Chapter 9
9
PRESENT DAY
Maggie carefully climbed the stairs holding the small brown suitcase in one hand, the other firmly on the handrail. She handed it to Allegra before sitting back down next to her on the rooftop sofa. The sea breeze had picked up, a relief from the considerable heat of the earlier afternoon sun.
Allegra sat up and placed it carefully on her knees before popping it open and lifting the lid. Inside was a pile of photographs, a leather camera case on top. Allegra picked it up and handed the camera to Maggie. ‘Your grandmother loved that so much.’
Maggie took it, running her fingers over the faded leather, scratched and worn. She opened it and looked inside. Given her limited knowledge of vintage cameras, she guessed this one had probably been quite smart for its day. It felt so strange to be holding something that had clearly been so precious to her beloved grandmother.
‘She took some really beautiful photographs using that camera,’ said Allegra over Maggie’s shoulder. ‘Always had such an eye.’
Maggie placed it gently on the table and peered back inside the box. The photograph on the top was face down, a pencil scrawl on the back. She looked closely. ‘What does that say?’ She held it by the tips of her fingers and gently lifted it out. ‘Rue de la Gaité – 1961.’ She looked at Allegra.
‘Turn it over.’
Maggie did so. The black and white image in front of her showed two people at a table covered in a checked tablecloth in what looked like a small apartment. A man was looking straight into the camera, smiling. He had light coloured hair combed back and a small moustache. He looked in his early twenties, as far as Maggie could tell. Next to him sat a very beautiful woman, her dark hair drawn into an elegant-looking ponytail, dressed in a black sweater. She was glancing down at her plate, a fork in her hand, smiling. In the middle of the photograph was an arm holding out a bottle of red wine, half full, no label. The table was covered in plates and bowls and in the middle sat what looked like a jam jar holding a small bunch of flowers. The window behind was open and above their heads on the wall was a painting that appeared to be by Renoir from the small corner Maggie could see. She studied the photograph for a moment, then turned to Allegra.
‘Is that you?’
Allegra peered at the photograph. She raised an elegant eyebrow and nodded.
‘You were beautiful,’ whispered Maggie.
Allegra laughed gently. ‘Yes, that was taken in a man called Etienne’s apartment; he lived above a restaurant in that street. That’s why all the stuff on the table wouldn’t look out of place in a restaurant because it was actually from the one downstairs.’
‘My grandmother obviously took the photograph. Who’s that?’ Maggie pointed at the smiling man at the table.
‘That’s her boyfriend at the time, Luc.’
Maggie looked more closely. ‘Was their relationship serious?’
Allegra sighed. ‘Your grandmother was mad about him. He was older than her, quite a bit older in fact. Her parents didn’t know about him; she didn’t think they’d approve.’
‘And if that’s you and my grandmother took the photograph, who’s this?’ Maggie pointed at the arm holding the wine bottle.
Allegra paused for a moment. ‘That’s Etienne, my boyfriend back then. We spent hours around that little table. Luc and Etienne would make us dinner, usually something scavenged from the restaurant. Every now and again they’d manage to get their hands on some steak or chicken and we all felt terribly sophisticated and spoilt.’
Maggie handed the picture to her and took out the next photograph. Again, it was face down. She read the writing on the back, squinting to make out the faded words. ‘“Place Dauphine – 1961”. Where’s that?’ Maggie turned the photograph over. The image in front of her made her gasp. There, in a faded black and white photograph, was an image of a couple kissing on a park bench. The young man in the photograph had his arm around the woman’s shoulder, pulling her towards him. Her face was partly obscured but the passion between them in that stolen moment was obvious. ‘That’s not my grandmother, is it?’ Maggie almost didn’t know where to look.
‘No, it’s not. That’s Etienne.’ Allegra pointed at the man in the photograph, then moved her long finger down until it rested on the young woman in the photo. ‘And that’s me.’
‘Wow, Allegra.’ Maggie looked at her. ‘What a photograph.’
‘I know, she was very talented.’
‘Allegra, I’m not talking about the composition. I’m talking about you in the picture. You both look like you’re madly in love.’
‘We were. I remember that day like it was yesterday.’
‘Is there another photograph of Etienne? I want to know what he looked like. I can’t see your faces properly in this one.’
‘I’m sure there’ll be one in there.’
Maggie handed the photograph to Allegra and picked up the next one, reading the words on the back aloud. ‘“Etienne – 1961”.’ She turned it over to see a young man standing in a cobbled street, a book in his hands. He wore small glasses and appeared to be reading the back cover, his hair hanging forward slightly as he did so. Just to the side of him was a scooter propped up by its stand and in the foreground, Maggie could make out a rack of clothes. Below was a small pile of bric-a-brac. She showed it to Allegra. ‘That’s him?’
The old woman nodded, her eyes glistening. ‘That’s him.’
‘Where was this taken?’
‘I’m not sure which one that was but we used to go to one of the many flea markets nearly every weekend. The first silk scarf I ever owned was bought from one of those markets. It was from Dior and had a map of Paris printed on it.’ She smiled at the memory.
‘Do you still have it?’
Allegra shook her head.
‘Shame. It would probably be worth a fortune nowadays.’ Maggie looked at the picture again, taking in the features of the young man in the centre of the shot. ‘He looks lovely.’
‘He really was.’
‘Can I have a look at that other one again?’ Maggie took the photograph of the kissing couple from Allegra and gazed at it. ‘I mean, this is almost certifiable.’ She laughed.
