Chapter 17
After the next morning’s informal session with Sandy, Liz decided to walk into Antibes for a wander around the shops and to buy a swimming costume.
She briefly thought about asking Isobel if she would like to accompany her but decided some time alone would be good.
The story in her head was starting to come together and she’d made copious notes, but did she have enough to begin writing?
There was a gentle on-shore breeze as Liz walked along the coast road, but the sun was already high in the sky and she was glad of both her sunglasses and her hat.
As she strolled along, she thought about her story and the various directions it could possibly go in.
She’d written brief backstories for the two main characters and she knew a couple of the scenes that were going to propel the action forward.
After lunch today she decided she would write the opening scene.
Leaving the ramparts, Liz soon found herself at the bustling Marché Provencal and stood for a moment to take in the atmosphere.
It was everything she’d ever thought a Provencal market would be.
Vegetables piled high on tables, a rainbow of brightly coloured tomatoes, aubergines, peppers, lettuces, artichokes, mushrooms, carrots, all nestling together.
Cheeses filled the air with their pungent aroma as the lid was lifted on the cool storage unit.
Olives, tapenade, oil were on another stall.
Liz quickly took a few photographs, hoping she could capture the atmosphere of the place to remind her of the different smells when she was back home.
After leaving the market, Liz walked down one of the main streets and found herself on the edge of Place Nationale.
Wandering past the bandstand, she made a mental note of a poster announcing a concert of some description for that evening.
She was beginning to despair of finding what she was looking for, when she was drawn down a narrow lane to a small boutique with a rail standing on the pavement outside the shop, full of floaty summer dresses and kaftans and to her delight several swimming costumes.
Half an hour later, she left the boutique clutching three carrier bags, having not only bought a swimming costume but also a kaftan and two pretty sundresses.
Strolling through Place des Martyrs de la Résistance, Liz wondered about stopping for a coffee, but all the pavement cafe tables were busy with couples and families.
She decided instead to make her way in what she hoped was the direction of the sea and find a road that would take her down to the bord de mer and back to the villa.
‘Liz?’ a man’s voice called. Liz hesitated, there was a vague familiar lilt to the voice but she didn’t know anyone here in Antibes, so it must be another Liz.
But the call came again. Stronger this time.
‘Liz.’ This time she did stop, turning to see who was calling.
Her face broke into a smile when she saw Guy a few yards behind her.
‘Hi. Fancy seeing you here.’
‘I recognised your hat and I was wondering whether I could buy you a coffee,’ Guy said. ‘If you’re not in a rush to get back to the villa and write?’
‘That would be lovely, but the cafes are busy, I’m not sure there are any seats anywhere.’
‘I know a place not five minutes away where there are always seats,’ Guy said. ‘It’s this way,’ and he pointed towards one of the narrow streets. ‘Can I take your bags for you?’
‘Thank you,’ Liz said, handing them over. ‘I only came out to buy a swimming costume and couldn’t resist buying a couple of dresses as well.’
‘You’re joining the early-morning swimmers?’
Liz nodded. ‘I haven’t been swimming for years, but I can’t resist a swim in the Mediterranean. Anyway, what are you doing in town? I thought you spent the mornings slaving away in the kitchen.’
‘I had to bring some paperwork into my accountant. Zoe is in charge of lunch today. Rest assured, I shall be slaving away this afternoon for your dinner this evening.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ Liz laughed.
Thirty metres along the street, Guy guided her through the open doorway of a tall narrow building and Liz found herself in a secret garden.
People were sitting at tables and chairs scattered around the cobblestone courtyard with its tubs of blue plumbago, flowering lemon trees, red oleander bushes and tall agapanthus about to burst into flower.
‘What a delightful, unexpected place,’ Liz said, looking around as they settled themselves at a vacant table for two set back under the shade of a linden tree. ‘I’m guessing locals use it more than visitors.’
‘Yes, so no telling anyone – it’s our secret, okay?’ Guy smiled at her. ‘Now, I know I offered you coffee but they also serve wine – would you like a glass of rosé? An aperitif for lunch.’
‘Why not, that would be lovely. Thank you.’
Liz was surprised when Guy stood up as a woman came over to take their order. The woman gave a start of surprise as she saw who it was.
