Chapter 7
7
PRESENT DAY
Maggie stepped out of the train station in Cannes and into the heat of the day. She’d landed just after ten o’clock in the morning, then taken a surprisingly quick train from Nice to Cannes. It was all so unfamiliar, she kept having to remind herself it was real rather than something she was watching on a screen. Not wishing to pitch up at her host’s house too early, Maggie decided to take a walk along the famous Boulevard de la Croisette before heading for the Old Town where Allegra lived.
Walking down the street towards the Croisette, she glimpsed the glittering sea ahead. The sky was a beautiful bright turquoise blue and grand white stone hotels lined one side of the boulevard, designer shops nestled in between. Tall palm trees stood on either side of the road which was busy with cars and people. Maggie felt like she was in a film set rather than an actual place. Billboards on the beach side were plastered with iconic faces, from Marilyn Monroe to Sophia Loren adding an air of faded grandeur. Walking towards the Palais des Festivals, she glanced up at the concrete steps leading to the cinema, thinking how much smaller it looked compared with all the pictures she’d seen of various film stars walking the most famous red carpet in the world.
Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a folded piece of paper with her mother’s instructions on them so she could remind herself of the name of the street she was heading to. Looking up, she saw the hill on the other side of the old port with the Gothic church and clocktower at the top as Allegra had obviously described it to her mother.
She crossed a main square, leaving the boats behind her. The streets quickly narrowed and within minutes Maggie was walking along the cobbled streets of the Old Town, a world away from the glitz of the Croisette. The colours of the buildings were different here, pale yellows and pinks sitting alongside darker ochre tones, all with painted shutters. The cafés were quieter here too, the pavement tables taken up by locals rather than tourists. Up and up Maggie went, pausing every few streets to check her bearings and make sure she was still heading towards the church at the top of the hill. Just then, the sound of bells rang out. She glanced at her watch; it was almost midday.
As if on cue her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything since the so-called energy bar she’d managed to snaffle from someone at a stand giving them away at St Pancras train station that morning. Deciding she needed something proper in her stomach before turning up on a stranger’s doorstep, she looked at the board outside the little restaurant she found herself in front of. The list of starters and mains was short but within seconds Maggie saw exactly what she wanted: steak frites with Béarnaise sauce. As she settled down at an empty table, a waitress came straight over with a basket of bread and a small jug of water. She asked Maggie if she would like a menu and Maggie replied with her order using the best French accent she could manage.
‘Would you like some wine?’ The waitress reverted to English, much to Maggie’s embarrassment. Her accent obviously wasn’t as good as she’d hoped.
‘Erm, yes, but I don’t know…’ Maggie looked at the wine list, desperately searching for a name she recognised at the top end of the menu.
‘How about a glass of the house red? It’s from a vineyard near here, it’s very good.’ The waitress smiled.
‘Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you.’ Maggie handed her the menu, relieved that was over. She sat back and sighed. It all felt so surreal, to be on her own in a strange town. But if it was her way to forget what was happening back at home, Maggie had to admit it was working. She’d barely given Jack and his impending fatherhood situation a second thought that day. Just as her mind started wandering off down a rabbit hole of what ifs, the waitress came to the table with an empty tumbler and a small carafe of red wine. Maggie took a sip, the thick bramble fruit flavours hitting her taste buds like a jackhammer. She shook her head a little.
‘You like it?’ asked the waitress as she laid out Maggie’s knife and fork.
Maggie nodded. ‘Yes, it’s just a little stronger than I expected.’
‘It’s the Mourvedre grape.’ The waitress smiled. ‘It’s a bit of a beast.’
‘I’ll keep going,’ Maggie replied, laughing.
She sat back and watched the world go by as she waited for her food, enjoying the sights and sounds of a new place. It took a while to arrive but from the first taste of fresh baguette, thick with cold, unsalted butter to the last bite of her steak smothered in the tangy, unctuous sauce, Maggie savoured every mouthful. Just as she was wiping the last of the Béarnaise on her plate with a few remaining salty frites, her phone rang. She looked at the screen, seeing it was a number she didn’t recognise.
