A summer of taking chances!

Rosie Hewitt’s dream of opening a little French café on the Riviera is finally coming true. She’s giving up on love and instead chasing her own perfect recipe for happiness…

Only, she never expected the oh-so-sexy, award-winning chef Sebastian Groc to set up his restaurant next door – or for his freshly baked croissants to smell quite so delicious.

But with just a few days until she opens her doors and all her sugar-coated dreams crumbling around her, Rosie isn’t prepared to give up without a fight!

Escape the winter blues with Jennifer Bohnet’s deliciously heartwarming read.

Rosie’s Little Café on the Riviera

Jennifer Bohnet

ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

Also by Jennifer Bohnet

I’m Virtually Yours

You Had Me at Bonjour

A French Pirouette

The Little Kiosk by the Sea

JENNIFER BOHNET

is originally from the West Country but now lives in the wilds of rural Brittany, France. She's still not sure how she ended up there! The saying ‘life is what happens while you're deciding what to do…’ is certainly true in her case. She's always written alongside having various jobs: playgroup leader, bookseller, landlady, restauranteur, farmer's wife, secretary – the list is endless but does provide a rich vein of inspiration for her stories.

For three years she wrote a newspaper column in the South Hams Group of Newspapers (Devon) where she took a wry look at family life. Since living in France it is her fiction that has taken off with hundreds of short stories and several serials published internationally.

Allergic to housework and gardening she rarely does either, but she does like cooking and entertaining and wandering around vide greniers (the French equivalent of flea markets) looking for a bargain or two. Her children currently live in fear of her turning into an ageing hippy and moving to Totnes, Devon.

To find out more about Jennifer visit her website at jenniferbohnet.com or chat to her on Twitter at @jenniewriter.

First, thanks must go to the team at HQ Digital – in particular Charlotte Mursell who clearly has the patience of a saint when dealing with needy authors!

Thanks must also go to my on line author friends who are always ready to offer sympathy and send virtual gin and chocolate when the editing gets tough (you know who you are).

Finally, but by no means least, a huge thank you to everybody who buys and reads my books.

To my husband Richard with love and thanks for being there.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Book List

Author Bio

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Extract

Endpages

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘Bonne chance,’ the notaire said, counting the large wad of euros Rosie had given him before pushing a bunch of keys across the desk towards her. ‘The Café Fleur is now yours.’

Five minutes later and, juggling the keys happily, Rosie walked along the ancient ramparts edging the Mediterranean towards the beach and the Café Fleur. Day one of the rest of her life was here at last and it felt oh so good. It had seemed to take forever, but one of her lifelong dreams was about to became a reality.

Owning and running her own successful café had been her number-one dream for several years now. Her other dream of being married and having a family by the time she was thirty had been foiled by her own seeming inability to build a long-lasting relationship with any man.

It was after a wine-fuelled thirtieth birthday hangover that she’d decided enough was enough. Life was passing her by. Okay, she’d failed to meet and marry Mr Right, but owning her own café was still within her grasp. So, Dream Target No 1 became saving enough money to open her own beach café in the South of France. Now, a couple of months before her thirty-fifth birthday, she was about to realise her dream.

Glancing across the bay to where several boats were making their way to the marina entrance, her smile faded. She recognised the hull of the boat leading the way, flying the English ensign. A Sure Thing, the yacht she’d been chef on for the past few years, while she squirrelled away enough money to gain her independence, was returning to port.

Briefly she wondered if Antoine, the skipper, had forgiven her yet for deserting him. He’d been less than happy when she’d told him her plans.

‘Sacre bleu, Rosie, Charlie’s going to be furious when he finds out you’ve left. He’ll probably make William fire me for letting you go. Rosie, please, for me – one more summer?’

‘No. Definitely not.’ Rosie shrugged. ‘He already knows I’ve left, but Antoine, DO NOT, under any circumstances, tell Charlie the whereabouts of my restaurant. Understood?’

Antoine had given her a resigned nod and wished her well, knowing when he was beaten.

Rosie sighed. She could only cross her fingers and pray that the message had got through to Charlie that she wasn’t interested in a relationship, however much he wanted to rekindle their long-ago college affair. She had enough to do getting the Café Fleur ready to open without having to deal with him as well.

Hopefully the yacht was coming into port to take on fuel and stock up with food supplies and wouldn’t be staying long. Maybe they had plans to motor across to Corsica, one of Charlie’s favourite places. Corsica would be good. Go to Corsica, Rosie silently willed.

The longer she could keep the location of her new business from Charlie, the better. The scene he was sure to make when he realised what she was doing was not one she looked forward to. Not that she cared these days what he thought, but no way did she want him turning up at her opening party next week. He definitely wasn’t on the guest list.

Tansy, ex-stewardess on A Sure Thing, her best friend and, as of today, her sous-chef, waitress and chief washer-upper, was waiting for her in the car park at the back of the restaurant. ‘Signed your life away?’

‘Yep – and I’ve got the keys to prove it,’ Rosie said, stretching to raise the security grill before putting the first key in a lock near the top of the door and turning it. Another large, old-fashioned key went into a lock in the middle of the door and finally she bent down to insert a small, gold-coloured key into the lock six inches from the bottom, before turning the handle and opening the door.

‘I guess the last guy had a security obsession,’ she said. ‘At least, I hope that’s all it was.’

Inside, dusty tables and chairs were arranged in neat rows, a pile of parasols leaned haphazardly against the far wall and faded curtains hung limply at the sides of the shuttered windows. In the kitchen a huge, old, white-doored fridge, which looked ancient enough to have graced Elizabeth David’s kitchen fifty years ago, held centre stage. Its presence dwarfing all the other, equally old, utensils. Rosie prayed it would all be in working order once she and Tansy had cleaned things.

No way could she afford to buy a lot of new equipment. Paying the notaire had seriously depleted her bank account. She needed to be open and putting money into her new business account as quickly as possible. Otherwise she would be in trouble financially before the season even got going.

‘Right, let’s get the shutters open and make a start,’ Rosie said.

‘What’s behind that door?’ Tansy asked, pointing to a door at the side of the bar.

‘Stairs to a store room,’ Rosie said. ‘I didn’t take much notice to be honest, I was more interested in down here. Come on, let’s get scrubbing.’ She handed Tansy a pair of pink rubber gloves before pulling on a pair herself.

While Tansy got to grips with the kitchen, Rosie went through to make a start on the restaurant. Sliding the bolts back on the front door, she stepped out onto the terrace to fold back the shutters with their peeling Provençal blue paint and stood for a few moments, visualising it busy with customers. Her customers. Eating outside on the terrace was an essential part of her plan for the café. People loved eating al fresco.

Two large eucalyptus trees gave some perfumed shade where the terrace ran down to the beach. The French phrase pieds en mer – feet in the sea – described it perfectly, Rosie thought, looking around. Oleander bushes already budding up. Yachts sailing in the distance. A woman and a young girl beach combing. Shimmering sea.

A vine with a thick, tree-like trunk covered the loggia running along the length of the restaurant. Rosie sighed. It really was an amazing location come true for her dream. It had to be a success for so many reasons. Not least because it was her final chance to make something of herself. And of course there was the little matter of being bankrupt if she didn’t make it work. She took a deep breath. Failure was simply not an option.

The Beach Hotel next door was undergoing a seasonal spring clean too, judging by the number of men carrying ladders, paint, new equipment, etc. who were swarming all over it. Rosie watched enviously as three men struggled to manoeuvre a large La Cornue range through a narrow door on the side of the building. That was a stove to die for. Pity her budget didn’t allow for gadgets like that.

What couldn’t she do to this place if she had a ‘no limits’ budget? New tables and chairs – some of those comfy, Paris bistro-type ones indoors, teak ones outside. New modern equipment in the kitchen. An up-to-date range. Different crockery and cutlery, pretty tablecloths, a florist to come in every day with fresh flower arrangements, rather than the silk ones she was planning to use. Original paintings on the wall – ah, but she was going to have those. Tansy knew someone who wanted to hang some paintings of local scenes, and a few exotic ones, with a view to selling them, so hopefully every few weeks the paintings would change.

A man sitting on the rocks down by the shoreline smiled and raised a hand in greeting. Rosie hoped he didn’t make a habit of sitting in front of her café – with his bare feet, tousled, sun-bleached hair, cut-off jean shorts, and a pink T-shirt bearing the faded word ‘Mustique’, he didn’t exactly fit the image she had of the customers she wanted in her cafe. Like he’d ever been there. Neither did she want his presence to attract any undesirable friends he might have.

Rosie politely raised her hand in acknowledgement but didn’t make eye contact, hoping he’d take the hint she didn’t want to talk. He didn’t.

‘Hi, I’m Sebastian. Seb to most people,’ he said, walking towards her and extending his hand, the leather friendship bracelets around his wrist tangling as they dropped forward. Reluctantly Rosie shook his hand. She didn’t want to be rude but she didn’t intend to encourage him to hang around.

‘I’m Rosie.’

‘Restaurant reopening soon? The old place could do with a makeover.’

‘A week today,’ she said.

‘Have you got all the staff you need? I might be able to help if you haven’t.’

His English was impeccable but tinged with a faint accent some people might have described as sexy. Did he want a job? Or was he just asking, making conversation? He probably didn’t even have any suitable work clothes and, while the dress code during the day in her restaurant might be casual, she certainly wasn’t going to allow the staff to dress tattily. In the evenings, dress would definitely be smart casual.

