Rosie gasped at his cheek before seeing a smile twitch his lips and realising he was joking. A bad joke but a joke nevertheless. Maybe she should go. He had, after all, taken the trouble to come and find her. It was just a drink with a neighbour. Be churlish not to go.
‘OK. One glass,’ Rosie said. ‘Then I’m really going home to bed. It’s been a long week.’
‘You can bring Lucky if you want,’ Seb said.
‘No. I’m not sure how she’ll behave,’ Rosie said. ‘She can stay on her blanket in the restaurant. I’ll come back for her after I’ve had that glass of champagne.’
The party was in the conservatory Rosie had spied from the studio room upstairs and was packed to overflowing. Sipping the champagne Seb had poured for her while he went to fetch some nibbles, she looked around.
Seb was obviously well connected. There were a few, if not exactly famous, then certainly well-known, Riviera faces and a couple of minor A-list celebrities she recognised. And GeeGee was here, too, Rosie was pleased to see. She raised her glass in her direction when she saw her glance across, but before she could make her way over to her James appeared at her side.
‘Seb changed your mind then?’
Rosie nodded. ‘Just having a quick glass. So, which is your stepbrother out of this crowd?’
‘He’s… over there,’James said turning to look around the room. ‘You should recognise him.’
‘Why should I?’ Rosie said as she followed his gaze. ‘Oh.’
‘How long has he been your stepbrother?’
‘My mum married his dad a month ago. Oh, he’s seen us. He’s coming over.’
‘Rosie. How lovely to see you. I do miss not having you onboard. How’s the Café Fleur going?’ And Charlie leant forward to kiss her cheek. He sighed as Rosie averted her face and he kissed air.
‘What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be on your way to Sardinia.’
‘We’re leaving at the crack of dawn Monday. I hope James is behaving himself and being useful?’
Rosie stared at Charlie as realisation dawned. ‘You sent him, didn’t you? To spy on me!’
‘To help, Rosie. To help.’
Furious, Rosie turned to James. ‘You’re fired. I’m leaving. Goodbye.’
Rosie was still fuming when she got into bed that night. As far as she was concerned, sending James to spy on her was a step too far even for Charlie the control freak. Furious didn’t start to describe her feelings that, after all these years, he expected her to like having him back in her life.
If she’d had any sense she’d have walked off A Sure Thing the moment she’d heard the name of the new owners fourteen months ago . Unfortunately, there’d still been a year of her contract to go and the agency had refused to release her even when she’d begged them to let her go. So she’d thought of the money and prepared to be a good employee until she could legitimately take her money and run.
She’d been busy preparing a lobster for dinner the first time Charlie had strolled into the galley and asked for another bottle of champagne to be sent up to the aft deck. If it hadn’t been such a standstill moment, Rosie would have laughed out loud at the look on his face when he saw her. As it was she just said, ‘Right away, sir.’
She’d genuinely believed him when he’d sworn he didn’t know she was the chef onboard until the moment he walked into the galley. When he learnt that she’d known the name of the new owner and had chosen to stay on, he decided it was because she wanted to see him again.
‘Believe me, Charlie, I’d have left if I could. I had no choice – the agency insisted I honour my contract. But don’t worry – I have no intention of renewing it. Once it finishes, I’m off.’ Even as she’d said the words she could see he didn’t believe her.
The more Rosie protested, the more determined he became that their youthful relationship should be revived and given another chance. Rosie was equally determined against it. So, during the season she made sure she was always too busy to take more than the occasional day off and then she made sure there was no chance of Charlie being around, insisting they spend it together.
Out of season, when Rosie lived ashore, it had been more difficult to keep her life separate from Charlie’s. She had hoped the evening in The Recluse, when they’d had what she’d hoped would be the row to end all rows, would bring Charlie to his senses. Make him give up and go find himself a proper girlfriend.
No such luck. The moment he heard the agency were sending a replacement chef for William to interview, he redoubled his efforts to try and stop her. Telling him ‘no’ and leaving the yacht had failed to get the message across that she could never forgive him for letting her down all those years ago in college. He didn’t seem to understand how his action all those years ago had changed the course of her life.
Turning out the bedside light, Rosie sighed. How the hell was she going to get him to butt out of her life once and for all?
Erica took her cup of coffee up to the roof terrace of the townhouse she and Pascal had bought before they were married. Early Sunday morning and the remains of a light mist hanging over the town were giving way to the sun.
She and Pascal had loved to sit up here together in the evening, sipping a glass of wine, happy to be spending time with each other. She’d barely been up here recently. She’d got used to the rest of the house feeling empty and lonely without Pascal around but the roof terrace had been a special place. Up here the memories were still raw. Even now, all these months later, she had to fight back the tears.
Facing inland away from the coast, the terrace had a view out over red-roofed villas and their swimming pools, stretching away in the distance to the boundaries of the town before merging into the beginning of the hinterland Provençal countryside. Pascal had fixed a low trellis around the three walls and between them they’d created a small, perfumed oasis where the two of them had relaxed and entertained friends.
Looking at the trellis now, with its rampant passion flower and honeysuckle tangled together, Erica realised how much she’d neglected things up here. Her beloved Italian glazed pots, too, were full of weeds strangling the spring flowers that had poked their way through.
Pulling a few weeds out from under the honeysuckle, Erica decided she and Cammie would do some pruning and tidy things up later. Get ready for eating al fresco in summer – their first proper summer without Pascal.
Besides, if she was serious about selling the house, it would need sprucing up. This morning, though, she’d promised Cammie they’d go to the vide grenier being held in the huge car park on the edge of the beach.
Erica smiled to herself. Cammie was as much a magpie for ‘treasure’ as she herself was and was already developing a good eye for what was rubbish and what was good in among all the tat that was always on offer.
As Erica pulled weeds out of the pot containing her favourite rose, the church bell tolling for eight o’clock Mass broke into her thoughts. Cammie’s Sunday morning alarm. Time to go back downstairs and prepare for the day and the long walk to the vide grenier. Erica sighed.
Ever since the accident, Cammie had refused to get in a car; had screamed and shaken violently on the couple of occasions Erica had tried to force the issue.
All these months later and they were still either walking or catching the train or bus to wherever they needed to go, with Cammie showing no sign of losing her phobia over cars. This morning, with no convenient train or bus going in the right direction, walking was the only option.
An hour later they set off, Cammie pulling the empty wheely shopping bag