How could Philippe be dead when she’d vowed this would be the year she’d confront her demons and lay the past to rest?
2
Daisy Harris dragged her suitcase through the crowded Arrivals Hall of Terminal 2 at Nice airport and out on to the concourse, where she stopped to take a deep breath, look up at the azure blue sky and feel the heat of the sun. After the stress of the last couple of days, it was just wonderful to be breathing in the air of the Riviera, a favourite place of hers.
The plane from Bristol had been packed with both media people heading to the Cannes film Festival and holidaymakers with young children. A peaceful flight it was not. Crying babies, toddlers who wouldn’t sit still and men with loud voices talking importantly to each other as they overindulged with G & Ts from the drinks trolley. Thankfully, Daisy hadn’t known any of the journalists on board so hadn’t had to confide in anyone that she too was a bona fide reporter covering the festival, albeit for the first time.
Seeing the length of the taxi queue, Daisy briefly toyed with the idea of taking the airport bus into Nice and picking up a taxi from there but decided, as Nice was in the opposite direction to Cannes, it would only lengthen her travelling time and delay her getting to her sister’s.
Taxis were coming and going non-stop and in the end Daisy only had to wait for fifteen minutes before she was opening the door of a smart Mercedes and telling the driver her sister’s address. ‘Villa Flora, Cannes, please.’
The taxi fairly whizzed along the busy A7 autoroute, changing lanes with such alacrity that at times Daisy felt quite dizzy, as if she was on a switchback ride. It was twenty minutes before the driver swung across to the nearside lane and took the Cannes exit and Daisy told him the name of the boulevard the villa was situated on.
Five minutes later, a happy-to-be-alive Daisy grabbed her suitcase, stepped out of the taxi, paid the driver and watched the Mercedes speed away, spinning gravel out from under its wheels.
‘Well, that was an interesting ride,’ Daisy muttered as her sister Poppy engulfed her in a hug. ‘I think he was practising for the Monaco Grand Prix. Either that or he has a death wish.’
‘That bad? Never mind, you’re here now. Good flight?’ Poppy asked.
‘Had better,’ Daisy said, hugging her sister back. ‘Oh, it’s so good to be back down here with you. I miss having my bossy big sister around so much.’
‘Bossy? Me? Never,’ Poppy answered, laughing. ‘Come on, let’s get you indoors.’
‘I’m sorry to land on you last minute like this,’ Daisy said. ‘I really couldn’t face sharing a small apartment with Marcus and his cronies and there’s no hope of finding an empty hotel room in Cannes this week. Besides, I’d far rather stay here with you.’
‘You know you’re more than welcome anytime,’ Poppy replied. ‘Just so long as you don’t mind camping out with Tom and me in the old cottage.’
At that moment, Tom himself came running out of the villa at full tilt before throwing himself at Daisy.
‘Hi Tom. How you doing?’ Daisy picked up her young nephew and swung him around before gently placing him back down on the ground. ‘You, young man, are getting too big and heavy for swings. Reckon you’re strong enough to pull my suitcase down to the cottage?’ Catching hold of his hand she bent down and whispered in his ear. ‘There might just be some Lego in it waiting to be unpacked.’
She and Poppy watched, smiling, as six year old Tom started to pull the suitcase down the path.
‘So, who have you rented the villa to for the festival? Pleeease tell me Aidan Turner and his family are going to be in residence,’ Daisy asked, turning to Poppy as they followed Tom down the path.
‘Sorry to disappoint you but the villa has been booked in the name of Anna Carson. I’ve never heard of her, but that doesn’t mean anything,’ Poppy answered. ‘You know what I’m like, haven’t got a clue about celebrities.’
‘Anna Carson,’ Daisy said thoughtfully. ‘Nope, it’s not a name that rings any bells with me either. Obviously not gossip column material. Where’s Dan by the way?’
‘Convenient business trip to America. You know how he hates the whole festival scene. When I was asked to rent the villa for a sum that will put some money back in the coffers after all the renovations, he told me to go for it but that he wouldn’t be here!’
‘Fair enough, I suppose,’ Daisy said, knowing her brother-in-law’s views on film stars and so-called ‘A list’ personalities. ‘Makes life easier for you that way as well. When does this Anna Carson get here and take up residence?’
‘First day of the festival in the afternoon,’ Poppy answered. ‘She’s asked me to arrange for a car to collect her.’
‘So we’ve still got the place to ourselves this evening and tomorrow morning,’ Daisy said. ‘We can at least have a swim then when I get back later. I need to go and collect my press pack and accreditation pass today. Tomorrow will be frantic. I told Marcus, the photographer, I’d see him there down there at about four o’clock this afternoon.’
‘Let’s get you settled in the cottage then,’ Poppy said. ‘Tom and I are sharing the bedroom – I’ve put a clic-clac bed on the mezzanine for you. Hope that’s OK.’ Poppy glanced anxiously at her sister.
‘It’ll be fine,’ Daisy assured her and followed Poppy down the hidden narrow path behind the swimming pool hedge towards the corner of the garden where the cottage was hidden away from view by a bank of roses, their perfume filling the late afternoon air as Daisy and Poppy walked past.
Once a home for the full-time housekeeper and gardener who looked after the villa, the cottage had fallen into disrepair and when Poppy and Dan had bought Villa Flora two years ago both the properties were in dire need of some tender loving care. The last time Daisy had visited, seven months before, the villa had been finished, but the small cottage was still in a state of disarray.
‘Wow, what a transformation,’ she said now, looking around the sitting room as they walked in. ‘First the villa and now this place. You should have been an interior designer – you’ve got such a good eye. I love the Provençal colour scheme in here,’ she added, looking around the sitting room with its terracotta floor tiles and yellow and blue furnishings. With French doors and windows down two sides, the room had a spacious feel about it and Poppy’s colour scheme and shabby-chic furniture gave it a welcoming, homely feel. ‘Are you still planning to rent it out as a gîte?’
Poppy nodded. ‘That’s the idea. Renting out the villa is a one-off for this year.’ Daisy turned to Tom.
‘I’ll carry the suitcase upstairs, Tom.’
Poppy led the way up a flight of wooden stairs in the far corner to the mezzanine whose railing ran like a minstrel’s galley along the width of the room. Daisy put her laptop bag on the chest of drawers standing between two varnished doors and her suitcase on the floor. Tom, hopping from foot to foot, watched her anxiously as she unzipped it and pulled out a box.
‘Here you go, Tom – add this to your collection.’
Tom gave a delighted whoop. ‘Thank you, thank you,’
