remembered shouting at him through a blur of tears. ‘I hate you. When I’m grown up I’m going to live in the country and have six dogs.’
Of course it had never happened – living in the country or the six dogs. Maybe the dog turning up unexpectedly was some sort of sign? Could she keep her?
Gently Rosie examined the dog’s ears. Every French dog was supposed to have a number tattooed in their ear. No tattoo. Which probably also meant no micro identification chip either. Rosie sighed. The lack of both would mean the paperwork would be immense and would probably mean the dog went straight to ‘death row’ at the local dog pound. No way could Rosie bear the thought of that.
There was only one thing for it. Tonight she’d take the dog home with her and, if nobody claimed her in the next few days, she’d keep her – and christen her Lucky. With the French being so laissez-faire about dogs in restaurants it was unlikely to be a problem.
‘Why are you looking at houses, Mummy?’
Erica jumped. She’d left Cammie engrossed in her beach project at the kitchen table while she’d sneaked into the sitting room to look at some houses on the internet. No time to close the laptop now.
‘GeeGee was telling me about some of the lovely houses she gets to sell and I thought I’d take a look,’ Erica said evasively.
‘You’d have to be a princess to live in that one,’ Cammie said, pointing to the decorative turrets on the house Erica was looking at. ‘Like Rapunzel. Does GeeGee know a princess?’ she asked, her eyes opened wide in wonder as she looked at Erica.
Erica laughed. ‘I don’t think so but you never know.’ Would this be a good moment to talk about selling this house? She’d planned to introduce the subject casually one afternoon when they were walking back from school. Drop it into the conversation and wait for Cammie’s reaction. Now she felt unprepared and caught out.
‘If we didn’t live here, what kind of house would you like to live in?’ she said casually, thinking she might as well make the best of the opportunity and see how Cammie reacted.
‘One like Madeleine’s,’ Cammie said instantly. ‘With a big garden so I could have a dog.’
Erica pursed her lips and blew a soft whistle. Given that Madeleine’s parents lived in a belle époque villa in one of the most desirable areas of town, her daughter had good taste. And why the sudden desire for a dog?
‘A house like that would be too expensive for us but lots of villas have nice gardens – even swimming pools. How about…‘ She scrolled quickly through a couple of pages. ‘Something like this?’
Cammie shook her head. ‘It’s not very pretty.’
Erica clicked on another page and started to scroll through. Cammie stopped her when she reached a typical Provençal villa with a terracotta roof, olive-green shutters and a vibrant bougainvillea clambering over the walls.
‘That’s pretty.’
‘You like that one?’
Cammie nodded.
Reading the description and seeing the price Erica took a deep breath and said, ‘We could sell this house and buy that one. Would you like that?’
‘Could I have a dog if we lived there?’
‘Possibly,’ Erica said as her phone rang. Amelia, her mother-in-law, making her weekly ‘I’m not checking up on you. I’m just keeping you in the loop with family news from up here’ telephone call. This time it was a bit more. Amelia was planning a weekend visit next month.
‘That’s great,’ Erica said. ‘Already looking forward to it.’ She and Amelia had got on from the moment Pascal had introduced them. Both had been equally heartbroken when he died.
‘Is there any chance of you and Cammie coming up here for a visit before?’ Amelia said.
Erica sighed. Amelia asked the same question every time she phoned, and every time Erica shied away from telling her the truth. She couldn’t face it yet. The thought of being in Pascal’s family home without him made her want to cry.
She tried to soften her latest refusal. ‘I’m busy getting the shop ready for the summer at the moment.’
Amelia didn’t push her, saying simply, ‘I’ll see you both in a couple of weeks then. Take care.’
‘You, too. Give our love to everyone up there,’ Erica said, knowing she’d hurt Amelia with yet another refusal.
Slipping the phone into her pocket she turned back to Cammie. ‘So, shall we ask GeeGee if she can find us a new house?’
Cammie looked thoughtful before saying slowly, ‘Yes. But we will take Daddy’s things with us, won’t we?’
***
GeeGee poured herself a bowl of muesli, added a generous dollop of fromage frais, and mixed it all into a gluttonous mess before slicing the last five strawberries onto the top. A delicious supper. It would fill her up and she’d have a glass of rosé later.
Bowl in hand she opened the studio’s French doors and stepped out onto the minuscule balcony. So tiny one wrought-iron chair almost filled it, leaving no room for a table, but it was a good place to sit and relax at the end of the day.
A small ginger and white kitten was curled up on the chair. ‘Hello, Trouble,’ GeeGee said. ‘You here again? Your real home next door too noisy with all those children around?’
The kitten simply stretched its legs before curling up in a ball again, closing its eyes and ignoring her. GeeGee didn’t have the heart to disturb it so stayed standing to eat her supper.
There was a tantalising glimpse of the sea through the trees and shrubs that covered the acre of grounds that surrounded the villa. Grounds that she had no access to; grounds she was never invited to walk around. But nobody could stop her enjoying the smell of the night-scented jasmine that mingled with the lavender drifting on the air up towards her and she sniffed appreciatively.
Erica was always telling her there were nicer studios out there – with nicer landlords, too – but this location was perfect, giving her the solitude she’d craved when Jay had left. The fact that none of the wealthy neighbours were interested in making her acquaintance was an added bonus. Something that would have infuriated Jay. He did like to mix with what he called ‘the right set’.
Since Jay had gone and she’d moved here, coming home, closing the door and losing herself in her own space had been wonderful. Nobody to hear her crying.
Last year, when he’d upped and left with practically no warning, she’d been devastated. Her home and boyfriend both gone in a single stroke. There was no way she could afford to stay in their apartment.
In those first dark, lonely weeks she’d read and reread his infrequent emails, looking for any sign that he was missing her. That he’d made a mistake leaving. That he was coming back. Mostly, though, he said he had to find himself.
Gradually,
