Chapter 13
Still unsettled by the photographs she’d seen on Geoff’s Instagram account, Mel tried to put them out of her mind.
Time enough to deal with them when he returned home.
Mel spent the next few days settling in at the villa, walking Croque Monsieur and exploring a few of the narrow lanes around the old town.
The Marché Provencal, the first time she found it, was an eye-opener.
So much fresh produce and most of it local.
Shopping there was a totally different experience, and Mel decided she much preferred it to supermarket shopping.
She’d found everything she needed that morning on its stalls: cheese, eggs, salad and vegetables, ham and other charcuterie, local rosé, as well as a bottle of olive oil and some lavender soap and bath oil.
It was exactly how she remembered the French markets in Provence to be on those long-ago holidays: bustling with locals and full of atmosphere.
The gardener, Joel, came at the end of that first week and introduced himself. ‘There’s not a lot to do at this time of year, but I like to wander round all the gardens I look after, make sure nothing has died unexpectedly, check the pots, maybe even do a bit of pruning.’
The same day that Joel visited, the pet shop van arrived with the monthly delivery of a large sack of food and a bag of treats for Croque Monsieur.
When the intercom went unexpectedly at nine o’clock one morning as Mel was sitting on the terrace eating breakfast, she jumped up and ran to press the button. ‘Hello?’
‘Bonjour, it is Maxine the cleaner.’
‘Ah, OK,’ and Mel pressed the gate button before going to the front door and opening it.
A canary-yellow 2CV, its sunroof open, sped up the driveway and stopped short of the front door. A slim woman with the reddest hair Mel had ever seen, got out, smiling at Mel.
‘Bonjour. Nadia, she tell me you are Mel? You speak Francais? A little? I have a little Anglais, so we manage, yes?’
Mel nodded. ‘Yes. I have a translation app on my phone too.’
‘Bien. But sometimes Monsieur Google, he get it wrong,’ Martine laughed, waving an admonishing finger in the air. ‘I clean upstairs first.’ She sped past Mel into the utility room next to the kitchen and reappeared holding a round basket of cleaning materials. ‘I start with the bathrooms.’
Mel, never having employed a cleaner, and not sure what the protocol was, stood bemused as the whirlwind that was Martine ran up the stairs and disappeared into the family bathroom.
Did she clean all the rooms whether used or not, every week?
Should Mel tell her that her bedroom and its en suite was the only one in use? Should she offer her a coffee?
Mel went back out onto the terrace to finish her breakfast and to think about the day ahead.
Evie had phoned yesterday inviting her to an early supper that evening after a wander through town looking at the lights, followed by a visit to the Christmas market.
Before then she’d take Croque Monsieur for a long walk, maybe even as far as somewhere called La Garoupe, which she’d seen mentioned in the folder, complete with directions.
Two hours later after Martine had turned down the offer of a coffee and left, Mel slipped her arms into her fleece and checked its pockets for dog biscuits and poo bags. Finally, she clipped Croque Monsieur’s lead on, set the security alarm and slammed the door behind them.
The directions were precise: bord de mer from Antibes heading west and at Plage de la Salis follow the signs for La Garoupe.
Several large apartment blocks lined the coast road on the far side and Mel smiled as she saw a couple of mannequin Father Christmases with sacks tied to their backs clinging to the windowsills of high-up apartments.
Hard to believe with the sun high in a blue sky and a temperature of 13 degrees Celsius that it would soon be Christmas.
As she walked past Plage de la Salis, a group of wet-suited windsurfers were getting ready for a sail and she stopped briefly to watch them.
Further on, three women ran out of the water and quickly wrapped themselves in towelling robes before opening a flask and pouring hot drinks.
One of the women saw Mel watching and raised her cup in her direction, shouting out something in French that Mel failed to understand, so she simply waved in acknowledgement and called out ‘Bravo’, hoping that was the same in both languages and would be understood, before walking on.
Wild swimming might be good for you, but personally she had no intention of ever finding out.
Mel crossed the road to follow the sign pointing in the direction of La Garoupe and found herself walking along a path heading a little inland and upwards through the woods.
Ten minutes later, she was standing one hundred and three metres above sea level, and in the shadow of one of the most powerful lighthouses overlooking the Mediterranean Sea.
The views in both directions along the coast were wonderful.
The small chapel, Notre-Dame de la Garde, was next to the lighthouse.
Mel, not liking to take Croque Monsieur in, simply stood in the doorway and had a quick look at the inside of the modest chapel, where local fishermen and their families routinely left gifts and prayed for safety at sea.
The chapel was simplistically beautiful, with everyday items that had been offered with prayers.
Mel, sat at one of the tables of the on-site café waiting for the hot chocolate she’d ordered, watched as more people arrived.
A family with two young children, a retired couple, a couple of teenagers on bikes.
An unexpected waft of loneliness swept through her body.
Was she going to be alone forever now? Or when Geoff returned would they slip back into a marriage that had outlived its promising beginning and become a habit?
If Mel were honest, now that the days were settling down into the routine they would occupy for the next couple of months, she had too much time on her hands.
With no housework or gardening to do, the days were free for her to spend as she liked, but there was no real structure to her life at the moment. A structure she missed.
If she were at home now her countdown to Christmas would already be well underway.
Puddings, mince pies and a rich fruit cake would be filling the house with that delicious smell of nutmeg and cinnamon.
There would be a tree to decorate, presents to wrap, wine to buy, even a stocking to fill for Justin, who insisted he was too old but always loved it.
But Justin was joining her for Christmas, so there was that to look forward to. She’d ring him later and make sure he’d booked his ticket and get his flight details off him.
Mel thanked the young waiter who placed her hot chocolate in front of her and she took a sip.
She needed to stop these maudlin thoughts before they took over and she found herself spiralling.
She was healthy, and living in the South of France in a wonderful villa.
What was the key motivational word that was everywhere these days? Mindfulness.
Taking a deep breath, Mel resolved to make the most of everything, enjoy a different Christmas with Justin and to live in the moment, for the next three months.
If Geoff decided he wanted out, then she’d deal with that when it happened.
In the meantime, she’d happily trial living a single life in the South of France.