Chapter 9
Out on the terrace as everyone sipped champagne and ate the delicious cakes, Sandy introduced herself.
‘I’m sure you’ve all read my bio in the retreat brochure, so you will know my background is in publishing in both the UK and here in France, where I still have lots of contacts.
I belong to various organisations within the industry and still do the occasional editing job when asked for several publishers.
Now it’s time for you to introduce yourselves. Isobel, would you like to start.’
‘I’m Isobel Peters and I write crime. This is my third AntibesRetreats and you will be amazed at how much you will enjoy the next fortnight – and the amount you will learn about the publishing industry from Sandy.
I will be editing my next book whilst I’m here and hoping inspiration for the next one will strike. ’
Helena went next. ‘I’m Helena Mitchell, I recently sold my second short story to a women’s magazine and I’m trying to write my first women’s contemporary novel. I’m hoping for lots of inspiration.’
Liz smiled at her. ‘That’s my genre – women’s fiction. I’m Elisabeth James, but everyone calls me Liz, and I’m hoping to—’
‘Really? You’re one of my favourite authors,’ Helena interrupted.
‘I’ve read all your books. I wanted to come to the book signing you did in Bath Waterstones, where I work, for your last book, but I couldn’t make it at the last minute.
I did manage to buy a signed copy, though.
I can’t believe I’m now on a writing retreat with you. ’
‘Thank you,’ Liz said smiling at Helena.
‘I’m another one hoping to be inspired this week as the deadline for my next book is only a couple of months away and, well…
’ she shrugged. ‘I’m newly divorced after a difficult year or two and looking forward to the future, but the words aren’t flowing as they usually do.
’ Liz picked up her glass and took a sip.
‘I’m Lorraine Barker and I’m a self-published author of several romantasy books,’ Lorraine said. ‘I’m hoping to finish my next book here and find lots of inspiration for my next one.’ She looked at Mandy with a smile. ‘Your turn.’
‘I’m Mandy Burnett and like Helena I’ve had a couple of short stories accepted. At the moment I’m writing a romcom set in a season of tennis Grand Slams or maybe just the French Open or Wimbledon. I haven’t quite decided yet.’
‘Pity you’ve missed it for this year, but I could have got you tickets for the Monte-Carlo Masters last month,’ Becky said.
‘I went for two days and it was great. Let me know if you want to go next year and I’ll organise a couple of freebies for you.
Oh, my introduction – I’m Becky Taylor, you may have heard of me, I have a large Instagram and TikTok following.
I’ve written a non-fiction book How to live in a Tax-Free Haven, so I reckon writing a novel is the next logical step.
Finding Love in a Tax-Free Haven could be a good title, don’t you think?
Could almost be autobiographical.’ Becky picked up her glass of champagne as she looked around at them, a bright, happy smile on her face.
As Becky introduced herself, Sandy shook a cross thought from her mind.
She had never met Becky before but, of course, knew of her, knew her reputation as a young lifestyle influencer, gossip and creative non-fiction writer.
Living down here, how could she not know of her?
The book she’d mentioned had been a bestseller all along the Riviera last year and the news that she planned to write a novel was not a complete surprise.
But if she’d realised ‘Rebecca Taylor’ on the booking form was in fact Becky Taylor, she would maybe have thought twice about accepting her booking or simply told her the retreat was full.
She could only put it down to the fact that she was in such a state of limbo because of the flooded villa that she didn’t do her usual due diligence, checking out the last booking.
Sandy mentally crossed her fingers and prayed that Becky wouldn’t be as disruptive as her reputation sometimes made her appear.
When Becky stopped speaking, Sandy pulled herself back into the present moment and began to explain how she expected the retreat to work.
‘Basically, you are all free to spend the time as you want: write all day if you want to, go out and explore Antibes or further afield for inspiration, get to know one another, even treat it as a holiday if you want to. I’m sure we’ll talk books over meals and we will discuss different aspects of being a published writer.
I’m available for one-to-ones as well as group discussions.
