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was always telling her there were nicer studios out there – with nicer landlords, too – but this location was perfect, giving her the solitude she’d craved when Jay had left. The fact that none of the wealthy neighbours were interested in making her acquaintance was an added bonus. Something that would have infuriated Jay. He did like to mix with what he called ‘the right set’.

      Since Jay had gone and she’d moved here, coming home, closing the door and losing herself in her own space had been wonderful. Nobody to hear her crying.

      Last year, when he’d upped and left with practically no warning, she’d been devastated. Her home and boyfriend both gone in a single stroke. There was no way she could afford to stay in their apartment.

      In those first dark, lonely weeks she’d read and reread his infrequent emails, looking for any sign that he was missing her. That he’d made a mistake leaving. That he was coming back. Mostly, though, he said he had to find himself.

      Gradually, as his emails became full of news about people she didn’t know, and waxed lyrical about both his work and social life in London, GeeGee started to skim-read and then stopped automatically replying to them. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him to stop writing to her; she just hoped her silence would give him the message.

      Over the past couple of months the emails had been more subdued. Almost as though he was tiring of his new life. Which, knowing Jay’s low boredom threshold, wouldn’t surprise GeeGee at all.

      Today’s email had been shorter than usual. Maybe he’d noticed she wasn’t replying to every one he sent. There was no point. He wasn’t coming back. The relationship was clearly over – time to move on. It wasn’t as if Jay had been the love of her life. Working together, they’d simply drifted into a relationship.

      Absently GeeGee spooned the last of the muesli mixture into her mouth. She was on her own now. A state of affairs she was beginning to enjoy, even feel happy about. Time to begin making plans for herself.

      Tomorrow there would be some money in the bank when the sale of a small villa in Cannes La Bocca completed and her commission was paid. Mentally she ticked off the bills waiting to be paid: a month’s rent on the studio; a quarter’s desk rent to Hugo; a month’s car lease payment – plus petrol in the tank.

      She’d need to do a supermarket shop, too, see if the English hairdresser’s in Antibes could fit her in… stop! It wasn’t that much commission. Anything else she wanted, needed, would have to wait for the next commission payday which, fingers crossed, was due in about a fortnight if the notaire was on the ball. And then Dan’s purchase of apartment 4c would be the next in about six weeks.

      Ah, Dan. He was so… so nice. An over worked word but one that described him perfectly. She’d seen him briefly when he’d come into the office to sign the first of the official papers and she’d been struck by his old-fashioned manners and courtesy. Before leaving the office he’d thanked her profusely for her help and asked if he could buy her a coffee.

      Smiling, she’d agreed and had been reaching for her tote when his mobile had rung.

      ‘GeeGee, I’m sorry, I’m wanted back onboard. We’ll have to do coffee another time. Completion day maybe?’ And he was gone. Now things were in the hands of the notaire there would be no need for him to contact her again; the notaire would answer all his questions.

      Music and sounds of laughter from the grand villa on the corner of the road drifted on the air. The new owners had moved in then. Russian, Hugo had said when he’d gleefully told her he’d made the sale. A sale he’d virtually snatched from under her nose and for which she had yet to forgive him. The commission on that property alone would have set her up for the summer.

      The buzz of the bell made her jump. Nobody ever visited her here, not even Erica.

      ‘Evening, babe,’ sleazy Stan, her landlord, said as she opened the door. ‘Beginning to think I’d have to use my master key.’

      ‘I hope that’s a joke,’ GeeGee said.

      ‘You’ll never know will you, doll?’

      GeeGee gritted her teeth. No way was she going to let him rile her tonight. ‘You bought my new lease for me to sign?’

      ‘Nope. There isn’t one. Don’t know why you thought there would be. Studio’s a winter let only. Always has been. You’ve had an extra month as it is.’

      Dumbly GeeGee stared at him. She’d gone through that lease several times. It had been a standard six-month renewable tenancy agreement. Nowhere had it said anything about it being a winter let.

      She’d wanted a year’s lease but Stan had said take it or leave it. Desperate at the time, she’d signed. She’d been stupid enough to believe that renewing every six months would be automatic. Should have realised what the scum-bag was up to.

      ‘But you have to give me a new lease.’

      Stan shook his head. ‘No, I don’t. I’ve got holidaymakers coming in here soon. You can come back in October if you want but I want you out of here by the end of next week. And make sure you take that cat with you.’

      GeeGee didn’t have the energy to say the cat wasn’t hers. What the hell was she supposed to do now? Finding another place needed money for a deposit, rent in advance, etc. Money she didn’t have.

CHAPTER EIGHT

      In the lull between closing the restaurant after lunch and reopening for dinner, Rosie sat at one of the tables with her laptop, planning to try and catch up with some of the restaurant paperwork – being French, it was breeding at an alarming rate. Lucky lay across her feet sleeping. Nobody had come looking for the dog and she’d shown no inclination to wander off. Stretching her hand down to fondle her ears, Rosie whispered, ‘I guess it’s you and me from now on.’

      Rosie smiled to herself as she heard the Café Fleur advertisement play on Riviera Radio. Fingers crossed it was worth it and would bring more people down to the beach. She must try to remember to ask people where they’d heard about the Café Fleur when they booked. See if the ad was worth the money.

      At six o’clock Rosie left Tansy preparing a tomato and mozzarella salad and went through to the restaurant to make sure everything was in order ‘front of house’ for the evening. She enjoyed this side of things – meeting and greeting her customers. After years of working in a galley hidden from view onboard the yachts, it was a welcome change.

      Antoine’s table for two had been joined by another three bookings. She and Tansy would manage just fine – they were used to cooking and serving dinner for up to sixteen guests on A Sure Thing. They’d even cope if there were some unexpected customers off the beach. Though how she’d cope if Charlie came with Antoine she refused to even contemplate.

      As she lit some table candles, Rosie glanced out through the windows. Shame it was still too cold to eat out on the terrace in the evenings. She was looking forward to the long summer evenings when the place would be full of people enjoying her food. Maybe next year she’d be able to invest in some of those outdoor gas heaters.

      Rosie glanced at her watch. Antoine was late. Charlie’s fault? He was a terrible time-keeper. When Antoine did finally arrive, accompanied by a fellow yacht skipper, Rosie felt the tension leaving her body and succumbed happily to a bearlike hug. No Charlie to spoil the evening.

      By the time Antoine had been out to the kitchen to see Tansy and decided they all needed glasses of champagne, the guests for the other tables had arrived. For the next hour or two things were busy and Rosie had very little chance to talk to Antoine.

      As she handed him his favourite dessert, he said, ‘James not working tonight?’

      ‘I can’t afford him every day. Wish I could,’ Rosie said. ‘I meant to thank you, too, for sending him my way.’

      Antoine shook his head. ‘Not me.’

      ‘But

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