‘Seeing you get home safely.’
‘It’s not dark. It’s Sunday afternoon and I don’t need an escort.’
‘Maybe not, but I want to see where you’re living now.’
Ah, so he had picked up on her ‘five minutes away’ remark.
‘Well, we turn left here and it’s at the end of this street. The converted villa. See, literally five minutes.’
‘You going to ask me in for a glass of my wine?’ Charlie asked, looking at the basket.
‘N… oh, all right. I’m on the second floor.’ And Rosie pressed her code into the pad at the side of the ornate front door. Damn, why had she just agreed to that? Guilt, probably. He’d paid for the wine so was entitled to drink more than just the one glass he’d had at lunch.
Charlie followed her up the marble staircase. ‘Sad to see these old places converted like this really. Imagine what they must have been like in their heyday.’
‘At least this way more people get to live in and enjoy them,’ Rosie said, unlocking her own door.
She released Lucky from her makeshift lead and the dog made straight for the end of the sofa she’d taken as her own.
Charlie placed the basket on the kitchen counter. ‘Glasses?’
Rosie indicated the glass-fronted cupboard. ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’
From her perch on the loo, Rosie studied the small bathroom. The linen basket, filled with a week’s worth of washing, overflowed onto the floor and the paper holder was empty. Feverishly Rosie stuffed the clothes deep into the basket and pressed the lid on, slid the last roll of loo paper onto the holder and swished water around the sink. No time to do more. With a bit of luck Charlie wouldn’t need to come in here, anyway. Once he’d had his glass of wine, he was out the door.
‘I’ve put the other stuff in the fridge for you,’ Charlie said, handing her a glass of wine. ‘Cheers. You sure you’re eating enough? Fridge is practically empty.’
‘Cheers. I don’t eat here much,’ Rosie said. ‘No point. So, what’s this business proposition that’s taking you to Sardinia?’ Not that she wanted to talk to Charlie; she wanted him gone, but they had to talk about something over their wine.
‘Agrotourism,’ Charlie shrugged. ‘I suspect it’s going to be a waste of time but Dad wants me to investigate the possibilities.’
William was the head of an environmentally ‘green’ company with interests in property and farming. Charlie was his right-hand man and would eventually take over. Rosie knew that both father and son were committed to trying to promote the ‘Fair Trade’ policy.
‘Will you spend the day with me when I get back?’ Charlie asked. ‘For old times’ sake?’
Rosie shook her head. ‘No. The season is just starting and I’m going to be busy. Besides, our “old times” are just that. In the past. If William hadn’t bought A Sure Thing we’d never have met up again. We move in totally different circles these days.’
‘I’d be more than happy to move in yours,’ Charlie said.
‘Well, I wouldn’t be happy in yours.’ Rosie stared at him.
Charlie drained his glass. ‘When I get back, I promise you I’m going to do everything possible to make you change your mind.’
‘Back off, Charlie. Go meet someone else.’
‘There is no one else, Rosie. I…’ The ring of his mobile interrupted him. He glanced at the caller ID. ‘Excuse me. I have to answer this. Hi, Sarah, how’s things?’
Rosie stroked Lucky as she tried not to eavesdrop on Charlie’s conversation. Which was impossible. And just who was Sarah?
‘What? OK. I’m on my way. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ He snapped his phone shut and turned to Rosie, his face white.
‘Sorry, Rosie. Emergency. Got to go.’
‘Not William, is it?’
‘No.’
Before she realised his intention, Charlie leaned in and kissed her. ‘You take care. And don’t fire James again because I’ve told him to walk you home after work every night. Ciao.’ And he was gone, the door slamming behind him.
Absently Rosie topped up her glass. Whatever the emergency was it had at least got Charlie out of the apartment. Getting him out of her life for a second time, though, was proving harder than she’d anticipated.
When would he realise she was serious when she told him she didn’t want a relationship with him or any man? She’d learned a long time ago that relationships that worked were few and far between and personally she didn’t intend to let one cloud her judgement ever again. Café Fleur was her baby and her life now.
GeeGee sighed contentedly. For once, Sunday had turned out to be the way she always thought Sundays in France should be – but in her case rarely were.
A leisurely lunch around Erica’s large kitchen table followed by coming up here to the roof terrace and lazing around for an hour before she’d jumped to her feet. A bit of payback time was needed.
‘Come on. Let’s give this terrace a makeover.’
For the next couple of hours the three of them weeded and watered the pots before sweeping the terracotta tiles and setting up the small, white, cast-iron table and chairs. Erica had found some candles for the lanterns that were now, together with the setting sun, casting a gentle ambience over the place. A perfect place to unwind.
Cammie was tucked up in bed and Erica had gone down to fetch a baguette and the remains of the lunchtime rosé for supper. So far she hadn’t mentioned whatever it was she’d said she wanted to talk about. GeeGee smiled to herself. Knowing Erica it could have just been a ruse to get her here and feed her. She knew her friend worried about her not eating enough.
She enjoyed food as much as anyone; it was just that, after paying the rent, the phone bill, her quarter’s rent for her desk, putting petrol in the car, etc., etc., there was so little left over. And now, on top of everything, she was about to be made homeless.
When her next commission came in she’d treat both Erica and Cammie to… She sighed. Her next commission payment was spoken for even before it arrived. Not to mention the next two or five. She’d struggle to even afford an extra coffee at Café Fleur for the next few months. Maybe Rosie would let her do the washing-up in exchange for lunch?
Hearing Erica coming back upstairs GeeGee determinedly pushed all financial worries to the back of her mind. With a bit of luck there would be a flurry of sales in the next couple of days, she’d find an apartment she could afford and all would come miraculously right in her world. Well, she could dream.
‘I ought to be thinking of going home,’ GeeGee said.
‘You don’t have to. You can always stay,’ Erica said, placing the tray of food on the table between them. ‘You know there’s always a room here for you.’ She glanced across at GeeGee.
‘I know everything down here is based on appearance and money rules supreme and your clients are super-impressed when you casually tell them where you live.’ She shook her head. ‘You might live on the Cap d’Antibes but your actual studio is like your landlord – the pits.’
‘But my clients don’t know that,’ GeeGee said. ‘They think I’m uber successful living in that location. And clients like dealing with successful people.’
‘You know, though, that you could get a better