of course.
This summer she was going to focus all her energies on making the Café Fleur the best beachside restaurant on the coast. No way was she going to let any local competition distract her from pursuing that plan.
Escaping the office was always a bonus, especially on a sunny day, and Georgina George smiled happily to herself as she settled on one of the picnic benches at the Café Fleur. Her summer office was open.
Her normal desk in one of the most prestigious estate agent’s offices in town was an expensive necessity. One she needed for official meetings and for keeping her name ‘out there’. It made her legitimate in the eyes of clients. Never mind that in summer she did most of her paperwork on the laptop sitting at a café table. Bringing clients somewhere like this for an initial discussion over a relaxed coffee was always a good move, too.
At least the place was looking a bit more presentable this year. New name. New owner. The grapevine around the office was saying the new owner was English. She’d introduce herself when she ordered her coffee, find out for herself. With luck, the prices wouldn’t have gone up. Her budget was even tighter than last year thanks to Hugo raising the rent of her official desk.
A toasted sandwich and coffee for lunch was still a cheaper option than actually buying food and cooking it, though. As long as she had that at midday, she could survive on cereal at home.
‘Bonjour. What would you like? I’m afraid we don’t have a vast selection of food just now. Mainly baguettes, soup or toasties.’ The woman standing at her side, order pad poised, looked about Georgina’s own age.
‘Hi. Are you Fleur?’
‘Yes – although the name is really Rosie.’
‘I’m Georgina George. Yep, I know my parents had no imagination! Most people call me GeeGee.’ She smiled at Rosie. ‘A large coffee right away, please. And a croque monsieur in about half an hour – with another coffee. Thanks.’
While she waited for her coffee, GeeGee wrote an email to Stan, the sleazy landlord of her studio flat, reminding him she was waiting for the renewed lease to sign. Should have been sent over a week ago. As she pressed send, Rosie appeared with her coffee.
‘You’re a lifesaver,’ GeeGee said. ‘Need my coffee fix. How are things going with the café? I’m one of the regulars here, by the way.’
‘Fine so far,’ Rosie answered. ‘Looking forward to a busy season. You live around here?’
GeeGee nodded. ‘Out on the Cap d’Antibes. I’ve been down here eight years now and I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be – even if things have gone a bit pear-shaped recently.’
‘What do you do?’ Rosie asked.
‘I’m an estate agent and live off commission – which makes life a tiny bit scary at times.’ GeeGee picked up her coffee and took a sip. ‘Right now there’s a bit of a slump, but the signs are it’s slowly picking up. I’ve got a sale going through this month. And an apartment viewing this afternoon, which I have high hopes of selling.’ She didn’t add that she’d be in desperate straits if she didn’t sell another villa or an apartment in the next couple of weeks.
‘Bit like me then,’ Rosie said. ‘Not that I work on commission only, but I’ve sunk all my money into this place and need it to start earning me some money asap.’
‘Oh, it will,’ GeeGee said. ‘This place is a honey pot in season. Some days it’s impossible to find a spare table. My friend Erica and her daughter are always down here, too. We’ll spread the word for you, but trust me, you won’t need it.’
‘Thanks.’ Rosie smiled. ‘I’ll be back soon with your lunch.’
GeeGee sipped her coffee and watched her go before returning her attention to the spreadsheet she’d opened on the laptop and its rows of figures.
Twenty minutes later her concentration was broken as an email pinged into her box. Jay. She stifled a sigh.
‘Bon appétit,’ Rosie said, appearing with her lunch and another coffee.
‘Thanks. This looks good,’ GeeGee said as she closed the laptop down. Reading another of Jay’s happy happy missives wasn’t what she wanted right now so it could wait until this evening – if she didn’t delete it unread before then. Right now she was going to enjoy her lunch.
***
An hour later, GeeGee waved goodbye to Rosie, left the beach and made her way through town to meet her client, Marc, and show him a new property on her list. A top floor apartment in one of the oldest townhouses on the coast road.
Marc and another man were waiting for her on the opposite side of the road to the house, their backs to the sea, looking at the four-storey terraced house with its pale-green shutters. Both men were in their early thirties, and both wore the regulation uniform of the ‘yachties’ who crewed on the large luxury yachts. Smart bermuda shorts, polo shirts with their yacht’s name embroidered discreetly on the pocket, and sockless feet in deck shoes.
It was Marc who had contacted her and booked the viewing, so she assumed he was the buyer and the other man was there to give him some moral support. Clients often brought friends along to voice their unbiased opinions and to help them decide about a property. Sometimes, of course, the friends were being just plain nosey. Or maybe Marc and his friend were an item and they were looking to buy together?
‘Hi, not late, am I?’ she said, searching in her bag for the keys.
‘No, we just thought we’d come and spy out the lie of the land first,’ Marc said. ‘This is Dan – my financial adviser,’ he added, laughing.
GeeGee held out her hand. ‘Nice to meet you, financial adviser Dan,’ she said, smiling at him.
As her hand was taken in a firm grip and shaken, unexpected tingles shot up her arm and she was glad when Dan released it.
‘Love the position of the house,’ he said. ‘Must have wonderful views.’
‘It does and it’s a really lovely apartment. The sort that’s on my personal wish list,’ GeeGee said. ‘Despite the fact it’s on the fourth floor and there isn’t a lift,’ she added.
‘How many apartments in the building?’ Marc asked as they made their way up the stairs.
‘Three apartments and a couple of studios. 4c at the top is the nicest apartment – and the most expensive.’
She could tell from the moment she opened the door to the apartment that it was Dan who really loved the place. Marc didn’t seem that enamoured of either the recently decorated sitting room or the slightly old-fashioned kitchen with its original butler sink and blue and yellow tiles on the walls. The ‘Juliette’ balcony off the sitting room with its French doors and sea view was, in his opinion, too small to be of any use.
Finally she led them up the spiral stone staircase into the room that opened onto the pièce de resistance as far as she was concerned – the roof terrace. The first time she’d seen it, she’d immediately pictured it with urns and pots full of plants and
