The Hotel Riviera(74)

Jack still has his boatbuilding business in Rhode Island which he visits regularly, but he’s put Carlos in charge there. Now he’s opening a local branch, and, of course, he still plans on doing those sunset cruises around the bay for our guests.

And as for me, the nester-in-chief, this time my “nest” is complete. I have a special person to love and to cherish, to laugh with, to make love with—and I have to say that making love with Jack Farrar makes my toes curl.

I sigh with happiness as I walk up the steps and along the terrace to the kitchen. Nadine gives me a welcoming good-morning grin. The new assistant, a replica of last year’s Marit, is rolling out the croissant dough and singing along to the radio, and as usual our new “youth of all work” is late. C’est la même vie, here at the Hotel Riviera. Everything’s the same.

After a quick cup of coffee and a consultation, I decide we’ll go for the spiny Mediterranean lobsters as our special tonight, with a mustardy aioli sauce, and a salad of mesclun greens topped with wild mushrooms and shavings of Parmesan in a light vinaigrette. Then the lamb from Sisteron, of course, and how about that lavender crème br?lée?

I snatch up my list, whistle for Bad Dog, and amble toward the car. The dog’s in it almost before I have the door open. He sits there panting, glancing impatiently at me, as though I’m holding him up from some important meeting. I’m not sure if it’s that, like his master, he can’t bear to leave my side, or simply the allure of those gleanings from the marketplace. The vendors all know him by now and most of them feed him. In fact, he’s getting quite portly. “Hmm, might be a diet for you, Bad Dog,” I say, just as Jack comes tearing around the corner, hitching up his shorts and waving madly at me.

“What’s up?” I ask, rolling down the window with that soppy madly-in-love smile on my face.

“Don’t ever leave without saying goodbye,” he says, snaking his arms around me through the open window and pressing my head against his chest.

His heart beats in my ear and I clutch him even closer. “But you were sleeping.”

“Then wake me up. Just don’t leave me. Ever.”

“I won’t,” I say, linking my eyes with his in a promise, as we disentwine ourselves.

I wave goodbye and chug up the lane in my trusty old Deux Chevaux, stopping at the junction with the road to admire our new “Welcome to the Hotel Riviera” sign, grinning as I read “Under New Management.” And, of course, as the sign promises, our welcome will always be bigger than our small but perfect hotel.

So, Jack and I, and, of course, Miss Nightingale, are looking forward to seeing you again, and to sharing those long summer days on the beach. We look forward to the sunset cruises and to perfect evenings dining on the flowery terrace, where the wine is cool and hopefully the men are hot, and the food is as delicious as I can make it, with, of course, the perfect brownie to top it off. Which, as always, will be made with love.

à bient?t, mes amis. Until then.



Acknowledgments


My thanks to those who matter in my life: first, my agent and friend, Anne Sibbald, and her cohorts at Janklow & Nesbit Associates, who look after me so well. To my editor, Jen Enderlin, who always has exactly the right comments to make—and in the nicest possible way! And to Richard, my husband, friend, and traveling companion, without whom none of this miracle of book-writing would have happened. Oh, and to Sunny, my new rescued cat-friend, who keeps me company on the long haul of writing.