‘I’ve not seen that photograph for years,’ said Allegra.
‘Didn’t my grandmother give you a copy?’
‘Yes, she did… but I don’t have it any more.’ Allegra was quiet for a moment. ‘How about we save some of these until later? We could walk down to the beach. It’ll be quieter now and we could have a quick swim if you like; the water is still warm at this time of year.’
‘I’d love that,’ said Maggie, placing the photographs back in the case. ‘I’ll grab my swimming stuff.’
‘I’ll meet you downstairs. Wait for me on the bench outside the front door.’
Maggie went to her room and put on her bikini, throwing a T-shirt and a pair of denim shorts over the top, then went downstairs and sat in the shade on the bench opposite the front door as instructed. The gentle breeze carried the scent of the pine trees surrounding the church at the top of the hill and Maggie listened to the quiet voices of the tourists on the other side of the wall, oblivious to her as they wandered around. She looked up at the windows of the houses on either side of Allegra’s, all closed with the shutters pulled across.
Maggie thought back to the young woman in the photograph, the image of the entwined couple so hopeful – and yet so sad. She was desperate to know what happened between them but didn’t feel she could ask. Not yet anyway.
Allegra appeared at the door, a straw basket over her shoulder and a wide-brimmed straw hat on her head. ‘We’ll go this way,’ she said, waving to the right. The two women made their way down the steps and through the narrow streets from the Old Town towards the port, walking along the road past the old harbour where fishing boats bobbed on the water alongside small yachts. Further out on the other side of the harbour sat a row of gleaming white superyachts, blacked-out windows adding to their arrogant appearance.
Allegra was greeted by various restaurant owners as she passed, giving each of them a wave and exchanging a few words in French.
‘Do you eat out a lot?’ Maggie asked.
‘Not as much as I used to. I like going to the food market and seeing what’s good. I’ve got some cheese and charcuterie for us later. I picked up some figs this morning too, they’ve just come in. Couldn’t resist.’
Maggie’s mouth watered at the thought. Fresh figs! She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten one.
They crossed the boulevard towards the beach, the restaurants quiet with just a few tables taken in each. Allegra walked ahead down some steps to reveal a perfect sandy stretch dotted with sun loungers, most of them empty.
‘Here’s a good spot.’ Allegra dropped her basket onto the sand and pulled out a thin hammam towel, laying it on an empty lounger. She lifted the green kaftan over her head to reveal long bronzed limbs.
Maggie peeled off her T-shirt, wishing she’d whacked on some fake tan before she’d come. By the time she’d wriggled out of her shorts, Allegra was already in the water, ducking under the waves and coming up to stand just a few metres out from the shore.
‘Come straight in, it’s beautiful,’ called Allegra.
Maggie walked into the water, the cool temperature of the sea causing her to hold her breath for just a second. She waded in up to her waist, then closed her eyes and dived into the waves, the sound of the rush of water filling her ears. She came up to the surface and stood, treading water beside Allegra. Looking back at the beach, she could see the hill with the clocktower and pine trees rising behind the hotels along the front. ‘This is glorious,’ she exclaimed, taking in the view. ‘How often do you swim here?’
‘I used to come every day but now it’s just when the sun shines and the water is calm.’ Allegra smiled. ‘I’m going to swim to that buoy and back.’ She pointed at a small yellow buoy just a little further out. ‘Are you coming?’
Maggie nodded. ‘Definitely.’
They swam out, the sun on their faces. Maggie felt weightless as her limbs moved through the water, her mind free of the thoughts that had been consuming her since that phone call with Jack. When they got back to the shore, Allegra suggested they dry off on the sun loungers with a glass of wine. She beckoned a waiter over as Maggie got comfortable, stretching out on the pale green and white striped cushion as she looked out to sea.
‘Bonjour, Freddie. Deux verres de rosé, s’il vous plait .’
‘Do you know every waiter in Cannes?’ said Maggie, watching as Freddie returned to the bar to get their drinks.
Allegra laughed. ‘Not all of them. Freddie’s a favourite though. I sometimes have a coffee here if I swim in the morning but this late in the afternoon, it’s time for wine.’
Maggie’s skin prickled as the sun dried the sea salt. ‘What made you move to Cannes in the first place?’
‘I came back after my husband died. I didn’t mean to stay quite so long but I just haven’t got round to leaving yet.’
‘Came back?’
‘When I lived in Paris, I came down to visit the area and fell in love with it.’
‘Was it very different then?’
‘Parts of it, but the Old Town hasn’t changed that much. Although of course, you didn’t have all these hotels.’ She gestured to the row of modern buildings behind them.
The waiter returned with their glasses of rosé, the chilled pale pink wine glistening in the late afternoon sunshine.
Allegra held her glass to Maggie’s. ‘ Santé .’
Maggie clinked her glass against Allegra’s. ‘ Santé and thank you for having me. I’ve had a lovely time already.’ She took a sip, the cold wine filling her mouth with the taste of rhubarb and red cherries. ‘Was it Etienne who brought you here first?’
‘His parents lived about an hour from here. Probably less nowadays; the roads were terrible back then.’
‘And Etienne brought you to Cannes?’
‘Yes, we came down by train from Paris one weekend and spent an afternoon here before driving to his parents’ house. It sounds quite mad given I’d come from a big city on the other side of the world but there was just something about Cannes… I fell in love with the place. I think my heart never left.’ Allegra looked out towards the calm blue sea, then turned and smiled at Maggie. ‘It just took me a while to figure that part out.’