You Had Me At Bonjour

MARCH

The train to Italy was packed but it was a lovely journey along the coast, watching the glittering surface of the ever-moving Mediterranean out of one window and the countryside out of the other.

I managed to grab a window seat and enjoyed daydreaming about the villas and apartments we flashed past. Small bijou cottages, large tower blocks, lavish villas… they’re all here along this bit of coastline. We passed the famous Baie des Anges with its marina and apartment blocks built to resemble waves. Too modern for me, I decided. I’m definitely a Belle Epoque villa type of girl. In my dreams!

The tunnel from Cap d’Ail down into Monaco seemed endless. As the train finally pulled into Monaco I was half tempted to get off and spend the day there exploring, but decided to stick with my original plan.

Ventimiglia market is huge. I found it quite disorientating. So many people jostling to find a bargain. Lots of kitchen equipment, leather, pasta, handbags, cheese, clothes, oh you name it there was a stall selling it. I could have spent a fortune. There was one pair of leather shoes that positively had my name on them.

Stupidly I’d forgotten to take a shopping basket, so I treated myself to a straw one to hold the pasta, the olives, the Parmesan cheese and some lovely shiny aubergines I couldn’t resist buying. I did resist a fake Chanel handbag though – something I was glad about on the way home.

Had lunch in a lovely restaurant with a covered terrace overhanging the edge of the beach. I was surrounded by Italian and French families and the noise level was unbelievable. Italians are so vocal when they get together. Luckily the waiter spoke a bit of both French and English so I managed to ask questions and order the food I wanted. And a glass of Prosecco, of course.

The main course was good – tagliatelle with basil – but O.M.G. the tiramisu dessert was to die for. Promised myself I’d be strict for the rest of the week to make up for all the calories I was eating.

The train journey home was exciting. We were raided by the customs contraband police – would you believe!

Seeing the faces of the women on the train as they watched the police tear apart their recent purchases with sharp knives, I was so glad I hadn’t succumbed to temptation and bought that fake Chanel handbag. Eliosa had warned me about buying stuff like that when I told her I was coming here.

‘It’s not worth the risk,’ she’d said. ‘Save up for the real thing.’ At least my cheap straw basket was safe from the knife wielding cops.

6th March.

I’m really not sure about this conversation class I’ve been going to for the past few weeks. If it doesn’t improve soon I think I’ll drop out.

I seem to spend all my time talking – in English – to Colette, who is desperate to improve her English so she can get a job in London, where apparently “eet is all ‘appening.”

There are two or three English couples there who treat the morning as an excuse for a gossipy catch-up and a bitch about their French neighbours. Been tempted to ask them “if you don’t like it, why don’t you go home?” So far I’ve managed to restrain myself.

The two French women I try to talk to don’t understand my accent so that gets pretty fraught. Beginning to think I need a more structured class with a teacher setting pages of verb homework to be learnt. One to one tuition. Must pluck up the courage to ask Marc if he can recommend anyone. I’ve been avoiding asking him anything since my faux pas with le cinq à sept.

I keep thinking about Eliosa’s sleeping dictionary suggestion. Finding one of those though, even if I wanted one, is clearly not going to happen in a hurry. It’s not as if I can walk into the local bookshop, find the section marked “Dictionaries” and have a selection to pick one from.

Seen Nino visiting Eliosa a couple of times this month. Nice that he keeps an eye on her, although it always seems to be very brief visits. I guess he’s busy with the yacht.

Walked home via the market after the class and bought some red geraniums for the roof terrace pots and a couple of trailing white ones for the balcony baskets. Finally bumped into the Swedish woman from the garden flat in the entrance hall. After we’d introduced ourselves, Lotta invited me in for a coffee.

7th March.

Turns out Lotta’s a life coach and a keen gardener. Her garden is an oasis of calm and immediately had me nostalgic for my – soon to be Samantha’s – garden. Lotta’s lived here for five years and speaks four languages fluently – Swedish obviously, English, French and Italian. We seemed to be on the same wavelength from the word go, and I found myself telling her about my split with Ben and how worried I was about Katie.

Maybe it’s just that she’s easy to talk to, but I even found myself voicing the fact that I was considering giving up on my gap year and going home. I feel a bit old to be taking a gap year if I’m honest.

