Escape to the Riviera: The perfect summer romance!. Jules Wake
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school girl or the stupid tourist she obviously was, she dug into her bag and pushed it across the top of the counter, smiling like an idiot in the vague hope it would soften him up. She could do with a friendly face right now.
The fears, which hadn’t been fears at all when she’d first suggested they hire a car and she drive, had been given life by relentless questioning from both Angela and Jade.
Dammit. It was an adventure. A summer on the Riviera. An escape from everyday life for a whole thirty days. She should be grasping it with both hands and wringing every last bit of fun and happiness out of it.
‘What sort of car have we got?’ she asked. She’d always been good with people. Why should one measly, grumpy Frenchman be any different? ‘The four-wheeled variety I’m assuming but what make?’
He narrowed his eyes and glanced up. ‘A Renault Clio.’
‘Fabulous. Something with a bit of va va voom. I don’t suppose Thierry Henri comes as standard?’
Who knew that Thierry Henri was the French equivalent of Open Sesame?
‘Unfortunately not, Madame.’ The words were said with a wry smile.
She lifted her shoulders. ‘Oh well.’
He studied the screen. ‘You’re staying in Gassin. It’s not too far from St Tropez. You perhaps will see a famous face or two during your time. They’re filming a Hollywood movie near where you are staying.’
Carrie’s pulse quickened. ‘Really? That would be interesting to see.’
Lifting his fingers to his lips, he shifted his gaze from left to right, which was rather hilarious as there were only the two of them in the office, before saying, ‘The production company has hired rather a lot of vehicles.’ He nodded. ‘Next door, on either side. They did not have sufficient. We have supplied several cars.’
‘Wow,’ said Carrie. ‘Do you know where they’re based?’
‘No, there was a lot of secrecy about that.’
‘Yes, I guess there would be. They wouldn’t tell many people.’
‘However,’ he continued, straightening and leaning forward, lowering his voice, ‘the director took one of our cars. He asked about parking for some of the locations. The harbour in St Tropez, the market in Ramatuelle and at a restaurant in Grimaud.’
Carrie wondered how many people he’d imparted that self-important information to in recent weeks.
‘God, were you building the car or what? You’ve been ages.’ Jade scrambled up from her position on the floor, where she’d half-sprawled across the cases on the luggage trolley.
‘These things always take forever. But we have wheels. A red Clio. Out in the car park, bay 57.’
‘A Clio. I hope it’s going to be big enough.’ Angela prodded the pile of luggage.
‘It will be fine,’ said Carrie and then with a wink at Jade. ‘We can always leave Jade behind and come back for her tomorrow. Or we could ditch one of her cases.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Jade nudged Carrie. ‘Mum, chill. It’ll be fine. And,’ she poked her tongue out at her aunt, ‘I’ll sit on one of my cases if I have to. I’m not leaving a single thing behind. I need everything.’
‘No one needs ten pairs of shorts,’ said Carrie.
‘Wanna bet?’
‘They do have washing machines in France, Jade,’ said her mother.’
‘Yeah, yeah. Are we going to get out of here or what?’ asked Jade, seizing the trolley.
‘Or what,’ answered Carrie, her spirits suddenly lifting. ‘Let the vacances commence.’
‘Please don’t try to speak French when we’re out.’ Jade groaned. ‘It sounds sooo embarrassing.’
‘I’ll do my best.’ Carrie exchanged a look with her sister, who burst out laughing.
‘I think the chances of anyone understanding her are extremely slim.’ Angela smiled, linking an arm through Carrie’s. ‘Lead us to our chariot. I’m ready for a nice cup of tea.’
‘Tea? We’re in France. On holiday. I’m ready for a large glass of wine.’
‘Yeah, Mum. And I’m allowed to drink here. There’s none of that being eighteen and identity card crap here. Hallelujah.’
‘Like it’s ever stopped you before.’ Carrie often received a texted plea for a bottle of wine for a party. She and Angela were of the view that banning something made it more enticing and as a result had a fairly laid-back approach to alcohol, which thankfully Jade had respected.
‘Isn’t this fab? It’s eight o’clock at night and it’s still lovely.’ Jade peeled off her cotton top. ‘I wish I’d got my shorts on now.’
‘We’ll be in the car in a minute. It’s got air con.’ Carrie spotted the numbered signs. ‘Here we are.’
Jade let out a sigh. ‘Seriously. Why are you going so slowly?’
Carrie examined the speedometer, they were doing a respectable speed but it did feel painfully slow.
‘I’m doing seventy.’
‘The French obviously don’t give a toss about speed limits, then, because every other bugger keeps overtaking us.’
‘Let Carrie do her own speed, Jade. She’s driving on the wrong side of the road. She’s concentrating.’
‘I also don’t know what the local speed limit is, to be perfectly honest.’
‘Easy, peasy.’ Jade tapped away at her phone. ‘110km unless it’s raining. Isn’t that funny? Our speed limits don’t mention rain and I bet we get far more than here.’
Carrie started to laugh as she put her foot down on the accelerator, watching the speedometer creep up. ‘I forgot the speedo was in kilometres. I’ve been sticking to 70 thinking it was miles.’
‘You muppet.’ Jade shook her head.
In the back Angela laughed. ‘Although you probably needed to go slowly at first to get used to the car and driving—’ Jade and Carrie exchanged a look before joining in unison ‘on the wrong side of the road.’
With the help of the phone and Carrie’s new-found understanding of the speedometer the journey passed more quickly, the roads getting progressively smaller as they left the motorway. In the dark it was difficult to see much of their surroundings. They could have been in Milton Keynes, but as the miles on the signposts counted down to St Tropez, Jade suddenly shouted, ‘The sea! The sea!’
Down below them a concentration of lights crowded around the water, outlining the coast.
‘We’re nearly there.’ Jade began to bounce in her seat. Carrie gripped the steering wheel.
‘I can’t believe it! St Tropez. It sounds incredibly exotic.’ Angela’s tremulous voice held buttoned-down excitement.
Too damn right. It was exciting. And the minute she peeled herself out of this car, Carrie would be celebrating with something cold.
They circuited the outskirts of St Tropez and began to climb the hill up to Gassin, following the directions of the disembodied voice on the phone.
‘I hope it’s going to be nice,’ said Angela. She’d edged to the front of her seat, holding onto both head rests on the passenger and driver seats. ‘Marguerite said not to expect too much but she wouldn’t send us anywhere horrible.’
‘Angela, as long as it’s dry and has beds, it will be fine,’ said Carrie, resigning herself to the prospect of an uncomfortable bed and very basic surroundings for the next four weeks. It wouldn’t matter. When it was hot,