Dinner time that evening was full of writerly chat as they all tucked into a main course of monkfish served with capers and asparagus. Everybody, it seemed, had got words on the page that day and they were all happy to celebrate with a glass or two of wine. Even Becky, who was her usual lively self, had apparently written two thousand words. Nobody dared to ask about the influence of AI on those two thousand words.
‘Would you like a one-to-one with me this week?’ Sandy asked her.
Becky shook her head. ‘I’m not ready for that yet. Next week please.’
‘I’ll put you in the diary for next Monday then,’ Sandy said.
Zoe placed dessert on the table – a wonderfully caramelised tarte tatin. Becky quickly photographed it, like she had the starters and the main course. ‘Don’t forget to check your socials tonight, ladies. The photos I took in the cocktail bar yesterday went live this evening on a reel with a picture of my bedroom and the food here. Facebook, X, Threads, Instagram and Bluesky – so you’re sure to find them.’
‘Everybody here happy with that exposure?’ Sandy asked quietly. When nobody said anything, she turned to Becky. ‘I’m not sure Guy will be so accepting of you posting pictures on social media of the meals he’s cooking or the inside of his private villa without permission.’
‘It’s all good publicity. I would have thought Guy would welcome it,’ Becky said. ‘Whenever I’ve dined here in the past, I’ve posted photos of my meals and he’s never asked me to stop.’
‘But the villa is not currently open for business, so Guy doesn’t need any publicity. He only agreed to let me hold this retreat here as a personal favour to Romain and I because we are friends. Please don’t post any more photos without asking Guy’s permission.’
‘How can I ask Guy’s permission when he never puts in an appearance?’ Becky shrugged. ‘But if he personally tells me to stop, I will.’
* * *
After dinner, Helena and Mandy decided to go for a twilight walk along the beach, leaving Isobel, Liz and Lorraine to take their last glass of wine and sit out under the stars in the garden for half an hour or so. Becky turned down both offers. ‘I’m off to my room. Probably do some more writing after I’ve done an update on my social platforms with tonight’s photos.’
Slipping off their sandals, Helena and Mandy wandered along the shoreline squealing as the cold waves gently splashed over their feet. Helena gave an involuntary shiver. ‘It was cold this morning but so invigorating. You must join us – the shock is worth it for the way you feel afterwards. Everything seems to be sharper, brighter, somehow.’
‘I’m still thinking about it,’ Mandy said, ‘but the current temperature is not encouraging.’ She sidestepped a larger wave. ‘Why is there always a rogue wave that threatens to soak your legs and jeans every so often?’
‘It’s supposed to be every seventh wave,’ Helen said. ‘Leon says it’s a myth – although it can happen.’
‘I’m tempted to start counting just to see.’ Mandy laughed.
Helena’s phone rang at that moment and she glanced at the caller ID. ‘It’s Teddy,’ she said with an apologetic look at Mandy. ‘I can’t not answer.’
‘Go ahead. I’ll count the waves,’ and Mandy started to stare at the sea, counting softly under her breath.
Five minutes later, Helena was smiling as the call ended and she rejoined Mandy, who had walked on a little way.
‘Definitely a myth,’ Mandy said, looking up as Helena reached her. ‘Although there are bigger waves every so often, they don’t happen on a regular count. Teddy okay? Missing you I hope?’
Helena nodded. ‘He says he is, although he’s been busy at work,’ she said, a short sigh escaping. ‘I’ve just realised this is the first year ever Mum, Leon or Teddy won’t be physically present on my birthday. Leon has missed a few when he’s been at sea, but Mum and Teddy have always been there on the day. And Dad, of course, in the past. This year, it will be video calls from everyone.’
‘Thank goodness for technology,’ Mandy said.
Helena murmured an acknowledgement. The thought of celebrating her birthday next week without Teddy, or any of her family present, was feeling unexpectedly strange and daunting.
* * *
As everyone disappeared, Sandy helped Zoe to clear the table and followed her into the kitchen, wanting to talk to Guy.
‘Lovely meal again tonight,’ she said, placing the crockery on the side ready for the dishwasher. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Guy said. ‘You look as if you have something on your mind?’
Sandy nodded. ‘Becky,’ and she quickly explained about the photographs of meals and the bedroom on the internet. ‘She seems to think you would welcome the publicity. I think it’s an invasion of your privacy as you are not currently open.’
‘Technically it is, but people have always done it and rarely ask permission.’
‘She says if you personally tell her to stop, she will.’
Guy gave a resigned sigh. ‘I think we let it go. I’m not in the mood for confrontation with an influencer as popular as Becky seems to be.’