Her advice was simple and to the point: get rid of the negative thoughts; concentrate on getting on with life down here. You’re only here for a short time so make the best of it – don’t waste time worrying. There are heaps of opportunities to enjoy life. Basically, her rallying cry is “Think Positive.”

Back at chez moi, planting up my pots, I resolved to do just that – think positive and enjoy life. Ben could sort out the Katie mess – it’s all his fault anyway. Hopefully Katie will eventually stop blaming me for the break-up and realise it was Ben who wanted his freedom, not me.

9th March.

Plucked up the courage today to go and apply for the job in the boutique I saw the other evening. What a hoot! A waste of time but a hoot.

Madame the owner – all tight white leather jeans, cropped top and gold jewellery – spoke a bit of English, so we ended up talking a broken Franglais with me trying to convince her I would be an asset with the foreign tourists. But she wasn’t having it.

‘Non, non, non,’ she said, wagging a scarlet tipped finger at me. ‘The clients Francais would no like you no speaking Francais. They would try to cheat me. They no buy from someone they laugh at.’

‘But the English would love being able to ask questions in their own language. And I’m sure my French would improve if I was using it every day.’

‘Non. Go away and learn le Francais. Peut-être in six months I give you a job.’ And with that I was firmly shown the shop door. Oh well, it’ll have to be Plan B then. Except I haven’t got a Plan B.

10th March.

On the home front, things have been quiet for a few days now. I’m holding my breath for the explosion that’s sure to happen. Katie was very subdued when I spoke to her last night, muttering something about her dad being a complete..... well we can agree on that. Didn’t realise she knew that word though!

12th March.

I’ve taken some great photos lately – think I’m getting the hang of loading them onto the computer. There’s one I took from the balcony two evenings ago that I particularly like. It’s of the sunset over the Esterel mountain range – the sky is so red it looks as if it’s on fire.

It’s Mimosa season down here. I managed to take one absolutely stunning photograph of the tree in the park. Brilliant yellow against the deep blue of the Cote d’Azur sky. It looks wonderful. Maybe I could start a new career as a photographer?

Probably not. Must admit to missing my old job though. I loved writing the women’s page features for the paper. Not that I wrote many of them in the last few years. I commissioned most of them from various freelancers.

DUH! It’s official. I am one stupid cow. Just had a light bulb moment as I typed that paragraph. I could be one of those freelancers. I don’t have to be in the UK to write for magazines do I? Next time I speak to Bella I’ll run the idea past her. Between us we should have loads of contacts.

She’s coming over for Easter at the end of the month. Jacques will be pleased. Can’t decide whether to tell him or let it be a surprise.

15th March.

Colette surprised me today after French conversation by asking me to have lunch with her. She wanted to pick my brains about moving to London. Where was the best to live. How expensive it was etc. She’s quite nice really. Gave her the names of a couple of contacts but told her not to be disappointed if they couldn’t help.

Before lunch we’d decided that she’d speak in English to me and I would answer her in French. That way we both got some language practice in.

Have to admit my head was hurting by the time we finished lunch. Only had two glasses of rosé so it couldn’t have been that giving me a headache. Must have been the effort of concentrating on finding all the right French words and phrases.

19th March.

I’ve invited Eliosa and Lotta for drinks and nibbles tomorrow evening. Definitely not just aperitifs as I’d quite like them to stay for longer than the prescribed hour. All evening would be good. This thing about having the freedom to do what I want, when I want, is all right but I do miss having family and friends to hang out with.

20th March.

Had a lovely evening with the neighbours. Must do it more often.

26th March.

Decided I’d better clean the apartment today, ready for Bella’s visit. Am now exhausted.

28th March.

Can’t wait for Bella to get here. I’ve done a proper food shop for the first time in weeks. The fridge is stuffed full with rosé, cheeses and other French delights. Including lots of green asparagus – my absolute favourite. Can’t understand the fuss the French make over the white stuff.

Bella’s doing the car hiring this time so I don’t have to go haring off to Nice to meet her. Expecting her to get to the apartment sometime after midday.

