Chapter 17
Brigitte studied the tree she’d finished decorating and decided she would put it on the counter rather than the window, but she’d need help to lift it up. Hervé was sure to pop in on some excuse or other soon, so the tree could stay where it was for now.
The shop bell clanged and Brigitte smiled. ‘Bonjour, Mel. How are you?’
‘I’m fine, thank you. And you?’
After Brigitte said, ‘?a va, merci,’ Mel took a deep breath.
‘I’ve had an idea, but I need you to tell me whether it’s possible or not.’
Brigitte looked at her. ‘Go on.’
‘I’m here for three months looking after a villa which has both a cleaner and a gardener, so basically, I have nothing to do other than make sure I keep the place tidy.
And walk Croque Monsieur, of course. You know the law down here better than me, so my question is – am I allowed to work voluntarily?
In a charity shop, or helping the Red Cross say? Or simply helping a friend.’
Brigitte gave her a thoughtful look. ‘If the shop or organisation give you an official letter specifically stating you are volunteering and not being paid, you should be all right.’
‘OK. So if I was to offer to do some invisible mending for you whilst I’m here – voluntarily and without payment – would you write me such a letter?’
Brigitte was silent for several seconds before smiling and nodding at Mel. ‘I would. But I’m not going to because it’s too much of a risk and besides, I would want to pay you.’
‘But I don’t want paying,’ Mel protested. ‘I just want something to do in the evenings other than reading or watching TV. And it needs to be something I enjoy doing.’
Brigitte gave her a thoughtful look. ‘You’d take it home to do? You wouldn’t want to work down here where customers could see you and talk to you?’
‘No.’
‘It would be an arrangement known to just the two of us?’
‘Yes.’
The shop doorbell tinkled at that moment as the door opened and Evie appeared.
‘I’ll think about it,’ Brigitte said quietly. ‘Bonjour, Evie.’
‘Hi, Brigitte, hi, Mel. I’ve come to have a look at the vintage postcards Mel said she’d seen here?’
Brigitte nodded and pointed to a wooden box on the table against the wall.
‘Thanks. Do you know if there are any street scenes of pre-war Antibes in there?’
‘Perhaps. My maman would know, as she is the one who organised them. Are you looking for a particular street?’
‘A particular house, Pensione Provencal. It’s somewhere my great-grandmother stayed. I was just interested to see what it looked like.’
‘Tonight I will ask my maman. She was born after the war, but may remember it from her childhood.’
‘Thanks. I’ll have a quick look now,’ Evie said.
‘You could also visit the Musée de la Carte Postale,’ and Brigitte quickly gave Evie the directions. ‘It’s not far away.’
When a customer entered the shop at that moment, Mel said goodbye to both Brigitte and Evie and set off in the direction of the market.
She’d deliberately left Croque Monsieur at home that morning because she was on a mission to find a small tree and carrying it home with a dog on the end of a lead didn’t seem like a good idea.
She remembered seeing a florist on the corner by the market with potted Christmas trees and was hoping she’d find a suitable one there.
Approaching the shop, she was relieved to see trees clustered together on the pavement and a few potted ones inside the shop.
‘Bonjour, Madame. Can I help you?’
Mel nodded brightly. ‘Please. I’d like a Christmas tree about so high and in a pot, but not too heavy because I have to carry it home.’
‘I am happy to deliver it for you, when I close the shop this evening.’
‘In that case, Hervé,’ Mel said, peering at the name lapel pinned to his navy cashmere sweater, ‘I’d like that one there,’ and she pointed to one that she’d initially liked when she’d seen it – not too tall, and nice and bushy – but had mentally rejected it because she’d never carry it back.
‘And two boxes of the lights. And a poinsettia… actually, make that two, please.’ She’d give one to Evie along with a box of the lights to use on her terrace.
Mel paid and gave Hervé the address.
‘It’s a gated community not far. Villa number five.’
‘I know the community,’ Hervé assured her. ‘I will deliver after seven o’clock tonight.’
‘Merci,’ Mel said. ‘I will see you then.’
* * *
Monique, busy decorating the tree in the sitting room, was practically bubbling with excitement when Brigitte arrived home that evening.
‘Albert and Marc are arriving tomorrow afternoon,’ she said.
‘Shall I cook dinner tomorrow night or shall I book a table somewhere? Celebrate their arrival properly.’
Brigitte, knowing that she would be roped in to help prepare, cook and clear up after a busy day at work, said, ‘A meal out would be lovely. Maybe Leon’s?’ she suggested, knowing that it was a favourite of her mother’s.
‘Perfect, if they have a table.’ And Monique immediately picked up her phone to call them. A few moments later, she looked at Brigitte and said, ‘Eight o’clock tomorrow night.’
‘Remember I told you about a pretty young American woman who came in the shop the other day?’ Brigitte said.
‘She came back in today to look at the black-and-white postcards of Antibes, hoping to find some street scenes. She mentioned looking for a guest house where her great-grandmother stayed shortly after the war. I know you were a mere baby back then, but do you remember ever hearing of a Pensione Provencal whilst you were growing up?’
‘No, never,’ Monique said brusquely, turning away. ‘Certainly doesn’t exist these days. I notice Hervé has charged me for three trees – mistake, or did you buy one for the shop and deliberately charge it to me? Either way, you or Hervé owe me twenty-five euros.’