Puzzled. Seraphima Bogomolova
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down, order a cappuccino and look around. My eyes single out a young Arab with a plate of croissants on his table.
Picking his croissants, he spreads lumps of marmalade over them and sends the croissants into his mouth. His eyes half-closed, he chews on them, slowly and thoughtfully.
Trying not to stare at him, I focus on my New Year’s Eve plans or rather on the absence of such.
The idea of going to Nice came to me just a few days ago. Considering its spontaneous nature, I have really had no time to check on the plans of my few French acquaintances and, to be honest, have little inclination of doing so. I somehow feel my uninvited spontaneity won’t be appreciated.
Finished with his croissants, the Arab gets up and walks to the exit.
As he leaves the room, he throws a hungry look at my table, perhaps in search of something else of edible nature.
You see, the French, like their breakfasts, always leave you with a slight cramp of dissatisfaction – delicious, yet not enough.
I drink up my cappuccino and decide on a morning walk.
Throwing the coat on, I grab my mobile and get out. Outside, the sun shines brightly, sending merry sparks across azure waters of the sea.
I cross the street, go down the embankment a few steps and find myself right on the beach. There aren’t many people around, just some dog owners, walking out their fluffy friends.
Inspired by the moment, I take my mobile out, frame the view and take a picture.
The phone clicks and captures a local morning scene: a charming young man, his hair ruffled by the wind into wavy locks, plays with a little dog on the gravel shore of the Côte d’Azur.
Episode 22 – A Situation
Monte Carlo – Nice, 27 December 2010
I wake up and think of her again.
Soon, she’ll be here, just some miles away in the neighbouring Nice.
She will walk the same streets as I do, and breathe in the same air as I do, and admire the same views as I do…
Only, for some reason, in that email of hers she hasn’t mentioned the date of her arrival. I imagine it must be any day now.
I listen.
The house is quiet.
It must be still early or else maman has decided to sleep in today. Monsieur Moreau, perhaps, too.
I get up, throw some clothes on and tiptoe down the stairs. Whistling Domino out of the library, I grab the keys from my all time favourite Porsche 911 and head to the garage.
I get in the car, lower the rooftop and, lightly pressing on the gas, drive out onto the street.
The sun shines brightly, casting its warmth over the city, illuminating everything around.
There is no traffic.
Soon enough, I find myself driving on the picturesque Moyenne Corniche. Pressing on the gas, I whizz along the coastal road towards Nice. In twenty minutes arrive at the Promenades des Anglais12.
As soon as I park the car, Domino jumps out and dashes across the promenade. Stopping by the stairs leading to the beach, he turns to me and wiggles his tail.
I catch up with him and go down.
Taken by the beauty of the day, I walk slowly along the edge of the sea, admiring the shimmering of sunny sparks on the water.
Excitement brimming over, Domino runs back and forth, occasionally plunging into the sea and bringing his finds to me.
Getting out of his jaws yet another treasure – a small stick this time – I straighten up and look around.
My eyes catch a sight of a young woman in a white coat. Smiling, she checks something in her mobile. The woman seems familiar.
As I play with Domino, I observe her discreetly. She raises her eyes, catching my gaze for a split of a second, then slides her mobile into the pocket and walks past me.
I instantly go weak at my knees.
It’s her!
Stunned, I stare at her back, trying to figure out what to do next.
She slowly walks away from me, moving in the direction of Le Negresco hotel.
I decide to act on a hunch and follow after her.
Calling Domino to me, I attempt to put his collar on him. Offended, he growls and puts up a fight.
I lose my patience, then simply gather him up and hurry after her.
Episode 23 – A Tail
Nice, 27 December 2010
Unsuspecting, she walks along the beach, stopping occasionally to take a picture.
As she reaches Le Negresco hotel, she goes up the stairs to the promenade.
I follow after her.
Suddenly, she stops and throws a hesitant look around. Standing just a few steps behind her, I hold my breath.
She hesitates for another second or two then makes a move towards the Old Town.
I go up, wait until she crosses Promenades des Anglais then continue my trailing. Domino attempts to break free from my arms but, though sympathising, I don’t let him go. Right now, I have more important stuff than his immediate comfort to attend to.
Following after her, I pray for her not to suddenly turn around.
And she doesn’t, not a single time in fact. It makes my trailing much easier, for there is literally nowhere for me to hide. At this hour there aren’t many people out on the streets and shops aren’t opened yet.
We reach the Old Town.
She slows down, pulls her mobile out and takes some more pictures.
Tired of holding Domino in my arms, I let him down but, just in case, have him on a short leash.
After an hour of walking she comes to the Cours Saleya 13market, lined with colourful fruit and vegetables stalls and cluttered with huge buckets of fresh flowers.
My stomach grumbles, reminding that I haven’t eaten since six in the morning.
Manoeuvring between the stalls, I pretend to be looking at displays and at the same time try not to lose sight of her. But mesmerised as she is by the tempting displays, she seems in no hurry to leave the market.
Having visited every stall and taken dozens of snapshots, she comes to a flower seller.
I stop at a stall next to his.
Picking through mandarins, I try to listen to the chat, but can make out very little of it except that the seller attempts to compliment her in his broken English.
“Monsieur, you’ve already picked through my whole box of mandarins! Are you looking for some special one?!” An elderly market-woman at the mandarins stall addresses me.
“Oh, pardon me. I must have spaced out”, I mumble, turning red, and move away from the stall.
Meanwhile, having exchanged pleasantries with the flower seller, she buys a huge bouquet of chrysanthemums from him. Pressing the flowers against her chest, she leaves the market, strolls along the Quai des Etats Unis14, and, reaching the entrance of the Swiss Hotel, walks in.
I wait
The