APRIL

April is turning into a busy month. It’s Easter this week and Bella has arrived. She’s managed to wangle a couple of extra days so will be here for over a week, which is great. We’ve both been surprised by how different Easter is here in France.

For a start, Easter Monday is the only official holiday – they don’t celebrate Good Friday at all. Which I find strange. But they still manage to make an extra long weekend out of the holiday.

I decided in the end not to tell Jacques about Bella coming, and his face when she walked into the bar on Thursday evening was worth it. He was cross with me though for not telling him Bella was coming. Said if he’d known he’d have arranged to have a day off to take her places. Didn’t mention me tagging along. Mmm, well sorry about that Jacques, but she’s my friend here to see me.

I did ask Bella if she wanted to spend time alone with him. She said ‘No, it’s too soon. Maybe in the summer.’ So I’ll tell him before Bella’s next visit, to see if he’s still keen. Think he will be. Kept making excuses to come over and talk to her.

We spent most of Thursday mooching around Cannes. Bella was desperate to see the Croisette and Rue d’Antibes – my god, that’s a long street! The shops though are amazing and far too enticing. Bella spent a fortune on clothes.

‘In my job I need them, Jess, and these are different to things I can find at home.’ Well that was her excuse anyway.

I bought some designer sunglasses and a pair of strappy sandals. Unlike Bella, I don’t have any excuse – other than I liked the sandals, and the sun seems to shine every day down here so shades come under the heading of necessities.

Had lunch in a small bistro tucked away in one of the back streets – moules and frites washed down with a bottle of rosé. Ran the idea of me freelancing and writing features for various magazines and newspapers past Bella. She’s all for it and has promised to pass the word around her contacts that I’m available. And of course I have a few myself in the magazine world.

When I said ‘So long as I can come up with enough ideas,’ Bella laughed.

‘You still writing your angsty diary?’

I nodded, ‘Yes. It’s definitely helping.’

‘Well there you go then, that’s as good a starting point as anything. You could always turn it into a proper blog and send it out into cyberspace. And Jessie? You are in the south of France. Look around you. I bet I can come up with at least ten ideas sitting here. For a start, anything to do with wine and food is always popular. French markets, out of the way places for tourists to discover, the architecture, the churches, the harbours, local ski resorts, the Film Festival, Monaco Grand Prix…’

I laughed. ‘OK I get the idea. Come on, let’s go and lust over the yachts.’

The yacht quay in Cannes, while nothing like the International Quay in Antibes – known to the locals as Millionaires’ Quay – still has some pretty impressive boats tied up to it, including the one Nino skippers.

We were walking along one of the walkways when we saw him sitting in the aft sundeck of a gleaming fibreglass motor cruiser. He raised a hand in greeting and called out, ‘You like to come on board? Have a look around?’

I was surprised he recognised me to be honest, but we were up the gangplank in seconds. A prominent notice hanging from the “Private. No Entry.” chain Nino lowered at the head of the gangplank instructed us to leave our shoes in the basket provided. We duly kicked them off and we were onboard.

‘Are we allowed?’ I asked anxiously. ‘What about your owner.’

‘Relax. There’s only me and two crew on board at the moment. Bruno the owner flies in tomorrow. Want to take a look around?’

We didn’t need asking twice and followed Nino into the main salon. All I can say is, whoever Bruno is, he certainly knows how to spend his money.

The yacht was a luxurious understatement of good taste. Cream carpet throughout and light coloured paneled walls. Original paintings were hung throughout the yacht – including a couple by Picasso and Georges Braque. In the salon, a glass topped dining table surrounded by twelve chairs held a large arrangement of lilies in a huge silver gourd shaped vase. As for the three bathrooms, all marble and gold, they were to die for.

By the time we were admiring the exquisite Lalique screen in the main salon we were both – for want of a better word – somewhat gobsmacked at the sheer opulence of it all.

When we returned to the aft deck there was an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne nestling in it, three glasses and a tray of bite-sized nibbles.

‘Sit,’ Nino instructed. ‘I open the champagne. Help yourselves to the food.’

I couldn’t stop myself asking, ‘Nino, are you sure this is ok? What if your owner turns up early?’

‘It’s not a problem Jessica. As capitane, when he is not here I have freedom to welcome certain people on board. Who knows, maybe one day you may wish to charter the yacht.’

