The Hotel Riviera(72)

Suddenly I began to cry, finally letting out the emotion of the past months. And the little cat sat quietly in my lap, not purring now, just comforting me with her presence.

When the tears finally stopped, I mopped my face on the edge of my T-shirt, because I had no Kleenex handy. I looked down at the little brown cat in my lap. She had no collar, no identification…she was just a little lost cat. And now she was mine. She would be my guardian angel, she would fit into my life as though it were always meant to be.

Picking her up, I took her into my life, which, had I known it, was exactly what Leonie Bahri had done, many years ago.

There was only one name for her. Chocolate, of course. It suited her soft brown color and my culinary career. I think Scramble would have liked her. I hoped so, because from now on, Chocolate would be sleeping on my pillow at night, and I would no longer be alone.





Chapter 77




The weather has changed. The pines rustle in the brisk breezes and the brilliant summer light has softened, touching the countryside with ochre and rose. I light the fire early and the resiny aroma of pine and wood smoke scents the air.

At the Saturday market it’s just us locals, wrapped in sweaters and jackets, rubbing our cold hands, the men knocking back a hearty glass of brandy with breakfast to ward off the early morning chill.

Sometimes I think this is my favorite time of the year, quieter, more gentle, with the fresh breeze and satiny scents and the sea sparkling under the lowering gray horizon.

I wondered what I was going to do with the rest of the long winter. Saint-Tropez is the only town on the C?te d’Azur that faces north; it can be cold and blustery, and most hotels close from mid-October to March, though not us. The Hotel Riviera stays open all year to rescue those diehards, the waifs and strays, the true romantics escaping real life for their dream of the south of France.

I stared out my window at the waves frothed with white foam. The black sloop no longer danced in the bay and it looked lonely. Jack had been gone for several days; a meeting, he’d said, with a boat builder in Marseilles.

We’d had dinner the night before he left, at the Auberge des Maures. He’d held my hand under the table and the sexy look in his eyes had left me, for once, unable to concentrate on my food.

After, we strolled the almost empty streets, stopping to look in a shop window here and there, stumbling occasionally on the cobblestones, wandering down darkened winter alleys toward the port. As we turned the corner a snatch of music drifted from the Quai Suffren. We looked at each other surprised. Most of the big yachts were gone, heading for warmer winter climes, and the shops selling postcards and Tshirts were shuttered.

The music came from a CD in a smoothly tiled area in front of the stores. Tango music. Five or six couples, oblivious to us watching, solemnly danced a perfect Argentinean tango.

We caught our breaths at the strange beauty of the moment, then hands clasped, we left them to their music. But I’ll never forget that moment of magic, on a cold Saint-Tropez winter night. And neither, I believe, will Jack.

I sighed, remembering, then I pulled another sweater over my head and wrapped Miss N’s striped muffler several times around my neck. It trailed past my knees, and if she’d stayed any longer, I knew it would have grown another couple of feet. Calling Chocolate, I walked across the empty terrace, through the windswept garden to the cove.

Shivering, I contemplated the waves. Chocolate gave me a miserable glare, then streaked, tail down, back to the comfort of the sofa in front of the fire.

I paced the beach, head down, waves splashing over my sandals. My eyes stung from the wind and my nose glowed red from the cold.

I heard a whistle and lifted my head. Jack was jogging toward me with Bad Dog, as always, circling wildly around him.

I turned to stone. Oh God, I thought, this is it. He’s coming to say goodbye.

Bad Dog got to me first, jumping and barking, wondering why I wasn’t patting him and ruffling his scruffy fur. Oh, Bad Dog, I thought, you are the most beautiful dog in the whole world. I just can’t say goodbye to you. Turn now and go away, go back to your master.

“Lola,” Jack said.

I stared down at my frozen sandaled feet.

“Lola,” he said again, coming closer but not touching. “The sloop’s sprung a leak. She’ll have to go into dry dock for repairs.”

“Oh? Does that mean you’ll be staying here for a while?” I didn’t know if I wanted him to stay. I didn’t know whether I could bear to go through this misery again in a few months’ time when he would leave for good.

“As a matter of fact I’m having her completely overhauled. I thought she might make a nice little pleasure boat for our guests. Y’know, sunset cruises, fishing excursions, sort of like that.”

I lifted my head. “Sunset cruises?”

“Sure. After all, they won’t get a better skipper than me.”

“That they won’t,” I said, thoughtfully.

He jogged on the spot, trying to keep warm, grinning at me. In his faded jeans and old sweatshirt he looked better than anybody’s apple pie, including my own.

“Come on then, what d’you say?” He stopped jogging and grabbed my frozen hands. Pulling me toward him he held them to his cheek. “What do you say, Lola?” he whispered.

“About what?” My eyes were tearing from the wind, or at least I pretended that was the reason. He laughed and dropped onto one knee.