Escape to the Riviera: The perfect summer romance!

Escape to the Riviera: The perfect summer romance! Jules Wake **Lose yourself in the south of France this summer in this fabulously feel-good beach read!**Carrie Hayes has a job she enjoys and a perfectly nice boyfriend. She’s sorted. Isn’t she?But Carrie’s life wasn’t always like this. As a young,wild drama student, she married fellow actor, RichardMaddox, after a whirlwind romance. Life back then wasfull of possibilities, but when Hollywood beckonedRichard, Carrie was left behind.Now an A-list superstar, Richard’s life couldn’t be moredifferent to Carrie’s, so when their paths cross in glamorousSt Tropez, she can’t help but wonder what might have been.But with lovely, sensible Alan in tow, Carrie knowsshe needs to do the right thing. The only problem is,Carrie and Richard never quite got round to getting a divorce…Lose yourself this summer on the French Riviera,the perfect read for fans of Lucy Diamond and Jane Costello. JULES WAKE Escape to the Riviera Copyright (#u08620eb5-e103-58cd-ae2a-1342d287ab9f) AVON A division of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk) First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2016 Copyright © Jules Wake 2016 Cover photographs © Anger O. / Getty Images / Shutterstock (http://www.shutterstock.com) Cover design © Alison Groom 2016 Jules Wake asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. 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Source ISBN: 9780008185299 Ebook Edition © June 2016 ISBN: 9780008185305 Version: 2016-06-28 Dedication (#u08620eb5-e103-58cd-ae2a-1342d287ab9f) For Super Agent Broo, thank you for everything x Table of Contents Cover (#u050ebe70-ff8d-56f9-806d-3a193db795c6) Title Page (#u51f10e17-ebc3-5e55-a1e7-3fe6b700ae44) Copyright (#ud36270d7-a840-5862-8bfe-826228cd2ef9) Dedication (#u4a22e77c-d1b4-5a3d-b0ca-9b51e0a4d9a3) Chapter One (#ud769b6d7-42ce-586e-a13b-f900ed217f52) Chapter Two (#u20a78957-e641-55d7-b967-552ef086425c) Chapter Three (#u62196d80-248e-53a9-877f-b119549a9b2f) Chapter Four (#u478e64f8-4f0c-5073-8f04-80fb6b1fbd15) Chapter Five (#uf9d42fa5-e559-528e-8424-6ed22f2db261) Chapter Six (#u93c38ce5-cff7-53b7-b3ae-0a2dd16b2c10) Chapter Seven (#ud78341c1-b9dc-59d3-a58d-80f9b58564ef) Chapter Eight (#uef3fe588-46de-5289-a712-479120880d7f) Chapter Nine (#u88bc1dbe-1d17-5eec-81b2-40a0ef4d4089) Chapter Ten (#ua5219b53-c50a-533d-b4c4-955a370bfc4c) Chapter Eleven (#u8a1effe5-83d2-5ff2-87a7-9dd818c956ba) Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-Five (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-Six (#litres_trial_promo) Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo) Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo) Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo) About the Author (#litres_trial_promo) By the Same Author (#litres_trial_promo) About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER ONE (#u08620eb5-e103-58cd-ae2a-1342d287ab9f) Surely, no judge in the land would send her down for giving in to temptation and throttling her niece? The phrase ‘justifiable homicide’ rattled around Carrie’s brain with pleasing harmony. Yes, she’d almost certainly get away it. Teenagers were tricky little sods, although her sister might have something to say about it. Angela managed her daughter’s strops with understated equanimity, but then she was very good at putting up with things. Carrie, on the other hand, found it difficult not to react. How come she could cope with a class full of other people’s kids but was ready to strangle her own niece for being a first-class, there was no other word for it, madam? It would be wrong to come right out and call her that, strangulation was therefore entirely reasonable. Her fingers twitched. So, so tempting. ‘Told you we wouldn’t get in,’ Jade pointed out for the third time, in her loud ‘I’m disgruntled voice’, attracting pernicious interest from the people in the queue behind them. No doubt a score of parents were heaving fervent sighs that she wasn’t theirs. Did Jade have any idea how close she was to having the very living breath choked out of her? ‘You should have booked the tickets online, like I said to. It’s ridiculous,’ moaned Jade, contradicting any pleasure she might have gained in being right. Carrie scowled at her niece. One, she flatly refused to pay a two-pound fee, per ticket, mind you, for the luxury of booking tickets in her own home and two, especially not for a film you could flipping well see for free on television. Breakfast at Tiffany’s had been around for fifty years. ‘Now, now, I’m sure there’s something else we can see,’ said Alan, stepping back to look up at the bank of screens advertising at least another eleven films being screened. ‘Yes,’ said the girl at the desk, with a touch of desperation, trying to hurry them along. ‘One of the films starts in two minutes.’ Whose side she was on? She’d soon be out of work if people paid the over-priced booking fees and didn’t buy tickets at the desk. If that happened and you had to do it all online, there’d never be any chance to be spontaneous and decide to see a film. Take pot luck. Not that Carrie had done anything that random in ages. With sudden dismay it occurred to her that spontaneity was in short supply these days. Did that happen to everyone with age? Was it growing up? Maturing? Or just her getting duller? ‘Which one starts in two minutes?’ asked Carrie, straightening up and flashing the girl a brilliant smile. ‘Wait. Don’t tell me.’ She turned to the others. ‘Let’s go for it. It’ll be a surprise.’ They all stared at her as if she’d gone mad. As well they might, where had that crazy thought come from? ‘What! We can’t do that,’ said Angela. ‘We don’t even know what it is. We might hate it.’ ‘That’s the most ridiculous thing. Why would you do that? That’s so lame.’ Jade shook her head. ‘Anyway there’ll only be tickets left for the crap films no one wants to see.’ ‘And also rather risky, darling,’ added Alan. ‘Or it could be fun!’ Her voice lifted with enthusiasm, looking back at the united front of three deeply sceptical faces. ‘We might see a film we’d never normally choose and enjoy it. Broaden our horizons. A voyage of discovery! You might love it and you’d never have known. And what about that sense of anticipation?’ ‘Like who does that?’ Jade punctuated every word with a different facial expression. If displeased gurning ever became an Olympic sport, she’d surely clean up. ‘Sounds a pathetic, losery sort of thing to do.’ She continued. ‘Erm, if you could …’ the girl at the desk nodded her head, indicating the restive queue. ‘Or perhaps step aside while you’re deciding.’ ‘No. Not happening. There’s no way I’m queuing all over again.’ Jade turned to the girl. ‘What tickets are left for anything that’s not totally shite?’ ‘Well there are two screens showing An Unsuitable Man, which is pretty popular.’ ‘Done.’ Jade gave Alan an unapologetic smile. ‘Sorry Al, it’s a chick flick.’ ‘That’s fine, I think I’ll cope,’ replied Alan, amusement glinting in his eyes. Carrie shot him a grateful smile and got her purse out. ‘Four tickets for that, then.’ ‘Does anyone know what it’s about?’ asked Angela. ‘Not a clue, but it’s got Mr Delicious Arse in it, so if all else fails we’ve got man candy. Sorry, again Al.’ All was right again in Jade’s world. ‘Isn’t that a tad sexist?’ teased Carrie, on safer ground now. ‘Sue me.’ Jade grinned. ‘But I bet you agree. Sorry Al, again, but the man with the oh-so-yum butt is serious sex on legs.’ ‘Jade!’ said Angela with a half-hearted exclamation of consternation, before adding, ‘But we still don’t know what it’s about.’ ‘I’m guessing,’ said Carrie, paying for the tickets and tucking away her purse, ‘there’s a clue in the title, which probably contravenes the trade descriptions act. Cute unsuitable man reforms to become cute suitable man.’ ‘And there speaks the scriptwriter,’ said Alan, wrapping his arm around her as they walked towards screen seven. ‘Then it sounds like a very good alternative,’ said Angela. ‘Although perhaps a bit unfair on the sole male in the party.’ ‘Well Al would prefer that to a shoot ‘em, beat ‘em and kill ‘em, fast and furious thing, wouldn’t you? You’re used to all that Pride and Prejudice, Far From the Madding Crowd stuff.’ Jade shuddered. ‘I’m so glad, once this year is finished, I never ever ever, have to do English Literature again.’ ‘So too, I suspect, is your teacher,’ said Al with a wink. ‘And no, I’m quite happy to watch something undemanding. I’m sure there’ll be some lady candy for me.’ His hand resting on Carrie’s shoulder squeezed her. Thank goodness he was used to teenagers. Carrie lifted her hand and wrapped her fingers around his, squeezing him back. Being a teacher at the same school as where she taught drama part-time meant Jade’s behaviour, thankfully, didn’t faze him or put him off. They shuffled into their seats and sat down in the semi-darkness. The ads had already started but the audience, blas? and indifferent to the stylish mini-films, paid no attention. Jade’s phone glowed as she scrolled through pages on the internet, reminding Carrie to switch hers off. Next to her, Alan did the same. ‘Richard Maddox,’ announced Jade, showing her phone to her mother. Carrie heard Angela’s quick, sharp gasp. Her stomach flipped. In the dark she saw the light from the phone reflected in Angela’s wide-eyed expression. Angela grabbed her arm on the rest between them. ‘He’s Mr Delicious Arse,’ explained Jade, leaning over her mother to show Carrie a picture of Richard Maddox’s naked backside. All the air whooshed out of Carrie’s lungs and someone had removed the bones in her legs. Thank goodness for Angela’s grip on her arm, otherwise she might have slipped out of her seat like a slick of jelly, sliding right out under the seat in front of her all the way to the bottom. ‘It’s a YouTube vid. Him buck-naked on a beach in California. All you can see is his butt.’ An image of a tiny heart-shaped mole wormed like a determined maggot into Carrie’s head, and no matter how hard she blinked, she couldn’t dispel it. ‘Not the meat and two veg, thank you. That would just be vile. Don’t look, Al.’ Jade waved the phone at him. ‘Thanks, Jade, I won’t.’ A sudden burst of music, ebbing from left to right of the cinema in a cacophonous wave, silenced the chatter and Jade snapped her phone off. Angela’s hand crept into hers with a limp grip. Carrie clung on to it, her heart leaping about in her chest like a bucking bronco on acid. Her stupid brain insisted on replaying an image of a finger tracing that blinking mole, the tip of her index fingernail a perfect fit for each side of the heart, which nestled on the top left side of a right buttock. She squirmed slightly in her seat and stiffened when she realised what she was doing. ‘You okay?’ whispered Angela. In the darkness Carrie shook her head, unable to speak. A sense of dread and anticipation rolled around in her stomach. She sat straighter. It seemed a miracle she could keep her body still when inside it felt like someone had switched on a blender. It was bound to happen one day. A miracle that she’d managed this long. Richard Maddox starred in one block-buster after another. Sickness and curiosity warred. It had been a long time. She’d been good. Not stalking him. Not Googling. Managing to avert her gaze from the front of Hello magazine at the checkout in Marks and Spencer, training herself not to flinch when someone in the staff room talked about his latest movie or when his name was linked with yet another blonde bombshell of dubious intelligence. Okay, that was her being a bitch. They might be very intelligent, but couldn’t they give everyone else a break and not be completely gorgeous as well? Maybe she’d built it all up in her head and seeing him on screen wouldn’t affect her at all. She hadn’t seen him for years. Eight years, ten months, give or take a day or two. And she only knew that because it was July 1 and he’d left on the August bank holiday. No other reason. Why the hell hadn’t she done this before? Put her demon to rest? Except he wasn’t a demon. Or even a bad person. Just someone from her past. She should have done this ages ago. She squeezed Angela’s hand back to show she was fine. Absolutely fine. Carrie approved of the sassy character of the female lead, a willowy blonde, who kept the hero on his toes. The well-written screenplay had lots going for it. Entertaining. Good snappy dialogue. Gorgeous location. New York without the traffic, the noise or the humidity. She liked the conflicts that kept him and the heroine apart, and the will-they-ever-get-together moment, where he cast a wistful backward look at her sitting alone on the Highline. Carrie was doing really, really well. Focusing on the film. The mechanics of it. Stoic and impassive. She was doing well, right up to the point when on the Staten Island Ferry, Richard Maddox’s character removed the suitcase from the heroine’s hand, turned her to him, cupped her face in his hands, pushing her long windswept curls out of the way, and leaned in. The camera homed in on the wistful, longing expression on his face, his lips centre-screen as he uttered the words, ‘I love you,’ before leaning in to bestow a kiss of heart-rending intensity. He might as well have punched her right in the gut. She almost doubled over with the impact. A flush of heat raced through her as memories loosened, tumbling down like an avalanche. The way he’d lazily snake one of her curls around his finger when they were lying in bed in the mornings. His eyes holding hers when he kissed her, the quick nibbles at the corner of her mouth, those spontaneous public pecks on the Tube as if he couldn’t hold them back and the long, slow langorous preludes to love-making. A myriad kisses danced in her head. The pain sliced hard and sharp, like a crack suddenly tearing its way through her heart. She tensed, her diaphragm clenching as she fought to hold in a shuddering sob, which threatened to launch itself into orbit. Mindful of Alan on her right and Angela on her left, she swallowed hard. She clamped her lips in a mutinous line, wrapped her arms around her chest and shut her eyes, praying that these precautions would succeed in repelling the emotion fighting to leak out. Tears streamed down her cheek, gathering speed and a single hiccoughing sob escaped. Al slipped an arm along the back of her chair. ‘You big softie,’ he whispered. Blinking back the tears, feeling all kinds of fool, she ducked her head to scrabble around in her bag at her feet to find a tissue. It gave her time to take her attention away from the screen and to get a grip. ‘Aw, Auntie Carrie’s been crying,’ teased Jade as they filed out of the cinema, blinking as they emerged into daylight. ‘You big wuss, you.’ ‘She’s an old romantic, aren’t you love?’ Alan shrugged into his jacket as they stepped out into the early-evening drizzle. ‘It was a lovely film,’ said Angela, her eyes anxious as they scanned Carrie’s wan face. ‘Made me cry too.’ Carrie winced at the blatant lie. She did love her sister. ‘Mum, what are you like? Seriously? What was there to cry at? Honestly, you’re a pair of saps. I’ll give him hot, though. Up in the old Fahrenheit register. Hot, hot, hot,’ she paused with a cheeky raise of her eyebrows, ‘for an old guy.’ ‘Old?’ chorused Angela and Carrie at the same time, exchanging secretive smiles. ‘Yeah, he must be at least thirty. Old.’ She grinned. ‘Obvs, not for you geriatric crustys, of course.’ Carrie and Angela each linked an arm through Jade’s. ‘What do you think?’ Carrie said to Angela. ‘Bread and water for the next ten years?’ ‘Ladies, you can do better than that.’ Alan frowned as if giving it serious thought. ‘How about no phone upgrade for another year?’ ‘Nooo!’ howled Jade, dramatically locking her hands in mock prayer, ‘anything but that.’ ‘Or we could give her away?’ suggested Angela ‘Who’d have her?’ Carrie shrugged as Jade poked her tongue out. ‘There is that,’ agreed Angela with a long-suffering sigh. ‘Look’s like we’re stuck with the brat.’ ‘You know you love me. Both of you.’ Jade tugged at their arms, pulling them closer to her. Her mother placed a kiss on her cheek. ‘We do.’ Carrie followed suit. ‘Course we do.’ She pushed back at the sense of melancholy hovering over her, as if ready to snatch her away. She had plenty of love in her life. What more could she ask for? She had a tight-knit family and a lovely man, who adored her. CHAPTER TWO (#u08620eb5-e103-58cd-ae2a-1342d287ab9f) ‘You coming in for a coffee?’ asked Carrie, opening the car door. Alan shook his head, as Angela and Jade stepped out of the passenger seats in the back. ‘No, it’s a school night and I’ve still got a stack of marking to do.’ So did she. Guilt pricked at the thought of 8G’s navy-blue exercise books heaped in a pile in the kitchen. They ought to be done tonight. She came round to the driver’s seat and Alan climbed out of the car to face her. She was lucky to have him. Good looking in a forty-watt sort of way. Every feature created a harmonious symmetry that fell a touch short of dazzling. Nice brown eyes, with thick dark lashes that begged the question was he wearing make-up, good skin, hair mid-brown but slightly limp and a nice neat nose. He was the same height as her and quite possibly the kindest man she knew. ‘Okay. Thanks for coming with us. Sorry about the film choice. I’m sure it wasn’t your cup of tea.’ ‘What? And Breakfast at Tiffany’s was?’ He tilted his head to one side. With a gentle laugh she tugged at his jacket. ‘Yeah, but it’s iconic and you said you’d never seen it. And everyone should see it at least once.’ He put his arms around her, pulling her into an embrace. ‘Well, the other one wasn’t so bad. Though who knew you were such a closet romantic? Tears, Miss Hayes? I always thought for a drama teacher you were incredibly emotionally stable.’ ‘Thanks, I think. That was supposed to be a compli-ment?’ He grinned at her. ‘Of course it was. Not that you need them.’ He leaned in and brushed his lips over hers. For a minute she clung to him, her heart lifting in anticipation. She wanted him to kiss her. Properly. Chase the demons of fantasy away. This was real. She deepened the kiss, needing that connection with him, but he pulled back. ‘I need to go. Those books won’t get marked by themselves. Sleep tight. See you at work in the morning. Only three more Mondays and we’re home free.’ She bit back disappointment. Alan was being sensible. In a few weeks’ time they’d have a whole summer off, although they’d yet to decide what to do. He’d got a cycling holiday in the Swiss Alps booked and, despite the invitation, it didn’t appeal. She could’ve gone along but Angela and Jade still hadn’t sorted out a holiday and it felt wrong to abandon them. ‘Thank the Lord.’ She hugged him. ‘This summer term is always a killer. There’s so much going on. Exams. The leavers getting too big for their boots. I can’t wait until we break up.’ Jade had already gone up to bed when Carrie sank down at the kitchen table opposite her sister. She let out a weary sigh and reached for the cup of tea Angela had made for her. ‘You okay?’ Carrie rubbed her hand over her face, trying to summon up the right words. She didn’t want to worry Angela but no she wasn’t okay. Nothing like okay. ‘I’m fine. That last bit got to me. But I’m fine.’ She should be fine. After all, she’d worked in the business. Written her own scenes designed to engineer an audience’s response. Should be impervious to a scene where the director had brought every cinematic trick in the book into play, expressly to create a total heart-stopping, heart-fluttering scene. ‘Are you sure?’ Angela’s soft voice penetrated her thoughts, her gentle grey eyes glistening with sympathy. ‘Am I fuck?’ Carrie laid her head on the table and bashed it a couple of times. It hurt. ‘Carrie!’ She lifted her head and said with a weary sigh, ‘I’m not fine at all. I feel pants.’ Seeing Richard had knocked her sideways, out through a glass window seventy-five stories up, and she was still hurtling through the air. Her response was ten times worse than she could have imagined. Out of sight, out of mind had worked pretty well for her to date. Whoever talked about opening cans of worms had known their onions. She wished she’d walked out of the cinema as soon as she’d heard the name Richard Maddox. ‘Probably the shock of seeing him again, as it were.’ Angela lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug, her brave attempt at reassurance at odds with her bewildered expression. She and Carrie were so different. Angela’s mild disposition and gentle approach meant that she sailed rather serenely through life on a gentle swell, never plunging into the lows or cresting the highs, despite the constant pain and difficulties she suffered with her rheumatoid arthritis. Her affair with a married man that resulted in Jade was the most out-of-character thing that Angela had ever done and even now Carrie had difficulty in believing that her sister had been swept away enough to commit adultery. ‘Maybe it’s because you never had proper closure. When I got pregnant with Jade, I knew that it would be over with Clive. With you and Richard, it never ended properly. Just drifted to a halt. ‘I’m sure that’s what it is. How long ago was it since you last saw him? Seven, eight years? You can’t possibly be in love with him, not after all this time.’ Carrie swallowed a protest. What if she could? She’d never tested the theory before today. ‘Yes, you’re right. It’s the shock of seeing him in all his twelve-foot celluloid handsome glory.’ That’s what had made her heart beat a thousand times faster and deepened the hollow feeling in her stomach all the way to Australia. ‘No one’s that good looking. Do you think he was wearing loads of make-up?’ Angela said knowledgeably, as if she spent hours on a film set. ‘Probably,’ agreed Carrie, nodding as if her life depended on it. ‘And I bet he had a body double.’ Angela leaned back in her chair, waving her cup about in her usual feeble grip, sloshing tea over the sides. ‘His body can’t be that good.’ Carrie nodded again. If she wasn’t careful someone would stuff her in the back window of a car. Angela had a point, though. It certainly hadn’t been when he was in his twenties but then he wasn’t leading a superstar lifestyle then. You don’t exactly fill out a scrawny frame when you’re existing on baked beans and fish-finger sandwiches, living in an unheated, mould-ridden flat off Cold Harbour Lane in Brixton, shivering off any muscle tone to keep warm. ‘Alternatively,’ Angela was her in stride now. ‘he could have a Rottweiler of a personal trainer who dogs his every step-making sure he lives on horrible Hollywood-healthy milkshake things, like wheatgrass and alfalfa sproutings or that keen squaw stuff.’ Carrie smiled as Angela pulled a bleurgh face. ‘And he must wear contacts. No one’s eyes are that blue.’ Richard’s were. To hide the ping of protest her heart made, Carrie let out a mirthless laugh, cupping the mug of tea to take a sip. ‘Sweet of Alan to come with us.’ Angela’s eyes were guileless and her smile kind. ‘Subtle.’ Angela shrugged. ‘He’s lovely. You’ve been seeing each other for a while.’ Carrie didn’t say anything. ‘Do you think something might happen there one day?’ ‘One day. I guess.’ Carrie had been giving it more thought recently. He made her happy. So happy. They were good together. She loved him. Not in the crazy, helter-skelter being-at-a-fairground way she’d loved Richard but in a stronger, more enduring fashion. ‘What if one day is soon?’ Carrie was missing something. Angela’s eyes were bird- bright, beady with expectation. ‘What do you know?’ ‘Oh.’ Worry crept across her face. ‘Shoot, I’ve given the game away.’ ‘Well you hadn’t but you have now.’ ‘If he did ask you, you know, to marry him, you’d say yes, wouldn’t you?’ The lines in her forehead deepened as she realised she’d dug herself into an even deeper hole. ‘Angela. What do you know?’ ‘You mustn’t tell him I told you.’ ‘Like I’m going to do that.’ ‘He asked to borrow one of your rings, to get the size right.’ She sighed. ‘And he showed me lots of pictures, to check he’d get something you’d like.’ She brightened. ‘But he didn’t say when. Although, now I’ve spoilt the surprise. You’re going to have to act surprised when he asks you.’ ‘You muppet. How could he not know you are the worst person at keeping secrets?’ ‘I kept one.’ Carrie sighed. ‘You did.’ ‘If he asks, what are you going to do, about, you know? You’ll have to do something.’ ‘Yeah, I will and I should have done it years ago, instead …’ she paused. Instead of deliberately ducking the issue. ‘I need to do something about Richard Maddox.’ See, if she said his surname, it made it less personal, as if he wasn’t her Richard. As if she wasn’t entitled to call herself Carrie Maddox. ‘It’s time we got a divorce.’ CHAPTER THREE (#u08620eb5-e103-58cd-ae2a-1342d287ab9f) Carrie dragged herself up the stairs to the staff room, consigning whoever had timetabled double drama for Year 7’s last periods on a Friday to the very far reaches of hell. As usual the staff room looked as if a cyclone had torn through, followed by marauding Vikings, hotly pursued by random burglars. The cupboard was bare of a single clean coffee cup and the biscuit barrel offered nothing more than crumbs. Glad it was the end of the day, Carrie retrieved her bag and phone from her locker and a yellow post-it note fell out. With a smile she scooped it up from the floor. Alan had a habit of slipping them through the crack in the door. Dinner tomorrow night? Prezzo or Pizza Express. Both have offers on. Lots of love Ax He was out at a quiz night this evening with his cycling buddies and she’d promised herself a curry, a glass of wine and an hour with her laptop. Since she’d won a playwriting competition a few months ago, she’d been tasked with making a few changes so that it could be considered for a West End run. She had until September to get it sorted. So far, good ideas had been elusive. Thank goodness for the long summer holidays. She tucked the note in her bag and checked her phone to find a text message from her sister, assuming it would be the usual can you pop to Tesco and pick up … she scanned it quickly. Exciting news. Grab a bottle of something French!!!!! ‘Why French?’ she asked walking through the front door and into the living room holding out the bottle of Macon Villages, currently being feted on the supermarket shelf as reduced from ?9.99 to ?5.99. A bargain, no less, although she was sceptical that this bottle had ever been sold at ?9.99. ‘We need to start getting in the mood,’ said Angela, bouncing out of the chair beside the fireplace. ‘The mood for what?’ Carrie flopped gratefully into the small two-seater sofa piled high with mismatched cushions. Friday night was batten-down-the-hatches night. Once her shoes were kicked off, she wasn’t going anywhere, although in her head she fondly imagined she still went out dancing. With a sigh she nestled into the comforting embrace of the cushions. This was her favourite room in the house. The only one not co-ordinated to within an inch of a paint chart. ‘A holiday. I’ve found us a free cottage, villa, house thing in France.’ Angela sat back down, clasping her gnarled hands, the joints ravaged by arthritis, on her lap. Carrie’s ears pricked up at the magical word. ‘How free?’ ‘Proper, real free,’ Angela giggled. ‘Oh, Lord, I sound like Jade. Marguerite, at Winthorpe Hall, offered me the use of her house in France for the whole summer.’ Angela worked at a rather swanky residence for distressed gentlefolk of advancing years. Basically it was an extremely posh old people’s home with an army of carers, an ? la carte menu for dinner each evening with wine and its very own private cinema with screenings every night. Her duties, as far as Carrie could work out, involved making up a fourth at bridge, completing shopping runs to the Clinique counter at the local Boots for age-defying potions, managing library visits and accompanying the residents on cultural excursions to the Royal Opera House or the Victoria and Albert Museum. It was a tough job but someone had to do it. Although, to be fair, Angela’s work opportunities were fairly limited. ‘And does Marguerite have all her mental faculties? Actually own the house? Or did she sell it years ago and she’s forgotten that minor fact?’ ‘Marguerite most definitely has every last marble intact.’ Angela nodded her head to emphasise the point. ‘She’s so sharp she could slice slivers from a block of ice for her six o’clock G and T. With all her airs and graces, she’s like one of those old Hollywood stars. You should see her slippers, I swear they’re trimmed with marabou, or whatever that fluffy stuff is called. She has a different pair every day, to match her outfit.’ ‘She sounds quite a character.’ Carrie could imagine her quite well tripping down the corridors of the very grand Winthorpe Hall. It was more like a luxury hotel than a home for the elderly. ‘She is.’ ‘This place she has in France, I’m sorry, but why would she have a place out there and not live there? Or not sell it?’ ‘She keeps it for her family. And she does go out there, when they visit, but she likes company. That’s why she moved into Winthorpe. Anyway the whole family are going to America this summer. The house will be empty and she said we can have it. What do you reckon?’ Carrie reckoned that it sounded far too good to be true, but in the absence of anything better coming along in the next few weeks before the end of term it was definitely worth considering. Blimey, once upon a time, she’d have happily leapt on the back of a scooter with a tent and a sleeping bag on her back and gone. Being cautious had crept up on her. Maybe it was all those risk assessments they were so fond of at school. You couldn’t take a trip anywhere without seven levels of form filling-in. OV8s, SF9s and a triplicate V13a. ‘Whereabouts is it?’ ‘South of France. Provence sort of way,’ Angela paused, wrinkling her nose in thought, ‘Or around there. It’s in a village.’ ‘And what sort of accommodation?’ ‘I think, from what she said, it’s all on one level, a bungalow. She said it’s got fabulous views.’ Estate-agent speak for ‘it hasn’t got much else going for it’. ‘And the market in the village is wonderful and there are plenty of lovely places nearby to eat.’ ‘The kitchen is dire you have to eat out.’ Carrie could see it now. No wonder Marguerite’s family weren’t keen on going. ‘What do you think? Do you want to come with us?’ ‘In principle, yes’ Carrie said slowly, not wanting to let practical considerations dim Angela’s enthusiasm, ‘it sounds wonderful. Can I let you know? Perhaps you need to find out more.’ Angela’s face fell and her mouth crumpled into a mutinous line that was horribly reminiscent of Jade when she didn’t get her way. Except, unlike Jade, Angela wouldn’t voice her emotion, she’d button it up in disappointed, accepting silence. Angela didn’t complain about much and she had plenty to complain about. ‘Nearest airport. Train station. Things like that, so that you can work out the best way to get there and how much it will cost.’ ‘Marguerite says you can fly EasyJet,’ Angela beamed. ‘And then it’s not far from there.’ With Angela’s smile restored, Carrie felt slightly less of a killjoy. Her sister and niece depended on her. They needed her and it was important to remind herself of that occasionally. Especially when thoughts of Richard intruded. Swanning off to Hollywood had never been a realistic option for her and she didn’t begrudge staying for her family. They’d needed her far more than he did, as all the pictures of him with his leading ladies had soon proved. ‘I can’t wait to tell Jade,’ said Angela. ‘She worked hard for her exams. She deserves a proper break. ‘Now, what time shall I order the curry. What do you fancy? Your usual.’ Carrie stretched, luxuriating in the fact she didn’t have to leave the house again today. She might even go and put her pyjamas on. ‘Chicken Biryani? Sag Aloo? Basmati rice?’ Angela had already picked up the phone. God, they were predictable. She sat up quickly, or as quickly as she could. It wasn’t that easy to gain purchase on a mountain of cushions. ‘No, let’s have something different for a change. Where’s the menu for the Tandoori Cottage?’ ‘But we always ring the Banani on the High Street.’ ‘I fancy a change.’ Carrie cringed inside. A different curry house constituted a radical change? She really needed to get out more. CHAPTER FOUR (#u08620eb5-e103-58cd-ae2a-1342d287ab9f) ‘Blimey, you’re up bright and early.’ Carrie rubbed her eyes, as if trying to clear the mirage that was Jade in the kitchen before nine o’clock on a Saturday morning. ‘I’m on a mission.’ Jade flicked her head up from her laptop. ‘Sort out flights to this place in France before Mum gets all uber-twitchy and comes up with a gazillion reasons why we can’t go. She’s finally got the deets of the village where this place is. And I’ve got an early shift at the caf? today. Babysitting tonight. And working at the hotel tomorrow. I’ll be rolling in the Benjamins when I get paid. Primani here I come.’ ‘Not paying for your flight?’ asked Carrie and immediately regretted it when she saw her niece’s crestfallen face. She shouldn’t tease her; she was a good kid who most of the time pulled her weight. Her positive work ethic couldn’t be denied. If you asked her to do a job, and she wanted to do it, or acknowledged she had time to do it, you could rely on her. The trick was finding the right job and mentioning it at precisely the right moment. ‘I should, shouldn’t I?’ She turned to Carrie with a worried frown. ‘No, honey.’ Carrie laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘I was teasing you. I’m sure flights to France won’t be that expensive and you can be completely flexible about dates. Means we can get the cheapest flights.’ She winked at her niece. ‘And still be able to afford a pair of new jeans.’ Jade pushed her hand off, laughing up at her. ‘You’re mean.’ ‘What’s this about a new pair of jeans?’ Angela wandered in carrying a mountain of washing. ‘You’ve got enough clothes to sink a fleet of cruise ships.’ ‘Actually,’ Jade tilted her nose in the air and said with a smug tone, ‘I told Auntie Carrie that I’d pay for my flight to France instead of buying a new pair of jeans.’ ‘Really, darling, that’s sweet of you but you don’t have to.’ Angela put an arm around her daughter. ‘You’re saving up for your own car. That’s more important.’ If she wanted to drive, Jade would need her own car, as Angela’s automatic, with its specially adapted steering wheel, wouldn’t be suitable. ‘What time do you need to be at work?’ Carrie took a quick peek at the clock. ‘I can drop you off at the caf? when I go to Alan’s if you’d like.’ ‘That would be ace, thanks. I need to be there for ten- thirty. Crikey Moses, I’d better do this and get ready.’ Carrie bit her tongue. She knew better than to query how long it took to get ready. Jade’s make-up, admittedly a work of art, took a minimum of an hour to achieve. Perhaps that was where Carrie had gone wrong in her younger days. She hadn’t cared enough about that sort of thing. Looks, appearance. There was never enough time to think about them. She was too busy living life. Teenagers these days had lots more opportunities and yet the boundaries of their lives were limited by their addiction to social media and what everyone else thought of them. ‘Right Mum. Sleezyjet. Luton to Nice. Piece of … cake. If we fly out on a Thursday evening its thirty-two quid. Come back on a Saturday night. Only twenty-four pounds.’ ‘That sounds very cheap.’ Angela frowned. ‘Cos, no other bugger wants to fly then. Market forces. Supply and demand.’ ‘Wow that Economics GSCE level is really paying off,’ said Carrie in mock admiration as she sauntered out of the kitchen. ‘Leave at ten-twenty.’ ‘Sure.’ Jade was already busy tapping away at her laptop, Angela craning over her shoulder as Carrie went upstairs to take her shower. With a quick review of her wardrobe, Carrie yanked out a pair of jeans and her favourite pair of Converse High Tops, covered in gold sequins. She’d bought them on a whim and she adored them, despite the comments both Angela and Alan had made. She didn’t care, they were utterly gorgeous. The fact that they were comfortable was a happy coincidence. If she and Alan were going into St Albans for the day to take a look around the Cathedral and the Roman Museum, comfort was the order of the day. After her shower, Carrie gathered up her hair and with a ruthless tug secured it in a ponytail before wrapping it round several times into a messy bun that she skewered with a couple of decorative wooden chopsticks. She sometimes wondered if perhaps she should have it all cut off, it wasn’t as if she ever wore it down and it nearly reached her waist. She spent half of her life tidying it back into its bun. It was a constant battle, like trying to tame a small animal into submission and failing. Grabbing her jacket, she called for Jade. ‘Are you ready?’ ‘Nearly,’ came the expected response from Jade’s bedroom next door. ‘See you downstairs. I’m leaving in two minutes.’ ‘Okay! I said I’d be ready!’ With a roll of her eyes, Carrie pounded down the stairs and went to retrieve her handbag from the kitchen. Angela pored over the laptop with an unhappy frown. ‘What’s the matter? Are the flights too expensive? Did Jade get it wrong?’ ‘No. They’re fine. We can get flights for around sixty-five pounds return, which is fantastic, if we fly at funny times but that’s okay. No, the problem is getting from the airport to the village. There’s no public transport – or none that connects. And a taxi from the airport would be rather expensive. I’ll have to ask Marguerite what she does. ‘Are you back tonight?’ ‘No but I’ll be back early tomorrow. Marking and planning.’ She caught sight of the clock. Easy-going and laid-back in most things, Alan did have a bit of a thing about punctuality. Being late showed, he thought, a lack of respect for the other person. ‘Jade! I’m going.’ ‘Alright, keep your hair on. I’m coming.’ Jade shouted back. Angela and Carrie exchanged eye rolls. ‘Bye Angela, see you in the morning. ‘I’d forgotten how lovely it is here,’ said Alan as they strolled arm in arm around the nave of the ancient stone building. ‘No chance of bumping into any kids from school, either.’ ‘Always a bonus,’ agreed Carrie with a sigh, drinking in the calm, quiet atmosphere. It seemed difficult to believe the cathedral was a step away from the busy high street. Above them, the sun shone through the rose-stained glass window glistening with brilliant colour. ‘Now, do you fancy the guided tour? There’s a highlights tour in a few minutes.’ Carrie checked the time on her phone. They’d already been wandering around for an hour. How much more was there to see? ‘Why don’t you do the highlights tour and I’ll sit in one of the pews?’ She’d be quite content to gaze up at the window. ‘I can wait for you but I don’t think I’m up for a tour. My brain’s turned to mush.’ ‘Why didn’t you say? Come on let’s go to the refectory. Tea and cake.’ ‘No, Al. You stay. I don’t mind.’ ‘No,’ he took her arm in a gentle but insistent grip. This was forceful Alan. Not exactly a force to be reckoned with, he did everything with calm understatement. ‘We can come back here any time. Besides cake solves everything.’ The Cathedral caf?, Abbots Kitchen, offered a very fine selection of cake. ‘Excellent. Coffee and walnut. Perfect. What do you fancy? I’m starving.’ She burst out laughing as the woman behind the counter served him a huge slab. ‘You’re always starving. It’s all the cycling.’ She gave him a quick, teasing glance. ‘You’ve been out this morning already, haven’t you? What are you like?’ He put her to shame, not that he ever bothered about her single-minded aversion to exercise. He responded with an impish grin. ‘I’m making sure I’ll be in peak shape for the holiday.’ ‘Rather you than me.’ Carrie shuddered. She couldn’t think of anything worse than a week toiling up and down the mountain roads of the Alps. ‘I’ve been thinking. You know we were talking about perhaps going to Cornwall or Wales later on in the holidays.’ ‘Yes, I think I’d prefer Cornwall, bit more chance of sunshine.’ With the whole summer break in front of them, the holidays had seemed ages away and they hadn’t booked anywhere yet and now she had Angela’s offer to think about. ‘Well …’ Alan looked a little sheepish. ‘I was thinking … that maybe we should wait and save our money … go somewhere in the half term in October …’ A flush ran up his cheeks and the coffee cup in his hand shook, ‘… for maybe a honeymoon.’ He put the cup down in its saucer with a clatter and started fumbling in his pocket, tugging as the lining came out, ejecting a red velvet box onto the floor. It tumbled under the table, coming to rest beside her foot. Biting back a smile, she bent to retrieve it. Alan sighed and grinned. ‘I messed that one up, good and proper.’ Carrie laughed and handed it back to him. ‘Possibly not your finest hour. Do you want to start again?’ ‘I’m not sure you’re going to have me, after that fine example of my total ineptitude in the romance department.’ He shook his head and pulled a self-deprecating face. ‘I had it all worked out. Planned. I was going to go down on one knee on the lawn outside, but there were too many people. I got nervous. So I decided I’d do it later … and then it came out. All wrong.’ He twisted the box in his hands as he spoke and then, with a start, glanced down, as if suddenly remembering what it was. Placing it on the table, he took her hand, serious now. ‘Carrie Hayes. Will you marry me?’ No fuss. No drama. Just Alan. Quiet, steadfast and true. She’d had drama and fuss and look how that had worked out. With Alan, she knew exactly where she was, while it might not be thrills and spills, his gentle love was like a warm hug. He would always be there for her. ‘Alan Lambert. Yes, I will.’ They stared at each other, smiling for a minute. ‘Oh, you need this.’ He opened the box and started to take out the ring and then half way through changed his mind. ‘Here, you’d better do it. I might drop it and then the damn thing will go flying across the room and get lost before you’ve ever seen it.’ Carrie took the open box and went to take the ring out. ‘Don’t worry if you don’t like it. I can take it back. If it’s not right. And say so, won’t you. If you don’t. Like it, that is.’ She leaned over the table and kissed him to shut him up. ‘Shh. It’s beautiful.’ And it was. A single solitaire diamond in an elegant raised setting. She handed it to him. ‘Go on.’ As he slipped it on to her finger with a shaking hand, a warm rush of love filled her heart. He was a good man. He’d look after her. Be a good partner. She’d never have to worry about him leaving her. ‘We’re engaged,’ she said with a giggle, suddenly giddy and light-hearted. It seemed rather staid and sober to be sitting there when they should be bouncing around with excitement. ‘We’ll need to talk about some of the practicalities,’ said Alan, taking her hand and tracing around the ring on her finger. ‘Like where we’re going to live. My flat’s a bit small …’ ‘And bachelory,’ added Carrie with a smile. His face fell. ‘It’s not that bad. I was going to say, I know it’s small but I think we should live there. Think how much money we could save, with you paying half the mortgage and the bills. I mean, we could carry on, but I think getting married makes a lot of financial sense. You know, pooling our resources. Later maybe, we could think about getting a bigger place. I’m loathe to throw my hat into the ring for the Head of Department job and have to suck up to Johnson.’ Alan was a brilliant teacher, but he had no ambition when it came to his career. ‘Actually, I’ve got some money set aside.’ Carrie wasn’t sure that she wanted to start married life in Alan’s flat. ‘When my parents died they left their house to me and Angela. She bought the house with her half of the money and my rent money covers the mortgage, but I still have my half of the proceeds.’ Alan sat up. ‘I’m marrying an heiress. Well that’s even better. I had no idea.’ His forehead wrinkled. ‘Hmm, well that will put us in a better position financially.’ The moment was in danger of going flat with this boring talk of jobs, mortgages and money. ‘Come on,’ she grabbed his hand. ‘But I haven’t finished my …’ She dragged him out of the caf?, pulling him along by his hand, bumping into chairs as they went. She wanted to run, jump up and down and get rid of some of the energy crackling through her before it burst out through her skin. Her arms prickled with it. As soon as they emerged outside, Alan tugged back, slowing her to a halt. ‘Carrie!’ he said, smiling down into her face with a slightly reproachful shake of his head. ‘You’re crazy.’ He lifted her hand and kissed it. ‘Yes. Crazy. Alive. Happy.’ She grinned up at his familiar face, her cheeks stretched a tad wider than comfortable, ignoring a little voice telling her rather peevishly that she wasn’t as happy as last time. Happiness last time had propelled her down Primrose Hill, running too fast and giggling so hard she could barely breathe, but it didn’t matter because there wasn’t room in her chest to take a breath with all the fireworks exploding and whooshing and crashing inside her. She’d thought she might explode from sheer joy, which only became giddier when they fell together, arms wrapped around each other, rolling down the hill. And when their pell-mell flight was halted by a hawthorn bush, with a bump that forced the air out of them, they stared at each other with the kind of hungry intensity that made you want to crawl inside the other person because you couldn’t get close enough. Carrie ducked her head to look at the ring on her finger, fighting the sick thud in her stomach. She didn’t want to remember that. It was in the past. A different time. A different person. This was now. This was what she wanted. CHAPTER FIVE (#u08620eb5-e103-58cd-ae2a-1342d287ab9f) How the hell did you divorce someone when you had no idea how the hell to get hold of them in the first place? Carrie pulled her laptop closer. Sitting in the kitchen felt a little precarious, Jade could get bored with her Netflix binge at any moment and appear behind her, but apart from the lounge, it was the only place you got a decent wi-fi signal. According to the government website, you could have a DIY divorce for very little money, which sounded great until she started doing more digging. Initially she’d hoped she might get away without having to get a solicitor involved. It wasn’t as if she and Richard had anything to fight about. No shared belongings. No children. Not even a marital home. A solicitor wouldn’t be interested. Or maybe they would be if they thought major pound signs might be involved. She’d soon disabuse them of that thought. Richard wasn’t likely to contest it, surely not after all this time. He was established, a big-time superstar. Years ago she’d suggested a divorce. Richard said he didn’t want to. Neither did she, but with gritted teeth, she’d pointed out it was the practical, obvious thing to do because they hadn’t seen each other for eighteen months. The rush of relief, when he said he didn’t want to call time either, had only been eclipsed by her heart breaking into tiny pieces when he explained that it might hurt his chances of landing the next role. Stupid idiot, she’d held that last-chance-saloon prayer that they’d work things out, but even though he’d smashed up all her hopes, having not worked in the theatre for eight months, she knew how precious every opportunity was. Who was she to deny him his big break? She twisted a curl in her hand as she stared at the laptop screen. A divorce certainly wouldn’t hurt his career now. Getting a divorce was surprisingly straightforward providing you had an address. She didn’t have a clue where Richard lived. It wasn’t exactly something you could look up on the internet. Google was amazing, but she didn’t think it was quite that amazing. Deciding to give it a go, she typed in Where does Richard Maddox live? What she loved about the great god of search engines, was that it never admitted it didn’t know anything. Wouldn’t it be great if occasionally a message would pop up, Google does not have a clue? Article after article about Richard Maddox popped up, but not one of them handily said he lived at 3025 Pacific Beach Highway West, Malibu or 95a Beverley Hills Avenue, Hollywood, Ca. The third from top mentioned that he was about to start filming a new film, Turn on the Stars, a romantic comedy, scheduled to go into production in the summer and to be filmed on the Cote D’Azur in France. Carrie winced. Where else but the Cote D’Azur? Although quite where it was in France, she was a bit hazy. Geography had never been her strong point. ‘Hey Carrie.’ Carrie jumped as Jade sauntered into the kitchen, working hard to resist the urge to slam the laptop closed. ‘You okay? Is there anything to eat? I reckon Mum’s hidden the rest of the chocolate biscuits.’ She crossed to the cupboard, peering into the empty biscuit box with an air of utter disbelief. ‘No, I’m pretty sure you ate them all.’ ‘That’s ridiculous, I’ve only had a couple.’ Jade pulled a disconsolate face. ‘You don’t get many in a packet, do you?’ Possibly not when you munched two or three every time you passed the biscuit barrel. Carrie decided it was best not to voice that thought out loud. ‘Your film finished?’ ‘No, got bored. It was lame. What you doing? Don’t tell me you’re still working?’ Jade squinted at the screen. ‘No, just surfing.’ ‘Did Mum tell you about the holiday?’ Jade threw herself into the chair opposite. ‘No. We haven’t spoken about it.’ On the one hand free accommodation sounded wonderful for a whole summer holiday, but if something sounded too good to be true, it probably was. ‘Looks like it’s a no-go.’ ‘Why’s that?’ ‘We can’t get there, not without a flaming helicopter. It’s too complicated. No public transport, which means it must be some crappy, middle-of-nowhere place.’ ‘How does Marguerite, the woman that owns the place, get there?’ asked Carrie, used to Jade’s dramatics. ‘Chauffeur-driven from the airport.’ Jade wrinkled her nose. ‘Alright for some, eh?’ ‘Ah. And there’s no other way?’ Carrie was a great believer in where there was a will there was a way. ‘Feel free to try. I’ve been on the web for hours trying to work it out. Basically we’re stuffed. No cheap holiday on the C?te D’Azure.’ Jade’s downturned mouth almost formed a perfect semi-circle. ‘Mum’s found a,’ she did speech marks actions, “cottage”– polite speak for caravan without wheels, in the Forest of Dean.’ ‘C?te D’Azur?’ Carrie straightened. ‘No, Forest of Dean.’ Jade glared at her in that full-frontal, pay-attention manner teenagers were so good at adopting. ‘No before that. Marguerite’s place. I thought it was somewhere on the French Riviera.’ ‘Yeah, that too. Same place, two names. Why? Just ridiculous. Although makes no difference cos I’m never going to find out what it’s like.’ Jade slid lower down in her chair. ‘Would you bloody Adam and Eve it? First time in a gazillion, trillion years that there’s a chance of me actually going abroad. i.e. needing my passport. And it’s snatched away from me in the nick of bloody time.’ As Jade had been talking, Carrie had done another quick search. ‘Apparently, Riviera is the Anglicised version of C?te D’Azur.’ ‘For all I care, it could be the Welsh, Scottish or Irish version. It’s no good to me.’ ‘How many does this villa of the famous Marguerite sleep?’ asked Carrie, narrowing her eyes, a prick of excitement stirring. ‘Doesn’t matter as the Hayes family will NOT be going.’ Jade slid down her chair, arms folded, glaring across the table. ‘My life officially sucks. Charlotte is going to the Hamptons. Becky is going to Paris. Eliza is going to Canada. I, on the other, rubbish, hand am going to a pathetic caravan park, without Wi-Fi, in the middle of nowheresville.’ ‘Could be worse.’ ‘How so?’ Jade slouched even further down, her chin now level with the table. ‘It might rain every day.’ Carrie smiled, getting up and walking behind Jade to flip on the kettle behind her. ‘That’s mean. Thanks a bunch for that cheery thought.’ Jade, now loose-limbed and droopy, looked in danger of melting across the table. ‘Always good to share.’ Carrie pulled a couple of mugs out of the cupboard, holding one up to Jade in offer of a hot drink. ‘But, if you could get to Marguerite’s, how many bedrooms does it have?’ ‘Oh God, you’re not going to bring Al are you? He’ll spend the whole time encouraging me to read.’ With a sudden start, Jade straightened, realising that perhaps there was renewed hope. ‘Not that he isn’t a great bloke and all that but not … to go on holiday with. Bit too much of a teacher.’ ‘And what does that make me?’ asked Carrie with a lift of one eyebrow. ‘Ah,’ she said, with an air of being terribly knowledgeable about such things, ‘being an aunt is much, much worse.’ Carrie stuck her tongue out at her niece, and looped an arm around her neck in a wrestler’s headlock. ‘Is that so?’ Jade promptly dissolved into giggles. ‘Mum’s still not sure of the details but she thinks it’s six.’ ‘That’d be two bedrooms and a sofa bed in the lounge,’ guessed Carrie out loud. This could be her best chance at tracking Richard down. Sleeping in the lounge was a smallish price to pay. Jade shrugged. ‘I guess.’ ‘What if I drove? Hired a car at the airport. Nice, did you say? Cinders and her mother could go on holiday somewhere hot and sunny.’ ‘Seriously!’ Jade jumped up and threw her arms around Carrie. ‘Auntie Caz you rock. That would be awesome. Even with Al. Not that Al is not nice. He’s lovely. But … well you know.’ Occasionally Jade knew when to stop. This moment was clearly one of them. Al was a teacher. Fifteen years older than her. One day she would understand. ‘Good job Al is cycling in the Alps, then.’ Carrie’s stern look communicated that she’d gone far enough. ‘Is that in Russia?’ asked Jade, looking away. ‘Did they teach you anything at that school of yours?’ Carrie shook her head, but Jade gave her a cheeky irrepressible grin. ‘Yup, Poker, Spin-the-bottle and how to top up your lunch card with someone else’s account.’ Turning her back on her niece, Carrie poured boiling water over her teabag and waited for it to brew, tuning out Jade’s excited chatter. How hard could it be to find out where a film crew was working? Surely she could discover where Richard was staying and hand-deliver a letter. She wouldn’t even have to see him. This was the best possible solution. This way she’d be sure he’d receive the letter. She could spend weeks waiting for letters to go back and forth to the States, even if she had his proper address. ‘Come on then, Princess Jade. Show me where we need to get to and what the flight times and prices are.’ CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_b1359aaf-97d6-5441-890a-0ba1912fd584) Coming down the metal steps as dusk fell, the balmy heat enveloped her in that familiar holiday-warm embrace, immediately making her smile. In the distance lights twinkled, winking through the heat haze pouring off the tarmac of the runway. Overhead a plane roared as it took off. Despite the petrol fumes in the air, she could also smell that indefinable mix of Cypress and the Mediterranean. Jade, who’d moaned for much of the flight, now started hopping up and down and asking lots of questions. Angela answered them patiently. Carrie tuned out. She had other things on her mind. She clutched the travel wallet closer to her. The car-hire papers were all in there. Booked online. Her diving licence as instructed. They weren’t delayed. The car-hire office expected them. They were used to people arriving at all hours. She had her phone. It had maps on it. They’d work in France, wouldn’t they? She’d already programmed the address of the villa into the app. Carrie didn’t feel as sure about driving as she made out to her sister. Her hand tightened on her carry-on luggage. Angela turned anxious eyes on her. ‘Do you think we’ll be able to find the car-hire place okay? They won’t have closed yet, will they? It’s peak holiday season. They must be used to people flying in at this time. It will be alright won’t it?’ ‘Of course it will. Once we’re through, it will be dead easy.’ Carrie smiled, hoping that her sister couldn’t see the mild panic in her eyes. She’d never ever driven on the wrong side of the road. Why the hell had she thought she could? ‘Do you think you’ll be alright in a left-hand car? And with the French drivers. I’ve heard they’re mad.’ Nerves danced in Carrie’s stomach, taking up a full-blown jig instead of the slightly agitated rumba of a minute before. ‘It’ll be fine. I’ll take it nice and steady.’ And pray that there wasn’t much traffic on the road at this time and that the sat-nav on her phone would be patient with her and that she’d be able to manage the gears with the wrong hand. They crawled at snail’s pace through passport control and then it took forever for the noisy juddering carousel, like an angry caterpillar, to disgorge their luggage with ill grace. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you offered to do this.’ Angela squeezed her arm as they walked out through the ‘nothing to declare’ channel, pushing a heavily laden trolley. It had been impossible to persuade Jade that, in the heat, she wouldn’t need that many clothes, even if they were going to be away for nearly a whole month. Carrie had halted at the ‘nothing to declare’ sign, fancifully imagining that she might get stopped and turned back to go through the other channel. You should have declared your marriage. The jury was still out on whether she should have told Al. Not telling him was cowardly, but how did you go about telling your fianc? that you were already married? She couldn’t face the questions. Why hadn’t she mentioned it before? How long were you married? When did you last see him? Why didn’t you tell me? ‘I’m not sure that if I was driving out here, I would have been brave enough.’ Angela’s voice penetrated her thoughts. ‘You’ve always been so adventurous compared to me.’ ‘No I haven’t,’ Carrie responded, slinging her bag over her shoulder. ‘It was easier for me to leave home.’ She hadn’t had a chronic illness to contend with. ‘And I had a reason to go. A place at drama school.’ ‘Yes but you could have turned the place down. Not gone to live in London. It was a big step. You were marginally older than Jade and yet you went and embraced it.’ ‘I was hungry then. To perform. To act. It wasn’t necessarily being brave, more like young and stupid. Foolhardy, even. I had no conception of what I was getting into. I assumed if I wanted it enough, it would happen and that, against the massive odds, I might be good enough and get work.’ ‘Yawnsville. We’re on holiday here, guys. There’s proper French on the signs and everything and you two are having a history lesson.’ They emerged into the airport departure lounge. What was it that made you aware that you were in a different country? Was it the people? Their indefinable Frenchness, which made them look different. The familiar logos of Hertz and Eurocar loomed and there was the company name and logo that matched her paperwork. Hurdle one successfully surmounted. ‘Why don’t you wait out here?’ suggested Carrie, looking at the tiny goldfish bowl of an office, dwarfed by its big-brother branded counterparts on either side. ‘Bonjour,’ said Carrie, retrieving the pages printed from the internet. ‘Bonsoir,’ said the middle-aged man on his feet behind a tall counter. ‘Yes. Do you speak English?’ ‘Oui Madam.’ His dark eyebrows drew together in a ferocious, rather off-putting, slash suggesting that Carrie had committed a faux pas already. What he didn’t realise was that if she’d attempted to speak French they’d have been here all night. Rather than upset him any further, she laid the paperwork on the counter with an encouraging smile, hoping that managing the transaction with minimal dialogue might make him feel better. He took the folded sheets and held them close to his face, his nose almost touched the paper. With a nod, he looked up at her and then back at the paper before busying himself typing at his computer. ‘Permis du conduire,’ he said without shifting his gaze from the screen. Her mind went blank for a second trying to deconstruct the sentence. He’d spoken so quickly the words ran into one another and could have been a sneeze for all she knew. ‘Driving licence.’ He repeated in perfect English. Like a chastened school girl or the stupid tourist she obviously was, she dug into her bag and pushed it across the top of the counter, smiling like an idiot in the vague hope it would soften him up. She could do with a friendly face right now. The fears, which hadn’t been fears at all when she’d first suggested they hire a car and she drive, had been given life by relentless questioning from both Angela and Jade. Dammit. It was an adventure. A summer on the Riviera. An escape from everyday life for a whole thirty days. She should be grasping it with both hands and wringing every last bit of fun and happiness out of it. ‘What sort of car have we got?’ she asked. She’d always been good with people. Why should one measly, grumpy Frenchman be any different? ‘The four-wheeled variety I’m assuming but what make?’ He narrowed his eyes and glanced up. ‘A Renault Clio.’ ‘Fabulous. Something with a bit of va va voom. I don’t suppose Thierry Henri comes as standard?’ Who knew that Thierry Henri was the French equivalent of Open Sesame? ‘Unfortunately not, Madame.’ The words were said with a wry smile. She lifted her shoulders. ‘Oh well.’ He studied the screen. ‘You’re staying in Gassin. It’s not too far from St Tropez. You perhaps will see a famous face or two during your time. They’re filming a Hollywood movie near where you are staying.’ Carrie’s pulse quickened. ‘Really? That would be interesting to see.’ Lifting his fingers to his lips, he shifted his gaze from left to right, which was rather hilarious as there were only the two of them in the office, before saying, ‘The production company has hired rather a lot of vehicles.’ He nodded. ‘Next door, on either side. They did not have sufficient. We have supplied several cars.’ ‘Wow,’ said Carrie. ‘Do you know where they’re based?’ ‘No, there was a lot of secrecy about that.’ ‘Yes, I guess there would be. They wouldn’t tell many people.’ ‘However,’ he continued, straightening and leaning forward, lowering his voice, ‘the director took one of our cars. He asked about parking for some of the locations. The harbour in St Tropez, the market in Ramatuelle and at a restaurant in Grimaud.’ Carrie wondered how many people he’d imparted that self-important information to in recent weeks. ‘God, were you building the car or what? You’ve been ages.’ Jade scrambled up from her position on the floor, where she’d half-sprawled across the cases on the luggage trolley. ‘These things always take forever. But we have wheels. A red Clio. Out in the car park, bay 57.’ ‘A Clio. I hope it’s going to be big enough.’ Angela prodded the pile of luggage. ‘It will be fine,’ said Carrie and then with a wink at Jade. ‘We can always leave Jade behind and come back for her tomorrow. Or we could ditch one of her cases.’ ‘Yeah, right.’ Jade nudged Carrie. ‘Mum, chill. It’ll be fine. And,’ she poked her tongue out at her aunt, ‘I’ll sit on one of my cases if I have to. I’m not leaving a single thing behind. I need everything.’ ‘No one needs ten pairs of shorts,’ said Carrie. ‘Wanna bet?’ ‘They do have washing machines in France, Jade,’ said her mother.’ ‘Yeah, yeah. Are we going to get out of here or what?’ asked Jade, seizing the trolley. ‘Or what,’ answered Carrie, her spirits suddenly lifting. ‘Let the vacances commence.’ ‘Please don’t try to speak French when we’re out.’ Jade groaned. ‘It sounds sooo embarrassing.’ ‘I’ll do my best.’ Carrie exchanged a look with her sister, who burst out laughing. ‘I think the chances of anyone understanding her are extremely slim.’ Angela smiled, linking an arm through Carrie’s. ‘Lead us to our chariot. I’m ready for a nice cup of tea.’ ‘Tea? We’re in France. On holiday. I’m ready for a large glass of wine.’ ‘Yeah, Mum. And I’m allowed to drink here. There’s none of that being eighteen and identity card crap here. Hallelujah.’ ‘Like it’s ever stopped you before.’ Carrie often received a texted plea for a bottle of wine for a party. She and Angela were of the view that banning something made it more enticing and as a result had a fairly laid-back approach to alcohol, which thankfully Jade had respected. ‘Isn’t this fab? It’s eight o’clock at night and it’s still lovely.’ Jade peeled off her cotton top. ‘I wish I’d got my shorts on now.’ ‘We’ll be in the car in a minute. It’s got air con.’ Carrie spotted the numbered signs. ‘Here we are.’ Jade let out a sigh. ‘Seriously. Why are you going so slowly?’ Carrie examined the speedometer, they were doing a respectable speed but it did feel painfully slow. ‘I’m doing seventy.’ ‘The French obviously don’t give a toss about speed limits, then, because every other bugger keeps overtaking us.’ ‘Let Carrie do her own speed, Jade. She’s driving on the wrong side of the road. She’s concentrating.’ ‘I also don’t know what the local speed limit is, to be perfectly honest.’ ‘Easy, peasy.’ Jade tapped away at her phone. ‘110km unless it’s raining. Isn’t that funny? Our speed limits don’t mention rain and I bet we get far more than here.’ Carrie started to laugh as she put her foot down on the accelerator, watching the speedometer creep up. ‘I forgot the speedo was in kilometres. I’ve been sticking to 70 thinking it was miles.’ ‘You muppet.’ Jade shook her head. In the back Angela laughed. ‘Although you probably needed to go slowly at first to get used to the car and driving—’ Jade and Carrie exchanged a look before joining in unison ‘on the wrong side of the road.’ With the help of the phone and Carrie’s new-found understanding of the speedometer the journey passed more quickly, the roads getting progressively smaller as they left the motorway. In the dark it was difficult to see much of their surroundings. They could have been in Milton Keynes, but as the miles on the signposts counted down to St Tropez, Jade suddenly shouted, ‘The sea! The sea!’ Down below them a concentration of lights crowded around the water, outlining the coast. ‘We’re nearly there.’ Jade began to bounce in her seat. Carrie gripped the steering wheel. ‘I can’t believe it! St Tropez. It sounds incredibly exotic.’ Angela’s tremulous voice held buttoned-down excitement. Too damn right. It was exciting. And the minute she peeled herself out of this car, Carrie would be celebrating with something cold. They circuited the outskirts of St Tropez and began to climb the hill up to Gassin, following the directions of the disembodied voice on the phone. ‘I hope it’s going to be nice,’ said Angela. She’d edged to the front of her seat, holding onto both head rests on the passenger and driver seats. ‘Marguerite said not to expect too much but she wouldn’t send us anywhere horrible.’ ‘Angela, as long as it’s dry and has beds, it will be fine,’ said Carrie, resigning herself to the prospect of an uncomfortable bed and very basic surroundings for the next four weeks. It wouldn’t matter. When it was hot, you didn’t spend much time inside. They could go out every day. Take picnics. All they needed was somewhere to sleep. ‘Yes. You’re right.’ Angela sighed. ‘And if it’s awful, we can go home early.’ ‘It won’t be awful. It will be fine.’ And hopefully the heat would be good for Angela’s arthritis. They’d have to make sure she had the most comfortable bed. ‘It had better have a shower,’ said Jade. ‘I can’t be doing with it being this hot and no shower.’ ‘I’m sure it will,’ said Angela. ‘Marguerite has owned this place for a while. I remember her saying something about new tiling in the bathroom being done last year.’ The directions on the phone were becoming more frequent and they all shut up so they could hear them. The road climbed and twisted and turned more frequently. ‘Destination on your left in two hundred feet,’ announced the map lady. Carrie slowed right down, thankful there was nothing behind them. The road was completely black with absolutely no sign of habitation nearby. To the left, falling away down the hill, were lights in the distance but nothing nearby. A horrible sense of foreboding clamped around her. Surely Marguerite’s place had basic facilities like electricity. Or maybe it was all switched off and they would need to turn on the fuse box. She drove slowly, still unable to see any sign of a house. ‘Destination on your left.’ The voice on the app held a note of desperation. ‘Turn left. Turn left.’ Carrie couldn’t see anything and it was only after the car crept past, she spotted a square of light embedded into a brick wall. ‘At the nearest point perform a u-turn.’ Jade tutted. ‘We’ve gone past it. You’ve missed it.’ ‘Well, it wasn’t exactly obvious.’ Carrie kept driving, looking out for some handy place to stop, but the road was narrow with too many bends. After about a mile she spotted a driveway, pulled in and did a quick three-point turn, to return back up the road. This time she pulled in and realised that the blur of light was a keypad on the edge of two large gates. ‘Ah,’ said Angela, in sudden realisation. ‘Marguerite said there was a pass code. I thought she meant for the house. Thirty Oh Six.’ ‘Are you sure this is right?’ Carrie eyed the wooden gates, no wonder they’d passed them earlier, they were so dark they melded into the night, their solid size and dimensions designed to repel the hordes and keep out unwanted visitors. She had visions of angry Dobermans chasing them off someone’s property. ‘I think so.’ ‘Oh, for God’s sake. Put the code in, if it works we know we’re in the right place. If not, we’re stuffed.’ For once Jade’s prosaic approach agreed with Carrie’s. Leaning out of the window she tapped in the code with nervous apprehension. The drive had taken it out of her and now she wanted to be there. To her slight amazement and utter relief, like magic, lights came on and the heavy wooden gates opened with slow, ponderous eventuality until the gap between them was wide enough to take the car. Carrie inched forward, not quite knowing what to expect beyond, taking a leap of faith rather like stepping through the wardrobe into Narnia, except she had no idea what was on the other side. Luckily the smooth tarmac continued and the road curved downward in a wide sweep before coiling back upwards. Solar lights lit the road like sentries posted at regular intervals along the way. ‘Whoa,’ Jade leaned forward, her nose almost on the dashboard. ‘That’s Marguerite’s little place?’ ‘Erm … I think so. She was quite vague. Talked about the view a lot.’ ‘You mean you heard the word ‘free’,’ said Jade laughing. ‘Mum, that is so typical.’ ‘Now let’s not get carried away. That might be the main house and we’re in an annexe or something. I know she said it was all on one floor.’ ‘All on one floor is somewhat different from a bungalow, Mum!’ Carrie stopped the car and all three of them stared at the house ahead of them, sprawled across the top of the hill in a halo of light, looking rather like something out of a Bond film. Angela sighed with happiness, or perhaps relief, that they weren’t staying in a dilapidated cottage falling down around their ears. Even Jade, never short of words, stared, drinking in the sight in wide-eyed silence. Carrie drove carefully up the hill in second gear, not wanting to miss a moment of the delicious sense of anticipation. The little car wound through the landscaped grounds, lit here and there with uplighters, showing off ornamental grasses interspersed with gravel paths and evenly planted bay trees in huge pots, like sentries watching over the land. It seemed rather untidy to park the poor relation of a car in front of this glamorous house. There was probably a garage for the sexy convertibles or huge four-wheeled things that ought to be here. As Carrie got out of the car, stretching her legs with catlike satisfaction, the scent of herbs filled the warm night. Sod the car, they were here and had possibly fallen into the lap of luxury. Whether they were in the gardener’s cottage or the maid’s flat, judging by the size and stature of this house, they were going to be alright. Two enormous terracotta pots flanked the front double doors, twin concierges welcoming them, which might have been slightly intimidating if it weren’t for the whimsical touch of tiny fairy lights threaded through the miniature olive trees in each one. Carrie smiled, it softened the rather grand and very contemporary landscaping along the rest of the front of the house, where artfully grouped smaller pots held a variety of precision-trimmed shrubs, scenting the air with a cocktail of fragrances including rosemary, thyme and bay. Her face broke into a broad smile as she nudged her sister. ‘I think this might do nicely. What do you reckon?’ ‘I had no idea it was going to be like this.’ Angela twisted her hands together, as if she couldn’t quite believe it either. They stood together examining the house. ‘I love the roof. Terracotta tiles. So Mediterranean. So romantic. I have a good feeling about this.’ ‘It looks wonderful.’ Carrie squeezed her sister’s arm. ‘For Pete’s sake are we going inside or not? Listen to you. It’s a house. It’s flipping gorgeous.’ Angela rummaged in her bag, pulling out the precious envelope, crumpled from the dozens of times she checked it was still there during the journey. Opening it, she pulled out the keys. She held the key gripped between twisted thumb and finger, eyeing the lock with the intense concentration of a surgeon about to make the first incision. Jade and Carrie hung back with practised patience, determinedly not looking at each other. It was a familiar routine, where neither acknowledged the slow, painful attempts that any fine motor skills demanded or made any attempt to speed up the process. Although Angela’s rheumatoid arthritis limited her in many ways, she never complained and had never once said, ‘why me and not you’ to Carrie. The door opened, light streaming out and Angela stood poised on the threshold, a triumphant smile on her face. ‘Looks like we’re in the right place.’ They crowded in through the door, their feet echoing on the polished marble floor, blinking in the light thrown by a huge dandelion clock of a lighting fitting, with what looked like hundreds of brilliant bulbs. For a second they stared around the high-ceilinged hallway, larger than the whole of their semi-detached home. On a console table of painted wood, in a cracked glass vase, spilled a blousy, extravagant bouquet of flowers, a white card tucked into the foliage. Angela plucked the card and read out aloud. Dear Angela and family, you are most welcome to La Maison de Clemont. Please do make yourselves at home. The fridge is fully stocked to get you started but please do let Marisa, our much-loved maid, know of your preferences and she will shop accordingly. She’ll pop in to say hello. I hope you have a happy and joyous holiday here and I look forward to hearing all about it on your return. Enjoy With much love Marguerite CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_988ba760-984a-5e4c-89f8-76ff0e95e869) ‘How lovely, said a rather shell-shocked Angela. ‘This is going to be ace.’ Jade threw her arms around her mother. Carrie stepped forward, opening a set of double doors to reveal a spacious lounge. No, lounge sounded too mundane, this was a salon, a sitting room … just gorgeous. Looking up she traced the bleached-blonde wood beams criss-crossing a high-pitched sloping ceiling, smiling at the wonderful sense of light and space. ‘Come and look at this,’ she called, taking the three broad, shallow steps down into the room, unable to resist the temptation to sink into one of the two taupe-linen-covered sofas, each of which could have comfortably seated five people. Contrasting arm chairs in cream were dotted around the modern wooden coffee table opposite the sofas. Understated and classical, Carrie could imagine the key words, in capitals, on the interior designer’s brief had been ‘style’, ‘taste’ and ‘elegance’. ‘Get a load of that TV,’ said Jade with a squeal of delight, crossing to the flat-screen television framed within the wall above a fireplace with a log burner in it the size of a small bath tub. ‘Whoa! That is fab-u-lous.’ Almost reverently she reached up to touch the sixty-five-inch, or, whatever it was, screen. ‘Much better than our piddly little thing.’ Personally Carrie thought the thirty-inch screen at home was more than adequate, although she had to concede the size of this room meant you did need a monster screen this big. Angela came and bounced on the sofa next to Carrie, letting out a happy sigh. ‘Oh my days. I never imagined it would be like this.’ ‘You pulled a blinder, sis,’ said Carrie, hugging her. ‘You certainly did, Mum,’ agreed Jade, coming to join them on the sofa. With a sudden squeal, Carrie threw herself backwards, taking Angela and Jade with her, kicking her feet up in the air. ‘Woohoo!’ she shouted as the other two burst into giggles and copied her, all three bicycling their legs like mad. Euphoria fizzed in Carrie’s stomach like an errant Catherine wheel, spinning so hard it had taken flight. ‘It’s like that scene in Pretty Woman where Vivienne throws herself on the huge bed.’ ‘OMG. What do you think the bedrooms here will be like?’ Jade sprang up. ‘And the bathroom?’ ‘I suspect bathrooms as in multiple. Which will be great. You can spend as long as you like in there.’ Jade stuck her tongue out her aunt. ‘And what’s out here, do you reckon?’ Soft flowing linen drapes skirted the room on two sides. Jade tugged at them to reveal a complete wall of French doors. It was too dark to see beyond the patio area and the dark shapes of furniture. Lights dotted on the hillside were testament to a potentially fabulous view in the morning. ‘I’m starving,’ announced Jade. ‘Why don’t I find the kitchen, while you two go and bring in the cases and then you can explore the bedroom situation?’ asked Angela, falling into her usual mothering role. ‘Okey doke.’ For once Jade was happy to follow orders without arguing the toss. ‘I reckon there’ll be a bedroom each.’ ‘I hope so,’ said Carrie, laughing. She’d been worried she’d have to sleep in the lounge on a sofa. These sofas were bigger than her double bed at home. Angela stood uncertainly. ‘Which way do you think the kitchen is?’ They burst out laughing, looking around them, all of them amused by the thought of being in a house so big that it wasn’t obvious where the rooms were. In unspoken agreement they retraced their steps. ‘Blimey, this is fancy,’ said Jade as they walked along a glass corridor linking the first building to another on a slightly different level. ‘I think Marguerite’s idea of everything being on one floor is slightly different to mine,’ said Angela as they tripped up a set of three steps. ‘Oh!’ She gasped. ‘Isn’t this lovely? Look at the range stove. I would love one of those at home. It’s got seven rings on it.’ The range, which didn’t do much for Carrie, sat under a wooden cream-painted canopy, no doubt hiding the extractor fan. The styling of the kitchen was very much French provincial with its distressed wooden cupboards and plate filled racks. It was the sort of room that everyone gravitated to, perfect for cooking and entertaining at the same time, with its central island, a sink on one side and rustic wooden bar stools on the other. What she loved about the room was the roof, similar to the lounge, open to wooden beams, which met in a high ridge running the length of the room, finishing above a contemporary-styled bay window. Under the window on all three sides was a built-in seat with brightly coloured cushions in patterned fabric. Carrie’s eyes were drawn to the full-height wine fridge, filled with bottles. ‘Do you think she meant it when she said “help yourselves”? I think we should celebrate.’ Angela had already pulled open the doors of the American- style fridge. ‘It’s got an ice-maker. That’s cool.’ ‘And enough food to feed five thousand,’ said Angela faintly, looking around at Carrie, with a slight frown. ‘I wasn’t expecting this. I’m rather overwhelmed.’ ‘Bin that Protestant work ethic, Catholic guilt attitude right now. Marguerite’s note was quite explicit and from what you’ve told me about her, she meant every word. We are going to enjoy every last minute of this wonderful house. ‘Now you get cracking and rustle us up something fabulous and choose a bottle of wine. While me and the brat here will unload the car.’ ‘And bag the best bedrooms,’ added Jade. ‘I think, given your mother has come up with this gem, she should get the best room,’ said Carrie, poking her niece in the back. ‘Oy.’ ‘To be perfectly honest,’ Angela shook her head in wonderment, ‘I think the worst bedroom here will still be better than any of ours. ‘I need to check out the wi-fi code.’ Jade shook her phone. ‘Crap signal up here. Please say this place has internet.’ ‘There you go.’ Angela pointed to a note tagged to the fridge door with a magnet, rather bizarrely in the shape of the Statue of Liberty, among all the other local tourist magnets. ‘Holey Moley, thank God for that.’ CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_d80c1a15-74a1-5fd8-8c12-9bb219b396c3) Sumptuous didn’t begin to describe the bedrooms. They were all decorated in the same subdued colours which Carrie imagined would be very cool during the hot summer days, with pure-white cotton, plumped-up bedding. Jade darted from room to room, now wired for comms, snap-chatting her friends asking their opinion as to which she should choose. While she was doing that, Carrie fell in love with the bedroom at the furthest corner of the building. Like the rest of the house, it featured the same stripped- wooden beams, cool neutral colours and light airy feel, but what swung her decision were sets of French windows on two walls which met at the corner of the room. Opening one set, she stepped out onto a balcony and it felt as if she were stepping right out into the night air as the hill fell away beneath her. Someone had cleverly built this house to maximise the contours of the hill. She unpacked quickly, laying claim to the room, although she couldn’t believe that either Angela or Jade would be that fussed about this one. It was easily the smallest but it felt right, down to the little dressing table, which would double perfectly as a desk, although she suspected the view might be rather distracting. Lavender perfumed the air when she opened up the painted-wood wardrobe, filled with fancy, silk-padded hangers and lace sachets of herbs. It seemed almost sacrilege to bother it with her meagre collection of clothes. She didn’t do quantity but where quality was concerned, she had an aptitude for mixing expensive with dirt cheap and making it look good. Most of the things she’d brought with her, T-shirts, strappy vest tops and flippy skirts didn’t need hanging up and certainly not on hangers as posh as these. The tiled floors were cool to her hot feet when she slipped off her beloved converses and yanked down her jeans, which now clung to her legs. Folding them up, she consigned them to the back of the wardrobe. They could stay there until it came to going home. Just think – she could wear dresses and skirts every day without once having to worry about being cold or taking a coat or an umbrella everywhere with her. If it did rain here, it would be the sort of rain that you didn’t mind getting wet in. Slipping her feet into her well-worn flip-flops, she cast a quick, longing glance at the en-suite bathroom and its walk- in shower that she didn’t have to share with anyone. Absolute bliss. The beep of her phone with yet another text welcoming her to France providing details of how much it cost to send a text or make a call, reminded her that she ought to let Alan know they’d arrived safely and alleviate his fears that their free accommodation wasn’t a shanty house after all. A quick flurry of texts between them confirmed he’d had a great day’s cycling and that he was pleased that the house wasn’t falling down around her ears. All that was needed now, to finish the day off in perfect style, was a long, cool glass of wine. But first she wanted to look up where the village of Ramatuelle was and when market day was. Angela had wasted no time. With the instincts of a born nester, she’d unearthed a table cloth, pretty napkins and china to lay the table in the bay window. To Carrie’s delight a condensation-coated bottle of white wine wedged into a terracotta cooler took up prime position in the middle of the table flanked by a pair of large wine glasses. With picture-perfect design, a basket of rustic bread waited alongside a wooden board of cheeses, some of which already scented the air with their pungency, a platter of sliced meats and two round dishes of p?t?. ‘Can I do anything?’ asked Carrie, with a raised eyebrow, knowing that Angela was in her absolute element. ‘Nothing. Apart from getting that bottle open and pouring us both a glass. Oh and you can put these olives on the table.’ ‘When are the others arriving?’ asked Carrie. ‘Did you put everything in the fridge out?’ Angela laughed gaily and threw open the fridge doors. ‘You’ve got to be kidding. There’s enough food here to withstand a siege. It’s heaven.’ Every shelf was packed with unfamiliar branded bottles, unusual-shaped jars and beguiling paper-bag-wrapped parcels. ‘There’s gallons of stuff in here. Merguez sausages, comp?tes, duck confit, Cassis and myrtle jam, a million different cheeses and meats.’ Angela threw open a cupboard, almost skipping with joy. ‘Here, look. There are stacks of tins, every kind of bean you can imagine, haricot, flageolet and green beans, cassoulet, Tartiflette and even tinned Dauphinoise potato!’ Carrie opened the bottle and poured two glasses, sticking her nose deep in the first glass before sampling it. The clean fresh straw-coloured wine tasted every bit as good as its heavenly smell. ‘I’m going to have so much fun in this kitchen.’ ‘It’s supposed to be a holiday,’ said Carrie, offering up a glass with a dramatic shudder, grateful as always that her sister loved cooking. ‘It is but I don’t have the time to think about cooking properly at home, which means we have the same old. With all this inspiration, I can go to town.’ Carrie smiled, her heart lighter just listening to her sister. ‘Are you sure? I know you love it but don’t overdo it.’ Her eyes rested on the knobbly joint at the base of her sister’s index and middle fingers. Angela flexed her fingers, the fine lines around her mouth tightening. ‘I’m fine.’ Carrie smiled at her sister’s stubbornness, but then she’d had to be to fight against the regular pain that her condition brought with it. ‘I know you’re fine. But I don’t want you to end up in here all the time. Jade and I need to help out otherwise it isn’t fair. Now come sit down.’ ‘I bet the view out of this window is fabulous in daylight,’ said Angela, perching on the window seat and twisting around to peer through the glass. ‘Can’t see much now. No wonder Marguerite kept going on about the views.’ ‘My room’s the same. I can hardly wait for the morning.’ ‘Glad you came?’ ‘Of course I am.’ ‘I’m very relieved this place is okay—’ Carrie let out a laugh. ‘You are the master of understatement. This place is a-ma-zing with capital everything.’ ‘Thank goodness. I wasn’t sure you wanted to come with us. Not so soon after you and Al got engaged.’ She leaned over and laid her hand on Carrie’s. ‘Thank you.’ ‘For what?’ ‘For driving. We couldn’t have come without you.’ ‘You don’t need to thank me, you daft bugger.’ Carrie shook her head as her sister’s eyes shone suspiciously brightly. ‘Honestly, what are you like? I’m getting a holiday. I’ve got my play to work on. And … I might be able to track down my errant husband.’ ‘What … Richard?’ ‘How many husbands do you think I’ve got? Although I need to get rid of him pretty quickly.’ Carrie let out a peal of laughter. ‘Oh, Lord, that sounds like I’m planning to bump him off.’ Angela snorted into her wine glass. ‘It does a bit. Murder aside, why the hurry?’ ‘Al wants to get married in October.’ ‘Yikes! Can you get a divorce that quickly?’ Angela shot a quick look towards the door. ‘Although if you can’t, he’ll wait.’ Carrie studied the way the light refracted and danced from the solitaire diamond of her ring. ‘You haven’t told him.’ Angela suddenly accused. She put her wine down with a firm chink, liquid slopping everywhere. ‘I don’t believe you. Why didn’t you tell him?’ Carrie winced, still looking at her ring. ‘Because it sounds weird. Hey Al, guess what? I’m married to an international A-list superstar actor. Have been for the last ten years.’ ‘See what you mean. He’s bound to wonder why you never mentioned it before.’ ‘It’s not that, it’s confessing the whole impetuous-marriage thing. How do I explain that?’ ‘You were young and in love?’ ‘I know but he thinks I’m sensible and responsible.’ ‘You are … now.’ Carrie loved her sister, even though they couldn’t be more different. Trust Angela to pass over her wild, impetuous youth with one brief word. ‘He’s so decent, I don’t want him to think badly of me and I don’t know how to explain that I’m not that person any more.’ ‘I think you’re worrying unnecessarily. That’s my department, remember? He asked you to marry him. He loves you. Alan’s a lovely guy. Of course he’s going to forgive you a youthful indiscretion. I think you ought to tell him.’ Carrie sighed. ‘I think I’ll wait until I’ve at least got the divorce under way. It sounds pathetic not being able to divorce your own husband because you have no idea of how to get hold of him. I’ve checked – you can’t do anything without an address.’ ‘How are you going to get that?’ ‘He’s here.’ With an almost involuntary movement, Angela checked the corners of the room. ‘Not here, here, you noodle. In France.’ Carrie took a swig of wine. ‘Filming on the Riviera.’ ‘Really?’ ‘Yes, for the next two months.’ ‘The Riviera’s quite big you know, it stretches all the way up to Monaco, about a hundred miles.’ Angela had been reading guidebooks from the library for the last two weeks with the intensity of a student cramming for finals. ‘I know but, stroke of luck, the man in the car-hire place told me some of the places they’ll be filming. And one is down the road from here.’ ‘What are you going to do? Camp out there, until they show up? How will you know where to find the film people? And will he even be there? How will you find him?’ ‘He’ll be in the biggest trailer,’ said Carrie flippantly. ‘But what if you don’t find him?’ ‘Then I’ve lost nothing. It’s not as if I’ve got a better place to start. Besides the car-hire man said they were filming in a market near here, Ramatuelle. All I have to do is go and hang out on market day.’ And when is market day? Carrie grinned. ‘Thursday and Ramatuelle is the next village.’ ‘What this Thursday, as in two days’ time, Thursday?’ ‘Well, I don’t know if they’ll be filming this week, but I figure it can’t hurt to keep visiting each week until they do turn up. Besides, I thought the tourist office would know if there’s a film crew on the loose, especially with a star as big as Richard.’ ‘Smart thinking. Very smart.’ CHAPTER NINE (#ulink_5e76ab9d-bffa-57ca-95bc-d1c0bb812419) Dust motes danced in the brilliant beams of sunshine that streamed in around the edges of the drapes. Carrie couldn’t help the smile that stretched across her face. With delicious anticipation she lay in bed for a few minutes, wondering what lay beyond the curtains, before padding across the floor and flinging them open, her eyes blinking into the high sun. Squinting until they grew accustomed to the intensity of the light, she drank in the view. What a clever, clever design. Her corner balcony hung over the incline, where the hill fell away, leaving the sensation of being on a platform suspended above the valley. Ahead of her, in the still morning air, she could see the curve of green hills, interspersed with glimpses of hidden properties among the wooded slopes and beyond that the sea, azure-blue sparkling with white-crested waves. Sitting down on the terracotta-tiled floor, nicely warm already, she slipped a leg each between the bars, letting them dangle, swinging each leg in opposition, with the sheer pleasure of being able to do nothing but please herself and pretend that she was almost in mid-air. It had almost been so long, she’d forgotten the simple and unique pleasure of the sun kissing her limbs. She leaned back on her arms, tilting her face upwards, like a flower. ‘Carrie! Carrie! Over here?’ Jade’s excited voice came from the terrace. ‘There’s a pool down here and everything.’ She waved lazily, wondering quite what ‘everything’ entailed. ‘You’ve got to come down and see it. Mum’s made breakfast and there’s an outdoor table. Come on.’ With a sigh Carrie hauled herself to her feet. Plenty of time of peace and solitude in the next few weeks. ‘Good morning.’ Angela, of course, had laid the table. Before Carrie even sat down, her sister picked up a cafeti?re brimming coffee, the grounds at the top almost frothing over the lip of the glass. ‘Coffee,’ groaned Carrie, ‘that smells amazing.’ She sniffed and clutched the cup to her. ‘Bliss. Did you sleep well?’ ‘Ish. I woke up early. Strange bed.’ ‘Carrie, Carrie come and see the pool.’ Relinquishing her coffee and charmed by her niece’s sudden childlike enthusiasm, she joined her at the poolside. For once Jade didn’t have a scrap of make-up and was still in her pyjama shorts and vest top. She looked her age for once, without that world-weary smartarse cynicism she often adopted. ‘Isn’t it awesome?’ Carrie laid an arm across her shoulder and took in the view, the pool in the foreground, with its red-and-white stripy, padded sun loungers and the low, lean lines of the house in the background. ‘Absolutely. Awesome.’ Replete with croissant and coffee, Carrie sat on the edge of the pool, her legs stretched out in the sun watching Jade dipping her toes in the water and shrieking with the cold and begging her to come in. After breakfast, they settled in the sun loungers, sticky with sun cream, smelling slightly of coconut. Jade plugged herself into her phone, lying prone on one of the sun loungers, in outsize Jackie Onassis sunglasses, holding the screen up to read out periodic text messages of sheer envy from her friends. Delighted with the stash of cookery books she’d commandeered, Angela sat in the shade with a note pad, scribbling things down and occasionally tearing off a strip of paper and tucking it into the pages and asking random questions, such as ‘Have you ever had duck ? l’orange?’ and ‘What do you think of bouillabaisse?’ ‘Did you know Kim Kardashian has three hundred and eighteen pairs of shoes?’ announced Jade, reading from the screen on her phone. ‘That’s mad.’ Carrie tried to concentrate on next year’s drama text, wondering how on earth she was going to interest her Year 10s of the political depths of the play and the tragic characters of Mother Courage and her children, when they were more concerned with the antics of a mad American family, rich idiots in one of London’s wealthiest suburbs and has-beens in a pretend jungle. ‘Eeuw! That bloke from Towie got a new tattoo on his you-know-where.’ The day set a pattern of lazing on the patio by the pool, occasionally retreating into the kitchen to get more soft drinks. Over dinner, cooked by Angela, as happy in the kitchen as out by the pool, they talked about their plans for the rest of the week. ‘The lovely thing about being here all this time, is there’s no rush to do anything,’ said Angela. ‘I don’t feel the least bit guilty for not going off and exploring.’ ‘We’ve got to go to some of the famous places, though,’ said Jade. ‘I want to tell my friends I’ve been to St Tropez. Do you think we could blag our way onto one of those big yachts?’ ‘I doubt it very much,’ said Angela, putting a bowl of salad on the table, alongside a platter of garlic-cooked prawns gleaming pink in their shells. ‘Mmm, those smell heavenly.’ Carrie’s stomach let out a yowl of support, making Jade and Angela giggle. ‘Sorry.’ She rubbed at her middle. ‘Sounds like Chewbacca on heat,’ said Jade. ‘What’s the plan for tomorrow?’ Angela and Carrie exchanged a quick glance. ‘Let’s play it by ear and see how we feel,’ suggested Angela. ‘We’ve got this lovely pool and it’s so peaceful. I’d quite like to chill for a few days. Perhaps we can go out somewhere the day after tomorrow. Maybe explore Gassin. It’s supposed to be beautiful.’ After dinner Jade plugged herself into her phone ‘You going tomorrow?’ asked Angela, sotto voce, even though Jade couldn’t possibly hear. ‘Yes, I thought I’d leave early. I’m more worried about finding somewhere to park than finding my way. I’ve got my phone.’ ‘That’s all you’re worried about?’ asked Angela, her eyebrows almost taking off. ‘What if the film crew isn’t there?’ Carrie swallowed, that was about the only thing she wasn’t worried about. If the film crew didn’t turn up, then her worries stopped right there. She wouldn’t have to worry about looking like a crazy fan, trying to blag her way through minders, security people or some clipboard official in charge of cordons. She wouldn’t have to worry about what would happen if she did get through. She wouldn’t have to worry about someone passing her message on to him. And if, after all that, she got that far, she wouldn’t have to worry about what to say to Richard on the phone if he called her. CHAPTER TEN (#ulink_67e2c418-c825-5335-aa2d-f47bfff86f95) She gave the butterflies in her stomach a stern talking to as she crept along the hall. They had absolutely nothing to get in a tizz about. Now all she had to do was pray that she could leave the house before Jade woke up and she had to answer any awkward questions. Of course, no one paid the least bit attention to her prayers. ‘Carrie, wait! Where you going?’ She’d taken two scant steps out of the front door. Her heart sank like lead weight plummeting to the absolute depths of the ocean. Seriously? Was someone having a laugh? ‘I thought I’d pop out for an early-morning drive, perhaps bring us some fresh croissants back.’ Carrie kept walking, the car keys in her hand. ‘Quick explore.’ ‘Great idea. I’m starving. Get me to la boulangerie. That’s French for bread shop isn’t it? Ooh they’ll have chocolate croissants. Pain au chocolat. I’ll come with you.’ Jade stooped down and slipped on her flip-flops and padded down the steps. ‘You don’t want to do that. Stay here. I might be a while.’ This was as bad as that time when she was eighteen and almost at the front of the queue in Boots with a pack of condoms and her mother bearing down despite arranging to meet outside Woolworths. ‘That’s okay, I don’t mind.’ ‘Yes, but I might stop somewhere. A market.’ Carrie had reached the car door, narrowly averting disaster by remembering at the last minute not to get in on the passenger side. ‘Visit a couple of churches,’ she said, with the flourish of a poker player producing a Royal flush. There, the C-word. If that didn’t put her off, nothing would.’ ‘No worries. I’ve got my phone, my sunnies.’ She waggled her sunglasses up and down from where they’d been perched on top of her head as she drew level with Carrie on the other side of the car. With a sudden grin, she added, ‘And I can scrounge some cash from you if I need anything.’ ‘What about your Mum? You can’t leave her on her own all day.’ ‘It won’t be all day, will it?’ replied Jade, with infuriatingly correct logic. ‘Besides she’s happy as anything in that kitchen. She’s not going to miss me. Probably like having the place to herself.’ Jade swung open the passenger door and plonked herself in the seat, reminding Carrie of an over-eager family dog in anticipation of a day out. This was going to be a disaster. If she did stumble across the film crew by some incredibly happy and coincidental accident, how the hell would she get rid of Jade? These days a Mars Bar and illicit Coca Cola wouldn’t cut it as a bribe. They weren’t quite as alluring as they’d once been. Jade’s taste had broadened as well as going up dramatically in price, although these days you needed to take out a loan for a simple chocolate fix. ‘I think we should wait for your mum to get up and see if she wants to come too. At least tell her we’re going out.’ ‘That’s dull. Where’s your sense of adventure? Carte blanche. Seize the menu. We should go now. Mum won’t mind.’ Carrie paused. Her sense of adventure had long since got up, packed its rucksack and two-man tent and hiked out of Dodge. Seizing a menu was much more her style. Sadly. ‘It’s carpe diem—’ ‘Duh! I know that. Anyway it’s too late because there’s Mum.’ ‘Morning! You two running away already.’ ‘Hi, I’m heading off to see if I could find a bakery and bring back some fresh croissants but Jade stopped me. Would you like to come too? We can wait if you want to get ready.’ Angela immediately understood. ‘That sounds lovely. Jade, have you switched off your hair straighteners?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Are you sure?’ Jade shrugged. ‘I thought not. Go back and check them now.’ ‘Mummm!’ She slouched back into the house. Carrie shook her head. ‘Your daughter’s a blinking limpet. I thought I’d never shake her off.’ ‘If I come with you, you can ditch both us and you can check out the market.’ ‘Or I could do a runner now?’ ‘And what … your life would be worth living for the next few days?’ Angela laughed. ‘Give me five minutes and I’ll be ready. You can treat us to those croissants for breakfast.’ Carrie took it slowly. It was a gorgeous morning and the views around each bend were distracting, with their frequent glimpses of sea, when she needed to focus on the task of changing gears with the wrong hand. ‘It’s mega-blue. Do you think its bluer than other places?’ asked Jade from the back seat. ‘Is that why they call it C?te D’Azur? Azure’s a posh word for blue.’ ‘I’ve no idea, but it’s lovely.’ Carrie was concentrating on the road, to be honest. The drive didn’t take very long at all and suddenly they were on the outskirts of the village. ‘Sing out if you see a car park,’ said Carrie, manoeuvring carefully as the streets closed in, the high kerbs and unfamiliar position on the road making her slightly nervous. And there was traffic, lots of it, some of which demonstrated an unnerving style of driving. A horn blared from the Mercedes behind them when she slammed on her brakes to avoid a small white van veering out of a side street, cutting right in front of them. It wasn’t even her fault. She glared in the mirror, not that the owner of the great white beast behind them could see. Angela’s hands twisted on her lap and she shrank back from the door, her shoulder touching Carrie’s. ‘I did read in one of the guide books that you take your life in your hands driving on the Riviera.’ ‘You did, did you? Thanks for the heads’ up.’ Angela coloured. ‘I didn’t …’ ‘I’m teasing.’ Carrie reassured her, knowing that her sister would worry that her comment had been misconstrued. It had the potential to worry Angela for days. ‘The drive from the airport turned out absolutely fine. You get idiots like that at home.’ Angela relaxed and Carrie heaved an internal sigh. ‘Let me entertain you, leeet meeee …’ Jade burst into song, thrusting her arm through the gap between the front seats to indicate a blue parking sign pointing to the left. ‘Let meeee spot the car park for you.’ ‘Oh dear god,’ muttered Carrie. ‘Thanks, Jade, for your timely directions.’ She swerved into the turning, to a fresh cacophony of horns. She might as well join the mad local drivers. ‘You said sing out … I did.’ ‘I don’t think yelling in her ear is terribly helpful, Jade. You might have distracted her.’ ‘Might have, I almost hit that cyclist.’ Jade shrugged. ‘You’d have driven straight past it, if I hadn’t.’ Why saying in a normal voice, ‘there’s a car park over there,’ wouldn’t have worked perfectly well, Carrie didn’t know. ‘Isn’t this lovely?’ Angela kept stopping to examine the flowers overflowing and trailing down from window boxes perched on the stone stills of sun-baked houses and peering up at the vines growing from pots that crowded into the narrow streets. The lush greenery tracing its way across the walls with fingers of ivy and tendrils of wisteria was thrown into vibrant contrast by the warmth of old brick and peach washed stone. They wandered up the hill, their shoes slipping slightly on the smooth old stones, along the streets that held an air of otherworldliness with their secretive recessed doors opening onto geranium pot-filled steps and tiny windows, with painted shutters like wings on either side. Carrie imagined that if you picked up a pot you might find a trefoil curved copper key to unlock one of the wooden painted doors and transport you to another world. ‘How much further’? Jade stopped and rubbed at her toes. ‘I’m getting a blister. The signal here’s rubbish. Can’t even send a text and there’s no 3G.’ Carrie closed her eyes and counted to ten. It would be pointless trying to point out to Jade that she hadn’t been invited in the first place. ‘Maybe there’ll be an internet caf?, where we can stop later,’ said Angela. ‘Come on, let’s see if we can find a baker.’ As if the fairies in the elaborate tracery of plants had been listening, the artery of streets joined a larger one and suddenly they were in a street of caf?s and touristy shops. ‘Time for a coffee and a sit-down,’ declared Angela, with a telling look Carrie’s way. ‘And we might be able to find some plasters for your toe, Jade.’ ‘And while you’re doing that I’ll see if I can find the tourist office and get a couple of maps of the area.’ ‘Great idea,’ said Angela, almost bundling her away. Abandoning them, with Angela musing over what coffee to order, Carrie hurried off before Jade could decide she might be missing out on something and decide to limp after her. Following the directions, the owner of the coffee shop had given her, after a few false turns, she turned down what should have been a dead end and suddenly pitched into the noise and bustle of the market. Striped canvas roofs covered stalls piled high with food so bright and colourful, her mouth watered. Angela would be in seventh heaven. The nearest stall exploded with a cornucopia of fruit and vegetables, displayed with artistic precision. Ruby-red fat strawberries squatted next to scarlet redcurrants and white-blushed blueberries, while grapes, red and green, jostled together in between rows of shiny plums. Across the way a stall stacked high with salamis like Jenga caught her eye. What if you removed one and the stack stayed upright, perhaps you could have it for free? The thought made her smile. And if you sent the pile tumbling to the floor, you had to buy the whole lot. Next to them were baskets filled with a variety of cured meats from linen-wrapped Bayonne hams through to the local thinner sticks of meat, Bistouquette Proven?ale and then short fat salamis available in different flavours, Sanglier, Piment, Canard, Ch?vre, Fum? or aux cepes priced at four for ten euros. It would have been nice to have her own basket and she could fill it with all the amazing goodies, like the other French women scurrying along, weighed down with bags, haggling with stall holders and exchanging ribald banter. The crowd, busy with purpose, jostled and pushed, propelling her along as part of the tide of shoppers. She didn’t mind. For the first time it felt like she was in France proper, stepping into another world with the smells, the sights and the sound of French spoken at a machine-gun-rattle pace, the guttural consonants flowing into each other – a stream of incomprehensible words. When she reached the end of the row and turned into the next one, the throng of people slowed its pace, like liquid wax cooling, and the path through the market steadily became more congested. Whispers and nudges, nods of ‘come see this’, rippled through like a Mexican Wave. It was difficult to see what was going on but as she craned her head, she spotted the unmistakable fluffy torpedo of a boom mic. With a gulp, she swallowed hard and smoothed down her skirt. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Happy, no, convenient, coincidences happened in films and books, not in real life. When she’d set out this morning, in her heart of hearts, she hadn’t expected to find the film crew. It had been one of those deliberately fooling-yourself moments that you’re doing something positive when you know it’s no such thing because it’s never going to happen. Now it had and she was totally unprepared. For a while she stood, happy to hide in the crowd, far too scared to worm her way forward because she hadn’t the foggiest what she would do if she got to the front and spotted Richard. With the inevitability of the ebb of the tide, as people became bored, they relinquished their place and Carrie found herself sucked to the front of the crowd, two rows back. Artificial light cast from several arc lamps lit up the shaded market stalls on the right-hand side and beyond them, a row of vans and trucks lined the road. The butterflies, she told herself earlier not to get in a tizz, suddenly took flight in a frenzied rush, bouncing around her stomach, leaving her breathless and wide-eyed. She’d never imagined she’d stumble across the filming, although she’d made a massive assumption about it being the right film and that Richard might even be here. The dammed butterflies didn’t give two hoots about that. They were making a do-or-die attempt to escape right through her stomach wall. There was no sign of any filming taking place, although quite a lot of people buzzed about, zipping backwards and forwards, looking terribly busy and important. A girl with a clipboard and headphones was nodding urgently with two men, both of whom looked as if they’d been sleeping rough in the streets for the last couple of nights. Over in the corner, a cameraman was laughing with a small group of people who had to be extras and the soundman was dismantling the long pole of the boom. Carrie squeezed behind two women of indeterminate age, who were excitedly whispering to each other in English. Both were dressed as if they’d recently stepped off a golf course, in smart chino shorts, matching T-shirts and peaked sun visors. One was slightly taller than the other and Carrie heard her addressed as Hilary. ‘That was definitely him.’ ‘Are you sure?’ ‘Well, no, but it might be him,’ said Hilary. ‘Excuse me?’ The two women swung round. ‘Do you know what they’re filming? Or who’s in it?’ ‘Shh, you have to be quiet,’ said Hilary nudging her and nodding towards one of the two scruffy men. ‘The director keeps getting shirty because we’re making too much noise. He keeps threatening to move us on.’ ‘Hmph,’ said the other woman with a disdainful sniff, ‘I don’t know why. It’s a public place. What does he expect? And, quite frankly, he looks as if he should have been moved on. A good wash and scrub wouldn’t do him any harm.’ ‘Apparently,’ said Hilary, in a confiding whisper, ‘it’s an American film. Hollywood. Blockbuster. Big names.’ Her eyes widened with each phrase making Carrie wonder whether she might dislocate something. ‘Is it anyone famous?’ Carrie asked, her words almost sticking in her throat. ‘Famous? Oooh yes! It’s that fella from,’ Hilary turned to her friend, ‘what’s that film he was in? You know thingy.’ ‘Oh, that one. Yes. The one where he drove that—’ ‘—silver car.’ Hilary nodded. ‘And it had a dog in it.’ Carrie bit back a smile at their conversation, as incomprehensible to her as it was clear to them. They reminded her of a married couple, together for so long they didn’t need to converse in whole sentences. ‘Yes. Now what’s his name?’ mused Hilary. Carrie waited, shifting from one foot to the other, trying to hide the fact she wanted to grab Hilary and give her a damn good shake. Hilary scrunched up her face. ‘He was also in …’ Carrie bit her lip. God give her strength. ‘Do you mean Richard Maddox?’ she asked, sounding normal and sane and not wanting to rip the woman limb from limb. ‘That’s the one.’ Hilary’s friend hissed in a carrying whisper. ‘You clever girl. Ooh are you alright? You look rather pale.’ ‘Have you seen him?’ Carrie stood on tiptoe but there was little going on. The two tramp look-a-likes had gone, leaving the girl with the clipboard moving from group to group, gesticulating madly. ‘Not now. He was here earlier. I bet he’s gone back to his Winnebago.’ ‘Do you think you’d get a Winnebago up these streets, Kathleen? I’m not sure.’ ‘Maybe he’s dropped off in his chauffeur-driven Bentley each morning.’ With nothing very much happening now, the crowd began to thin and Carrie had a much better view. A jolly market tradesman in an apron, who clearly wasn’t a trader, sipped coffee and chatted to a couple of other decidedly French- styled people with string baskets and shopping trolleys. Definitely extras, Carrie guessed. The crew worked around them with that busy precision of people who know exactly what they’re doing. Some peeled the gaffer tape securing the cables to the floor, others were dismantling the lights and others consulted schedules while packing things into large padded boxes. To a man they ignored the crowd around them, they might as well have been behind a sheet of bullet-proof plate glass, a deliberate policy to discourage the general public from getting too close, as if they were an alien species apart from everyone else. Carrie hesitated, imagining the crew might dismiss her as yet another fan or a lunatic stalker but she couldn’t let this chance slip by. For a minute, a smile played around her lips. What if she marched up and told them she was Mrs Maddox, Richard’s wife? It would be worth it to see their reaction, before she was carried off to the funny farm. Thing was, she had once been in this world. Okay, she’d had a few walk-on parts in a couple of films, none of which had been spotted by a director and propelled her to instant stardom or even a bigger part, despite her vain hope that one of them would say who is the girl with the curly hair? It had been such a long time ago; she’d virtually buried that part of her life. Being on set had been such a thrill, despite sometimes being tedious. There could be a lot of hanging around to get one small scene in the can but she’d loved being part of something, working alongside the whole crew all beavering away to achieve that goal. It had always been fascinating watching all the separate parts; the sound guys making sure they’d got what they needed, the camera men anxiously checking the light and conferring and most of all watching the director in action and comparing how she might approach a scene instead. Added to all that, there was something quite indulgent about being on set, apart from the horrifically early hours. You didn’t have to do anything but focus on what you needed to do, your scene. Not like in her job now, when as a teacher you were pulled in a thousand different directions on a daily basis. On set you might spend hours between takes but you had nothing else to do apart from learn lines or rehearse and there was always someone to talk to, someone else having to hang around. No wonder food was always plentiful. The catering guys worked non-stop and there was always a never-ending supply of bacon butties. Did they have salami baguettes here instead? With a mental rap of the knuckles, she told herself to stop stalling. Here was her best chance to track Richard down and she’d done nothing for the last five minutes but hop about from leg to the other like a demented stork. If she didn’t get a wiggle on, they’d have packed up and left. She forced herself to wander over, picking the youngest- looking member of the crew, on the basis that she hadn’t been doing this long enough to be blas? about her job and therefore would respond to the friendly chat of a passer-by. ‘Hi, looks like you’ve been hard at it since the early hours.’ ‘God, yes,’ the girl, in her early twenties, brushed her hair out of her face, straightening up from the coil of wires she’d recently gathered. ‘We started at five, but it’s a wrap now.’ ‘Got much more to do today?’ Carrie summoned up a sympathetic tone. ‘A couple of takes with the extras to get some general shots. But most of the crew are going on to the next location to do a recce.’ Carrie bit back a smile, the girl didn’t look as if she’d had that much experience, but she was certainly up to date with the jargon. ‘The talent did it in a couple of takes. Which is always nice. They’re done for the day.’ Inwardly Carrie cursed Jade. If she’d left when she’d planned, she might have got here in time. In time to do what, mocked a voice inside her head? March right up to Richard and then what? ‘Who is the talent?’ For her own peace of mind, she had to check. She didn’t quite trust Hilary and Kathleen. ‘Anyone I would have heard of?’ The girl laughed, producing a bag of cable ties from her back pocket. ‘You’re kidding. Unless you’ve been living in a cave for your whole life.’ She lowered her voice, ‘Richard Maddox and Savannah Murray.’ ‘Wow. What is it? A big feature film?’ Carrie was starting to enjoy herself, getting into character of friendly star-struck person who happened to be walking by. ‘Turn on the Stars. It’s a romantic comedy. Great script. We were lucky to get them both on board, it’s taken a while for their schedules to coincide.’ ‘Are you out here for long? You sound English? Where are you filming next?’ ‘I’m from Essex. This unit is from England as most of the filming is here. I think there are a few scenes set in the States and they use a unit there. We’re here for the next six weeks.’ She grinned cheerfully. ‘Not a hardship. Summer back home looks crap.’ She stooped down and started disconnecting some of the cables from each other and tying them up with the plastic ties. ‘I’ve got no complaints and for the next week we’re down on the harbour at Port les Pins. Less busy than St Tropez, thank goodness. It’s a pig to park the vans down there and the traffic is horrendous this time of year. The local authorities are helpful, though, it’s good for tourism. The tourists love it when they see …’ The girl faltered. Carrie laughed. ‘Yes we do. But many years ago I was an actress. I know the drill.’ ‘Oh, sorry I didn’t mean to … you know.’ ‘It’s fine. The film world looks glamorous to the outside world. They don’t see the long hours and the hard work the crew put in.’ ‘God no, I mean I love it but its non-stop. We’re back on set again tomorrow morning at five. The early mornings are killers.’ ‘I remember having to travel miles between sets, as well.’ ‘This isn’t too bad, our base is in St Tropez.’ ‘Nice,’ teased Carrie. ‘Posh hotel?’ ‘Yeah, right! We’re in the Ibis. The director and the big names are staying in Le Chateau de la Messardi?re. Now that is posh.’ ‘And of course, that’s where Richard Maddox and Savannah Murray are staying?’ Carrie twinkled, a sudden fizz of excitement at how easy this was turning out to be. Her first attempt and she’d discovered where Richard was staying. This Mata Hari lark was proving to be rather enjoyable. ‘Of course, not that I’ve been there.’ ‘You done with these, Lorraine?’ A thick-set man with a sharp buzz cut came up, barely even glancing at Carrie. ‘Yup, they can go in the van.’ ‘Can you go and give the sound guys a hand?’ ‘Sure.’ She flashed Carrie a quick grin. ‘Gotta go, nice chatting with you. Might see you down at the harbour. We’re filming on one of the floating gin palaces down there. Be interesting getting the power generators on board.’ ‘Lorraine,’ the man gave an impatient nod of his head. ‘Bye.’ She turned to her colleague and handed him one of the coils. With a casual wave hiding her excitement, Carrie turned and walked away, trying not to skip. Result. She wouldn’t even have to see Richard, she could simply go to the hotel and leave him a letter there. While she’d been talking her phone had buzzed several times. There were three impatient texts from Jade. Where are you? Have you got lost?’ Your coffee’s going cold. Jade and Angela were sitting outside the caf?, Jade scrolling through her phone and Angela leaning back in her chair, her eyes closed, soaking up the sun. ‘Where’ve you been?’ Jade scowled up at her before looking back at her phone. ‘We’ve been here ages.’ Angela sprang to attention, her eyes asking a million questions as she mouthed, ‘Did you see him?’ With an imperceptible shake of her head, answered, grateful that Jade was more interested in her phone. ‘Sorry I got distracted by how amazing the market was. Even made me want to cook.’ Angela raised an eyebrow. ‘Almost,’ she ducked her head. ‘Okay, chop things up and have them with bread.’ ‘I’m too lazy to move at the moment and we’ve got plenty of food in the fridge, I’d better not go and take a look. I know I’ll be tempted.’ Angela shunted her seat up, so that Carrie could squeeze in. ‘They have a market on Sunday as well. We can come back then. Urgh.’ The coffee was stone-cold. ‘I’m too hot,’ said Jade. ‘You do look very pink, did you put any sunscreen on?’ asked Angela. ‘No.’ ‘And I didn’t bring any with me.’ They decided that as the temperature had hit the 90s already, they’d head back to the villa for a swim to cool off and then have lunch. Halfway back to the car, as they emerged from the shady streets, Jade suddenly realised she’d left her brand-new sunglasses behind. Seeing that Angela was wilting in the heat, Carrie offered to go back and get them, giving the car keys to the others so that they could at least put the air conditioning on. The sun was at its highest now and most people had sensibly stopped in some of the pavement caf?s, leaving the streets mostly deserted. She’d got used to having the street to herself when a man in dark sunglasses came abruptly around a corner and she almost cannoned into him. For a minute they did that very English side-stepping dance. ‘Sorry,’ said Carrie, lifting her sunglasses as she spoke, immediately realising she should have said ‘pardon’ and regretting taking them off as she squinted into the sun at him. ‘Carrie?’ He took off his sunglasses. The butterflies were back with a vengeance, rising with a great fluttering kerfuffle and then en masse sank back with a great thunk. It was him. She swallowed, completely struck dumb. It was as if her jaws had gone into spasm and absolutely refused to move. ‘Carrie? My God, it is you.’ She stared and stared and stared. The face, once as familiar as her own, looked exactly the same. Those so bright, they couldn’t be real, blue eyes, that she’d seen filled with first- thing sleepiness in them, alight with laughter at a stupid joke and sharp with thought at a serious question. Now they registered surprise. Her heart almost stopped as she drank in the sight of him. Still utterly gorgeous, with that perfectly chiselled jawline, which she used to tease he’d borrowed from Action Man. The years vanished and, as if it were yesterday, she remembered walking hand in hand across Westminster Bridge in the dense drizzle of autumn. Yesterday, when they’d sat at the top of Primrose Hill, surrounded by the green shoots and early daffodils of Spring, unable to stop kissing each other. Yesterday, when he’d received the call. Yesterday, that painful stiff-upper-lip parting at Heathrow. He stepped forward, reaching out a hand, as if to touch her, and then paused. ‘What … are you doing here?’ he asked, looking equally discomfited and confused. ‘I …’ ‘You look … well.’ His mouth curved into the sudden easy grin she knew, his eyes dancing with mischief. ‘I like the dress.’ And then he frowned, the dark brows drawing together in a sudden slash, as if trying to work something out that wasn’t right. ‘But not the hair.’ With a sudden movement he pulled out the chopstick anchoring her hair. With the slight touch of his forearm against her face, her world turned upside down as her curls cascaded free, dropping down her back. He stood there, holding the chopstick, looking like a young wizard who’d performed his first spell and now wasn’t sure what to do. Carrie let out a breathless, musical laugh. It was typical of Richard: act first, think later. With a triumphant smile, he gave an approving nod, ‘That’s better. Much better. Now you look like you.’ Carrie wanted to come back with something witty and snappy, half of her desperate to put him in his place for his sheer cheek and the other half wanting to impress him with her sang froid. Instead she smiled stupidly back at him, her heartbeat bursting into breakneck speed and a flush racing through her. ‘How are you? You look well.’ ‘You said that already.’ ‘I did, didn’t I? It’s amazing to see you. You look …’ ‘You said that already.’ ‘It’s not every day you run into y …’ Panic flashed in his eyes as if he realised he was about to step into dangerous territory. The W word would make it personal. ‘Your wife,’ said Carrie tartly, a punch of pain ricocheting around her chest. A wife he’d conveniently forgotten all too quickly once he’d got to Hollywood. By his second feature film, the phone calls and texts started to dry up, the conversations became more stilted and the pictures of him and his leading lady started to get regular billing in the gossip columns. As far as she was concerned, it had been a case of out of sight and very much out of mind. His face crumpled with something that might have been regret or at least she liked to think so. How the hell did she know? she hadn’t seen him for eight years. Now she studied him more closely, she saw the signs of self-possession. The clothes sharper and more chic, the blue of his shirt no doubt picked out specially to enhance his eyes and the trousers, linen and tailored, fitting him like a glove. Despite his urbane elegance, she couldn’t help remembering a time when he’d lived in baggy jeans and laughed at men who used personal-grooming products. The man in front of her looked as if he used them by the articulated lorry-load. He wasn’t the man she’d fallen in love with, the same as she wasn’t the person he’d fallen in love with. She glared hard, to make him back off, and snatched the chopstick back, bundling her hair up and spiking it through viciously. ‘I didn’t mean …’ He took a step towards her. ‘Look, it’s him. I told you I’d seen him.’ From around the corner a coachload of young teenagers came and like locusts descended on them, homing in on Richard, their number forming around him, pushing her away until she was the outsider looking in, which was exactly as it should be. Over the tops of their heads he caught her eye, as she began to back away. ‘Wait Carrie. W …’ his voice was swallowed up by the excited chatter of the girls waving bits of paper and trying to take selfies with him. The sudden physical barrier was a welcome reminder of the divide between them. They were different people. That was a lifetime ago. There was absolutely no need to speak to him or have any contact with him. Thanks to the friendly film-crew girl, she didn’t need to. She knew where to find him. ‘Auntie Carrie. Auntie Carrie!’ As she turned she saw Jade half-running and half-walking up the hill towards her. With a fleeting backward glance at Richard, who was still watching her, she strode forwards to meet her niece. ‘I found them,’ crowed Jade. ‘My sunglasses. They were in my bag all the time.’ Desperate to get away and praying that Jade hadn’t caught sight of the commotion behind her, Carrie began to hurry towards her. ‘OMG. Carrie. Look, it’s someone famous,’ Jade stepped around her to look up the hill at where the girls were surrounding Richard, who had been spun round with his back to them. ‘I’ve got to get a selfie.’ ‘Jade, no.’ She tried to grab her niece. ‘Leave the poor man alone, he’s already besieged.’ ‘Do you know who it is?’ ‘No idea,’ Carrie snapped. ‘I’m going to find out,’ Jade grinned with youthful determination. ‘One more selfie won’t hurt him, whoever he is.’ ‘Jade!’ ‘What?’ ‘I’m leaving right now.’ ‘Don’t be boring. I’ll never, ever get the chance to see a sleb this close again. Come on, you can get a picture too. Your students will be dead impressed.’ ‘I’ll go without you.’ She tried to put a hand on Jade’s, but she was off like a greased whippet, phone out. ‘Jade! ‘I’ll catch you up.’ Carrie decided this was a lost battle and it would be better if she left – and quickly, before Richard turned around and linked the two of them together. Would he remember Jade from all those years ago? She hurried down the street, fighting the temptation to take one last look back. A few streets later, a piercing stitch stabbing into her side forced her to stop. Her whole body hurt but it had nothing to do with the stitch. Her face crumpled and she bent double trying to ease the pain. ‘I say, are you alright?’ Jade loomed over her. ‘You look terrible.’ For Jade to notice, she must have looked horrendous. Now that she stopped, dizziness overcame her and she swayed on the spot, praying that the light-headed sensation would recede. With her knees trembling and nausea dancing in the pit of her belly, she wondered if she might pass out. It had to be shock. Her body reacting after the see-sawing of emotions she’d put it through this morning. The up of fearful anticipation and down of abject relief. ‘Auntie Carrie,’ Jade’s voice held a note of panic. ‘Are you okay? Can I … Shall I …’ Uncertainty flashed in her expression. ‘I’m fine. Just a bit faint. Probably too much heat.’ She wasn’t going to confess to Jade, it was more likely a post-shock, adrenaline hangover. The aggressive punch of chemicals which had rolled through her system, setting all her senses on alert, had now evaporated like a magic genie rescinding its powers, leaving her with an overwhelming sense of being unutterably tired. She clung to a nearby wrought-iron hand rail. ‘Are you sure?’ asked Jade doubtfully. ‘Let me catch my breath a minute. I’ve overdone it, that’s all. Too much sun. Not enough fluids.’ Carrie sounded like an aged great aunt well into her dotage rather than an auntie scant years older than her niece. There were plenty of occasions when Carrie had been taken for Jade’s older sister. As for fluids, she could do with a shot of something to put some fire back. ‘Do you want me to get Mum?’ ‘No, I’m fine, honestly. I … let’s get back to the car.’ The sooner they got away the better. ‘If you’re sure.’ Doubt filled Jade’s face. Despite the sick sensation churning around her stomach, which was stupid, it wasn’t as if she’d got up close and personal to real danger, she picked up her pace and almost marched down the hill back to the car park. Every now and then she threw anxious looks back over her shoulder. Jade threw open the back passenger door and hurled herself in, pushing her phone out to her mother. ‘Guess who we saw? Look I got a selfie with him. Richard Maddox. Isn’t he gorgeous? He’s even more gorgeous in the flesh, isn’t he, Caz?’ ‘You saw Richard?’ Angela’s eyes went wide, studying Carrie with concern. ‘Oh God, yes,’ said Carrie, limp in her seat, now that she’d reached the air-conditioned haven of the car. She put her head in her hands and leaned over her knees. ‘I walked right into him.’ Reliving the moment as she told her sister was every bit as bad as the moment it happened. She straightened up and took a peek at herself in the mirror before turning to Angela. ‘What a nightmare.’ Jade leaned through the gap between the passenger and driver seats, like a fox scenting a chicken, her nose almost quivering. ‘I don’t believe it.’ Carrie rubbed at her forehead as if that might dissipate the band of tension which had tightened around her forehead. ‘Blood, bloody, bad luck.’ ‘Why? I don’t understand.’ Jade flicked through her screen. ‘I got two pictures with him and they’re both great. I’m going to WhatsApp them now to Becky, Charlotte and Eliza. Carrie groaned, still unable to believe what had happened. Jade caught her eye in the mirror. ‘Hang on.’ Her eyes narrowed and she examined Carrie. ‘Have I missed something?’ Angela looked from Carrie to Jade and back again. ‘Mum? What’s going on?’ With a sigh, Carrie said, ‘Let’s wait until we get home.’ She gripped the steering wheel with purpose. ‘I need to concentrate on driving and finding our way back.’ ‘Why can’t you tell me now?’ whined Jade. ‘Because,’ snapped Carrie. CHAPTER ELEVEN (#ulink_455a6289-f52f-5fa2-a456-c8f2f351bdc9) ‘I can’t believe you never told me,’ said Jade for the ninety-fifth time, slurping a tall glass of coke noisily. You’re married to Richard Maddox. The Richard Maddox. That’s awesome.’ Carrie contemplated the view from the bay window overlooking at the valley, absentmindedly sipping the large glass of wine that Angela had poured her as soon as they arrived home. ‘That’s unreal. You’re married to Richard Maddox.’ ‘Jade,’ her mother interrupted in a warning tone, which made no impact on her overexcited daughter. ‘Yes, but Richard Maddox.’ She paced around the kitchen. ‘That is sick. And you never said.’ Carrie tightened her jaw. ‘I can’t wait to tell the others.’ ‘No.’ Carrie swung around and shot a fierce glare at her. ‘You can’t tell anybody.’ ‘Okay, okay.’ Jade held up her hands. ‘No one’s died.’ She sank into the chair opposite and drained her glass before looking at Carrie in an unashamed examination, as if trying to work out how the hell her aunt had ever snagged an international sex symbol. ‘Can I just ask …’ ‘No,’ chorused Angela and Carrie together. ‘… why don’t you want anyone to know? If it were me, I’d tell everyone.’ She leaned back in her chair, a dreamy expression on her face. ‘What happened?’ asked Angela. ‘The film unit was there but he’d finished filming. However I did get chatting to one of the crew and I found out where he’s staying.’ ‘Are you going to go and see him?’ Jade leaned forward. ‘Can I come?’ ‘No, I’m not going to see him,’ said Carrie tightly. ‘I needed to contact him.’ ‘Why don’t you want to see him? He’s your husband.’ Jade emphasised the final word. ‘It’s not like we’ve got many in the family.’ She shot a sly look her mother’s way. It still niggled her that her mother had never married her father, who by all accounts had been desperate to marry Angela. It still surprised Carrie that she’d turned him down. Angela didn’t rise, instead she took a steady sip of her wine. ‘Jade, we got married when we were both young and stupid.’ ‘How come you’re still married and why haven’t you ever said anything? I mean, if I were you I’d be living it up in Hollywood. He must have, like, a million homes.’ ‘He went to Hollywood. I stayed here. We drifted apart. At the time I wasn’t planning on marrying anyone else. I left it and left it and after a while I, sort of, forgot.’ ‘You forgot you were married to a superstar? Man, that’s nuts.’ ‘I didn’t forget, I put it out of my mind.’ A horror-struck expression hit Jade’s face. ‘OMG! Alan. Does he know?’ ‘Of course he doesn’t know,’ said Carrie, hurriedly. ‘When are you going to tell him?’ Angela raised an eyebrow. Carrie realised that Jade was asking all the questions that Angela wanted answered. ‘I’m not going to. I’ll tell him I was married before and that it didn’t work out. That’s all he needs to know,’ she narrowed a fierce stare at Jade, ‘and you are not to tell him or even breathe a word to anyone.’ ‘What no one? Not even my friends? That’s ridiculous. They won’t …’ Jade winced. ‘Yeah they would.’ She pouted. ‘That’s mean.’ ‘Tough. I don’t want anyone knowing. Everyone would talk, there’d be all sorts of comments. Can you imagine it at school? Alan would hate it and it’s unnecessary. He never needs to know who I was married to.’ ‘What are you going to do? You’ve got to see Richard.’ Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/jules-wake/escape-to-the-riviera-the-perfect-summer-romance/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.