Expertly he twisted the cork out of the bottle with a satisfyingly loud pop, before pouring the pale amber liquid into the glasses.

‘If you’re sure,’ I murmured, accepting the glass he handed me. ‘But I shouldn’t hold your breath about us ever chartering the yacht.’

Nino shrugged. ‘No worries.’

Sitting out there on the aft deck in the sunshine, savouring the champagne and laughing with Bella and Nino, the real world faded away. I mean, I know people with real money live a life a world away from the rest of us – but I’d never before appreciated just how different it could be. Fancy being able to take that kind of lifestyle for granted. Not something that is likely to happen for me.

Nino told us how he spent the summer months motoring up and down the Med. ‘Bruno likes to visit Corsica and Sardinia. We see a lot of Italy too – especially Portofino. Occasionally we go to Greece but we’re always here in our home port in May for the Film Festival, before moving on to Monaco for the Grand Prix. After that, we’re all over the place.’

Bella told him about my plans to write some features for UK magazines.

‘I help if I can,’ Nino said. ‘I ‘ave lots of the contacts here. You have a Press Pass for the festival? Lots of parties. I get you invites.’

‘Thank you. Not sure how difficult it will be to get a Press Pass but I’ll definitely try,’ I said.

‘Wish I could wrangle a visit next month,’ Bella said. ‘Sounds like I’m going to be missing out.’

An hour later, when the last of the champagne had been drained, we stood up to leave.

‘Jessica, have you seen Tante Eliosa recently?’ Nino asked as we put on our shoes.

‘Not for a few days, but she’s coming to supper on Sunday evening to meet Bella.’

‘Bon. It is good she has a friend in the building.’ He pulled a card out of his jeans pocket. ‘I give you this – my mobile number – s’il y a there’s an emergency with Eliosa and you need help.’

‘Sure. Hope I never have to use it,’ I said, putting Nino’s card in my bag. Knowing my luck, he’d be out at sea somewhere and not available.

On the train back to Juan-les-Pins, Bella teased me about Nino. ‘He’s quite the hunk. D’you fancy a fling with him?’

‘Mmm. Could do. He’s probably got a girlfriend already,’ I said. ‘Must meet lots of glamorous women in his job.’

3rd April.

Been thinking about Bella’s suggestion of turning this diary into a proper blog and sending it out into cyberspace. Not sure I’m ready for that yet. I know I’d censor my ramblings if I thought other people were reading it, and the whole point of my angsty diary is to write my true thoughts down.

But she’s right when she says there’s so much to write about down here. Think I’ll start with the idea of writing some travel and lifestyle features about the Riviera.

4th April.

Today we walked to the market in Antibes to buy some treats for Sunday evening’s supper. It was crowded as usual but for once everybody was happy and polite – sometimes they are so bad tempered and rude you wouldn’t believe.

Felt a bit sad looking at all the wonderful Easter eggs displayed on the chocolatier’s stand. Normally back home I buy a large calorific one filled with chocolate liqueurs, which Katie and I would pig out on. The days are long gone when I used to organise an Easter egg hunt in the garden for her.

Ben hates chocolate so he usually got a bottle of decent wine – which we’d allow him to share with us over Sunday lunch. Felt strange this year sending Katie the money to buy her own Easter egg.

Couldn’t resist buying two fluffy yellow ducks holding baskets full of tiny chocolate mallow eggs. ‘One each for tomorrow,’ I said, seeing Bella’s look. ‘It’s Easter. You’ve gotta indulge in chocolate at Easter. It’s the law.’ I bought a chocolate duck wearing a top hat and carrying a cane for Eliosa. Think she’ll find it amusing.

Bella treated us to lunch in one of the posher restaurants off the Place Nationale. Sipping rosé whilst sitting out in their garden under the large pergola with the wisteria starting to flower, listening to the water gurgling in the ancient granite fountain in the centre of the garden, was bliss. Food was good too.

We just chilled out for the rest of the day really. Drank lots of wine, ate warm baguettes and cheese for lunch and listened to a lot of jazz. 1920s stuff in particular, Bella’s favourite era.

5th April.

