Quickly he found a pair of shorts, pulled a polo shirt over his head, slipped his feet into a pair of deck shoes, grabbed his phone, pushed a couple of euro notes into his shorts pocket, grabbed his keys and ran downstairs.
He needed to get out of the villa, breathe some fresh air in the hope that it would clear his head and banish all guilty thoughts about not doing the right thing by Sandy and Romain. At least Jacqueline would never know about his inability to do the right thing.
3
Sandy Thoreau gave the ‘South of France Villas for Rent’ page open on her computer screen one last despondent look. There was nothing available within even a fifty-kilometre range on the dates she needed. She moved her cursor and closed the page in despair. She’d spent almost the whole day desperately ringing around in a last-ditch attempt to find a replacement villa for the retreat. Tomorrow, she would have to start the business of sending out cancellation letters and refunding monies. It was a huge loss to incur, not to mention the worry of finding somewhere suitable for the following retreats that were planned and already had tentative enquiries.
Going to see Guy yesterday had been a real act of desperation. Romain had told her she was wasting her time, but she hadn’t wanted to believe that Guy would refuse to come to their rescue. But then she hadn’t seen the Guy they both knew and loved. The Guy who’d turned her away was a shadow of his former self, unshaven and unhelpful. Sandy knew that had Jacqueline still been alive the two of them would have said yes instantly. Would have found a way of working around any reservations they had for the restaurant and cancelling room bookings.
She and Jacqueline had been best friends since they’d met at college in Nice. Even when Jacqueline had left to study interior design in New York and later got a prestigious job and stayed there for several years and Sandy herself had gone to London for a job in publishing, they’d stayed in touch, meeting whenever they could and always coming home to Antibes for Christmas. Later, when Sandy married Romain and Jacqueline met Guy, the two men had formed a firm friendship as well, although the three of them teased Guy mercilessly in the beginning about his English accent whilst he was still struggling to learn French.
Sandy sighed. Renting Villa Celestia from Guy she was sure would have been a way of helping him come to terms with the loss of Jacqueline. Personal experience had taught her that being busy was better than wallowing. Sandy knew that he was still grieving over the loss of Jacqueline and she did understand that it was going to take time, but nothing was going to bring her back. Besides, even if she hadn’t been in that airport taxi going who knew where, when it crashed, Sandy had guessed from the little Jacqueline had let slip in the weeks before she died that she would have been unlikely to still be living in Antibes.
Sandy gave a frustrated groan. It would be beyond cruel to voice that opinion to Guy when he was still processing his grief for Jacqueline. No. She had to let Guy be for now, which meant facing up to cancelling the writers’ retreat.
She made her way down to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine before starting to prepare supper. Romain had gone out after a day spent on his own computer to stretch his legs with a walk around the harbour and an aperitif in one of the bars that he liked to frequent. As Sandy sliced tomatoes for a mozzarella salad to accompany the plate of charcuterie and garlic bread, the thought crossed her mind, not for the first time, that maybe the time had come for them to buy their own villa. Their original idea when they’d started the retreats, had been to run the business for five years, squirrelling away as much money as they could for a deposit and then get the bank to give them a mortgage based on their business figures to buy a permanent base of their own. They’d agreed they’d run the retreats business together but that Romain would keep his own online advertising business going as well to keep a cash flow coming.
This was the fourth year that they’d organised retreats using a couple of different villas. They alternated between writers’ and artists’ retreats, with Sandy in charge of the writers, whilst Romain, a keen amateur painter, organised the artists. The reputation of the retreats had grown by word of mouth, with clients returning time and time again and encouraging their friends to book places, and money had indeed been squirrelled away. They held ten fortnightly retreats a year now and had planned to increase that number to twelve and to offer several weekend retreats in addition this year. A plan that was unlikely to come to fruition now.
The loss of the use of the flood-damaged villa for the upcoming retreat – and possibly a second one – might be the only major hiccup in the last four years, but it was a pretty disastrous one right at the beginning of the summer season. Having their own place would be financially hard, but if they waited too long, they could find themselves priced out of the market. Villas down here had never been that affordable, but these days they were getting seriously expensive. Buying somewhere now would definitely be better than buying in another one or even two years when the prices would have increased again. And given their current predicament with the flooded villa, it was more important than ever that they had their own place. She and Romain would have to have a serious conversation sooner rather than later.
