‘The link is on your profile page.’
Within minutes, Becky was showing Lorraine the post she’d created to publicise her latest book.
‘Want to schedule it for tomorrow or post it now?’
‘Now, please.’
Becky moved the cursor, pressed the small arrow and the post went live. ‘There you go.’
‘Tomorrow morning, take a couple of pictures of the beach before you go swimming, post one with a caption like “guess where I am?” And a selfie of you would be good too.’ Becky handed Lorraine her phone back.
‘Thank you,’ Lorraine said.
Becky glanced at her. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Of course.’
‘Have you always wanted to write novels?’
‘Yes, ever since I was a little girl, but I didn’t start until I was twenty-five or so. How about you?’
Becky shook her head. ‘Writing a novel has never been my dream like that. And I’ve learnt this week that it’s not easy. Being an influencer is much easier than being a novelist,’ she laughed. ‘I feel a bit of a fraud being on the retreat.’
‘I don’t think you’re a fraud,’ Lorraine said quietly. ‘The retreat is for anyone interested in writing and you’ve already written a book – a book that was a bestseller too.’ She gave Becky a serious look. ‘What was your dream as a child?’
Becky gave a short laugh. ‘I didn’t dream much as a child but I was determined to live as different a life as possible to the one I had then.’ There was a short silence before Becky shrugged her shoulders. ‘Time for bed I think. See you at breakfast.’
28
As the plane started its descent for Nice Côte d’Azur Airport Tuesday afternoon, Joan stared out of her window. The coastline of the Riviera was as mesmerising today as it had been the first time she’d seen it years ago. Twenty-four years old, she was on her way to a summer job that promised to be busy but fun. Stewardess on a charter yacht. Her pragmatic father had shaken his head, calling the yacht a floating gin palace when she’d shown him the brochure. ‘It’s a different world, not one we’re used to. You be careful. Don’t go getting carried away and getting into trouble out there. Be careful who you trust. Remember, you’re a long way from home.’
Joan smothered a smile at the memory, he and her mother had been so worried for her, neither of them truly wanting her to go but still supportive in helping her realise her dream job. Even after, when things had gone so drastically wrong, they had been her champions. Her lifeline.
The aircraft wheels touched down with barely a bump on the narrow strip of concrete that formed the runway for the airport and Joan let go of the breath that she’d been holding for the last minute, as the plane taxied to a halt.
She was through both customs and immigration surprisingly quickly now that all new border checks triggered by Brexit were finally in place. The midday heat hit her as she exited the terminal building, as did the forgotten smell of eucalyptus from the tall trees surrounding the car parks as she walked towards the taxi rank.
She gave the taxi driver the name of the Antibes hotel and settled back in her seat hoping that he would take the bord de mer route, but he took the slip road for the A8 and soon they were bowling along the autoroute. Shame, she had been hoping to see how much the scenery along the coast had changed.
Once the taxi had dropped her at the hotel and she’d checked in, she took the lift up to the fifth floor and, using the entry code card, opened the door of her room. At the front of the hotel, it overlooked the Mediterranean, with French doors opening onto a small balcony. Joan ignored the room and made straight for the balcony and stood for several moments taking in the scene before her. Yachts were dotted all over the bay, there were sailing dinghies and paddleboarders closer to shore and on the distant horizon she could see cargo boats moving in both directions. People were down on the beach sunbathing, swimming and, further along, a group of teenagers were enjoying a spirited game of volleyball.
Turning back into the room, she smiled. As hotel rooms went, it was good, although it did feel strange to be staying in a hotel on her own without Harry. The bed felt comfy as she gave it a trial bounce, the white bedlinen was cotton, which was always welcome, and the bathroom was all marble and gold taps. Time to have a refreshing shower before venturing out for a short walk down memory lane. She’d text Leon afterwards to tell him she’d arrived and arrange a time to meet for dinner this evening.
Half an hour later, she’d showered, unpacked, the birthday presents from Maureen and Teddy were on the dressing table, and she was ready to explore. She was wearing her new white jeans and Bretagne top, both of which had seemed de rigueur for a holiday in the South of France, just her jewellery to put on. Joan opened the small velvet drawstring bag she’d put a small amount of jewellery in and tipped it out onto the bed. Nothing very exciting or valuable, simply things that she treasured for sentimental reasons. A couple of pairs of earrings, a slim gold necklace chain, a silver bracelet and a gold signet ring with its black onyx gemstone in the corner.
Carefully, she inserted the topaz studs that Harry had given her the Christmas before he died into her ears and hesitated before picking up the signet ring. It had been years since she wore it, but packing for the trip, she’d had the sudden urge to take it back to where it had been given to her so many years ago. The ring slipped perfectly into place on the middle finger of her right hand, as it had done all those years ago. Joan looked at it and hesitated. She’d never worn it since, but it had comforted her knowing she still had it. Was it sensible to put the ring on now? Wearing it in public was sure to invite questions from both Leon and Helena. Picking up the gold chain, she slipped the ring off her finger and onto the chain and fastened it around her neck, where it could be hidden under her top. Now to explore and remember.
Joan walked along the coast road and was soon standing on the ancient ramparts that would take her into town and close to the harbour. So many memories came back as she walked the ancient route, dodging the crowds of tourists walking in the opposite direction. The old houses lining the ramparts were smarter than she remembered, including No. 6, which pleased and brought a smile to her face. She’d been so thrilled when she’d learnt that Paul Gallico, the writer, had lived there for several years. His book,Jennie, about a cat, had long been one of her favourite books.
Pausing before she went down the hill from the ramparts that would take her under the archway and onto the old harbour, she looked across and saw the ‘Nomade’ sculpture in the distance sitting between Port Vauban and the old town and resolved to take a closer look whilst she was here. Once under the archway, she turned to make for the marina entrance and to have a quick look around the yachts moored there. But everything had changed so much. It was no longer the small friendly place she remembered and she was soon disorientated by the number of yachts berthed there under the watchful eye of the large circular Port Vauban Capintinéraire building. She couldn’t even locate the quay where the boat she’d worked on had been moored, the marina was so large now. She knew that Leon’s yacht would be here somewhere, but she didn’t have a hope of finding him without explicit directions.
Joan turned and walked slowly back across the new wide main road to the old town and on through to Place Nationale, where she stopped for a coffee and to collect her thoughts. The town did still have a special feel about it, but it wasn’t the place she remembered so fondly. It wasn’t just the marina that was busy, shops in the narrow streets had become far more touristy, and the crowds of people wandering around the town and along the ramparts were far larger than she remembered from three decades ago.
She sipped her coffee thoughtfully. She’d been silly to expect the town to stand still in this day and age when tourism was a major economy in Europe.
She took out her phone and sent Leon a text asking what time he’d be free to meet up with her. The answer came almost immediately.
Whereabouts in town are you?