‘All organised, thank you,’ Rosie answered quickly. He didn’t need to know Tansy was the only staff she could currently afford. Looking at Seb’s tanned, olive skin and the general air of casualness that hung about him, she guessed he’d be more of a drifter than a steady nine-to-five type guy.

‘Look, I’m sorry, but I really do have to get on,’ she said. ‘So much to do.’ This time he took the hint.

‘Yeah, right. See you around,’ Seb said with a smile and wandered off along the beach.

‘Good luck,’ she called out, feeling unexpectedly guilty about not being more friendly towards a guy who was clearly down on his luck. If he came back she would definitely offer him a couple of small jobs – cleaning the windows or washing the terrace down, something like that.

Seb didn’t turn round at her words, merely waved his hand in the air in acknowledgement.

Back in the restaurant Rosie set to work. She pushed the old upright piano in the corner by the French windows into the centre of the room, making a mental note to check the piano tuner was still coming Saturday morning. Musical lunches and suppers were all part of her plan to create a different ambience in the restaurant. And live music for the party was a definite necessity.

Three hours later, when Tansy made them both a coffee from the newly cleaned espresso machine that had sprung miraculously, if noisily, into life when she switched it on, they were both fit to drop.

‘Rob said he’d give us a hand painting tomorrow if you’d like him to,’ Tansy said, smothering a yawn.

‘Great,’ Rosie said. ‘I was going to make a start this evening but…’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I think I’ll just make a list of things I’ve got to get at the cash and carry on Thursday. Rob still okay about us borrowing his van?’

‘I’ve got to drop him off at the marina first, then we’ve got the van until three o’clock. Right, I’m off. See you in the morning.’

Closing the door behind Tansy, Rosie stood by the kitchen window for a few moments watching the continuing activities at the hotel. A large poster had been placed in one of the upstairs windows overlooking their car park: ‘Grande Réouverture Bientôt’.

Just how grand would their opening be? And how soon was soon? Would she be open before they were? Was she about to find herself in competition with a top-notch chef right on her doorstep? Would their food be better than hers? Rosie shook herself. She would not think negative thoughts.

The advertisement she’d arranged on the local English radio station would hopefully bring a few expats her way and kick-start a word-of-mouth buzz about the Café Fleur before the summer tourists started to arrive.

She’d worry about the competition next door when she knew more about it.

CHAPTER TWO

Locking the shop door of The Cupboard Under the Stairs, Erica ran down the narrow street behind the church before turning left into the town’s main square and dashing into the boulangerie. Thankfully, only two people were waiting to be served and Erica was on her way to the school gates two hundred yards down the road as the town hall clock struck midday.

She let out a deep breath as she reached the school. Made it. Cammie panicked when she was late meeting her and she hated being responsible for dredging up feelings of fear in her daughter. Cammie’s panic attacks, like the nightmares, were on the wane, thank goodness, and Erica wanted more than anything in the world for them to disappear totally. For her daughter to be happy again. For her own hurt to be healing.

Everyone had told her it would take time, lots of time, but she couldn’t help wishing she could speed things up. She hated the thought of Cammie’s childhood being blighted indefinitely by the events of last year.

‘Hi,’ she said now as Cammie ran to her. ‘Picnic on the beach today okay?’

‘Cheesy baguette? Yummy,’ Cammie said slipping her hand into Erica’s.

Five minutes later, as Cammie tucked into her cheese baguette, Erica asked, ‘How was school this morning?’ She held her breath waiting for the answer.

Cammie had been like a zombie going to school for the last few months – zero interest in anything, just listlessly doing anything she was told to do. Last week, though, during the weekly telephone call the school had instigated to keep Erica in the picture about her progress, her class teacher had said there were a few hopeful signs starting to appear.

‘It was okay. We have to find stuff to make a collage with for next week. I’m going to do a beach one so I’ll need shells, seaweed, pebbles – oh, lots of stuff.’

‘We’d better have a walk when you’ve finished your lunch and start collecting stuff then,’ Erica said, trying not to sound too pleased that Cammie was looking forward to getting involved with a project. Was it a real sign that she could finally be coming out of the terrible lethargy she’d sunk into after Pascal’s death last August? Starting to come to terms with what had happened.

The walk along the beach, filling their pockets with shiny pebbles and shells, engrossed them both and time was forgotten. It was only as they passed the café and Cammie said, ‘Can I have an ice cream please?’ that Erica looked at her watch and realised Cammie’s lunchtime – all two hours of it – was almost finished.

‘No time. We’ve only got five minutes to get you back to school. Besides, the café isn’t open yet,’ she said, glancing over at the Café Fleur. Seeing the shutters open and a woman moving around inside she added, ‘Maybe they’ll be open next time. Now let’s run or you’ll be late.’

Back at the shop Erica opened the mailbox and took out the day’s post. Among the usual promo leaflets there was an envelope with the notaire’s name stamped across it. At least the sick feeling in the pit of her tummy no longer pounced when she received envelopes like these. She was getting better at handling things. Things she’d never anticipated having to deal with.

Her heart did flip though, when she read the latest letter and saw the final amount of Pascal’s estate – including the insurance money. Her life with Pascal was now officially over – all formalities tied up and she was free to move on. Make a new life without him.

The problem though, was she didn’t want a new life courtesy of Pascal’s insurance money. She would prefer to have him around, for Cammie’s sake as much as her own. Thoughtfully she emptied her pockets of beach treasures and put them to one side for Cammie to sort later.

She didn’t have a clue as to the kind of life she wanted to live for the next few years while Cammie grew up. But having such a large sum in the bank – she’d have to do something with it. Providing for Cammie had to be top of her priorities. Pascal would expect her to do that. Invest it in something. Bigger shop premises? Mentally she shook her head. No. The Cupboard Under the Stairs worked as it was – a tiny space crammed with a mixture of unexpected things. A bigger layout would move it away from her original premise.

The Cupboard Under the Stairs worked as a bijou vintage shop selling an eclectic mix of new and second-hand stuff, from vintage clothes and handbags to kitchen paraphernalia, kitsch of all descriptions, pottery, cushions, books, even the occasional art nouveau piece when Erica was lucky enough to find one. She’d made The Cupboard Under the Stairs into the kind of shop, in fact, that she’d always loved to discover and browse in, full of irresistable bits and pieces.

Maybe she should spend the money on a bigger house? A villa with a swimming pool. Cammie would enjoy that. But would she want to move from their townhouse with its memories of Pascal? She’d have to talk it over with her. If she liked the idea, they could add house-hunting to their weekend itinerary along with vide greniers, looking to buy stuff for the shop.

Erica turned the shop sign to open. Not that she expected many customers. This time of year was all about stocktaking and gearing up for the coming season rather than making lots of sales. This year, too, a real spring clean was called for after her neglect of the past few months.

Everything looked a bit sad. She’d begin this afternoon by giving the place a thorough clean and rearranging the shelves. Start the summer season all spruced up.

Life had to go on so the quicker she could get back into a proper routine the better. She had to make the best life possible for herself and Cammie.

CHAPTER THREE

Rosie’s days flew past in a haze of painting, organising, cooking, panicking and not a lot of sleeping. By late Saturday afternoon, when she and Tansy hung the final painting on the wall of the restaurant, she was exhausted.

‘Is that level?’ Tansy asked, nudging a flamboyant modernistic painting, with its clashing red, mauve and blue colours, into a better line.

Rosie nodded, wondering how she was going to get through the next few hours of partying. ‘I can’t believe everything is done. I need a coffee – actually I need sleep but coffee will have to do. People will be here soon.’

As Rosie pushed open the swing door into the kitchen, James looked up from putting the finishing touches to the party food. ‘You look like you need a drink.’

‘Later. Right now a double espresso will fit the bill,’ Rosie said. James had appeared two days ago looking for work. ‘Antoine said you might need someone,’ he’d said. ‘I’ve trained as a sous-chef and want a job on a yacht but apparently I need more hands-on experience.’

‘I hadn’t planned on taking anyone on for a few weeks,’ Rosie had told him. ‘Tansy and I are used to working together and until the restaurant takes off I can’t afford to pay anyone else. Not even me. Maybe come back in a few weeks. Or you could try the hotel next door,’ she suggested.

‘I’ll work for free for a few days,’ James offered. ‘Antoine says you’re really good and I’d learn a lot working for you.’

Amused by his blatant flattery, Rosie had smiled. ‘Okay. You free to help Saturday afternoon and stay for the evening party?’

‘What time?’

‘Two o’clock.’

‘I’ll be here.’

And he was. Everything she’d asked him to do in the past couple of hours he’d done quickly and efficiently. Now, as she watched him work the coffee machine, she hoped she’d be able to employ him officially in the next couple of weeks. He’d be a real asset. She must remember to thank Antoine the next time she saw him for sending James in her direction.

‘You’ve put enough champagne in the fridge?’ she asked now, taking her coffee. ‘And rosé?’

‘Yes,’ James said. ‘Drink that and then go and change. Tansy and I have everything under control.’

Resisting the urge to make a sarcastic rejoinder along the lines of, ‘Well, of course you’ve got everything under control – you’re practising to be a typical bossy man,’ Rosie flew into the ladies loo.