Sandy sliced the baguette and spread it with the garlic butter before placing it in the oven to heat. Setting the timer to remind her, she began to take cutlery, plates and wine glasses out to the table on their balcony that overlooked the nearby park. Twiggy yapped and rushed towards the front door. The front door closed as Romain called out, ‘I’ve brought a friend back for supper.’
Her heart sank. It wasn’t unusual for Romain to do this, but tonight she’d been hoping to have a serious discussion with him about the future, which would be impossible with one of his friends sitting at the table.
Turning to say hello, her smile faltered and she caught her breath as she realised who the unexpected visitor was. Guy Lyon.
4
Guy looked at Sandy. ‘I’m sorry to intrude. I can leave if you want me to? Romain will tell you about our discussion.’
He and Romain had had a discussion? Interesting.
Sandy shook her head. ‘No, you’re welcome to stay, Guy. It’s lovely to have you here. Nothing special on the menu – charcuterie with tomato and mozzarella salad and garlic bread.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Guy said.
Romain opened a bottle of red wine and poured them all a glass while Sandy laid an extra place on the balcony table and carried the food out. When the three of them were sitting around the table, Sandy gave Guy a questioning look and waited, her eyes fixed on him.
Guy took a drink of his wine before placing a slice of garlic bread on his plate and looking at Sandy. ‘I’ve spent the day wandering around town aimlessly. Nothing unusual in that. To be honest, it’s how I’ve been spending all my days recently, but today I had something else on my mind other than the fact that the rest of my life is not going to be lived in the way I thought it was destined. Which is something I have to accept. But the thought of opening Villa Celestia on my own fills me with dread.’
He fell silent for several seconds, staring at his plate, before he took a deep breath.
‘Sandy, I need to apologise to you for my less than friendly behaviour yesterday. You came round as a friend to ask for my help and shamefully I said no.’ He took a drink of his wine before continuing. ‘I have been thinking of selling up and going travelling, getting away from all the memories that jump out at me from every corner – in the villa, in Antibes, walking on the beach. Jacqueline is everywhere. Going somewhere new appeals. A place where I can be someone new. No baggage from the past.’
Sandy smothered a sigh. From the moment he’d walked in, she’d hoped he’d come to say they could have the use of Villa Celestia to host the retreat, but that clearly was not going to happen. Inwardly she acknowledged to herself it was unfair to expect Guy, still struggling with grief and the loss of his wife to solve their problem.
‘That’s one way of dealing with things. Not necessarily the right way, but,’ she said quietly, ‘staying in familiar surroundings with friends around willing to help and keeping busy is, to my mind, a better idea. Why not wait another few months before selling up? Make sure it’s what you truly want to do. It’s really not that long since…’ Sandy’s voice trailed off.
‘I’ve told him that,’ Romain said. ‘It’s better to let things settle down into a different way of being and slowly learn the changes you can accept and the ones you need to make for the rest of your life. Then you can form a new plan and make it happen. Zero point in rushing to change things.’
‘Right now, I have no idea what kind of plan I want to make for the next week, let alone the rest of my life,’ Guy admitted, shaking his head. He turned to look at Sandy. ‘But talking to Romain has changed my mind about letting you host the writers’ retreat at the villa. I owe it to our friendship to help.’
Sandy let out a huge sigh of relief. ‘Truly? We can use Villa Celestia? Oh, Guy, I can’t thank you enough.’
‘Come round tomorrow morning and we’ll start to sort out what needs doing. I’m guessing running a retreat is similar to operating a restaurant with rooms? Good food and comfortable beds?’
‘Mm a little. Although it’s not different guests staying at the same time. It’s a group of people with a common interest who have come together for support, networking, a bit of a holiday, making new friends, as well as getting some words on the page whilst they are here. It’s…’ Sandy paused. ‘It’s more personal.’
