Chapter 31
Once indoors, Mel let Croque Monsieur out into the garden for his nightly sniff around and poured herself a small glass of wine as a nightcap.
Taking it outside, she sat on the terrace watching the dog, thinking about the evening and how much she had, unexpectedly if she were honest, enjoyed it.
Monique’s unique house on the ancient ramparts had been interesting to say the least, so many stairs in its three-storey layout.
The moonlit view from the rooftop over the large expanse of the Mediterranean had been like looking out over a different, magical world.
Talking to Marc, and openly admitting to him that her marriage was dying, if not already dead, had released the feeling of guilt she’d been harbouring deep inside that the failure of the marriage was somehow her own fault.
Marc’s instant acknowledgement of how hard it must be for her to cope with the situation made her realise that, yes, she was coping.
She was enjoying her time down here, living alone and not being responsible for anything or anyone else.
It seemed impossible that she’d been down here for only a day over three weeks.
She’d settled into the villa, was enjoying the relaxed lifestyle, and she’d made some new friends.
And meeting Marc had brought some long-buried feelings to the surface.
Feelings she knew she should be ignoring, not enjoying.
Sensations that told her she was in dangerous territory for a married woman – but for how much longer was that going to be true?
The weight she’d lost after Geoff had left had stayed off; in fact, she’d lost more and was now a weight she’d imagined she’d never achieve again.
Walking Croque Monsieur had certainly helped with that.
She was taking more care of herself simply because she had the time, and she was, she realised, happier than she had been in years.
She was looking forward to Christmas in a few days’ time, an event she had been expecting to spend alone and had been secretly dreading.
Now, with Justin coming for a short stay, and cooking for five people on Christmas Day itself, she was looking forward to it.
Tomorrow, she was going shopping for special food and all things Christmassy, including small presents for everyone.
And then, late afternoon, she was meeting Justin off the train in Antibes station.
As she sipped her wine, she briefly wondered whether the last two months had helped Geoff in his quest to ‘find himself’ or had that just been a convenient cliché for him to use, rather than admitting he wanted out of their marriage.
Well, whether or not he came back having done what he set out to do, Mel knew that she had changed and she could not, would not, settle back into their old life without several dramatic changes.
And even then, it was doubtful that they had a future together.
* * *
Brigitte, seeing the party guests starting to drift away, wished she could disappear too.
This annual tradition of her maman’s was not something she ever particularly enjoyed.
Too many people, too many competing egos.
She preferred smaller, more intimate parties with real friends.
Having a few of her own friends there was the only thing that made it bearable.
Her maman was sure to want a post-party discussion and she really didn’t want to have one tonight.
Brigitte glanced at her watch. If she sneaked away now, there was still time for a head-clearing walk on Plage de la Gravette before the gates were locked for the night. Monique was talking and laughing animatedly with a group of her friends and, with a little luck, wouldn’t notice her leaving.
Changing her shoes in the downstairs cloakroom and throwing a wrap over her shoulders, rather than taking a coat, Brigitte made her escape, only to find Hervé standing by the door as if waiting for her, overcoat on and his red beret jauntily on his head.
‘Plage de la Gravette?’ he said with a smile. ‘I thought you would be escaping about now. May I come too?’
Brigitte laughed. ‘You know me so well. Come on then. Twenty minutes before the gates close.’
‘The girls have taken Evie off to one of their favourite bars, poor old papa was not invited,’ and Hervé pulled a sad face.
‘Not that you would have gone with them,’ Brigitte said. ‘You never did like late-night drinking in bars.’
Five minutes later, they were on the deserted beach, and Brigitte heaved a sigh of relief. ‘I love this time of evening on the beach. Do you remember when we were kids, we deliberately hid behind the rocks one evening to get locked in?’
‘Neither of our parents were happy with us, were they?’ Hervé said. ‘Weren’t you grounded for ten days? I forget what my punishment was. How old were we then?’
‘Old enough to have known better, I was told. I think I was sixteen, so you must have been eighteen – beyond the age of being grounded anyway! You were about to go off to uni,’ Brigitte said, remembering how sad she’d been as the date for Hervé leaving had grown closer.
She knew things were sure to change and had been determined not to let him know how much she was going to miss him.
It had been her suggestion they spent the night on the beach.
That innocent night on the beach, just sitting together talking, listening to the waves, looking at the stars before finally huddling into their separate sleeping bags as the dawn broke, had been a memory that she’d carried close to her heart for years.
‘I often thought of that night,’ Hervé said softly. ‘I still do. We were such good friends.’
‘We still are, look at us – both back home and back on the same beach.’ Brigitte smiled, determined not to confess how much she had initially missed his presence in her life.
Or how much she liked the fact that they were both back living in their home town – even if that moustache was an unwelcome addition on Hervé’s face.
‘Old friends are the best,’ she said, but was cautious not to allow the conversation to drift into the ‘what might have been’ area, that she sensed Hervé would welcome.
‘Time’s up,’ she said, looking across the beach. ‘The gates are about to be closed.’
And together they ran back up the sand, like they were the teenagers they once were.
Walking back up to the ramparts, Hervé said, ‘Have you thought any more about the apartment over the shop?’
‘Thought about it, yes. Made a decision? No.’ Brigitte sighed.
‘Uncle Albert says he’s planning on staying with Maman, so now would be the ideal time for me to leave home.
But the thought of everything that needs doing to put the plan into action is quite daunting.
The apartment needs decorating, the floors need covering or tiling, the kitchen needs an update, I don’t have any furniture… ’ She sighed.
‘Hey, what’s with all this negativity?’ Hervé stopped walking and looked at her. ‘What’s happened to the “I can do anything” Brigitte I know?’
‘She grew up, life happened, and she learnt that sometimes it’s easier to stay with the familiar,’ Brigitte said quietly.
‘Easier but not necessarily the right thing,’ Hervé responded equally quietly. ‘You know you only have to ask and I’ll give you a hand. Marc will too, I’m sure.’
‘Thank you, but you’ve got enough on with the shop. I know how early you get up to go to Nice flower market at least twice a week.’
‘But, like you, I close for the first ten days of January – we could do a lot in that time. Imagine waking up the first day of opening the shop in the new year and only having to run down the stairs to open up.’ He caught and held her gaze sternly, his eyes staring at her intently.
Brigitte returned his stare for several seconds before blinking. ‘OK, I will think seriously about it,’ she said.