Chapter 3
Sandy Thoreau gave the ‘South of France Villas for Rent’ page open on her computer screen one last despondent look.
There was nothing available within even a fifty-kilometre range on the dates she needed.
She moved her cursor and closed the page in despair.
She’d spent almost the whole day desperately ringing around in a last-ditch attempt to find a replacement villa for the retreat.
Tomorrow, she would have to start the business of sending out cancellation letters and refunding monies.
It was a huge loss to incur, not to mention the worry of finding somewhere suitable for the following retreats that were planned and already had tentative enquiries.
Going to see Guy yesterday had been a real act of desperation.
Romain had told her she was wasting her time, but she hadn’t wanted to believe that Guy would refuse to come to their rescue.
But then she hadn’t seen the Guy they both knew and loved.
The Guy who’d turned her away was a shadow of his former self, unshaven and unhelpful.
Sandy knew that had Jacqueline still been alive the two of them would have said yes instantly.
Would have found a way of working around any reservations they had for the restaurant and cancelling room bookings.
She and Jacqueline had been best friends since they’d met at college in Nice.
Even when Jacqueline had left to study interior design in New York and later got a prestigious job and stayed there for several years and Sandy herself had gone to London for a job in publishing, they’d stayed in touch, meeting whenever they could and always coming home to Antibes for Christmas.
Later, when Sandy married Romain and Jacqueline met Guy, the two men had formed a firm friendship as well, although the three of them teased Guy mercilessly in the beginning about his English accent whilst he was still struggling to learn French.
Sandy sighed. Renting Villa Celestia from Guy she was sure would have been a way of helping him come to terms with the loss of Jacqueline.
Personal experience had taught her that being busy was better than wallowing.
Sandy knew that he was still grieving over the loss of Jacqueline and she did understand that it was going to take time, but nothing was going to bring her back.
Besides, even if she hadn’t been in that airport taxi going who knew where, when it crashed, Sandy had guessed from the little Jacqueline had let slip in the weeks before she died that she would have been unlikely to still be living in Antibes.
Sandy gave a frustrated groan. It would be beyond cruel to voice that opinion to Guy when he was still processing his grief for Jacqueline. No. She had to let Guy be for now, which meant facing up to cancelling the writers’ retreat.
She made her way down to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine before starting to prepare supper.
Romain had gone out after a day spent on his own computer to stretch his legs with a walk around the harbour and an aperitif in one of the bars that he liked to frequent.
As Sandy sliced tomatoes for a mozzarella salad to accompany the plate of charcuterie and garlic bread, the thought crossed her mind, not for the first time, that maybe the time had come for them to buy their own villa.
Their original idea when they’d started the retreats, had been to run the business for five years, squirrelling away as much money as they could for a deposit and then get the bank to give them a mortgage based on their business figures to buy a permanent base of their own.
They’d agreed they’d run the retreats business together but that Romain would keep his own online advertising business going as well to keep a cash flow coming.
This was the fourth year that they’d organised retreats using a couple of different villas.
They alternated between writers’ and artists’ retreats, with Sandy in charge of the writers, whilst Romain, a keen amateur painter, organised the artists.
The reputation of the retreats had grown by word of mouth, with clients returning time and time again and encouraging their friends to book places, and money had indeed been squirrelled away.
They held ten fortnightly retreats a year now and had planned to increase that number to twelve and to offer several weekend retreats in addition this year.
A plan that was unlikely to come to fruition now.
The loss of the use of the flood-damaged villa for the upcoming retreat – and possibly a second one – might be the only major hiccup in the last four years, but it was a pretty disastrous one right at the beginning of the summer season.
Having their own place would be financially hard, but if they waited too long, they could find themselves priced out of the market.
Villas down here had never been that affordable, but these days they were getting seriously expensive.
Buying somewhere now would definitely be better than buying in another one or even two years when the prices would have increased again.
And given their current predicament with the flooded villa, it was more important than ever that they had their own place.
She and Romain would have to have a serious conversation sooner rather than later.
Sandy sliced the baguette and spread it with the garlic butter before placing it in the oven to heat.
Setting the timer to remind her, she began to take cutlery, plates and wine glasses out to the table on their balcony that overlooked the nearby park.
Twiggy yapped and rushed towards the front door.
The front door closed as Romain called out, ‘I’ve brought a friend back for supper. ’
Her heart sank. It wasn’t unusual for Romain to do this, but tonight she’d been hoping to have a serious discussion with him about the future, which would be impossible with one of his friends sitting at the table.
Turning to say hello, her smile faltered and she caught her breath as she realised who the unexpected visitor was. Guy Lyon.