Rosie’s Little Café on the Riviera

Finally she led them up the spiral stone staircase into the room that opened onto the pièce de resistance as far as she was concerned – the roof terrace. The first time she’d seen it, she’d immediately pictured it with urns and pots full of plants and tumbling geraniums and hidden lights dotted around. A perfect romantic hideaway for two.

After warning Marc that the apartment had only been on the market a matter of days and the owner wouldn’t consider an offer – he wanted the full asking price – GeeGee stayed up on the terrace while Marc and Dan had a wander downstairs on their own.

Standing there by the railings, watching the people down below making their way along the narrow coast road pavement, she longed to own a place like this. Romantic suppers in the moonlight with a loved one. She sighed. Maybe one day.

Downstairs, Marc and Dan were talking too quietly for her to make out what was being said, but her gut instinct told her that Marc wouldn’t be buying the apartment. She turned to face them as they joined her on the terrace.

‘Have you seen enough?’

‘Yes, thanks,’ Marc said. ‘It’s a lovely apartment but…’

‘I’ll pay the asking price,’ Dan interrupted. ‘Where do I sign?’

Surprised, GeeGee looked from Dan to Marc. ‘I thought you were the one looking to buy?’

Marc shrugged. ‘We both are. But, to be honest, this place is much more Dan’s style than mine. I’d prefer a penthouse studio in one of the modern blocks with a swimming pool.’

‘That’s because you’ve no soul,’ Dan said. ‘Who needs a pool when you’ve got that twenty yards away…’ And he gestured towards the Mediterranean.

‘Right, Dan. I’ll contact the owner. Then you’ll have to sign the first part of the contract and you’ll need to notify your notaire,’ GeeGee said. ‘You do have a seven-day cooling-off period if you want to change your mind. But after that the notaire will start things moving.’

‘Right,’ Dan said.

‘I can give you the names of a couple of a mortgage brokers,’ GeeGee asked. ‘They’ll make sure you get the right deal for you. Oh, I forgot you’re a financial advisor so you’ll have your own contacts.’ She grinned up at him, waiting for him to say Marc had called him that as a joke. But he didn’t.

Instead he said, ‘I’ll have the funds in place by next week.’ He held his hand out. ‘All business deals need to be sealed with a handshake.’

As her hand was again enveloped in his, GeeGee said, ‘Thank you.’ And prayed he couldn’t feel her trembling.

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_55d0d4c2-c8a8-587b-a3e7-21762e434a8f)

Rosie bought a box of candles and went across to the hotel with them to say a proper thank you to Seb.

She knocked tentatively on the side door, which was ajar. ‘Hi. Anyone here? May I come in?’

No answer, so Rosie pushed open the door and walked in. The empty kitchen was gleaming with stainless-steel equipment, copper pots by the dozen hung in rows and huge refrigerators lined one wall. Close up, the range Rosie had seen being delivered last week was even more beautiful. God, did she covet that stove.

The saloon-style service swing doors were just too high for her to see over so, clutching the box of candles, she pushed her way through into the dining room. ‘Anyone here?’

A smell of paint still hung in the air from its recent decoration, and tables and chairs were arranged haphazardly, but even so, the room still managed to give off an air of luxury. Helped by the ceiling frescoes and the gold leaf that was literally everywhere. Round one – decoration and ambience – definitely went to Seb, although the Café Fleur being on the beach had to be worth some Brownie points.

Rosie was still standing there trying to take in all the details to tell Tansy later when Seb appeared and caught her snooping.

‘Seen everything you want?’

‘Umm, yes, thanks. These are for you.’ Embarrassed, Rosie thrust the box of candles into Seb’s hands. ‘The door was open. I did try to find someone. I’d better go.’

Seb shrugged. ‘No worries. Have a coffee.’ He moved back towards the gleaming espresso machine in the kitchen.

‘Sugar? Milk?’

‘Neither, thanks.’ Rosie watched as Seb placed a plate of tiny, delicious-looking pastries alongside the coffees on a tray.

‘We’ll take this through to reception. The chairs are comfy out there. Follow me,’ he ordered. Rosie followed meekly, wondering how long before she could leave. On a scale of one to ten of embarrassment, being caught snooping was a definite ten.

The reception area was pristine and clearly ready for the grand reopening. The requisite glamorous receptionist was already behind the desk, working away industriously. She glanced up as they approached.

‘Meet Miranda, my PA,’ Seb said. ‘She’s getting Saturday’s opening bash organised. Remind me to give you your invite before you go.’

‘Sorry,’ Rosie said. ‘I’ve got reservations for Saturday evening.’

‘It’s from eight till late so come over when you finish,’ Seb said. ‘I’ll make sure there’s a bottle of champers left for you.’

He was clearly a guy who didn’t accept a no easily – a bit like Charlie in that respect. Rosie decided it would be churlish to argue so she just shrugged and muttered, ‘Okay – if I’m not too tired.’

Sitting there, eating his delicious pastries and drinking coffee that was way too strong for her taste if she were honest, she began to feel an obligation to be polite to Seb. She needed to stop feeling awkward at being caught snooping around the place and at least make an effort to socialise politely. The guy had rescued her, after all, arriving like some gallant knight with candles. He didn’t deserve her cold-shouldering him – even if he was an annoying mix of sexy charm and arrogance.

She took another pastry. They really were divine.

‘Is this your first stab at running a hotel? Or have you done this kind of thing before?’ Rosie asked.

‘It’s my first time. I’ve been in the restaurant business for years but I fancied the challenge of a place of my own. And what about you – fed up with the yachts, I gather?’

Rosie looked at him. How did he know that?

‘I love cooking and having my own beach restaurant has been my dream for years. Besides, I couldn’t live the nomad life for ever.’

‘Like the name Café Fleur, by the way,’ Seb said. ‘Good idea to change it – sends a message to the locals that this summer it’s not the place it was.’

‘What d’you mean?’

Seb shrugged. ‘The local gendarmes took exception last year to drugs being dealt on their patch.’

Rosie gazed at him appalled. ‘Drugs?’ No wonder there were all those locks on the door.

‘Don’t worry about it. The people involved are enjoying a holiday in Marseille courtesy of the Republic. The gendarmes will be keeping an eye on you.’

‘I hope you’re right.’

‘I’ll get your invitation for Saturday,’ Seb said before walking over to Miranda.

The embossed card he handed Rosie was impressive.

‘Thank you. Will your chef be here in time for Saturday?’

Seb nodded. ‘He’s here already. He made those pastries you evidently like,’ he said, glancing, amused, at the plate.

Rosie pushed the plate, with its single remaining patisserie, towards him. Moreish didn’t begin to describe how delicious she’d found them.