We need to talk. Lunch today?
She quickly sent a text.
See you at twelve. xx
She sat back thoughtfully. The message was unusually brusque for Romain. He rarely interrupted her day when she was working with retreat guests. There had to be some sort of problem at home? Was Twiggy ill?
She glanced at her watch. Five to nine. The session was due to start in minutes. Did she have time to ring Romain? Isobel and Lorraine walking towards her gave her the answer. No. Whatever the problem, it would have to wait until midday for her to hear about it.
Liz, Helena and Mandy also arrived at that moment and Sandy took a deep breath. She’d learn about whatever the problem was in three hours, but in the meantime she had to put it out of her mind and concentrate on all things writing.
* * *
Two hours later, the session had finished and everyone was pushing back their chairs and standing up when she heard Romain talking to Guy in the kitchen. ‘It sounds like my husband has arrived to take me out for lunch today so I won’t be around for an hour or two, but I’ll be here this afternoon,’ Sandy said. She poked her head around the kitchen door, called out, ‘Give me five minutes’ and quickly ran upstairs to the box room to leave her laptop and freshen up.
When she came back downstairs, Romain, with what she called his serious face on, was waiting in the hallway for her and Twiggy welcomed her enthusiastically. ‘Do I need a glass of wine before you tell me what this is about?’
Romain nodded. ‘Maybe two.’
Sandy gave him a slant-eyed look. ‘That bad. Okay. First cafe we come to.’
A short walk later and they were at one of the cafes down the side of the market, sat at a table with a glass of rosé for Sandy and a pastis for Romain waiting for their croque-monsieurs to arrive. When Romain uncharacteristically had announced he wasn’t hungry and a toasted sandwich would do, Sandy decided to have the same. Whatever the problem was, it would probably take away her appetite too.
She took a drink of her wine and looked at Romain. ‘So, put me out of my misery, what’s happened?’
‘Pierre Bois phoned me this morning with some news he wanted us to hear from him before it becomes general knowledge.’
Sandy’s heart sank. Pierre and his wife Miranda owned the Belle Epoque villa they’d used for the retreats for the past four years. ‘Please don’t tell me the renovations after the flood are behind schedule?’
Romain gave her a rueful look. ‘Sadly, yes they are, but it’s worse than that. They are selling the villa. They’ve cancelled all bookings for this year, starting with the June retreat next month. They want to refresh the bedrooms and the villa is going on the market as a private residence, so they don’t want people staying there when they’ve got viewings. Pierre did apologise profusely.’ The waiter arrived at that moment with their food and placed it on the table. Sandy waited until they were alone again before speaking.
‘Profuse apologies aside – doesn’t he realise that he has given our retreat business the kiss of death?’ The knot in Sandy’s tummy that had arrived as Romain told her the unwelcome news was really starting to hurt and her pounding heartbeat wasn’t helping her to concentrate.
‘For this year perhaps, but we have time to find somewhere new for next year. Or even buy our own like we planned to do eventually.’
At Romain’s next words, Sandy almost snorted out the mouthful of wine she’d just taken.
‘They have offered us first refusal to buy the villa,’ Romain said quietly. ‘I am going to make an appointment with the bank manager for later in the week to see if it is possible,’ he shrugged.
Sandy gave a deep sigh and shook her head as she looked at him. ‘You and I both know deep down there is no chance of that happening. A Belle Epoque villa is way out of our price range by more than several million euros.’
* * *
Sandy left Romain to go home and walked back to the villa on her own, deep in thought. The two of them had worked so hard for the past four years to make a success of their retreat business. People always seemed to think she alone ran AntibesRetreats, but Romain, with his background in advertising and marketing, was involved in the business side of things as much as she was. They took decisions together. He was the one who had known the best places to kick-start advertising campaigns and reach potential clients. The brochures, posters and leaflets he’d designed for publicity had all been brilliant.
Now it seemed that their hard work had been for nothing.
20
ENGLAND
Joan Mitchell had just returned from the morning walk with Bella her cockapoodle when her phone rang.
‘Leon darling, how lovely to hear from you. Where in the world are you at the moment?’
‘Off the coast of Croatia. Mum, Helena is in Antibes right? And guess where the yacht is heading in the next forty-eight hours? Going to be in Port Vauban Marina there for a week or two. No charters, just a bit of general maintenance needed.’
‘Does that mean you’ll be able to celebrate birthdays with Helena next week? She will be thrilled if you can.’
