked at Gordon in surprise. ‘How did you know that?’

  Gordon shrugged. ‘Just a guess. It’s interesting though. That’s your friend Bruno’s name. Apparently there were a lot of Grimauds down here years ago.’

  ‘Of course,’ Carla said. ‘I’d forgotten his surname. But why would he be writing to Josette. He only met her for the first time in the Carlton.’

  Gordon shrugged. ‘Who knows? We’ll both have to be patient on that one and wait for Josette to tell us all. Now, I must go. I have a plane to catch later.

  Josette placed the letter unopened on the table and poured herself another coffee. Sitting there sipping her drink, she couldn’t stop herself looking at the envelope with her name on it in bold writing, taunting her. What sort of letter would she find inside?

  If it was from the person she already knew deep down it was, would it be demanding answers about her actions of over fifty years ago? Or would it be conciliatory in a ‘let bygones be bygones’ kind of way? Would a meeting for old times’ sake be suggested?

  Should she even open it? She could tear it into pieces and drop it in the rubbish. Deny ever receiving it if she had to. No, she couldn’t do that. That would just be adding more lies to an already sorry life story. But she didn’t have to open it. Unopened, she could live in ignorance of its contents. Cautiously, she picked it up from the table and half rose to go and put it in the drawer, before sinking back down onto her seat. However painful it was, she had to open it.

  Carefully, she peeled the flap open and drew out an expensive piece of notepaper, a name and address printed on top. The name was the one she’d been expecting, hoping, to see. Mario Grimaud. The address was one she didn’t recognise. Somewhere in San Remo. It wasn’t a long letter. It was direct and to the point. Like the writer himself had always been. His voice said the words in her head as she read.

  Mio Caro Josie,

  I barely know where to begin this letter, other than to say I’m very happy to have news of you from my nephew, Bruno. My dearest wish is for us to meet again, for me to learn something of how your life has been – I hope it has been a happy one. I’ve never understood why you left without a word, but I accept you must have had your reasons. Your parents refused to tell me anything and never spoke of you to me again. I kept hoping you’d return and tell me what prompted your unexpected departure. But life goes on and one learns to accept that certain things were never meant to be. What I’ve never truly accepted in all these years has been your absence in my life as the friend you always were, if not as the wife I’d wanted you to be. Perhaps you missed me too a little? Can we meet as friends? It would make me very happy to see the love of my life once again.

  Amore, Mario. xxx

  Under his signature was an Italian telephone number.

  Josette placed the letter on the table and brushed away the tears that were falling down her cheeks. No recriminations, no blame, just a declaration of a love that had never died despite her cruel desertion of him all those years ago. The letter didn’t tell her anything about him. Had he ever married? Did he have a family? She knew no more about his life than he did hers. Could she bear to meet him? See the man he’d become. Welcome him into her life again? Would he be disappointed in her? Could friendship alone bring a satisfactory closure to their long-ago love?

  Mario’s letter was stirring other memories in her, transporting her back to her youth, to the consequences of the night she’d promised to meet him but instead had been forced to run away. To memories of Robert and Amelia. Amelia. How had she ever been naive enough to expect her twin to accept and understand her action? Meeting Mario again would mean telling him the truth about why she’d left without a word. The truth that had driven a wedge again between herself and Carla, instantly joining the one that Amelia had fuelled for years.

  Josette closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Would it make any real difference were Mario to learn the truth after all these years? The truth wouldn’t change the effect her actions had had on both their lives. Meeting up with the man she’d left behind to avoid hurting him with her betrayal was a risk, but it would at the very least give her closure on that particular part of her past. But any meeting would have to wait until after she and Carla had talked.

  Standing up and moving into the kitchen, Josette opened the dresser drawer. The original ‘Private and Confidential’ package Carla had brought over all those weeks ago was still on top of the bits and pieces that filled the drawer, unopened. Taking it out, Josette scrabbled around the contents of the drawer and found a rubber band. Placing Mario’s letter on top of the package, she joined the two of them together with the rubber band. She would reply to Mario one day soon and agree to meet him, but not yet. The timing was all wrong.

  28

  The day after her breakfast meeting with Gordon, Carla found a picture postcard in her post box. Before she threw it in the kitchen bin, thinking it was a piece of junk mail she’d missed earlier in the week, she glanced at it quickly.

  The picture was of the harbour in Cannes and it was simply addressed to ‘Carla at the Villa Mimosa, Antibes’ followed by the 06 postcode. The message was short and to the point. ‘I’d love to buy you dinner one evening. Ring me if you think you’d enjoy it too. Bruno Grimaud.’ His number was written clearly at the bottom.

  Sitting on the terrace, Leroy on her lap, Carla thought about the postcard and its invitation. She’d never told Bruno her surname or her address. Was he the Grimaud who’d written to Josette? If so why? She did remember telling him she was living in the family villa now and had he simply assumed that something addressed to her there would reach her? And why did he want to buy her dinner?