Maggie answered. ‘Hello?’
‘Bonjour, is that Maggie?’
As soon as she heard the accent, Maggie knew who it must be.
‘Allegra?’
‘Yes, hello! Are you okay? I was just a bit worried as I know you haven’t been here before and I thought you might have got lost.’
Maggie looked at her watch. She’d been there for well over an hour. ‘I’m so sorry Allegra, I didn’t realise the time. I’m just round the corner, I just had to get something to eat. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Not at all, I’m glad you’re here. Where are you?’
‘In a restaurant just below your house, I think. It’s called Café Suquet.’
‘Oh God, whatever you do don’t drink his house red, it’ll strip the enamel from your teeth.’
Maggie almost choked. ‘Okay, thank you.’ She didn’t dare confess she’d done exactly that. ‘Listen, I’ll just finish here and then I’ll be with you.’
‘Great, see you in a bit.’
Maggie paid the bill and started up towards the church again. The streets narrowed and turned to steps as the hill grew steeper. The sun was still strong in the cloudless sky and Maggie’s limbs felt heavy as she climbed. As she neared the top, the wall on her right curved round and behind it was the church, its clocktower looming high over her. On the other side stood tall, thin houses, three or four storeys high and so close together they seemed to lean into each other for support. All had small balconies around their upper-floor windows with painted shutters, most of them firmly shut. Maggie’s eyes were drawn to one particular house, salmon pink in colour with pale green shutters thrown wide open. She could see clearly into the first-floor room, right through to the large floor-to-ceiling window on the other side.
A woman came out onto the balcony. She was tall, wearing a long, emerald-green kaftan, silver hair falling to her shoulders. ‘Well, are you going to come in?’ she called down, smiling. She waved and pointed to the door on the ground floor. ‘Come on up, it’s open.’
Maggie waved back and walked to the door. She pushed it open to reveal a narrow stone staircase, the door to the room on her left closed. The walls were painted the colour of egg yolk and Maggie’s eyes were immediately drawn to the painting at the top of the stairs. Walking up the stairs, she glanced at the signature in the corner of the canvas.
‘I sincerely hope you’re Maggie,’ said the woman, laughing gently.
Maggie extended her hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Allegra. Is that—’ Maggie gestured to the painting ‘—a Picasso?’
‘It’s a print, darling. But yes, it is. Come on in, please.’
Maggie’s eyes widened as she looked at the signature in the frame. She followed the woman into the first-floor room, a simple sitting room with white wooden floorboards and two long pale blue velvet sofas on either side. Bookshelves lined one wall and every shelf was full. The low square table between the sofas was stacked with more books and ornaments and a huge bowl of roses in various pink hues spilled out of the centre, filling the air with their scent. More paintings covered the opposite wall, all different in size and style. Maggie wanted to have a proper look, but Allegra was beckoning her up another flight of stairs around the corner.
‘We’ll go straight up to your room. I’m sure you’re desperate to get out of those clothes and into something more comfortable.’
Maggie looked down at her denim cut-offs. She’d only brought a couple of dresses and a few more T-shirts to last her whilst she was here. ‘Oh no, I’m fine. Really. But thank you.’
‘Well, in that case let’s go straight up to the terrace. I’ve got some refreshments up there. You had an early start, didn’t you? Your room is just in there; pop your bag down and follow me.’
Maggie did as she was told, putting her bag on the bed in what was obviously the guest room. The bed took up most of it, covered in a duvet that made it look like a giant marshmallow. There was a plain wooden dresser in one corner and a small sink in the other.
‘You’ll be far too hot under that; just fold it up and put it on the floor. There’s a sheet underneath. And a bathroom there,’ said Allegra, pointing to another door opposite. ‘One more floor.’