With less than half an hour to go before people arrived, there was no time to do more than change her clothes and slap on some make-up. She pulled on her white jeans and a spaghetti-strap black top and slipped her feet into her one pair of Jimmy Choos. No time to do anything with her hair other than push it up into its usual style with a huge glittery clip. Slipping on her amber ring, so big it dwarfed her hand, she was ready. She took a deep breath – time to party and raise the curtain on Café Fleur.

James was already handing round champagne to the early arrivals. Tansy was in the kitchen doing some last-minute food prep and waved her away. ‘Go circulate.’

Rosie began to work her way around the room greeting people, accepting their congratulations and their good luck cards.

The pianist, playing a medley of jazz, smiled at her as she placed a glass of champagne within his reach, before standing to look around ‘her’ restaurant.

People were helping themselves to the plates of finger food laid out on the bar. Smoked salmon blinis, fois gras on crisp toast, slices of quiche, individual pissaladières and lots of bowls of nuts, crisps and peanuts were scattered around. For those with a sweet tooth there were tiny individual tartes abricots with rosettes of crème frêche piped on top, demitasse servings of chocolate mousse and a bowl of fruit salad.

Tansy had placed the cheese board, with its selection of brie, roquefort, boursin and cantel on a separate table. And Rosie knew that, out in the kitchen, a cauldron of home-made parsley soup stood on the stove, ready to be heated at the end of the evening as people left.

An hour later the place was buzzing. Her pile of business cards on the bar had shrunk and the reservations book by the till had several bookings pencilled in. Rosie allowed herself a secret smile of satisfaction. ‘Café Fleur’ was on its way.

The lights were dimmed, couples were wrapped in each other’s arms, swaying to the romantic jazz. Rosie sighed. It was years since she had danced with anyone like that. Working on the yachts it was impossible to have a shore-based relationship with anyone. Away at sea for weeks at a time, particularly after William had bought A Sure Thing eighteen months ago, her days off were invariably spent alone in whichever port they were currently moored in: St Tropez, Monaco, Corsica.

All of which sounded far more glamorous and romantic than it was, with no one special to spend time with. And now, if she was to make a success of the Café Fleur, she had to continue to put any ideas of meeting someone and having a serious relationship out of her mind. All her energies had to be focused on the Café Fleur . . .

A scream pierced the babble of music and general noise as the restaurant was plunged into darkness. The emergency lighting in the kitchen and behind the bar area flickered weakly before fading completely.

‘Any idea where the fuse box is? And do you have a torch?’ James asked.

‘Cupboard in the cloakroom,’ Rosie said. ‘And no, sorry, no torch.’ Mentally she added torch and candles to the ever-growing ‘essential items’ list still hanging on the board in the kitchen.

Helpful guests started to give quick flashes from their cigarette lighters and James was able to find the trip switch in the cupboard and flip it up. Nothing.

‘I’m sorry, folks, but it looks like the party’s over for this evening,’ Rosie said. ‘Thank you for the support and Café Fleur will…’ Her voice trailed away as Seb walked in through the open terrace doors carrying a lit candle.

‘I’m guessing you haven’t got a supply in yet,’ he said, placing a bundle of candles on the bar before lighting a couple from the flame of the one in his hand and carefully positioning them on the counter. ‘Any food left?’

‘Yes, of course. Thank you,’ Rosie said, grabbing a plate and filling it with a selection of nibbles. ‘Champagne?’ She poured a large glass and handed it to him.

As Tansy and James placed more candles in strategic places, the pianist started playing again and people drifted back to the small dance floor, arms around each other.

Rosie poured herself a glass of champagne and sipped it as she looked at Seb. Not so scruffy tonight – the shorts had been changed for a pair of fashionably torn jeans, and a plain white T-shirt accentuated his tan. His hair was still tousled, though.

‘I can’t thank you enough for the candles. I definitely owe you,’ she said.

Seb shrugged. ‘This is good. Did you make it?’

‘What… oh, the mackerel pate. Yes.’ She glanced at him. ‘So, did you make a special journey to bring me candles?’

‘Yep. All twenty metres of it.’ Seb pushed his empty plate away and held out his hand. ‘Dance?’

‘Uuh…’ But Seb had already taken her by the hand. ‘Twenty metres – but that’s the hotel. So you work at the hotel?’

‘I own it.’

Rosie stood still. ‘But I thought…’

‘I know what you thought,’ Seb said. ‘You thought I was a down and out.’

‘You could have said. I was going to offer you some odd jobs when I saw you again,’ Rosie said. ‘I feel so stupid.’

Seb shrugged. ‘You shouldn’t. You weren’t to know. But you shouldn’t judge people so quickly – especially down here. Millionaires often dress like tramps.’

‘You’re a millionaire?’

‘You saying I was dressed like a tramp?’ Seb countered, shaking his head. ‘No, I’m not – yet.’

‘But you own the hotel. So we’re competitors? When does your restaurant open? Just don’t tell me you’ve got a Michelin star chef lined up.’

‘There’s room for both of us. I don’t see us as competitors – we’re aiming at two different markets. And yes, I expect a Michelin star within the first year.’

‘Oh, good,’ Rosie said. A crash from the kitchen made her jump. ‘Look, I’m sorry but I’d better go check that out.’ Grabbing a candle from the bar Rosie made her way into the kitchen.

Bloody typical. Just when she was beginning to think Seb was an okay bloke, he had to spoil things. Her cooking was as good as anybody’s – why didn’t he think she was capable of aiming for a Michelin star, too? Oh, not in their haute-cuisine section – she wasn’t that daft – but in their bistro section, where they highlighted the less pretentious places.

Tansy was scrabbling about in the candlelight picking up cooking tins and baking trays that had fallen onto the floor when a shelf had collapsed.

‘You okay?’ Rosie asked.

‘Fine. Who’s the candle guy?’

‘Seb. Owns the hotel,’ Rosie said, handing Tansy half a dozen trays to put on the work surface. ‘And he has Michelin aspirations for his restaurant when it reopens. That’s all I need – a bloody Jean-Christophe Novelli on my doorstep.’

‘Your cooking will get the punters in,’ Tansy said. ‘You know you can cook as well as any poncy chef.’

‘But I’m not a poncy French chef. Maybe I am being naive.’ Rosie sighed. For the first time she began to feel doubts creeping in about the Café Fleur being the success she wanted. ‘I know there’s a lot of competition out there. Let’s face it, every other building down here houses a restaurant or bistro. I just didn’t expect to have a major competitor right next door to me on the beach.’

‘Well, it’s a bit late now for second thoughts,’ Tansy said. ‘Think of the money you’ve already invested. You can’t just throw that lot away without even trying to make this place work – and it will work. Look at the reservations already in the book.’

Rosie took a deep breath. ‘You’re right, of course.’

She really did have to think about all the money she’d already invested. ‘Right. Back to Plan A – making the Café Fleur THE place to eat and be seen.’

Determinedly, Rosie pushed all traitorous thoughts of sexy hotel owners to the back of her mind, where she intended to keep them for the foreseeable future. This was not the time to let any man hijack the plans she now had in place for her life.

Men always wanted to be in control, do things their way, no argument. But the worst thing about men in her experience was they were totally unreliable. Charlie was living proof of that – and her father, of course.

This summer she was going to focus all her energies on making the Café Fleur the best beachside restaurant on the coast. No way was she going to let any local competition distract her from pursuing that plan.

CHAPTER FOUR

Escaping the office was always a bonus, especially on a sunny day, and Georgina George smiled happily to herself as she settled on one of the picnic benches at the Café Fleur. Her summer office was open.

Her normal desk in one of the most prestigious estate agent’s offices in town was an expensive necessity. One she needed for official meetings and for keeping her name ‘out there’. It made her legitimate in the eyes of clients. Never mind that in summer she did most of her paperwork on the laptop sitting at a café table. Bringing clients somewhere like this for an initial discussion over a relaxed coffee was always a good move, too.

At least the place was looking a bit more presentable this year. New name. New owner. The grapevine around the office was saying the new owner was English. She’d introduce herself when she ordered her coffee, find out for herself. With luck, the prices wouldn’t have gone up. Her budget was even tighter than last year thanks to Hugo raising the rent of her official desk.

A toasted sandwich and coffee for lunch was still a cheaper option than actually buying food and cooking it, though. As long as she had that at midday, she could survive on cereal at home.

‘Bonjour. What would you like? I’m afraid we don’t have a vast selection of food just now. Mainly baguettes, soup or toasties.’ The woman standing at her side, order pad poised, looked about Georgina’s own age.

‘Hi. Are you Fleur?’

‘Yes – although the name is really Rosie.’

‘I’m Georgina George. Yep, I know my parents had no imagination! Most people call me GeeGee.’ She smiled at Rosie. ‘A large coffee right away, please. And a croque monsieur in about half an hour – with another coffee. Thanks.’

While she waited for her coffee, GeeGee wrote an email to Stan, the sleazy landlord of her studio flat, reminding him she was waiting for the renewed lease to sign. Should have been sent over a week ago. As she pressed send, Rosie appeared with her coffee.

‘You’re a lifesaver,’ GeeGee said. ‘Need my coffee fix. How are things going with the café? I’m one of the regulars here, by the way.’

‘Fine so far,’ Rosie answered. ‘Looking forward to a busy season. You live around here?’

GeeGee nodded. ‘Out on the Cap d’Antibes. I’ve been down here eight years now and I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be – even if things have gone a bit pear-shaped recently.’

