A Riviera Retreat. Jennifer Bohnet
Читать онлайн книгу.
garden is beautiful,’ Matilda said, hoping she’d used the right French words. ‘You must work very hard.’
‘The work is hard, yes, but the results are my reward,’ Pierre replied in English.
‘You speak English very well,’ Matilda said, relieved she didn’t have to struggle to try and remember her basic French.
‘I live there many years ago. I work in a big garden there when I learn to garden. Kew Gardens. You know it?’
Matilda nodded. ‘Of course. I haven’t been for some time, but years ago, William, my late husband, and I visited frequently. And we went to Chelsea Garden Show every year too.’ She stopped. She hadn’t gone this year, or last year. Simply hadn’t been able to face it.
‘You have a garden in England?’ Pierre asked.
‘Not any more,’ Matilda said. ‘I miss it. I have pots, but it’s not the same.’
‘Then you definitely need to move again and have a garden. It is good for the soul,’ Pierre said. ‘While you stay here, you must enjoy this garden.’
He had heard and understood her mutterings then, but somehow Matilda didn’t mind as much as she thought she would.
‘You know, I think you’re right. I’ll have to talk to my son and convince him it’s the right time.’
Pierre looked at her before picking up his hoe again. ‘If his mother is happy – the son will be happy. Enjoy your day,’ he said, turning away to concentrate on the weeds again.
‘You too,’ Matilda said.
Walking on, she smiled to herself. Funny how easy it was to take a stranger’s advice and feel that somehow he understood her need.
Chelsea finished her breakfast croissants, changed into her swimming costume, picked up her phone, her book and grabbed a towel before closing her bedroom door and making her way to the pool.
A quick text to Elsie to make sure everything at home was all right and then she’d read.
Elsie’s reply five minutes later was reassuring:
✉︎ All good. Stop fussing. Some new enquiries for next month. Hope u r having good time. xxx
Chelsea breathed a sigh of relief. It did look as if everyone who had told her Kit-gate would die away was right. She should stop worrying. Another couple of months, it would all be forgotten and she’d be able to show her face again without feeling people were whispering about her behind her back. And the business didn’t look as if it was affected if there were new potential clients making enquiries.
Sitting on the recliner, she rubbed sunscreen on her face and body. Hopefully she‘d manage to acquire a nice gentle, healthy tan over the next week. Screwing the cap back on the sunscreen bottle, she adjusted the angle of the recliner before lying back with a happy smile. It was so peaceful here, the only noises the sound of the cicadas out of sight somewhere in the trees and the gentle movement of the water against the sides of the pool as the pump moved it endlessly through the filter.
She picked up her book and tried to concentrate, but for some reason she found it difficult to get into the story. It wasn’t at all the kind of novel she’d expected and she put it down, closed her eyes and simply lay there soaking up the sun, thinking about how different life would be when she got home.
As the heat intensified, she got up and opened one of the large parasols, before picking up her goggles and deciding to cool off in the pool. Rather than do her usual energetic swim, she grabbed one of the noodle foam sticks floating around in the shallow end and, pushing it in front of her, slowly kicked down the length of the pool.
Turning to swim back, she realised Matilda was sitting on the edge, her feet in the water, watching her.
‘Hi. You coming in for a swim?’
‘Not right now. I thought I’d join you sitting in the sun,’ Matilda said. ‘I’ve brought a couple of cold drinks if you’d like one?’
‘Thanks,’ Chelsea said, climbing out of the pool.
‘This place really is a mini paradise, isn’t it?’ Matilda said. ‘I know I’m finding it easier here to think about dreams for the future and how I’d like it to be.’
Chelsea glanced at her. ‘You still have dreams for the future?’
Matilda nodded. ‘Of course. Why are you surprised?’
‘I thought you’d have your life sorted being so…’
‘Old and the wrong side of sixty?’ Matilda said gently. ‘It’s even more important now to try and get things right.’ She took a sip of her drink. ‘You said something on our first evening about being off men and feeling raw. You really should stop feeling like that. You need to put it behind you and get on with your life.’
Chelsea nodded. ‘I know. I’ve come to terms with the fact that it was my own stupid fault, but I haven’t quite reached the stage where I can forgive myself. Also I’m—’ At that moment, her phone pinged with an incoming text. ‘Excuse me a moment,’ and she picked up the phone. And froze on seeing the caller ID, before reading the message.
✉︎ Texting because I have the feeling you won’t pick up when you see it is me. I need you to explain what the hell has been going on. RING ME. Love Dad.
So much for thinking Kit-gate was fading into the past. Chelsea’s heart sank. Now her dad had heard, the proverbial had well and truly hit the fan.
From where she was sitting on the little terrace outside her room, Vicky could see Matilda and Chelsea chatting down by the pool. Chelsea, although a few years older, reminded Vicky of Suzie in many ways. Smart, full of energy and a zest for life that might have been derailed recently, but Vicky doubted that Chelsea would stay down for long. She wondered about going down to join them but decided against interrupting them. She thought briefly about going for a swim, but she’d never been much of a swimmer. She’d have to do some exercise though while she was here, otherwise, with the wonderful food that Olivia clearly intended to feed them, she’d be a blob by the end of the holiday.
Vicky stood up. A walk around the garden and then maybe she’d join the other two for a bit before settling down to some writing. She’d hate them to think she was stand-offish.
The garden, she discovered, was full of hidden pathways and secret little nooks and crannies to hide away in. Vicky caught her breath in delight as she found the most perfect little wooden summer house in the shade of a large linden tree. Octagonal in shape, its tongue-and-groove construction had been painted the palest yellow, while the roof was an aqua blue, crowned on its peak with an owl-shaped weathervane.
Tentatively, Vicky lifted the door latch and smiled as the unlocked door opened. Inside, the walls had been painted the same yellow as outside, white muslin curtains were tied back at the windows and a large creamy tapestry rug lay in the middle of the terracotta tiled floor. In front of one of the windows, a wooden table with a multicoloured glass art nouveau lamp stood, its droplets twinkling as the sunlight caught them.
Three wicker chairs were scattered around and, something Vicky had always coveted, a chaise longue had been placed at the back. Gently lowering herself on to it, Vicky discovered it had been expertly positioned to take full advantage of the view out through the double doors into the garden and down Belle Vue’s drive. Sitting there, Vicky breathed a happy sigh. As a writing retreat, the summer house would be just perfect. She promised herself the next time she walked up here she’d bring her laptop. It was such a beautiful place, she felt sure her writing would be inspired.
Carefully closing the door behind her, Vicky carried on along the path as it curved around the back of the summer house and meandered