  She’d liked Bruno from the moment he’d saved her from certain injury all those months ago, but she knew nothing about him other than he lived in Cannes. He could be married for all she knew, and if that was the case there was no way she’d agree to have dinner with him. Carla’s innate good manners rose to the surface. She couldn’t ignore the invitation. She’d have to phone him, if only to say thank you but no thanks.

  While the phone rang, Carla worried whether she should speak En
glish or struggle with her French. Bruno solved that problem when he answered the phone in English.

  ‘Bruno Grimaud. Can I help you?’

  ‘This is Carla. I got your card today.’

  ‘I was hoping you’d ring,’ Bruno said. ‘When can you have dinner with me?’

  Carla hesitated. It seemed rude to simply launch into the questions she wanted to ask him before she agreed to his request. ‘I’m not sure. Why do you want to have dinner with me?’

  ‘Because I like you,’ was the instant reply. ‘Isn’t that enough reason for a man to ask an attractive women out?’

  Carla ignored both the compliment and the question, saying instead, ‘How did you find my address?’

  ‘Learning your aunt’s name that Saturday in the Carlton made it relatively easy. I will explain more over dinner if you would like me to. Any more questions?’

  ‘One important one. Are you married?’

  ‘Not any more.’

  Carla took a deep breath. ‘Okay, I’d love to have dinner with you if we can make it somewhere in Antibes?’ That way she’d be able to get home easily if it all went horribly wrong.

  ‘Of course. Are you free this Saturday evening? I’ll make a reservation and pick you up at seven thirty. And, Carla? I’m really looking forward to the evening and getting to know you better.’

  As she said goodbye, Carla realised she was already looking forward to Saturday and Bruno’s company. It would be interesting to hear his explanation too about how learning Josette’s name had made it easy to find her address.

  Carla made a big bowl of pasta that evening and when Joel came home they sat on the terrace eating supper together. Joel, Carla sensed, had something on his mind as he was quieter than usual.

  ‘Busy day at work?’ she asked as she dished him up a large helping of pasta liberally covered with pesto sauce. She pushed the salad bowl and the parmesan grater towards him. ‘You still working out on the Cap d’Antibes?’

  Joel nodded. ‘Different villa, mais oui, still up there. Not sure for how long though. Rumour has it that the company I mainly work for is in financial trouble.’ He picked up the parmesan grater and grated some cheese over his pasta before looking up at Carla. ‘Which means it will be even harder for me to find a permanent place to rent. They were the main payers that proved I had a regular income big enough to be a reliable tenant. I’ve got a couple of other private clients but…’ Joel shrugged.

  ‘I know you want to find a place of your own again, but you have a room here for however long you need it,’ Carla said.

  ‘Merci. I don’t want to impose, but I do love it here with you.’ Joel’s voice was quiet, his gaze intense as it locked on her own. ‘But you’re not going to want me living in your spare room for ever – particulierement when you have your chambre d’hôte.’

  ‘Not sure that will happen this year now,’ Carla said. ‘I need to talk to Josette and to come to terms with not being who I thought I was before I’ll be comfortable enough in myself to be civil to complete strangers.’ Blinking, she broke the gaze between them and reached for her wine glass. Was she reading more into that intense gaze and the ‘love it here with you’ remark than he’d intended?

  ‘You know, years ago it wasn’t uncommon for a woman to raise her sibling’s child as their own, whether it was because they were illegitimate or born as part of a surrogate pact,’ Joel said. ‘Families stuck by each other in times of trouble.’

  ‘But mine fell apart,’ Carla protested. ‘Even if that was the case in the beginning.’

  ‘Peut être the falling out wasn’t about you. There could have been different, deep seated reasons for that to happen,’ Joel said. ‘Don’t let the knowledge that your mother is a different woman to the one who raised you tear you apart. Trust me – you are luckier than some who discover their family is not as united as they’ve always been led to believe.’

  Carla looked at him, struck by his serious look. ‘That sounds like personal experience?’

  Joel nodded. ‘Maybe I’ll tell you about it one day. You, though, do need to talk to Josette soon.’

  Carla helped herself to some more salad. ‘Gordon says she’s worried she’s done the wrong thing in telling me, that she’s alienated me forever. I need to see her and assure her she hasn’t, but…’ Carla shook her head. ‘I have to know the truth about how exactly I was conceived before I can think about even being just friends with her again.’ She looked at Joel. ‘Sadly, I don’t think there is a quick fix to this situation.’

  29

  Joel was in the sitting room when Carla came out of her room on Saturday evening. She’d dithered over what to wear for dinner with Bruno. In the end she decided on a creamy coloured summer dress printed with blue cornflowers, a scooped neckline, and a hanky point skirt. Wedged espadrilles on her feet and a blue bolero in case it turned chilly completed her outfit. She hoped she was dressed suitably for wherever Bruno was taking her.