I know those of you who are unpublished at the moment will be keen to learn about the publishing industry so we can talk about that and what you might expect when you get a publishing deal or go the self-publishing route, which a lot of previously traditionally published authors are choosing these days.
They like the freedom it gives them, but it does come with a lot of work.
I’m sure Liz, Isobel and Lorraine will have lots of helpful information to share with everyone.
And, of course, I’m here to pass on anything I can from my days as an editor.
I generally hold an informal session here on the terrace at nine o’clock every morning for anyone who wants to talk writing and maybe set goals for the day.
It’s up to you how much you participate. ’
Sandy paused and took a sip of her champagne before continuing.
‘Breakfast and lunchtimes are flexible between seven and nine o’clock for a continental breakfast and twelve thirty until two o’clock for lunch.
Everything will be in the dining room for you to help yourselves for both meals.
There will also be coffee, biscuits and other snacks available in there all the time.
Dinner is served at eight o’clock every night.
If you’re going out for the evening, please tell me so I can pass the numbers onto the chef.
’ She glanced down at her notes, making sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.
‘Tomorrow we’ll have our first informal session together to talk writing.
Nine o’clock here on the terrace.’ Sandy looked around at everyone. ‘Any questions?’
‘I was hoping Guy Lyon was going to be around?’ Becky said. ‘I wanted to pass on my condolences.’
Sandy swallowed a sigh. Was Guy part of the reason that Becky had secretly signed up for the retreat?
‘I’m sure he’ll be around, but he does guard his privacy these days.’ She looked around at the others. ‘Anyone else have a question?’
When everyone shook their heads and muttered, ‘No,’ Sandy pushed her chair back and stood up.
‘I’ll leave you to finish up the cakes and champagne and get to know each other a little more. See you all at dinner tonight,’ and she turned to leave.
‘Nearly forgot, I’m having dinner with my boyfriend tonight,’ Becky called out. ‘Probably be late back – do I get a key or a passcode? I wouldn’t want to disturb anyone.’ The half-smile she gave Sandy didn’t cover the challenging look in her eyes.
Sandy took a deep breath. She sensed that the question was a loaded one and one she had to answer carefully.
Becky with her thousands of social media followers could easily put a toxic comment on Instagram or another social media site about both the retreat and Villa Celestia.
She couldn’t take the risk of that happening.
Neither could she ask Guy to play night-time concierge.
‘You won’t be joining us for the first evening? That’s a shame. Okay. I don’t think Guy likes to give out keys, so I will personally lock the door at midnight – is that late enough for you?’
Becky hesitated before shrugging. ‘It will have to be. If I can’t get back by then, I’ll just stay with Xavier. He has a boat moored in the marina.’
Which, Sandy realised, would mean her staying up not knowing whether Becky was indeed coming back that night or not.
Did Becky expect her to dispute that arrangement?
Or ask her to send a text to confirm she wouldn’t be back?
Well, she wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction.
Normally in bed by about ten thirty, tonight she would sit out on the terrace and read until midnight. Thankfully she had her Kindle with her.
Leaving the others out on the terrace, Sandy made her way thoughtfully indoors.
As the youngest of the women here, was Becky Taylor going to be a problem for the next fortnight?
Was she simply a selfish young woman wanting everything to suit her?
Was she here in Villa Celestia for something other than a simple writing retreat?
Sandy took a deep breath and tried to hush her thoughts. She needed to believe that Becky was genuinely here to do some writing and network with authors. If she was here for some other reason, Sandy, for the life of her, couldn’t work out what it could possibly be.
She stopped at the kitchen, where Zoe was prepping vegetables for dinner, hoping to see Guy.
Zoe shook her head and pointed to the closed door of the cubbyhole when she asked if he was around. ‘I thought he was going to work in there, but he’s disappeared.’
‘I’ll catch him later. Could you tell him please that there will be six, not seven, for dinner this evening. Thanks,’ and Sandy left Zoe to it.