‘What do you do?’ Rosie asked.

‘I’m an estate agent and live off commission – which makes life a tiny bit scary at times.’ GeeGee picked up her coffee and took a sip. ‘Right now there’s a bit of a slump, but the signs are it’s slowly picking up. I’ve got a sale going through this month. And an apartment viewing this afternoon, which I have high hopes of selling.’ She didn’t add that she’d be in desperate straits if she didn’t sell another villa or an apartment in the next couple of weeks.

‘Bit like me then,’ Rosie said. ‘Not that I work on commission only, but I’ve sunk all my money into this place and need it to start earning me some money asap.’

‘Oh, it will,’ GeeGee said. ‘This place is a honey pot in season. Some days it’s impossible to find a spare table. My friend Erica and her daughter are always down here, too. We’ll spread the word for you, but trust me, you won’t need it.’

‘Thanks.’ Rosie smiled. ‘I’ll be back soon with your lunch.’

GeeGee sipped her coffee and watched her go before returning her attention to the spreadsheet she’d opened on the laptop and its rows of figures.

Twenty minutes later her concentration was broken as an email pinged into her box. Jay. She stifled a sigh.

‘Bon appétit,’ Rosie said, appearing with her lunch and another coffee.

‘Thanks. This looks good,’ GeeGee said as she closed the laptop down. Reading another of Jay’s happy happy missives wasn’t what she wanted right now so it could wait until this evening – if she didn’t delete it unread before then. Right now she was going to enjoy her lunch.

***

An hour later, GeeGee waved goodbye to Rosie, left the beach and made her way through town to meet her client, Marc, and show him a new property on her list. A top floor apartment in one of the oldest townhouses on the coast road.

Marc and another man were waiting for her on the opposite side of the road to the house, their backs to the sea, looking at the four-storey terraced house with its pale-green shutters. Both men were in their early thirties, and both wore the regulation uniform of the ‘yachties’ who crewed on the large luxury yachts. Smart bermuda shorts, polo shirts with their yacht’s name embroidered discreetly on the pocket, and sockless feet in deck shoes.

It was Marc who had contacted her and booked the viewing, so she assumed he was the buyer and the other man was there to give him some moral support. Clients often brought friends along to voice their unbiased opinions and to help them decide about a property. Sometimes, of course, the friends were being just plain nosey. Or maybe Marc and his friend were an item and they were looking to buy together?

‘Hi, not late, am I?’ she said, searching in her bag for the keys.

‘No, we just thought we’d come and spy out the lie of the land first,’ Marc said. ‘This is Dan – my financial adviser,’ he added, laughing.

GeeGee held out her hand. ‘Nice to meet you, financial adviser Dan,’ she said, smiling at him.

As her hand was taken in a firm grip and shaken, unexpected tingles shot up her arm and she was glad when Dan released it.

‘Love the position of the house,’ he said. ‘Must have wonderful views.’

‘It does and it’s a really lovely apartment. The sort that’s on my personal wish list,’ GeeGee said. ‘Despite the fact it’s on the fourth floor and there isn’t a lift,’ she added.

‘How many apartments in the building?’ Marc asked as they made their way up the stairs.

‘Three apartments and a couple of studios. 4c at the top is the nicest apartment – and the most expensive.’

She could tell from the moment she opened the door to the apartment that it was Dan who really loved the place. Marc didn’t seem that enamoured of either the recently decorated sitting room or the slightly old-fashioned kitchen with its original butler sink and blue and yellow tiles on the walls. The ‘Juliette’ balcony off the sitting room with its French doors and sea view was, in his opinion, too small to be of any use.

Finally she led them up the spiral stone staircase into the room that opened onto the pièce de resistance as far as she was concerned – the roof terrace. The first time she’d seen it, she’d immediately pictured it with urns and pots full of plants and tumbling geraniums and hidden lights dotted around. A perfect romantic hideaway for two.

After warning Marc that the apartment had only been on the market a matter of days and the owner wouldn’t consider an offer – he wanted the full asking price – GeeGee stayed up on the terrace while Marc and Dan had a wander downstairs on their own.

Standing there by the railings, watching the people down below making their way along the narrow coast road pavement, she longed to own a place like this. Romantic suppers in the moonlight with a loved one. She sighed. Maybe one day.

Downstairs, Marc and Dan were talking too quietly for her to make out what was being said, but her gut instinct told her that Marc wouldn’t be buying the apartment. She turned to face them as they joined her on the terrace.

‘Have you seen enough?’

‘Yes, thanks,’ Marc said. ‘It’s a lovely apartment but…’

‘I’ll pay the asking price,’ Dan interrupted. ‘Where do I sign?’

Surprised, GeeGee looked from Dan to Marc. ‘I thought you were the one looking to buy?’

Marc shrugged. ‘We both are. But, to be honest, this place is much more Dan’s style than mine. I’d prefer a penthouse studio in one of the modern blocks with a swimming pool.’

‘That’s because you’ve no soul,’ Dan said. ‘Who needs a pool when you’ve got that twenty yards away…’ And he gestured towards the Mediterranean.

‘Right, Dan. I’ll contact the owner. Then you’ll have to sign the first part of the contract and you’ll need to notify your notaire,’ GeeGee said. ‘You do have a seven-day cooling-off period if you want to change your mind. But after that the notaire will start things moving.’

‘Right,’ Dan said.

‘I can give you the names of a couple of a mortgage brokers,’ GeeGee asked. ‘They’ll make sure you get the right deal for you. Oh, I forgot you’re a financial advisor so you’ll have your own contacts.’ She grinned up at him, waiting for him to say Marc had called him that as a joke. But he didn’t.

Instead he said, ‘I’ll have the funds in place by next week.’ He held his hand out. ‘All business deals need to be sealed with a handshake.’

As her hand was again enveloped in his, GeeGee said, ‘Thank you.’ And prayed he couldn’t feel her trembling.

CHAPTER FIVE

Rosie bought a box of candles and went across to the hotel with them to say a proper thank you to Seb.

She knocked tentatively on the side door, which was ajar. ‘Hi. Anyone here? May I come in?’

No answer, so Rosie pushed open the door and walked in. The empty kitchen was gleaming with stainless-steel equipment, copper pots by the dozen hung in rows and huge refrigerators lined one wall. Close up, the range Rosie had seen being delivered last week was even more beautiful. God, did she covet that stove.

The saloon-style service swing doors were just too high for her to see over so, clutching the box of candles, she pushed her way through into the dining room. ‘Anyone here?’

A smell of paint still hung in the air from its recent decoration, and tables and chairs were arranged haphazardly, but even so, the room still managed to give off an air of luxury. Helped by the ceiling frescoes and the gold leaf that was literally everywhere. Round one – decoration and ambience – definitely went to Seb, although the Café Fleur being on the beach had to be worth some Brownie points.

Rosie was still standing there trying to take in all the details to tell Tansy later when Seb appeared and caught her snooping.

‘Seen everything you want?’

‘Umm, yes, thanks. These are for you.’ Embarrassed, Rosie thrust the box of candles into Seb’s hands. ‘The door was open. I did try to find someone. I’d better go.’

Seb shrugged. ‘No worries. Have a coffee.’ He moved back towards the gleaming espresso machine in the kitchen.

‘Sugar? Milk?’

‘Neither, thanks.’ Rosie watched as Seb placed a plate of tiny, delicious-looking pastries alongside the coffees on a tray.

‘We’ll take this through to reception. The chairs are comfy out there. Follow me,’ he ordered. Rosie followed meekly, wondering how long before she could leave. On a scale of one to ten of embarrassment, being caught snooping was a definite ten.

The reception area was pristine and clearly ready for the grand reopening. The requisite glamorous receptionist was already behind the desk, working away industriously. She glanced up as they approached.

‘Meet Miranda, my PA,’ Seb said. ‘She’s getting Saturday’s opening bash organised. Remind me to give you your invite before you go.’

‘Sorry,’ Rosie said. ‘I’ve got reservations for Saturday evening.’

‘It’s from eight till late so come over when you finish,’ Seb said. ‘I’ll make sure there’s a bottle of champers left for you.’

He was clearly a guy who didn’t accept a no easily – a bit like Charlie in that respect. Rosie decided it would be churlish to argue so she just shrugged and muttered, ‘Okay – if I’m not too tired.’

Sitting there, eating his delicious pastries and drinking coffee that was way too strong for her taste if she were honest, she began to feel an obligation to be polite to Seb. She needed to stop feeling awkward at being caught snooping around the place and at least make an effort to socialise politely. The guy had rescued her, after all, arriving like some gallant knight with candles. He didn’t deserve her cold-shouldering him – even if he was an annoying mix of sexy charm and arrogance.

She took another pastry. They really were divine.

‘Is this your first stab at running a hotel? Or have you done this kind of thing before?’ Rosie asked.

‘It’s my first time. I’ve been in the restaurant business for years but I fancied the challenge of a place of my own. And what about you – fed up with the yachts, I gather?’

Rosie looked at him. How did he know that?

‘I love cooking and having my own beach restaurant has been my dream for years. Besides, I couldn’t live the nomad life for ever.’

‘Like the name Café Fleur, by the way,’ Seb said. ‘Good idea to change it – sends a message to the locals that this summer it’s not the place it was.’

‘What d’you mean?’

Seb shrugged. ‘The local gendarmes took exception last year to drugs being dealt on their patch.’

