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Bella treated us to lunch in one of the posher restaurants off the Place Nationale. Sipping rosé whilst sitting out in their garden under the large pergola with the wisteria starting to flower, listening to the water gurgling in the ancient granite fountain in the centre of the garden, was bliss. Food was good too.
We just chilled out for the rest of the day really. Drank lots of wine, ate warm baguettes and cheese for lunch and listened to a lot of jazz. 1920s stuff in particular, Bella’s favourite era.
5th April.
Been thinking about what Bella said re Nino being a hunk and did I fancy a fling with him? To be honest, don’t think I’m ready yet to start dating again. Is it still called dating? Must ask Bella. I’ve been out of the loop for so long, don’t even know the correct terminology now.
If the truth be told, I’m frightened at the thought of getting involved with anyone after Ben. Being dumped after twenty-three years plays havoc with your confidence that’s for sure. Suppose I’ll get my mojo back again one day. And regular sex again.
6th April.
Eliosa was in good form when she came for supper. Think she’s had quite a life one way or another.
‘Married four times. Divorced one, buried three,’ she laughed. ‘Wonder what will happen to number five,’ she said.
‘You’re getting married again?’ I said, surprised.
‘C’est possible. I like being married. If I meet someone...’ she shrugged.
‘You haven’t actually got number five all lined up then?’ Bella asked, amused.
‘Non. But you never know who is around the next bend,’ Eliosa said, offering Brucie a piece of blini from her plate.
‘Maybe an Englishman would be nice this time,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I’ve had two Italians, one French, and Roberto, Swiss.’ Her face clouded over and she sighed. ‘Roberto was my fourth husband and the love of my life. We only had six years together and I miss him still. He died too young. D’you know anyone suitable, Jessica? He must be richer than me of course.’
I shook my head, suppressing a smile. ‘Sorry. Rich Englishmen don’t figure in my life at all. Maybe Nino can find you a rich yacht owner?’
‘Ah Nino. Now he is on way to Genoa for a week or two. When he returns I ask him. He tells me you both had the champagne on board. You like his boat?’
‘That yacht is something else,’ Bella said, beginning to pour some more wine into Eliosa’s glass. ‘Tell me, does Nino have a girlfriend?’
Eliosa shook her head. ‘Non. But he has a wife. Back in Italy.’
I choked on my blini as Bella over-filled Eliosa’s glass. And bang went any secret thoughts I might have been harbouring about having a fling with Nino. Not that I’d seriously been considering it, of course. But an outside possibility had just become totally out of the question. My name isn’t Samantha.
7th April.
Spring down here is a beautiful season. Not too hot yet, but the sun is shining enough to draw people down to the beach. Even saw some people swimming yesterday. Despite the sun, I bet it was cold.
8th April.
The last full day of Bella’s visit we spent up in St. Paul de Vence. Thank god I took my camera with me because I think it’s going to be one of the first things I write about. It’s one of those famous perched villages with views down to the Mediterranean, and its medieval streets are now full of art galleries and bijou boutiques. Oh, and it’s home to various celebs, both French and English. Didn’t see anyone famous but we did bump into Jamie Carson, an old work colleague of Bella’s.
‘Remember I told you about him a couple of years ago,’ Bella muttered quickly as she spotted him striding down the street towards us. ‘Wife died in a hit and run. He lost the plot. Resigned from work. Became a recluse. Rumour has it there was a big insurance payout. Wonder what he’s doing here? Jamie! How lovely to see you.’
‘Bella.’ After the obligatory cheek kissing that all Englishmen seem to adopt with alacrity the moment they land on French soil, Bella introduced me.
‘Jamie, this is Jessica, an old friend who’s living in Juan-les-Pins at the moment. Are you on holiday?’
‘Pleased to meet you Jessica. I divide my time between here and the UK these days,’ he explained to Bella. ‘I have a villa up the road from here. Come for coffee and we can catch up.’
Walking through the village we stopped at the patisserie, where Jamie insisted on buying one of those hard-to-resist light-as-a-feather sponge cakes the French are so good at, covered in fruits and cream.
Jamie’s villa, set on a small private estate with views out over the surrounding countryside, was a delight. The large conservatory at the back of the house where we drank strong coffee and devoured the cake was very English, with its cane furniture and floral cushions.
I tuned out most of the conversation while Jamie was bringing Bella up to date with his news, and looked at the garden. Palm trees, oleander shrubs and pots of margaritas tumbling down the side of a flight of granite steps towards the swimming pool, passion flowers covering an archway and roof of a poolside room. Beautiful.
Six teak sun loungers, each with their own cream parasol, were lined up along one side of the pool. Wonderful.
Jamie saw me looking and said, ‘Fancy a swim? Lots of spare costumes in the pool house.’
I shook my head. ‘No thanks. I’m more of a gardener than a swimmer. I was thinking how beautiful your garden is.’
‘Thank you. How long have you been living in Juan-les-Pins?’ Jamie asked. ‘Think you’ll make it permanent?’
‘This is the fourth month. And no,’ I shook my head. ‘It’s just a long delayed gap year for me. I’ll go back home to family after Christmas.’
‘Unless of course she meets some sexy Frenchman who persuades her otherwise,’ Bella said.
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