Chapter 23
It’s official, I adore Antibes. I could imagine living here.
Of course, day-to-day life is still hard here for ordinary people, but they are friendly and smiling and making the best of things.
Well, apart from Madame Dupont, that is.
She is still as poker-faced as ever with me.
I noticed the other evening when I was dining alone that Odette was quite pale and I asked her if she was feeling well.
She gave me a brief smile, ‘Oui, I am good,’ before she turned away, which was when I noticed she had quite a pronounced tummy bump before she pulled down her bulky cardigan that had ridden up. She’s not wearing a wedding ring on either hand, so I didn’t like to ask if she was pregnant.
I’ve started going to a French conversation class in a wonderful old building near Rue de la République, which is great fun.
It’s an all-women group, just four of us.
The other three are English nurses working here in Antibes, either for private patients or for the local hospital.
One of them, Annie, was here when war broke out, working in Sunny Bank Hospital in Cannes, and she was unable to get out.
Her family back in London were all killed during the Blitz, and now, she doesn’t even entertain the thought of returning to England.
‘I’ve no one there. No reason to return,’ she told me, which is so sad.
She looks after an English aristocrat who lives in Juan-les-Pins these days.
I’ve seen a lot of Stéphane over the last few days.
It seems now that he has finally made contact with me, he wants to see me every day, usually in the afternoon, but occasionally he’s asked me to meet him after I’ve had dinner at the pensione.
On those evenings, we always seemed to end up at one of the smoke-filled cafés in the old town that have musical entertainment.
Lots of American jazz, which of course I love.
But I can never stay long because I have to be back at the pensione before Madame Dupont locks the front door at ten o’clock. I know this irritates Stéphane.
After dinner here, I usually retire to my room and write a feature or two from the notes I make when I’m out and about looking for people willing to talk to me about their experiences over the last six years.
Stéphane took me to Juan-les-Pins one afternoon.
I’d heard tales of how popular the town was before the war; how beautiful it was, with the pine trees, the sandy beaches, the luxury villas and wonderful hotels with their casinos.
My fellow countrymen adored the place and came here in droves.
Well, I doubt they would recognise the place today.
The Germans had built bunkers and gun positions along the length of the exposed shoreline, all of which were now being systematically destroyed.
Access to the beach was still limited, but Le Provencal, one of the most famous hotels on the Riviera, was once again open for business, having been closed for the duration of the war.
American soldiers, billeted in several of the hotels that had been requisitioned for their R her French could certainly do with some help.