  The look Joel gave her as she walked into the sitting room was unexpected, as were his words.

  ‘You look lovely,’ he said. ‘Going somewhere nice?’

  ‘Hope so. I’m having dinner with Bruno.’ When Joel looked at her blankly, Carla realised he didn’t know who Bruno was and quickly explained. ‘He’s the man who pulled me out of the way of a car in Antibes. We bumped into him in Cannes the day of the disastrous birthday lunch. I’m not sure where we’ll be going. Oh, he’s here. I’ll see you later. Enjoy your evening.’ And Carla went out to greet Bruno.

  ‘I know you said dinner in Antibes,’ Bruno said, opening the passenger door of the silver Jaguar convertible he’d parked in the driveway. ‘I hope that includes the outskirts of town? I’ve booked a table at one of my favourite restaurants in Juan-les-Pins.’

  Carla, sliding into the passenger seat, managed to nod. Bruno’s car was a serious top-of-the-range model and as they drove westward along the bord de mer, she had this feeling she knew exactly to which particular restaurant he was taking her. One of the most prestigious in the area, it was a favourite with the A-listers who crowded into the area for summer. As Bruno drew up outside and the valet opened her door, she took a deep breath and tried to squash the intimidated feeling welling up inside her. She wasn’t used to places like this. Although Bruno clearly was.

  Giving the keys to the valet to park the car, Bruno took her by the hand and ushered her inside. The maître d’ greeted him by name and led them directly to a window table. Carla looked around her with interest. Still early evening, the place was half empty, but Carla was sure she recognised a couple of famous faces at a nearby table.

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ Bruno said. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘When you asked me to have dinner with you, I wasn’t expecting to be taken to a Michelin starred restaurant,’ Carla said. ‘Or to arrive in such a luxurious car.’ She smiled at him, anxious to show him she was happy. ‘You’re spoiling me.’

  The sommelier arrived then, poured two glasses of champagne and discreetly left them. Bruno raised his glass to her. ‘To new friends.’

  ‘To new friends,’ Carla echoed before taking a sip of the ice-cold drink. Could she and Bruno really be friends? The Jaguar he drove was the kind of car Carla could only imagine owning in her wildest dreams. And this restaurant? It was so obvious that he was completely at home here, whereas she, well, she almost pinched herself when a well-known French singer and his young companion were shown to a table near them. This place was a world away from her normal life. Would their different backgrounds prove to be a barrier to friendship?

  She took another sip before placing her champagne glass on the table and looking at Bruno. Time to get a grip.

  ‘You were going to explain how you found my address so easily?’

  ‘Meeting your aunt at the Carlton was the big clue.’

  Carla waited while Bruno looked at his glass reflectively, as though weighing up his words before saying, ‘You should have received a letter addressed to Josette, ca
re of the villa, last week.’

  Carla nodded. ‘Yes. I… took it around to her cottage.’ No point in telling him that she and Josette weren’t currently talking. ‘I noticed the name on the back of the envelope was Grimaud. Was the letter from you?’

  ‘No, but your aunt has always had a shadowy presence in my life. When you said her name as you introduced us that day, I was stunned. I could barely believe I was actually shaking the hand of the woman whom my family talk about with sadness. And, it also gave me a dilemma, deciding what to do about it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I had to decide whether to tell my family that I’d met Josette. That she’d returned to Antibes. I was afraid the news would upset people – particularly my uncle. In the end I spoke to my father about it and we decided I had to tell everyone.’ Bruno shrugged. ‘There’s unfinished business between our two families.’

  Carla looked at him. ‘That sentence, coming from someone with Italian connections, is worrying.’

  Bruno looked at her, puzzled, before realising what she meant and laughing. ‘I promise you we’re not the mafia.’ He took a drink of his champagne before continuing. ‘The letter you delivered to Josette was from my uncle Mario. Fifty years ago, your aunt and my uncle were expected by everyone to marry, they were inseparable, but then Josette simply disappeared from his life without saying goodbye. Her family cruelly told him she’d left Antibes for a new life and nothing else. All these years later, Mario longs to know the truth about what happened.’

  Carla looked at him with a growing sense of unease creeping through her body. Was her birth responsible for tearing another family apart?

  ‘But so far, Josette, she has not replied. Maybe you could persuade her to write?’ Bruno said. ‘It would mean a lot to my uncle to know the truth, even at this late stage.’

  Carla was thankful the waiter arrived with their starters at that moment, sparing her the need to answer Bruno. How could she tell him that she suspected she was the reason his uncle’s life had been shattered all those years ago? She smothered an inward sigh, acknowledging what she couldn’t put off any longer. Tomorrow she would go and talk to Josette.