Rosie gazed at him appalled. ‘Drugs?’ No wonder there were all those locks on the door.

‘Don’t worry about it. The people involved are enjoying a holiday in Marseille courtesy of the Republic. The gendarmes will be keeping an eye on you.’

‘I hope you’re right.’

‘I’ll get your invitation for Saturday,’ Seb said before walking over to Miranda.

The embossed card he handed Rosie was impressive.

‘Thank you. Will your chef be here in time for Saturday?’

Seb nodded. ‘He’s here already. He made those pastries you evidently like,’ he said, glancing, amused, at the plate.

Rosie pushed the plate, with its single remaining patisserie, towards him. Moreish didn’t begin to describe how delicious she’d found them.

‘So is your chef somebody I’m likely to have heard of? My biggest fear is that you’ve managed to entice Jean-Christophe Novelli back to the land of his birth to work for you. If you have, I’ll just give up now. I mean, there’s competition and then there’s Jean-Christophe.’ Rosie laughed as she said it, but deep down she was serious – and worried about his answer.

Seb shook his head. ‘You can stop worrying. It’s not him. But do you seriously think your little beach restaurant is going to compete with this place and the chef’s reputation?’

‘My cooking is as good as any chef,’ Rosie said, standing up. He’d put her biggest fear into words and she didn’t really want to hear what else he had to say. ‘Thank you for the coffee and pastries. I’d better go now.’

‘Have you heard of The Recluse restaurant? Head chef Sebastian Groc. He earned two stars for that place within four years.’

‘The Recluse in Monaco?’

Charlie had taken her there last year as a birthday treat. It was certainly a special place and the food had been superb. These days, though, Rosie tried not to think about the evening they’d spent there and the way it had ended.

Seb nodded. ‘That’s the one.’

‘Hang on a minute – what’s your surname? You’re not Sebastian Groc, are you?’ Rosie’s voice trailed away as Seb nodded.

Oh, brilliant. Not just one but two bloody Michelin stars in his last restaurant. And now he was next door to her and the Café Fleur. So much for not worrying about the competition.

CHAPTER SIX

The bord de mer was busy with traffic despite the early hour as Rosie made her way to the local market for her fresh vegetables. She’d planned her plat du jour menus for the week and now she quickly picked up the potatoes, onions and fresh garlic that were basic to so many of her recipes.

She hesitated over bunches of new season asparagus. Her favourite – gently steamed and served with Hollandaise sauce. Expensive stuff to waste but she could always make soup, she decided, placing five bunches in the basket before moving on to the cheese counter.

Back at the café she switched on the espresso machine and opened the shutters. The beach was deserted. Things were quieter over at the hotel, too. No hordes of workmen rushing in and out. Just the occasional glimpse through a window of chambermaids moving from one room to another, preparing the newly decorated bedrooms for their first guests of the season.

Tansy, when she arrived, looked at the party invite Rosie had pinned to the noticeboard in the kitchen.

‘You going?’

Rosie shook her head. ‘Planning on being too tired.’

‘Might be fun?’

‘You can have the invite if you like.’

‘Any other Saturday night, I’d love it,’ Tansy said. ‘But Rob’s taking me clubbing when we finish here.’

The café phone rang and Tansy moved across to answer it.

‘Hi, Antoine. Table for two tomorrow? Fine. You’ll probably have the place to yourselves as it’s still quiet. See you at seven-thirty then.’

‘Who’s he bringing?’ Rosie mouthed at Tansy.

‘Antoine, who… sorry, he’s hung up,’ Tansy said, looking at Rosie apologetically.

‘It had better not be Charlie, that’s all,’ Rosie muttered, savaging the potato she was supposedly peeling.

As a busy morning turned into lunchtime, Rosie was pleased to serve half a dozen plates of daube provençale, her plat du jour, to a group of walkers on their way to the Cap d’Antibes.

Tansy left at three o’clock. ‘I’ll be back about six-thirty. Make sure you have a rest this afternoon. Go for a walk on the beach or something. We’re all organised for this evening.’

‘I want to check upstairs first. See if there is any way we can make use of the place,’ Rosie said. ‘See you later.’

Locking the door behind Tansy and turning the sign to Closed, Rosie turned the key in the door by the bar and began to climb the stairs. Steep and clad in threadbare carpet, they weren’t the easiest to negotiate and Rosie was glad when she reached the room.

It was larger than she remembered. There was even a walk-in shower in one corner. A halfway decent sofa bed covered in boxes was against one wall and there was a kettle on a wooden table. The whole set-up reminded Rosie of her very first bedsit at college.

The windows were curtainless and, through the back one, she looked directly into the conservatory sitting room of the hotel. Lloyd Loom chairs and matching small coffee tables were dotted around, palm trees in pots and Seb working on a laptop. Rosie stepped back out of view. The last thing she wanted was for Seb to look up and catch her watching him. He’d probably accuse her of spying on him after the way he’d caught her snooping around the hotel.

Rosie pulled at the lid of one of the boxes on the settee. Beautiful wine glasses. Mentally she made a note to remember them for special functions. The rest of the boxes, though, were filled with kitchen equipment well past its sell-by date. Rubbish really.

Back downstairs, Rosie locked up and set off for a walk along the beach. Strolling along inches from where the Mediterranean was gently lapping at the sand, enjoying the warmth of the sun, the temptation to paddle was strong. Her feet, though, were nice and snug in her trainers and she decided she wouldn’t torture them by placing them in water that was still certain to be on the cold side.

The gentle breeze that blew in her face was invigorating and by the time she returned to the Café Fleur the exercise had banished her tiredness from the busy morning.

A dog was lying under one of the terrace tables when she got back. ‘Hello. Where’s your owner?’ Soulful brown eyes that tore right into Rosie’s heart looked at her but the dog made no attempt to move.

‘You’re very thin,’ she said, gently stroking the dog’s head. She wasn’t wearing a collar, so no helpful name tag and address. ‘Stay there,’ and Rosie went into the kitchen to get some of the mince she had left over from the lasagne.

When she’d eaten and drunk, the dog managed a few wags of her tail before curling up under the table again and going to sleep.

Black and white, she reminded Rosie of the collie dogs her Aunty Elsie had kept on her Somerset farm. Whenever Rosie had visited with her parents there had always been at least two dogs bounding around for her to play with. And just once there had been a litter of puppies.

That litter of puppies had caused a family row Rosie had never forgotten when she’d begged to be allowed to take one home. Olivia, her mother, had said yes, but her father had said no, and however much Rosie had cried and begged, nothing would make him change his mind.

Rosie remembered shouting at him through a blur of tears. ‘I hate you. When I’m grown up I’m going to live in the country and have six dogs.’

Of course it had never happened – living in the country or the six dogs. Maybe the dog turning up unexpectedly was some sort of sign? Could she keep her?

Gently Rosie examined the dog’s ears. Every French dog was supposed to have a number tattooed in their ear. No tattoo. Which probably also meant no micro identification chip either. Rosie sighed. The lack of both would mean the paperwork would be immense and would probably mean the dog went straight to ‘death row’ at the local dog pound. No way could Rosie bear the thought of that.

There was only one thing for it. Tonight she’d take the dog home with her and, if nobody claimed her in the next few days, she’d keep her – and christen her Lucky. With the French being so laissez-faire about dogs in restaurants it was unlikely to be a problem.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘Why are you looking at houses, Mummy?’

Erica jumped. She’d left Cammie engrossed in her beach project at the kitchen table while she’d sneaked into the sitting room to look at some houses on the internet. No time to close the laptop now.

‘GeeGee was telling me about some of the lovely houses she gets to sell and I thought I’d take a look,’ Erica said evasively.

‘You’d have to be a princess to live in that one,’ Cammie said, pointing to the decorative turrets on the house Erica was looking at. ‘Like Rapunzel. Does GeeGee know a princess?’ she asked, her eyes opened wide in wonder as she looked at Erica.

Erica laughed. ‘I don’t think so but you never know.’ Would this be a good moment to talk about selling this house? She’d planned to introduce the subject casually one afternoon when they were walking back from school. Drop it into the conversation and wait for Cammie’s reaction. Now she felt unprepared and caught out.

‘If we didn’t live here, what kind of house would you like to live in?’ she said casually, thinking she might as well make the best of the opportunity and see how Cammie reacted.

‘One like Madeleine’s,’ Cammie said instantly. ‘With a big garden so I could have a dog.’

Erica pursed her lips and blew a soft whistle. Given that Madeleine’s parents lived in a belle époque villa in one of the most desirable areas of town, her daughter had good taste. And why the sudden desire for a dog?

‘A house like that would be too expensive for us but lots of villas have nice gardens – even swimming pools. How about…‘ She scrolled quickly through a couple of pages. ‘Something like this?’

Cammie shook her head. ‘It’s not very pretty.’

Erica clicked on another page and started to scroll through. Cammie stopped her when she reached a typical Provençal villa with a terracotta roof, olive-green shutters and a vibrant bougainvillea clambering over the walls.

‘That’s pretty.’

‘You like that one?’

Cammie nodded.

Reading the description and seeing the price Erica took a deep breath and said, ‘We could sell this house and buy that one. Would you like that?’

‘Could I have a dog if we lived there?’

