A Riviera Retreat - Jennifer Bohnet

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such a comfortable double bed all to herself was wonderful. Five more minutes and she’d shower and go and find some caffeine and maybe a croissant.

      Half an hour later, she was sitting on her terrace, a mug of coffee from the jug under the very professional looking machine in the kitchen and a pain au chocolat on a plate placed on the small wrought-iron table in front of her. She didn’t think she was the first to be up, the coffee jug was only half full, but she hadn’t seen anyone on her way to and from the kitchen.

      Sitting there enjoying the calm and the early morning sunshine, she thought about the plans for the week Amy had mentioned and came to a decision. The excursions would be enough entertainment for her, she wouldn’t need to go anywhere else. She’d spend the mornings on the other days working on her laptop, have a swim before lunch, and then write again for a couple of hours in the afternoon.

      Right, she had a plan. She was always happier when she had a plan and with luck this particular one should produce a sufficient amount of writing by the end of the holiday. Writing that might, or might not, be good enough to give her a new career. Vicky sighed.

      She’d been reading a couple of ‘How to’ books and a writing magazine, all of which had been at pains to point out how the market was changing, how difficult it was these days to get an agent, not to mention a deal with a publishing house. But she was determined to have a go. If she didn’t even try to write something during this holiday, she’d be forever wondering whether she’d let herself down.

      For the first time since Kit-gate, Chelsea had fallen asleep the instant her head hit the pillow the night before. Woken at 6.30 by the 5.30 alarm on her phone because she’d forgotten to deactivate it or set the clock to French time, she turned over and went straight back to sleep for another five minutes, which turned into two hours.

      Fully awake this time, she pulled on her swimming things and, grabbing a towel from the bathroom, she made for the pool and dived in. Thirty lengths later, she turned on her back and floated. This felt so good. The sky above her was already deepening into the azure blue she’d heard so much about, without a cloud in sight. She watched as a formation of half a dozen ducks flew overhead, idly wondering where they were headed. A nearby pond? Or the coast? Above them, the vapour trails of three or four planes criss-crossed in streaks across the sky.

      Gently floating down the pool, Chelsea reached the shallow steps and got out. Wrapping her towel around herself, she walked back to her room, showered and dressed before making a coffee using one of the coffee bags from the bedroom tray. She pushed away the thought of the fresh croissants that would be available in the kitchen.

      Standing sipping her coffee and looking out over the garden, Chelsea thought about the day ahead. What to do? Sit by the pool this morning sunbathing and reading? Maybe another swim? Then, after lunch, wander down to the village or even go into Cannes. Chelsea thought about the contents of her backpack, wishing now she’d given more thought to the clothes she’d flung in. Especially with visits to Monaco and Antibes on the agenda. She’d brought jeans and tops, one maxi dress, a skirt and her faithful denim jacket. Her maxi dress was the only garment that could be vaguely described as smart. If Elsie was here, finding something suitable to wear wouldn’t be a problem.

      Chelsea smiled to herself. The phrase ‘travel light’ didn’t exist in Elsie’s vocabulary. She would have brought the largest suitcase she could drag behind her, filled with enough clothes to last her at least a month, never mind ten days, just in case.

      She’d texted Elsie late last night to tell her she’d arrived and how gorgeous the villa was, but there was no reply from her this morning. She’d try and ring her later today and check that things were all right. Whether the part-time girls were coping, whether there had been any repercussions over her stupidity. Elsie had told her she was to enjoy her time away and to try and forget the whole incident by the time she returned home. Which was, of course, impossible. It wasn’t something she’d forget for a long time. From their comments last night, she guessed that both Matilda and Amy had had some sort of man problem in the past. Not that it could possibly have been half as publicly humiliating as her recent experience; Chelsea shivered just thinking about it again.

      She imagined Amy and Vicky were both in their late thirties or early forties, which would make them at least fifteen years older than her. A lot could happen in the next fifteen years. Be good to think she and Elsie would be running a successful business by then and she’d be married with a family like Vicky. But definitely not married to a boring civil servant. She wanted somebody with a bit more go about them than that. A musician maybe. Vicky seemed quite vivacious and full of life, you’d have thought her partner would be the same, but a civil servant!

      Feeling the heat of the sun intensify as she stood there, Chelsea decided against going out. She’d give Elsie a quick ring now and then spend this first day of the holiday lazing around the pool, sunbathing and swimming. After all, wasn’t that what holidays were supposed to be about?

      She frowned when she rang Elsie’s number and the phone went straight to voicemail. Unlike Elsie not to answer. She’d try again later.

      In the meantime, she’d indulge herself and go and get a couple of freshly baked French croissants from the kitchen for her first breakfast in France. In the past, swimming had always made her hungry and today had been no exception.

      Matilda, having methodically changed her watch to French time, knew that first morning when she woke at 6.30 that it was too early to go to the kitchen in search of food. So she made herself a cup of tea and took it back to bed and started to read the first short story in the Fitzgerald book. Two hours later, she showered, before making her way to the kitchen in search of caffeine and something to eat.

      The kitchen, with its warm terracotta floor tiles, cream cupboards, granite work surface and yellow and blue tiles forming a colourful splash-back above the counters and behind the large range, was light and airy. A large refectory table stood in the middle of the room, a wicker bread basket containing a couple of croissants, pains au chocolat and a single almond slice, stood in the centre of it. Two long baguettes lay alongside. A dish of butter, pots of fig jam, honey and marmalade were clustered together with plates, mugs and cutlery. Lola, curled up in a basket alongside the range, thumped her tail in welcome but stayed where she was.

      Pouring herself a coffee and helping herself to a pain au chocolat, Matilda sat at the table. Where was everybody? Was she the last to come for breakfast? She’d hoped to see one or two of the others there and share a companionable half hour or so discussing how they were all going to spend their day.

      She’d almost finished her pain au chocolat, a delicious rare treat, when Chelsea arrived.

      ‘Morning, Matilda. Am I too late for a croissant or two?’

      ‘Still several in the basket – including a flaky almond one,’ Matilda said. ‘There’s coffee in the jug too.’

      Chelsea shook her head. ‘I’m just hungry. Need some carbs before I go for another swim. You got any plans for today?’ she asked, taking a plate and putting a plain buttery croissant and the almond one on it.

      ‘As it’s our first day, I thought I’d explore the garden, sit by the pool, read. You know, generally take it easy. You?’

      Chelsea, having just taken a large mouthful of croissant, the flakes of which were coating her lips, couldn’t answer for several seconds, then she said, ‘The same really, but I plan on having several swims too. Gosh, these are good,’ she said, before taking another large mouthful.

      ‘I’ll see you down by the pool after my walk then,’ Matilda said.

      ‘Okay. Ciao.’ And Chelsea was gone, but not before taking another croissant. ‘Elevenses,’ she said with a grin.

      ‘Ciao,’ Matilda echoed, smiling. She liked Chelsea. Felt they could be friends despite the age difference. The girl had clearly gone through a bad

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