Maggie followed her up a small wrought iron spiral staircase, wondering how on earth Allegra managed these stairs every day. She was already short of breath. They reached the top floor where a small galley kitchen sat to one side, the rest of the room taken up with a table and chairs, a small battered brown suitcase sitting in the middle of it. More paintings covered the walls; Maggie quickly scanned them to see if she recognised any other signatures before following Allegra through the kitchen to a short staircase with a tiny door at the top, so low she had to duck her head to get through it. Stepping onto the roof terrace, Maggie stood up and turned to see one of the most beautiful views she’d ever laid eyes on. She could see right across the whole town to the bay with the old port and the hills beyond. Turning to her right, she looked out over the ocean then down to the church and across the other side of the town to the mountains in the distance. Maggie looked down at the patchwork of rooftops below. ‘This is incredible,’ she gasped.
‘I always think it looks like an impossible puzzle from here. But somehow it works,’ said Allegra, following Maggie’s gaze. ‘And the more you look at it, the more you see. Come and take a seat.’ She walked over to an L-shaped sofa shaded by a large umbrella. Behind it was another table and chairs covered by a cane roof.
‘You must be so fit with those stairs.’ Maggie’s heart was still beating faster than usual.
Allegra sat down. ‘I know, the whole house is upside down really. There is another kitchen downstairs on the first floor, but I hardly ever use it. I like to be up here.’
Maggie smiled. She took in this stranger’s face, with her bright green eyes, the lines on her face indicating that she’d laughed more than she’d cried in her life. It felt strange but entirely normal to be sitting here with her and Maggie couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it felt like they’d met before.
Allegra leant forward and poured out two large glasses of iced water from a pitcher. She handed one to Maggie. ‘Here you go.’
‘Thank you.’
‘So, Maggie, your mother mentioned you’re here for a couple of days.’
‘Yes, I’ve got to fly back the day after tomorrow for a job,’ Maggie lied.
‘And you haven’t been to Cannes before?’
‘No, never.’ Maggie looked around at the view again. ‘It’s beautiful. How long have you been here for?’
Allegra sighed. ‘Well, I can’t believe it but over twenty years now.’
‘Really? But you’re from the States originally?’
Allegra’s face hardened a little. ‘Yes, I lived in New York as a kid. I moved back after the year I had with your grandmother in Paris and stayed until coming here. Were you close?’
Maggie nodded. ‘I adored her.’
‘You look just like her.’
‘How funny, my mother says the same. She says it’s the eyes.’
‘Exactly. Your grandmother had the same big brown eyes. The same shape, too.’ Allegra gently touched Maggie’s face. ‘You remind me of her. Except you’re much taller than she was.’
‘Mum tells me you both had a wonderful time in Paris together.’
‘Yes, we did.’ Allegra laughed. ‘Not that our parents had a clue what we got up to. I mean, those were the days…’ She tailed off.
Maggie detected a sadness in Allegra’s voice. ‘I don’t want to be a burden to you at all and obviously I’m here to pick up the box of my grandmother’s things but given I’ve got some time here, is there anything I can do to help if you’re clearing out?’
Allegra looked at her with surprise. ‘Clearing out?’
‘I’m sorry, I thought that was what you were doing. I’d assumed that’s why you came across her box of belongings.’
Allegra laughed. ‘Darling, I’m not going anywhere. I’ve only got me to worry about so I’m staying right here.’
Maggie began to apologise, embarrassed that she’d made such an assumption.
‘Please, it’s fine. I know it might seem crazy me living here on my own, but I love Cannes and can’t imagine living anywhere else, not now. I’m happy here.’
The words landed heavily. How she wished she could say the same of her home. Maggie swiftly changed the subject to avoid the tears she felt might come otherwise.
‘I’d love to hear more about your time in Paris with my grandmother. Have you looked through the box?’
‘I’ve only peeked inside. That’s when I saw her old camera on the top and decided it was just too precious to put it all in the post and that perhaps your mother would like the opportunity to collect it.’
‘I’m sorry you got me instead of her, but she can’t leave my father.’
‘I know, she explained. I’m sad not to meet her but I get to meet you.’ Allegra squeezed Maggie’s arm. ‘I’ll go and get the box.’
Maggie sprang up. ‘Please, let me go. I can’t watch you doing those stairs again. It’ll do me good.’
Allegra laughed. ‘If you insist. The box is on the table downstairs. It’s a small suitcase I bought for her, but that’s another story.’