‘Possibly,’ Erica said as her phone rang. Amelia, her mother-in-law, making her weekly ‘I’m not checking up on you. I’m just keeping you in the loop with family news from up here’ telephone call. This time it was a bit more. Amelia was planning a weekend visit next month.

‘That’s great,’ Erica said. ‘Already looking forward to it.’ She and Amelia had got on from the moment Pascal had introduced them. Both had been equally heartbroken when he died.

‘Is there any chance of you and Cammie coming up here for a visit before?’ Amelia said.

Erica sighed. Amelia asked the same question every time she phoned, and every time Erica shied away from telling her the truth. She couldn’t face it yet. The thought of being in Pascal’s family home without him made her want to cry.

She tried to soften her latest refusal. ‘I’m busy getting the shop ready for the summer at the moment.’

Amelia didn’t push her, saying simply, ‘I’ll see you both in a couple of weeks then. Take care.’

‘You, too. Give our love to everyone up there,’ Erica said, knowing she’d hurt Amelia with yet another refusal.

Slipping the phone into her pocket she turned back to Cammie. ‘So, shall we ask GeeGee if she can find us a new house?’

Cammie looked thoughtful before saying slowly, ‘Yes. But we will take Daddy’s things with us, won’t we?’

***

GeeGee poured herself a bowl of muesli, added a generous dollop of fromage frais, and mixed it all into a gluttonous mess before slicing the last five strawberries onto the top. A delicious supper. It would fill her up and she’d have a glass of rosé later.

Bowl in hand she opened the studio’s French doors and stepped out onto the minuscule balcony. So tiny one wrought-iron chair almost filled it, leaving no room for a table, but it was a good place to sit and relax at the end of the day.

A small ginger and white kitten was curled up on the chair. ‘Hello, Trouble,’ GeeGee said. ‘You here again? Your real home next door too noisy with all those children around?’

The kitten simply stretched its legs before curling up in a ball again, closing its eyes and ignoring her. GeeGee didn’t have the heart to disturb it so stayed standing to eat her supper.

There was a tantalising glimpse of the sea through the trees and shrubs that covered the acre of grounds that surrounded the villa. Grounds that she had no access to; grounds she was never invited to walk around. But nobody could stop her enjoying the smell of the night-scented jasmine that mingled with the lavender drifting on the air up towards her and she sniffed appreciatively.

Erica was always telling her there were nicer studios out there – with nicer landlords, too – but this location was perfect, giving her the solitude she’d craved when Jay had left. The fact that none of the wealthy neighbours were interested in making her acquaintance was an added bonus. Something that would have infuriated Jay. He did like to mix with what he called ‘the right set’.

Since Jay had gone and she’d moved here, coming home, closing the door and losing herself in her own space had been wonderful. Nobody to hear her crying.

Last year, when he’d upped and left with practically no warning, she’d been devastated. Her home and boyfriend both gone in a single stroke. There was no way she could afford to stay in their apartment.

In those first dark, lonely weeks she’d read and reread his infrequent emails, looking for any sign that he was missing her. That he’d made a mistake leaving. That he was coming back. Mostly, though, he said he had to find himself.

Gradually, as his emails became full of news about people she didn’t know, and waxed lyrical about both his work and social life in London, GeeGee started to skim-read and then stopped automatically replying to them. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him to stop writing to her; she just hoped her silence would give him the message.

Over the past couple of months the emails had been more subdued. Almost as though he was tiring of his new life. Which, knowing Jay’s low boredom threshold, wouldn’t surprise GeeGee at all.

Today’s email had been shorter than usual. Maybe he’d noticed she wasn’t replying to every one he sent. There was no point. He wasn’t coming back. The relationship was clearly over – time to move on. It wasn’t as if Jay had been the love of her life. Working together, they’d simply drifted into a relationship.

Absently GeeGee spooned the last of the muesli mixture into her mouth. She was on her own now. A state of affairs she was beginning to enjoy, even feel happy about. Time to begin making plans for herself.

Tomorrow there would be some money in the bank when the sale of a small villa in Cannes La Bocca completed and her commission was paid. Mentally she ticked off the bills waiting to be paid: a month’s rent on the studio; a quarter’s desk rent to Hugo; a month’s car lease payment – plus petrol in the tank.

She’d need to do a supermarket shop, too, see if the English hairdresser’s in Antibes could fit her in… stop! It wasn’t that much commission. Anything else she wanted, needed, would have to wait for the next commission payday which, fingers crossed, was due in about a fortnight if the notaire was on the ball. And then Dan’s purchase of apartment 4c would be the next in about six weeks.

Ah, Dan. He was so… so nice. An over worked word but one that described him perfectly. She’d seen him briefly when he’d come into the office to sign the first of the official papers and she’d been struck by his old-fashioned manners and courtesy. Before leaving the office he’d thanked her profusely for her help and asked if he could buy her a coffee.

Smiling, she’d agreed and had been reaching for her tote when his mobile had rung.

‘GeeGee, I’m sorry, I’m wanted back onboard. We’ll have to do coffee another time. Completion day maybe?’ And he was gone. Now things were in the hands of the notaire there would be no need for him to contact her again; the notaire would answer all his questions.

Music and sounds of laughter from the grand villa on the corner of the road drifted on the air. The new owners had moved in then. Russian, Hugo had said when he’d gleefully told her he’d made the sale. A sale he’d virtually snatched from under her nose and for which she had yet to forgive him. The commission on that property alone would have set her up for the summer.

The buzz of the bell made her jump. Nobody ever visited her here, not even Erica.

‘Evening, babe,’ sleazy Stan, her landlord, said as she opened the door. ‘Beginning to think I’d have to use my master key.’

‘I hope that’s a joke,’ GeeGee said.

‘You’ll never know will you, doll?’

GeeGee gritted her teeth. No way was she going to let him rile her tonight. ‘You bought my new lease for me to sign?’

‘Nope. There isn’t one. Don’t know why you thought there would be. Studio’s a winter let only. Always has been. You’ve had an extra month as it is.’

Dumbly GeeGee stared at him. She’d gone through that lease several times. It had been a standard six-month renewable tenancy agreement. Nowhere had it said anything about it being a winter let.

She’d wanted a year’s lease but Stan had said take it or leave it. Desperate at the time, she’d signed. She’d been stupid enough to believe that renewing every six months would be automatic. Should have realised what the scum-bag was up to.

‘But you have to give me a new lease.’

Stan shook his head. ‘No, I don’t. I’ve got holidaymakers coming in here soon. You can come back in October if you want but I want you out of here by the end of next week. And make sure you take that cat with you.’

GeeGee didn’t have the energy to say the cat wasn’t hers. What the hell was she supposed to do now? Finding another place needed money for a deposit, rent in advance, etc. Money she didn’t have.

CHAPTER EIGHT

In the lull between closing the restaurant after lunch and reopening for dinner, Rosie sat at one of the tables with her laptop, planning to try and catch up with some of the restaurant paperwork – being French, it was breeding at an alarming rate. Lucky lay across her feet sleeping. Nobody had come looking for the dog and she’d shown no inclination to wander off. Stretching her hand down to fondle her ears, Rosie whispered, ‘I guess it’s you and me from now on.’

Rosie smiled to herself as she heard the Café Fleur advertisement play on Riviera Radio. Fingers crossed it was worth it and would bring more people down to the beach. She must try to remember to ask people where they’d heard about the Café Fleur when they booked. See if the ad was worth the money.

At six o’clock Rosie left Tansy preparing a tomato and mozzarella salad and went through to the restaurant to make sure everything was in order ‘front of house’ for the evening. She enjoyed this side of things – meeting and greeting her customers. After years of working in a galley hidden from view onboard the yachts, it was a welcome change.

Antoine’s table for two had been joined by another three bookings. She and Tansy would manage just fine – they were used to cooking and serving dinner for up to sixteen guests on A Sure Thing. They’d even cope if there were some unexpected customers off the beach. Though how she’d cope if Charlie came with Antoine she refused to even contemplate.

As she lit some table candles, Rosie glanced out through the windows. Shame it was still too cold to eat out on the terrace in the evenings. She was looking forward to the long summer evenings when the place would be full of people enjoying her food. Maybe next year she’d be able to invest in some of those outdoor gas heaters.

Rosie glanced at her watch. Antoine was late. Charlie’s fault? He was a terrible time-keeper. When Antoine did finally arrive, accompanied by a fellow yacht skipper, Rosie felt the tension leaving her body and succumbed happily to a bearlike hug. No Charlie to spoil the evening.

By the time Antoine had been out to the kitchen to see Tansy and decided they all needed glasses of champagne, the guests for the other tables had arrived. For the next hour or two things were busy and Rosie had very little chance to talk to Antoine.

As she handed him his favourite dessert, he said, ‘James not working tonight?’

‘I can’t afford him every day. Wish I could,’ Rosie said. ‘I meant to thank you, too, for sending him my way.’

Antoine shook his head. ‘Not me.’

‘But James told me what you said about me.’

‘He asked my opinion, that’s all.’ Antoine looked at his dacquoise. ‘I wish you’d tell our new chef how to make this. Her dessert dishes aren’t a patch on yours. How am I going to survive next week’s trip to Sardinia without a decent dessert?’

‘You’re off to Sardinia?’ Rosie asked, delighted to know Charlie wouldn’t be around for a few weeks. No chance of him popping uninvited into the Café Fleur.

