their own company, and that of Josh, when he was home. But being a widow was proving to be a lonely state and it was only now, unexpectedly confined to the flat with time on her hands and nothing to do except read and watch DVDs, that Matilda began to wonder about the rest of her life. At twenty-eight, Josh, her only son, was showing no signs of settling down and having a family, so grandmother duties were unlikely to feature in her near future.
A knock on the unlocked door interrupted her thoughts and Sheila bustled in for the second time that day.
‘Coffee time. I brought us each a slice of the coffee and walnut cake I made last night. I hope you like it,’ and she set the tray down on the table in front of Matilda.
‘Thank you,’ Matilda said, smothering a groan and accepting a plate. ‘I’m going to be the size of a house if you keep feeding me cake every day.’
‘Nonsense, there’s nothing of you. Especially compared to me,’ Sheila sighed, looking down at her own ample body.
‘When this is healed,’ Matilda said, pointing to the black box around her ankle that had replaced the plaster cast, ‘maybe you’d like to come walking with me?’ Not being able to go on her usual daily march across the Downs was, she knew, adding to her current frustration.
‘I’d enjoy that,’ Sheila said hesitantly. ‘You know that DVD you lent me last week? Enchanted April?’
Matilda nodded. ‘You said you really enjoyed it.’
‘Oh, I did. Love gentle period dramas like that. There was a competition on Facebook yesterday. Did you see it?’
‘No.’
‘The questions were all to do with that story.’ Sheila paused. ‘So I’ve entered.’
‘Good for you. What’s the prize?’
‘A ten day holiday in June, to a retreat in the south of France.’
‘Sounds wonderful. I hope you win – you deserve a holiday after all you’ve done for me,’ Matilda said.
‘It’s not for me – I couldn’t possibly go anywhere like that. No, I’ve entered in your name.’
Matilda looked at Sheila, stunned. ‘What?’
‘It would be a nice place for you to finish convalescing. The chances of you winning are quite low, I should imagine, but I thought I’d better tell you just in case.’
‘What were the questions?’
‘Author name, which character you identify with and why you need a holiday. For that last one, I said you lived alone, had broken your ankle and really needed time to recuperate and that Enchanted April was your favourite film.’
Matilda didn’t have to ask which character Sheila had linked her to. It would be the haughty and difficult Mrs Fisher, without a doubt.
She sighed. ‘Like you say, winning is extremely unlikely, but thank you for thinking of me. Is there any coffee left in the jug?’
Extremely unlikely it may have been, but the day Matilda was finally discharged by her doctor and told to take it easy for a couple more weeks, Sheila ran into the flat waving a piece of paper.
‘You’ve won, you’ve won! You’re going on retreat to the South of France.’
4
Amy parked the car in the multistorey and, making her way out, crossed the main road and went down the flight of metal steps that took her into the street that led into Cannes via the covered market. The last couple of months had been busy enough with some regular guests, but today was the day the competition winners were arriving.
Amy smiled as she entered the crowded market. She loved this place. Loved shopping here, her wicker basket over her arm slowly filling with local produce. Loved all the variety of food on offer. Loved… everything about it. After five years, the stallholders all knew her. She always tried to buy from the smaller stalls, the ones with the old ladies behind trestle tables, with the produce of their pottages, rather than the big commercial stalls. Pierre, the gardener she’d inherited with Belle Vue Villa, grew a lot of their vegetables – potatoes, onions, courgettes, peppers and all the summery salad stuff, but at this time of year, she always bought the asparagus, roquette, courgette flowers, rosé garlic and the freshest juiciest raspberries imaginable from madame in the centre of the market. Then there was the cheese stall with its brie and the creamiest buffalo mozzarella she’d ever tasted.
Wandering around, Amy brought her thoughts back to the things she needed and stopped in front of the boulangerie stand, buying three baguettes, a sourdough round loaf and some olive bread. Everything on her list ticked off, she made her way to the coffee shop in the street near the top end of the market. Time for an expresso and a favourite palmier biscuit before heading home.
Sitting there people watching, Amy’s thoughts drifted to the three strangers who were the winners of the competition she’d impulsively advertised. Was it a little crazy, this idea of hers inspired by the characters in her favourite film? Were the three prizewinners she’d picked out genuinely in need of a peaceful break like she hoped? Would they be women who would understand the ethos behind her wanting to do someone a random kindness? Maybe she should have asked her regular retreat guests to nominate someone deserving of a holiday.
And what if the three winners she’d picked didn’t get on? Then the next ten days would seem like ten weeks. The little she was able to glean from the competition entries and the follow up emails told her that the three of them were unlikely to have much in common. Vicky and Chelsea’s email replies to her own ‘you’ve won a holiday’ email had both been phrased in excited language and thanked her effusively. Amy thought Matilda’s reply had been slightly reserved, but the phrase ‘looking forward to it immensely’ reassured her that she was pleased to accept the prize.
Amy sipped her coffee and prayed this holiday would work out well for all of them – herself included. She’d really wanted to do something to say thank you and pay back her good fortune and she knew Tasha would approve of what she was doing. Whatever. It was too late to stop it now. This afternoon she was driving to the airport to collect them all. Vicky Lewis was arriving on the London flight at 3.30. Matilda Richardson and Chelsea Newman were flying from Bristol and would land at 4.15. The plan was to greet Vicky and take her for a coffee while they waited for the other two, before all travelling back to the villa together.
Fingers crossed there were no strikes or flight delays today which could complicate the best laid plans.
A couple of hours later, Amy was waiting in the Arrivals Hall at Nice airport, holding up her first placard with ‘Vicky Lewis’ written on it. Watching anxiously as people started to come through from the luggage area, she sent up a silent prayer that everyone would get on and that Belle Vue Villa would work its magic.
Amy liked Vicky the moment she walked through into Arrivals. They were about the same age and she sensed a kindred spirit.
‘Hi, Vicky. I’m Amy,’ she said, holding out her hand.
‘Hello,
