LITMIR.BIZ

      Matilda sank onto the Lloyd Loom chair thoughtfully placed to take in the view and sighed with pleasure. Such a lovely room, and the view through the French doors leading onto the terrace was a meeting of intense blue sky over the green of the garden and the azure blue of the Mediterranean nudging the coastline on the horizon.

      When Sheila had told her she’d won the holiday, she’d tried to persuade her to take it for herself.

      ‘I can’t. It’s in your name and the rules clearly state it isn’t transferable.’

      In the end, Matilda had stopped arguing and replied to Amy’s email, accepting the prize. Now she was here, she was looking forward to relaxing, enjoying the break and hopefully making new friends. Chelsea had been so helpful and kind when they’d met in the departure lounge at Bristol Airport and realised they were both competition winners on the way to Belle Vue Villa. Vicky seemed a friendly woman and as for Amy herself, well, as the giver of the holiday, she was clearly a generous and thoughtful woman. And so graceful in her movements.

      Matilda picked up a book from the low table conveniently placed at the side of the chair. F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Tales of the Jazz Age. One of his books she hadn’t read. She knew Fitzgerald had spent a lot of time on the Riviera during the twenties and thirties when the Jazz Age was at its height – maybe there would be some tales set down here?

      Hopefully her ankle would be strong enough before the end of the holiday for her to walk unaided around Antibes in Fitzgerald’s footsteps. She’d dutifully spent the last few months doing the exercises the physiotherapist had given her and trying to use her stick less and less, which had proved difficult. Her ankle was definitely better, but she was terrified of falling again and the stick had become like a third leg – one that gave her confidence and a sense of security.

      Right now, she fancied a reviving cup of tea. One of the Earl Grey teabags she’d spotted on the tray would do nicely.

      Waiting for the kettle to boil, she found her iPad and sent Josh a quick email.

      I’ve arrived safely. Villa is wonderful. Hope all is well with you. Love Mum x

      Taking her tea, she opened the French doors and stepped out onto the terrace. A small wrought-iron table and two chairs had been placed to one side of the doors. Perfect. The garden in front of her was a beautiful mixture of lawn and flower beds containing a variety of wonderful white and scarlet roses. A hedge of pink oleander stretched down the right hand side where she could see a man carefully hoeing away at the weeds.

      A garden was the main thing she missed when they’d sold the old family home that William had inherited from his parents and downsized into the flat. With Josh leaving home and William wanting to shorten his daily commute to work, it had made sense, but Matilda had wept a secret tear or two over the decision. She’d loved pottering around the garden of an evening, William at her side as they caught up with each other’s day. William had promised that once he’d retired they would move to France, find a cottage with a garden and the two of them would grow old together, living the country life they’d always dreamed of living.

      A heart attack had decreed otherwise, killing William one Sunday morning as they’d strolled through Clifton village towards their favourite restaurant for lunch. And just like that everything had changed.

      For the past sixteen months, Matilda had lived alone in the flat, coming to terms with her loss and trying to find consolation in the numerous pots she’d jammed together on her small balcony – and failing miserably. Every time she watered and tended to the pots, in her heart she was wishing herself somewhere else – in a cottage with a proper garden. When she’d mentioned her feelings to Josh on one of his visits, he’d advised her to take her time deciding what to do, and not to do anything too drastic too quickly.

      Winning the holiday here, courtesy of Sheila and Amy’s kindness, had started her dreaming again of moving to France. Thoughts she’d squashed as being an impossible dream for her to do alone. But something was beginning to niggle away in her brain, telling her she wasn’t that old, that she still had years of life left in front of her. William had left her financially more than comfortable and she knew that, more than anything, he would want her to be happy.

      Matilda finished her tea. Maybe being in France for ten days would help her decide what to do with her future. Tomorrow morning she’d enjoy taking a wander and exploring the gardens as she started to really think about the rest of her life. Right now, though, she was going to sit here and simply admire the view before unpacking and getting ready for aperitifs and dinner on the terrace. For the first time in months, she was feeling hungry. Must be the sea air, she decided.