‘William wants Charlie to spend a couple of days over there with him. He reckons there’s a good business opportunity over there.’ Antoine glanced at Rosie. ‘Talking of Charlie – he sends his love.’

‘Does he?’ Rosie said. ‘That’s nice.’ A sudden thought struck her. ‘He knows about this place? That you’re here tonight? Oh, Antoine, you promised.’

Antoine held his hands up in defence. ‘I didn’t tell him. But hell, Rosie, out of season it’s like a village down here. Everyone knows what everyone else is up to. And you’ve advertised on the radio. You can’t seriously have expected him not to put two and two together.’

Rosie sighed. ‘I suppose not. At least he’ll be out of the way for a few weeks in Sardinia.’

***

Busy serving customers out on the terrace Friday lunchtime, Rosie smiled in welcome as Erica and Cammie arrived. She’d liked Erica the moment GeeGee had introduced them, sensing a kindred spirit behind Erica’s quiet demeanour. Erica had been back to the beach several times since then, both with and without Cammie, and was turning into a real friend rather than just a customer.

‘Hello, you two,’ Rosie said. ‘You’re just in time for the last table. Not sure why we’re quite so busy today. I think people must have the weekend feeling early.’ She quickly wrote down their lunch order and returned to the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, taking Erica and Cammie’s croque monsieurs out to them, Rosie smiled. Cammie was playing with Lucky and squealing with delight.

‘I’ll be pestered even more now to get a dog,’ Erica said. ‘Still it’s good to see Cammie laughing.’

‘I haven’t seen GeeGee for a few days,’ Rosie said, stopping briefly to chat. ‘Do you know if she’s all right?’

‘I expect she’s busy with clients,’ Erica said. ‘The property market usually picks up as the summer gets underway.’

‘There’s definitely more people around this week,’ Rosie said. ‘Enjoy your lunch.’ And she made her way back to the kitchen.

When James stopped by for a coffee, Rosie asked him to stay and work for a couple of hours and also to work at the weekend. ‘I’ll even pay you this time,’ she promised.

Later that day, an exhausted Rosie thoughtfully stroked Lucky. Would she make a guard dog? There had been a couple of dodgy-looking young men buying stuff from the takeaway this morning – portion of chips each, then ten minutes later one would come for a drink, followed in five minutes by the second one. When they returned for a third time for one flapjack, Rosie, remembering Seb’s mention of last season’s drug bust, began to seriously wonder if they were casing the place. Having a dog around might be a good idea.

Lucky had been no trouble during the day; in fact she’d shown every sign of settling in, wagging her tail as she greeted customers on the terrace, as well as playing happily with Cammie and any other child who happened to be around.

Saturday evening there were several reservations and even some casual passing-by trade. When the last couple walked in at half past nine, Rosie knew it was going to be a late night. It was James who stayed to help Rosie clear up when Tansy left to go clubbing with Rob at nearly midnight.

‘Are you ready to party next door, then?’ James said.

Rosie shook her head. ‘I’m way too tired. If you want the invite, you take it.’

‘I’ve got one of my own, thanks,’James said. ‘My new stepbrother is a friend of Seb and wangled me one.’ He shrugged his shoulders into his denim jacket. ‘D’you want me to stay while you lock up?’

‘No, you get off. And thanks for your help. See you in the morning,’ Rosie said.

As James left, a blast of music drifted over in the air from the hotel. The party was clearly going strong. Lucky was curled up outside on the terrace and thumped her tail as she saw Rosie before getting up and wandering over to her.

‘You ready for supper?’ she said, bending down to gently stroke the dog.

The dog lifted her head from the bowl of minced meat that Rosie had put down for her on the kitchen floor and growled as there was a knock on the door before Seb entered.

Tonight, dressed in smart black jeans and a crisp white shirt, a single woven leather bracelet on his right wrist, he was less of a drifter, more of a suave party animal. Even his hair had been subdued into behaving.

‘Nice dog. Is she yours?’

‘Yes. She turned up a couple of days ago and nobody seems to want her so I’m keeping her. I’ve always wanted a dog. I’ve called her Lucky,’ she said, glancing at Seb. ‘I’m hoping she’ll be my good luck mascot as well as a deterrent.’

Seb raised his eyebrows.

‘There were a couple of scruffy men – boys, really – hanging around earlier,’ Rosie said. ‘Probably perfectly innocent but…’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at your party?’

‘I’ve come to collect you. Your champagne awaits.’

‘Seb, I’m sorry but I’ve had a busy evening. I’m tired – besides I’m not dressed for a posh party.’ She glanced down at her smart, but plain, little black dress.

‘You look fine to me,’ Seb said. ‘Maybe comb your hair. Bit of lipstick. Come on, Rosie. Just the one glass. There are a few people over there who could be potential customers. Come and do a bit of networking.’

Rosie looked at him dubiously. ‘You keep telling me, we’re aiming for different parts of the market.’

‘They might want to slum it one evening,’ Seb said.

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?

CHAPTER NINE

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 behind her and Erica lost in her thoughts about the past and what the future would bring them. By the time they reached the vide grenier it was in full swing with people jostling around the hundred or so stalls.

‘Right, young lady, you know the drill. You stick close to me and no wandering off,’ Erica said. ‘But in case we do get separated, you don’t talk to strangers and you come and stand by the entrance here and wait. Understood?’ Erica looked at Cammie intently as she waited for her answer.

Cammie nodded. ‘I promise. I won’t wander.’

Erica took charge of the shopping trolley and together they began to explore the various rows with their laden tables. Buying bits and pieces here and there, Erica carefully placed their purchases in the bag before they stopped in front of a stall devoted to art nouveau collectibles.

So much stuff here that would be good in the shop, but Erica was drawn to a magnificent, stained, leaded-glass table lamp. Never mind about putting it in the shop, she’d love it for herself. Too big and precious to be put in the shopping bag, it was also too cumbersome for her to carry all the way home. She glanced at the woman behind the stall. ‘Any chance you could deliver this for me later today?’

The woman shook her head. ‘No can do, sorry. We’ve got a tight schedule today. We’ve got to get down to St Tropez for an evening sale when we leave here.’

Erica turned away and caught Cammie by the hand. ‘Fancy getting a taxi home later?’ She knew the answer before she asked the question really.

The quick withdrawal of her hand and the shuttered look that came down over Cammie’s face confirmed it.

‘Never mind,’ Erica said quickly. ‘It doesn’t matter. Come on, let’s explore the next row.’

To her relief, Cammie for once was easily distracted and was soon engrossed in looking at a table of children’s books and toys and surplus ornaments – including a foot-high pottery lighthouse the base of which was badly chipped. When Erica pointed this out, Cammie said, ‘It doesn’t matter because it’s not “treasure”. I just want it for my beach project.’

‘Wasting your pocket money again, Cammie?’ a voice behind them said, and Erica turned to see GeeGee standing there, a big grin on her face as she gave Erica a hug.

‘You’re thinner than ever,’ Erica said now as she returned the hug. Rosie mentioning she hadn’t seen GeeGee for a few days should have rung alarm bells in her mind. She knew GeeGee skipped meals when commissions dried up and money was tight.

‘How’s things?’

GeeGee shrugged. ‘Things are so-so.’

‘Want to come back with us for lunch?’ Erica said. ‘And before you say no, I could do with talking to you.’

‘Lunch would be great.’

‘Actually,’ Erica said as a sudden thought struck her. ‘There’s something else, too. Have you got your car here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Brilliant. Fancy an ice cream?’ And Erica led the way to the picnic area and the catering van. She handed the shopping basket over to GeeGee before giving her a ten-euro note. ‘You two have whatever you want and wait here. I’ll be back.’

Finding the stand with the tiffany lamp took Erica some time, and when she did finally find it she had to wait for the woman to finish serving an elderly man who wanted to discuss the provenance of a glass plate he was buying. Erica crossed her fingers while she waited, hoping he wouldn’t want the lamp as well. He didn’t. Fifteen minutes later, the lamp was wrapped in protective bubble wrap and Erica was making her way carefully back to Cammie and GeeGee.

‘You can take everything back to the house in your car while Cammie and I walk back, OK?’ she said. ‘I’ll pick up a roasted chicken in the market.’

‘Don’t forget the sautéed potatoes,’ GeeGee said, knowing Cammie loved them but Erica rarely bought them.

‘Here’s the house key. There’s a bottle of rosé in the fridge. Help yourself. I’ll see you in a bit.’

CHAPTER TEN

Sunday morning, when Tansy arrived for work, Rosie was tired and grumpy having tossed and turned more than she’d slept.

‘James not in yet?’ Tansy asked.

‘Not coming in.’

‘Why?’

‘I fired him. Those carrots need peeling,’ Rosie said, slamming the oven door closed on the rib of beef.

‘I’m not doing another thing until you tell me what’s happened.’

Rosie sighed. ‘I went to Seb’s party last night. Charlie was there.’

‘How is he?’ Tansy had a soft spot for Charlie and had never understood Rosie’s reluctance to get involved with him again.

‘Antoine forgot to tell us that Charlie’s dad, William, got married recently. It turns out that Charlie is James’s newly acquired stepbrother. He sent James to spy on me – so I fired him. End of.’

‘Oh. But James is so good. Just what we need.’

Rosie shrugged. ‘I can’t really afford him at the moment anyway. We’ll find someone else for later in the season. Now, can we please get on with preparing Sunday lunch?’

Tansy shrugged. ‘Okay.’

