“Will that be all right — it won’t be too short notice for her?”
“Goodness, no — Grandmère will just relay the call to her cook. Believe me, Grandmère is never inconvenienced. Her life runs on the smoothest of tramlines. That’s why it will be so difficult for her to face a big move away from the château.”
“Château, cook — what is all this? It sounds very grand.”
“Yes, I suppose it does, but the truth is that it was very grand — once upon a time in the good old days — but now it is crumbling to an abrupt end. I shall go down in history as the de Fleurenne who sold out,” Jean-Michel said glumly, releasing her hands and standing up.
Rosie stood beside him and said, “You never know — something may just come along to improve matters. But if we are going to visit Grandmère I need to shower — get back to the Windsor hotel and find some respectable clothes.”
“No rush, it’s only nine — you go and shower and I’ll make some coffee…really coffee this time!” Jean-Michel smiled. “We must be able to drink coffee together if we’re going to be married!”
Rosie went into the shower room, which was as ultra-modern as the rest of the apartment: steel, slate and glass and a selection of essential oils in metal canisters. She looked at the large bath that was sunk into the centre of the slate-tiled floor. Perhaps next time? Rosie found herself grinning idiotically at the thought that there would be a whole future of next times here with Jean-Michel. She turned on the shower taps and stood under the blast of water that cascaded out of the wide shower head. She slowly massaged her body with the creamy scented soap that hung on a rope next to the taps. She was tender and aching all over from Jean-Michel’s fervent love-making and the weight of his body. She luxuriated in the sweet aching. The aroma of coffee filtered through to her above the fresh scent of the soap and she let the water pour over her for one more sensuous moment, and then wrapped her hair in a large towel and put on the robe hanging by the door.
Jean-Michel was sitting out on the balcony, a tray of coffee, croissants and orange juice on a table at his side.
“Hot croissants!” Rosie exclaimed. “How did you manage that?”
“I keep some in the freezer for moments such as this. Not that I have ever had a moment quite such as this before!” he added hastily. “Actually I have a cleaner who keeps an eye on the flat when I’m not here and she keeps the fridge and freezer topped up with essentials.”
“Like champagne and croissants!” Rosie laughed.
“And oranges — I love fresh orange juice. Here, try it.” He poured her a glass from a tall jug. “The market is so near that I can get everything I need in minutes. This flat is the best thing I ever did — apart from meeting you, of course. I bought it five years ago when it was just a derelict attic.”
“You’ve made a wonderful job of the conversion. I love it,” said Rosie, looking round at the interior. “And this balcony is wonderful… The view just takes my breath away.”
“I’m really glad you like it. Not everyone does…so many stairs to climb and the open-plan space. But it is my retreat. My books and music are here, my favourite paintings…and now you!” Jean-Michel pulled the towel from her head and ran his fingers through her wet hair. “I’ve never seen such beautiful hair. It’s the colour of a shiny new chestnut in the morning sunshine… Last night it was dark bronze. And your eyes are exactly the colour of the Mediterranean in winter…clear turquoise-green eyes… When you open them wide I drown in you.” He sighed heavily. “Don’t you think I should telephone my dear grandmother and tell her we can’t make it for lunch after all?”
“Definitely not.” Rosie laughed, washing down the last crumb of her croissant with the sweet orange juice. “I shall just finish my coffee and then I’m going back to the hotel to change. What time do we have to leave Nice?”
“Well, as soon as possible really.” Jean-Michel looked at his watch. “It depends…you wouldn’t consider going on the back of my motorbike, would you?”
Rosie opened her eyes wide. “Motorbike… er…I have ridden pillion once before. Well, why not? I shall just have to keep my arms tight round you!”
“Fantastic!” Jean-Michel’s face was alight with enthusiasm. “I’ve got a spare helmet and I’ll take it really slowly — it’s a great road!”
“Not another vertical road!” Rosie laughed. “OK, I’ll dash round to the Windsor and change straight away.”
“Just wait whilst I shower and I’ll take you round.”
“No, I know the way — I walked into the market yesterday. The walk along the prom will wake me up and it’s a wonderful day.”
“It certainly is.” Jean-Michel pulled her close and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. “It’s the best day of my life. I’ll miss you — what time shall I pick you up?”
“An hour from now? Say eleven o’clock?”
“Fine, I’ll see you in the lobby of the Windsor. No need to rush — you are supposed to be on holiday!”
“That’s exactly what the concierge said to me yesterday. But imagine, if I hadn’t dashed off to Eze I would have just missed you and been totally miserable for the rest of my life!”
They kissed again as if they were to be parted for ever and finally Rosie pulled away from Jean-Michel and ran out of the flat. The market square still had an early-morning atmosphere. The cafés were beginning to open their umbrellas; the stall-holders were lazily spreading out their goods and chatting to each other. On the north side the paving slabs were running with water as the fishmongers hosed down their white marble slabs, making way for the baskets of lobsters and shellfish waiting in the shade. Rosie made her way across to the stone archway towards the promenade. Once again her mind reeled at how quickly her life had changed since yesterday. Less than twenty-four hours since she had walked under this same arch, lonely and unsure of her future. She gave a wide smile to no one in particular and looked up to the sun.
“Bonjour, ma belle!” a voice called out from behind her.
And another added, “Ciao, bellissima…e in amore?”
She turned and blew a kiss into the air towards the two stall-holders that had called out to her. They replied with whistles of approval as she swung out of sight and along the promenade.
The concierge she now knew to be Henri was still on duty in the lobby. He greeted her with a friendly smile, his bushy eyebrows raised slightly in amusement.
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Fielding! Il fait beau, n’est-ce-pas? Are you doing more of the rushin’ about?”
“Oh, yes, I’m still rushing around like mad…someone I think you know is picking me up at eleven. I must dash!”
“Is the dash like the rush?” he asked with a smile.
“Exactly, you’ve got it!”
“Then I think mademoiselle is very good at it, non?”
“Oui, Henri, very good indeed — à bientôt!”
She ran across to the lift and, by the look of bemusement on his face, she knew he was speculating just how she knew his name and exactly who would be collecting her at eleven. Well, people who didn’t rush or dash about had plenty of time for speculation.
Rosie was back in the lobby at precisely eleven but Jean-Michel was already there waiting for her. He was