Been thinking about what Bella said re Nino being a hunk and did I fancy a fling with him? To be honest, don’t think I’m ready yet to start dating again. Is it still called dating? Must ask Bella. I’ve been out of the loop for so long, don’t even know the correct terminology now.

If the truth be told, I’m frightened at the thought of getting involved with anyone after Ben. Being dumped after twenty-three years plays havoc with your confidence that’s for sure. Suppose I’ll get my mojo back again one day. And regular sex again.

6th April.

Eliosa was in good form when she came for supper. Think she’s had quite a life one way or another.

‘Married four times. Divorced one, buried three,’ she laughed. ‘Wonder what will happen to number five,’ she said.

‘You’re getting married again?’ I said, surprised.

‘C’est possible. I like being married. If I meet someone...’ she shrugged.

‘You haven’t actually got number five all lined up then?’ Bella asked, amused.

‘Non. But you never know who is around the next bend,’ Eliosa said, offering Brucie a piece of blini from her plate.

‘Maybe an Englishman would be nice this time,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I’ve had two Italians, one French, and Roberto, Swiss.’ Her face clouded over and she sighed. ‘Roberto was my fourth husband and the love of my life. We only had six years together and I miss him still. He died too young. D’you know anyone suitable, Jessica? He must be richer than me of course.’

I shook my head, suppressing a smile. ‘Sorry. Rich Englishmen don’t figure in my life at all. Maybe Nino can find you a rich yacht owner?’

‘Ah Nino. Now he is on way to Genoa for a week or two. When he returns I ask him. He tells me you both had the champagne on board. You like his boat?’

‘That yacht is something else,’ Bella said, beginning to pour some more wine into Eliosa’s glass. ‘Tell me, does Nino have a girlfriend?’

Eliosa shook her head. ‘Non. But he has a wife. Back in Italy.’

I choked on my blini as Bella over-filled Eliosa’s glass. And bang went any secret thoughts I might have been harbouring about having a fling with Nino. Not that I’d seriously been considering it, of course. But an outside possibility had just become totally out of the question. My name isn’t Samantha.

7th April.

Spring down here is a beautiful season. Not too hot yet, but the sun is shining enough to draw people down to the beach. Even saw some people swimming yesterday. Despite the sun, I bet it was cold.

8th April.

The last full day of Bella’s visit we spent up in St. Paul de Vence. Thank god I took my camera with me because I think it’s going to be one of the first things I write about. It’s one of those famous perched villages with views down to the Mediterranean, and its medieval streets are now full of art galleries and bijou boutiques. Oh, and it’s home to various celebs, both French and English. Didn’t see anyone famous but we did bump into Jamie Carson, an old work colleague of Bella’s.

‘Remember I told you about him a couple of years ago,’ Bella muttered quickly as she spotted him striding down the street towards us. ‘Wife died in a hit and run. He lost the plot. Resigned from work. Became a recluse. Rumour has it there was a big insurance payout. Wonder what he’s doing here? Jamie! How lovely to see you.’

‘Bella.’ After the obligatory cheek kissing that all Englishmen seem to adopt with alacrity the moment they land on French soil, Bella introduced me.

‘Jamie, this is Jessica, an old friend who’s living in Juan-les-Pins at the moment. Are you on holiday?’

‘Pleased to meet you Jessica. I divide my time between here and the UK these days,’ he explained to Bella. ‘I have a villa up the road from here. Come for coffee and we can catch up.’

Walking through the village we stopped at the patisserie, where Jamie insisted on buying one of those hard-to-resist light-as-a-feather sponge cakes the French are so good at, covered in fruits and cream.

Jamie’s villa, set on a small private estate with views out over the surrounding countryside, was a delight. The large conservatory at the back of the house where we drank strong coffee and devoured the cake was very English, with its cane furniture and floral cushions.

I tuned out most of the conversation while Jamie was bringing Bella up to date with his news, and looked at the garden. Palm trees, oleander shrubs and pots of margaritas tumbling down the side of a flight of granite steps towards the swimming pool, passion flowers covering an archway and roof of a poolside room. Beautiful.

Six teak sun loungers, each with their own cream parasol, were lined up along one side of the pool. Wonderful.

Jamie saw me looking and said, ‘Fancy a swim? Lots of spare costumes in the pool house.’