Rosie left her to it and went through to the restaurant to open up and set the tables ready for customers. Keeping busy kept Charlie out of her thoughts. She placed the reserved tags on the five tables already booked for a total of fifteen people. Not bad for a Sunday so early in the season. People were out and about on the beach, too, so hopefully there’d be some passing trade.

Three hours later, when a tired but happy Rosie was saying goodbye to the last of her lunchtime customers and about to close the door, Charlie walked in and sat at one of the window tables.

‘Hi again, Rosie.’

‘What d’you want?’

‘Sunday lunch, of course. And don’t say I’m too late.’ This as Rosie glanced at her watch. ‘I know last orders are at two and it’s only ten to.’ He picked up the menu.

‘I’ll have the asparagus soup followed by the beef. Oh, and tell Tansy the usual, easy on the veg but the more roasties the better.’

Wordlessly Rosie turned and marched away.

‘And open a bottle of decent red for me, would you, please?’ Charlie called out after her. ‘And bring a glass for yourself.’

‘One soup, one beef, heavy on the roasties, lose the veg,’ she said to Tansy through gritted teeth.

Tansy glanced up from the soup she was pouring into a fresh bowl ready for the fridge. ‘Charlie’s here?’

‘Yep. And he wants me to open a decent red for him,’ Rosie replied, standing in front of the wine rack. ‘He wants decent – I’ll give him decent.’ And she opened the most expensive Chateau Margaux currently on her wine list.

She ignored the request to take another glass for herself. No way was she going to have a drink with him. Carefully she poured a taster into his wine glass and waited for Charlie to take a sip.

‘Nice. Can I afford it?’

‘Sure you can.’

‘Where’s your glass?’

‘I don’t drink with the customers.’

‘I don’t see any customers,’ Charlie said, looking around the empty restaurant. ‘Only me, and I reckon I rate higher than a mere customer anyway.’

Tansy appeared with Charlie’s soup and a basket of bread rolls. ‘Hi, Charlie. Good to see you.’

Rosie glared at her.

‘Thanks for sending Jamie our way. Can you now please persuade Rosie to unsack him? I could do with some help around here and he was good,’ Tansy said, ignoring Rosie.

‘I’ll fire you, too, if you don’t stop interfering,’ Rosie threatened. ‘Kitchen?’

‘You can’t fire me – you need me too much. Okay, I’m going…’ And Tansy disappeared back into the kitchen.

‘I am not having one of your relatives spying on me in my own kitchen,’ Rosie said. ‘Talking of relatives – tell your dad congratulations from me. I hope he’s very happy.’ She liked William and was pleased he’d met someone new. She knew he’d been lonely since Charlie’s mum died a couple of years ago.

‘I’ll pass the message on. But he’ll be down soon and you can tell him yourself. He’s sure to drop in for lunch – if you’re still in business then.’ Charlie paused. ‘I didn’t send James purely to spy on you, He does genuinely need the experience and I thought you could do with someone keen to learn from you. He’s really upset you don’t want him any more.’

‘He should have told me the truth then… What d’you mean – if I’m still in business next month?’ Rosie demanded.

‘Charlie shrugged. ‘Oh, come on, Rosie. You know how prejudiced the French are about “les rosbifs” and their cooking skills. They’re not going to be rushing to support an English woman. I wish you’d talked to me before you took on this place. I could have saved you a lot of money.’

‘Well, I’ll just have to be the exception to that rule, won’t I?’ Rosie said. ‘My cooking will get them in. And if the French don’t come, the English will.’

‘The French don’t care who cooks their lunchtime frites for them, but at dinner they want the whole gourmet experience, which they believe only a Frenchman can give. Nobody English in their right mind opens a restaurant in France – not without employing a French chef, anyway.’

‘I’ll get the staff to call me Fleur and start speaking with a French accent then, shall I? You could be more supportive,’ she added quietly. ‘You know this is my dream. What I’ve been working towards all these years and the reason I stayed working on the boats for the last five years. Besides, I’m thirty-five this year, so if I don’t do it now…’ She shrugged.

‘Cooking on the yachts is a totally different ballgame, Rosie. Sorry, but I just don’t see this place working. I know you’re a good cook but…’ Charlie said. ‘But with Seb Groc right next door.’ He shook his head.

‘Different markets,’ Rosie said. ‘Seb and I have already discussed it. Finished your soup? I’ll get your main course.’ And she snatched the bowl away the instant Charlie replaced his spoon in the empty dish.

‘Main course ready? Good. You take it out,’ she told Tansy. ‘Make sure he’s got everything he needs – and don’t talk about me. I’ll start the clearing up in here.’

Rosie pulled the lever that sent the large, old-fashioned dishwashing machine whirling into action down with a bang.

‘Temper. Temper. It won’t last the season treated like that,’ Tansy said, picking up the roasties and the veg in the serving dishes to accompany Charlie’s beef.

‘Here, you’ve forgotten his favourite horseradish sauce,’ Rosie said, thrusting the pot towards Tansy.

Surreptitiously, she watched the pair of them through the small hatchway between the kitchen and the bar area, envying the way they could still laugh and joke together like she had in another life – before everything had changed between her and Charlie.

Rosie turned away and vigorously set to cleaning the roasting tin until it was pristine and the ends of her fingers could take no more from the sharp shrouds of the shredded-steel wool. Tansy came back as she rinsed the tin and left it to dry on the draining board.

‘No prizes for guessing what Charlie wants for dessert,’ Tansy said. ‘And please, will you join him for coffee?’

Silently Rosie opened the fridge and took out a tiramisu – Charlie’s absolute favourite dessert.

‘I let Lucky in, by the way. Like a true female she made a beeline for Charlie and is now worshipping at his feet,’ Tansy said. ‘You going to take this out to him?’

Rosie nodded. ‘Okay.’ She couldn’t hide in the kitchen for ever, and now Charlie had had his say about the Café Fleur, maybe they could at least be civil to each other.

Have I ever told you, you make the best tiramisu?’ Charlie said.

‘Once or twice,’ Rosie said, determined to keep the conversation on an even keel.

‘I think I might have overreacted last night,’ she said, bending down to stroke Lucky. ‘Tell James if he wants to come back – ten o’clock Tuesday morning.’

‘Will do,’ Charlie said as he spooned the last vestiges of cream from the bowl. ‘Have you still got that beaten-up mini you call a car?’

Surprised by the question, Rosie shook her head. ‘No.’ The car had gone for a few hundred euros to add to her pot of money for the Café Fleur.

‘I figured I could live without one for a while. Working here seven days a week in summer, I’m not going to be going anywhere.’ She was blowed if she was going to tell Charlie the truth – that she couldn’t afford a car until the restaurant was a success.

His eyes narrowed. ‘How about getting home at night?’

‘I walk.’

‘I don’t like the thought of that.’

‘I’ve got Lucky now,’ Rosie said. ‘And it’s not far.’

‘Well, that’s something, I suppose, but it’s a bloody good fifteen-minute walk,’ Charlie said. ‘I’d prefer it if you took a taxi.’

‘And I’d prefer it if you minded your own business. How I get home is nothing to do with you – besides, it’s not fifteen minutes away. It’s five. I’ll get your bill,’ Rosie said forgetting that Charlie was unaware of the fact that she’d moved. Another economic necessity. The rent for the apartment in one of the new gated blocks overlooking the sea had been an expensive luxury even when she was working on A Sure Thing.

To Rosie’s relief, Charlie paid his bill, included a generous tip, and kissed Tansy goodbye. ‘Any time you want a job, you know what to do,’ he told her. ‘Ciao. I’ll be seeing you both.’

Rosie, safe behind the bar and out of Charlie’s kissing reach, muttered ‘Ciao’ and held her breath until the door closed behind him.

‘Thank God he’s going to Sardinia tomorrow out of the way,’ she said. ‘Right. That’s the door locked. I’ve had enough for today.’

She glanced at Tansy. ‘I did ask him to tell James he could come back if he wants to. I can’t believe he said that to you about wanting a job. Cheek. He seems to think this place is doomed because I’m English.’

‘He’s worried about you losing all your money, that’s all,’ Tansy said.

‘So am I – that’s why I intend to work flat out to make sure this place is a success,’ Rosie said. ‘Here’s the tip he left for you.’

‘Half each?’ Tansy said.

Rosie shook her head. ‘No, you take it. I’m sure Charlie meant it for you, anyway.’

‘Thanks – generous as ever,’ Tansy said, taking the euros. ‘Right, I’ll see you on Tuesday morning, bright and early. Don’t work too hard tomorrow. Remember it’s supposed to be your day off as well. If nothing else, take Lucky-dog for a walk.’

***

Rosie pottered around after Tansy left, tidying up and putting some leftover food in her basket to take home. The bottle of wine she’d opened for Charlie was still half full so she stuck the cork back in and put that in her basket, too. She’d enjoy a glass tonight while she did the week’s accounts and worked on her laptop.

‘Right, Lucky, time to go home,’ she said, looping a piece of thin rope around the dog’s neck. ‘Tomorrow we’ll buy you a collar and a proper lead but this will have to do again for now.’

Satisfied the door was securely locked and the security grill down, Rosie turned to walk through the car park and out onto the main road, where she came face to face with Charlie.

As the basket was taken out of her hand and he fell into step alongside her Rosie said, ‘What d’you think you’re doing?’

‘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.

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