‘Guy. How lovely to see you. It’s been a long time since you’ve been here.’ And she leant in, kissed him on the cheek and hugged him before turning to look at Liz. ‘I don’t know who you are, but well done on getting this man socialising again.’
‘Thank you, Marie,’ Guy said. ‘Can we have a demi-carafe of rosé please.’
As Marie left, Guy sank back down onto his chair.
‘She was a good friend of my wife,’ he said by way of explanation, before falling silent.
‘You’ve shut yourself away since your wife died?’ Liz asked quietly, breaking the silence.
Guy nodded. ‘I closed the villa down the day Jacqueline died. The retreat is there as a favour to help out Sandy and once you all leave, I shall shut it down again.’
A waiter arrived with their wine and a plate of cantucci almond biscuits at that moment and placed them on the table.
‘Oh, my favourite biscuits to have with wine,’ Liz said, smiling.
Guy thanked the waiter before pouring them both a glass. ‘Santé.’
‘Santé,’ Liz echoed as they clinked glasses.
She didn’t want to offer useless platitudes, but she did want Guy to know she could sympathise with his need to shut himself away.
She looked at him and chose her words carefully.
‘Sometimes the thought of socialising is pure anathema. As the saying goes, one would rather stick pins in one’s eyes than to have any sort of contact with other people.
To have to respond to their well-meaning clichés.
’ She paused. ‘My husband didn’t die, he left me for a younger woman, but, like you, my way of coping with the death of my marriage was to shut myself away and shun contact with friends.
’ Liz paused. ‘Life was easier that way. No explanations. No sympathy which I definitely didn’t want.
All I can truly tell you is that grieving any traumatic loss takes as long as it takes, everyone needs a different timescale.
Coming on this retreat is a first step for me to getting out in the real world again,’ she admitted.
‘And hopefully kick-starting a new book,’ she added, in an effort to lighten the mood a little.
‘Thank you,’ Guy said. ‘I’m glad you are coming out of your self-imposed isolation, beginning to live a little. Gives me hope. Please tell me a little more about you? I obviously know you’re a writer, but where do you live in the UK? Do you have family?’ Guy asked, smiling at her.
‘I recently moved to live full-time in the cottage we had as a holiday home in Devon and I love it,’ Liz said, accepting that Guy wanted to move on from talking about his grief.
‘My parents died a few years ago and I’ve never had a family.
My ex-husband didn’t want children, so they never happened, even though I longed to have a family.
’ She glanced at him, anxious not to personally open a subject that could still bring her to tears.
‘How about you? I’m guessing you don’t have children either – how about siblings? ’
‘My father lives in Dorset in the family home, my mum died several years ago.’ A cloud passed over Guy’s face before he continued. ‘My only brother, Jake, died in a jet-ski accident thirty-five years ago. I still miss him.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Liz said. ‘That must have been hard on you.’ Losing his wife must have brought the memories of losing his brother to the surface again for Guy.
No wonder he’d shut the world out for months.
Liz desperately tried to think of something else to say that would keep the conversation light-hearted, bring it back to the way it was when they were first in this lovely garden.
Gardening. Surely that would be a safe topic.
She glanced around. ‘This is a lovely garden and yours at the villa has been inspiring me too. I particularly love the fountain in yours. My cottage has a largish garden and I’m going to see if I can add a fountain, or maybe a pond when I get home. Do you do the gardening at the villa?’
Guy shook his head. ‘I confess I had to get the professionals in to sort the villa garden out days before you all arrived. No, my creativity has always gone into cooking, I’ve never been into gardening.
I do have a roof terrace with some pots – bougainvillea, agapanthus – that Jacqueline planted which I’m doing my best to keep alive.
You must come up and see it before the retreat ends.
The view along the coast is pretty spectacular, especially at night. ’
Liz, surprised by the invitation, smiled at him. ‘I’d like that.’
‘I know – come up for a nightcap after dinner on Saturday, there are sure to be fireworks somewhere along the coast to add to the spectacle of lights.’
‘Thank you,’ Liz said. ‘That is so lovely of you to invite me.’
‘It will be my pleasure,’ Guy said. ‘I’m already looking forward to it.’