I shook my head. ‘No thanks. I’m more of a gardener than a swimmer. I was thinking how beautiful your garden is.’

‘Thank you. How long have you been living in Juan-les-Pins?’ Jamie asked. ‘Think you’ll make it permanent?’

‘This is the fourth month. And no,’ I shook my head. ‘It’s just a long delayed gap year for me. I’ll go back home to family after Christmas.’

‘Unless of course she meets some sexy Frenchman who persuades her otherwise,’ Bella said.

‘I’m in the process of selling up at home and moving over here permanently,’ Jamie said. ‘In fact, I go back tomorrow to sell my house. Next month I’ll be a bona fide expat.’

Turned out he was going home on the same flight as Bella, and before we left they’d arranged to meet up at the airport.

19th April.

Realised today I’ve not been popping down to Jacques’ bar every evening like I did when I first got here. That has to be a good sign, doesn’t it? Must mean I’m not so desperate for company.

22nd April.

Life slipped back into its normal routine after Bella left. A leisurely walk most mornings to the market for fresh veg, coffee at Jacques’, a walk along the sea front, French conversation class – yes I’m still going. A couple of new women joined and things are better. And Colette and I are good friends now.

Bought myself a lovely notebook in the English bookshop in Antibes and started to plan out possible feature ideas and magazines to pitch. Bella was right, so many things to write about down here I’m spoilt for choice. Been taking my camera everywhere with me so my stock of photos is growing too.

23rd April.

Waiting to hear back from my old boss about organising me a Press Pass for the Film Festival. Think he’s my only chance of getting one. Have pitched a feature about St. Paul de Vence to him to try and pique his interest.

Only spoken to Katie twice this month and not at all for the last week. Last time we did speak, things were a bit heated. She kept going on at me about how selfish I was and I got cross – so she’s clearly decided not to talk to me for a bit. Keep trying her mobile but it goes straight to voicemail and she’s not returning my calls. Might have to text Ben as a last resort to check if everything’s OK.

30th April.

O.M.G. Katie’s disappeared. Ben phoned me this morning. Wanting to talk to her! Apparently she left the house as usual for college on Friday and no one has seen her since. For some reason, Ben was convinced she’d come to see me. Thought I was lying when I said she wasn’t here.

‘Just put her on the phone,’ he said. ‘No point in stopping her talking to me.’

‘Believe me, Ben – she isn’t here. What the hell happened to make her run away?’

There was an uncomfortable pause. ‘She was rude to Samantha and I insisted she had to apologise. She refused and stormed off to her room. Twelve hours later she upped and left.’

‘Nice one Ben. Have you tried her friends?’

‘No one knows anything – if they do, they’re not telling me. You might have more luck.’

I promised to try and hung up. I’ve spent hours today ringing around Katie’s friends, the ones I had numbers for anyway. No luck until Margaret, mum of Jane (who was frankly my last hope as she and Katie aren’t that close these days), answered the phone.

Jane had told her Katie said she couldn’t stay at home any longer and was going to move in with… ‘I’m sorry Jessica, but I can’t remember the name. I’ll ask Jane when she gets home. Ring me later.’

So I spent the afternoon waiting and worrying. When I rang back at seven o’clock, Jane answered.

‘I’m sorry but I promised Katie I wouldn’t tell you where she is. She wants some space. She’ll be cross with me when she finds out. Mum shouldn’t have told you I knew.’

‘Just tell me one thing then – is she ok?’

‘Yes.’

‘Thank you. Give her a message from me? Tell her that I’m worried sick about her so perhaps she could just text me. I promise I won’t hassle her.’

‘OK. Bye then,’ and the phone disconnected.

It was gone eleven o’clock French time before I sent Ben a brief text message. ‘Dnt knw whr K8 is bt is sfe’. To be honest I wanted to make him sweat for as long as possible, seeing as how he was totally responsible for Katie running off.

I switched the phone off immediately after sending it. I couldn’t cope with talking to him tonight. I’d have lost my temper and ended up hurling abuse down the line like some coarse fishwife.

Deep deep sigh. At least I know Katie is well physically. All the hurt is inside her – and there’s not a lot I can do about that. Especially from this distance. Am seriously thinking of flying home.