The Hotel Riviera(36)

“Thanks anyway,” I said to Jack as we walked down the path together. He glanced at me, his eyes narrowed.

“For what? So far, I haven’t helped one bit.”

“You tried. That’s what counts.”

He turned me to face him. I could feel the heat of his hands through my shirt. “Look, I really wanted to help you. A man shouldn’t leave his wife in this situation, it’s not right.”

“Nothing was right between me and Patrick for a long time.” I shrugged. “That’s just the way it was.”

We stood there, his hands on my shoulders, looking at each other.

He said, “It’s true what I told you, bureaucracy will hold this up forever. You’re not going to be kicked out tomorrow or anything like that.”

I nodded, still holding his eyes with mine. “Yes,” I said. And then he bent his head and kissed me.

His lips were warm, firm, his breath sweet. It was not a passionate kiss, it was just a kiss between two people who suddenly might care for each other. A preliminary, you might say, in the game of romance. Why I cared for him, or he for me, I didn’t bother to analyze. It was just there, that spark between us.

“Get some rest,” he said. “I’ll see you later, on the terrace for dinner.”

I nodded, watching him walk over the rocks to the jetty and his dinghy. He didn’t look back as he sped across the calm turquoise cove.



We told my guests the bad news, over drinks on the terrace later, and also that Falcon was Evgenia’s bodyguard and obviously working for Solis.

“So why is he staying here?” Red asked.

“Checking on me, I suppose,” I said gloomily. “Or more likely checking on Evgenia’s property. You saw him walking around, making notes.”

“Mr. Falcon left this afternoon,” Miss N said. “I was on my balcony and saw him go. He had his bag and he just roared off on the bike. I assume he paid his bill?”

I gaped at her. I hadn’t known anything about Falcon leaving. “Nadine must have taken care of it,” I said.

“Did it occur to you that Falcon might have been checking on Patrick?” Jack said, and I turned and gaped at him, as did everyone else. “He might have thought you knew where Patrick was,” Jack added. “I found out today it’s very difficult to complete a real estate transaction in France without the presence of all the parties concerned. Also, herein France, a man cannot be presumed dead until ten years have elapsed since the time he went missing. That might just throw a bit of a wrench in Solis’s works.”

“Ten years,” I said, thinking of Patrick, dead. It didn’t seem possible.

“Ten years in which you’re better off without him,” Red said firmly, making me laugh. Dammit, I knew it was true.

I poured more wine, my own rosé from that vineyard up on the hill where the moon-dusted grapes hung ripe and heavy in the crisp autumn mornings, and which tasted like the essence of summer. My eye caught Jack’s as I filled his glass; there was a hint of a smile in his.

“I’ll call my father right now.” Mr. Honeymoon removed his arm from Mrs. Honeymoon’s golden shoulders. She smoothed back her short blond hair, gazing lovingly up at him, and my heart melted, as it always did when I saw them together. Oh, to be young as they were, and so in love, to be newly married with all of life in front of you, without any of the mistakes I seemed to have made.

“So,” I said briskly, taking out my order pad, “I can recommend the fried zucchini flowers stuffed with tiny shrimp in a basil sauce, the soupe au pistou, or there’s the vegetable terrine with a spinach cream sauce. Then there’s the homemade pasta with a fricassée of pintade, guinea fowl; or there’s simple grilled lamb with rosemary and garlic served with a crisp gratin of wafer-thin potatoes. The fish today is rouget, the small ones, grilled with fresh herbs. Oh, and there’s mussels, moules marinière. And for dessert, as well as the usual sorbets, we have a nougat glacé au coulis de framboises, a frozen fruit-and-nut-filled creamy nougat with raspberry sauce. Plus a chocolate cake I made this afternoon.”

Cheers greeted this recital, just as Mr. Honeymoon came back with the news that his father would help and wanted to know all the details. Mr. Honeymoon said he’d already told him “all the details,” but anyhow his dad would call me tomorrow.

I thanked him again, took the orders, and disappeared into my kitchen. Scramble was already in her hibiscus pot, head tucked under her wing, oblivious to the fact that she might soon be homeless.

And speaking of homes, all my guests were due to leave this weekend. In just a few more days, I would be alone here in my personal little paradise that was mine no longer.





Chapter 32




It was midnight when, like Cinderella leaving the ball, I finally left the terrace and walked home. I’d said good night to my guests about an hour ago, but then I’d lingered, cleaning up the kitchen with Jean-Paul and going over food plans for the next day with Marit. The truth was, though, I didn’t want to be alone.

I looked across the dark water at the lights of Bad Dog, wondering about Jack Farrar, then I noticed that his dinghy was still moored at the jetty.

He was waiting for me at the cottage, sitting on the rattan porch sofa, one leg hitched comfortably over the other.