The Vineyard

‘We could have been married.’

‘Are you mad? Anton we couldn’t last six weeks so we would never survive six decades. And anyway, surely you can guess why I chose not to tell you? She paused, waiting for his answer. ‘I’m talking about your drug habit. Anton.’

‘I…I didn’t...wasn’t…’ Anton stammered but Lizzie cut in.

‘Don’t lie to me. You clearly were and you had serious paranoia. You were controlling. If you didn’t deny it was your child, you would have forced me to get rid of it. There is no way you would have wanted a child. So it surprises me that you are suddenly so interested in being a father, even now.’

He stopped pacing and faced her, creasing his forehead. Her knees were close to buckling as his anger pulsated from his eyes. Passers-by began to stare.

‘You don’t know what I would have said but I liked you very much Lizzie and I could have made it work but I did not get to choose,’ he hurled in her face, his hands on his hips.

‘You? Wasn’t that the problem Anton? Shouldn’t that have been we?’ Stepping back she glanced past him and out at the bright sky, unable to stop her body trembling and eyes welling up. She really couldn’t deal with this. Shifting her head slightly to avoid his eye, she settled her eyes beyond the hotel, and on the world outside. Avoiding him, she kept her focus on the carefree visitors delighting themselves as they promenaded on the Mediterranean shore, relishing the view, the warm sunshine and its persistent light reflecting on the sea. It was after all, she realised pensively, a major reason why she fell in love with Cannes. Now she was in another place; faced with an uncompromising Anton, the once loveable charmer, still in his expensive designer attire and ultra-polished grooming, giving her his bullshit. He hadn’t changed.

He had no right to control her life. Now nor then. How could she answer? Why should she even listen? She tilted her head to be met with his now softer, velvety brown eyes; the eyes that once intrigued and seduced her. He appeared to now be calm. She cleared her throat and swallowed, taking control.

‘If you’re serious about having contact with Thierry, we need to get a custody agreement drawn up I presume. I’ll look into it. There will be a proper procedure, I’m sure, and I need to be able to trust you. We have built a life together, Thierry and I, and the transition will need to be handled correctly. You can’t have all the control and be possessive like you were when we were together.’

‘But that is only because I really liked you,’ Anton declared. ‘I cared and you should have told me about my baby.’

He never cared. She recalled the time she chatted to his friend Pascal, on the quayside, a group of them were at a party. She laughed at Pascal’s joke and Pascal touched her arm as he made another quip. An innocent brush with his hand, but Anton, just a few feet away, must have seen it and completely overreacted, nearly pushing her into the Med. Accusing her of flirting. Luckily Pascal caught her. Anton marched off. That wasn’t caring. That was paranoid. He’d also humiliated her, mocking her for living in a caravan and when they’d argued once he’d slapped her round the head. On a few occasions he’d even made her go home and change because he disliked her outfits. He’d been a complete control freak. She didn’t stay around to hope he’d get better.

‘That’s not how you treat someone you like. We weren’t even together that long and you were taking over my life. I couldn’t deal with it. It was like living in a cage.’

‘But it’s ok for my son to be exposed to your lovers?’

‘I don’t have time for lovers, Anton.’

‘You are lying to me now. I saw you remember?’

‘You saw my mother’s lov… partner.’ She hadn’t got to grips with the term.

‘Holding your hand?’

‘As a friend, Anton,’ her voice quivered slightly, ‘I’d been upset. Not that it’s any of your business. You can’t argue this point Anton, you date women.’

‘Well I wouldn’t be out all the time. No, I’m determined,’ he said. ‘I shall be a good father.’

Lizzie’s confidence collapsed. Exhausted by him, she shook her head in despair. ‘I have to go. I need to have a serious think about what’s involved in this Anton and find out what we need to do.’

‘I will get my son. That I promise.’

‘Au revoir, Anton.’ She walked briskly but as gracefully as she could to the entrance of just one of his family’s opulent collection of hotels and out into the brilliant sunshine. She headed for the promenade in the hope the walk may give her some escape.

Usually, she loved the unrivalled light Cannes showered on her but her mood was too dark to absorb any. Anton had certainly seen to that. It was hard to comprehend now that it was him, as well as the brilliance of the sky, which drew her to this magical place. She’d been bewitched by his elegance, his charm, his come-to-bed eyes and, of course, his wealth. She was so naïve then. It was a million eons away from her life in England or the utilitarian style of the French campsites she worked on before this town seduced her. Poolside cafes were nothing compared with the glitzy, stylish bistro bars and fine restaurants she frequented with Anton and his friends. Her world transformed from the moment she stepped onto his private yacht. It was an opportunity to help someone out and fill a gap before a season in Verbier. That’s all, just an eight-week job.

How fast and dramatically her plans had changed. From day one, she had felt like she belonged in Cannes even though, Sophie, her greatest friend, wasn’t with her. And, when faced with her predicament it was natural to settle here. It was easy not to mix in his circles. And, even if Anton ever saw her with a child, he would never guess. What a fool she was. It was unfortunate that his sister had spotted the likeness at the salon that day, a couple of months ago, but today, he’d freaked her out; talked about marriage. What Why? Where did that come from? And, why does he want Thierry so urgently now?

Chapter 6 (#ulink_08328ad0-8e3d-5542-bfbe-dbd5b8a59b7d)

Marching into the still-bustling Marche Gambetta, Lizzie headed for the salon. Her long walk along the promenade hadn’t cleared her head. She was still furious with Anton. Forget it. She told herself. He’s the biggest twat to walk this planet. As well as Thierry, her business was her passion. She didn’t need a man. Her life was moving along quite nicely and she had worked hard since taking over Beaute Dedans, the beauty salon. Opening the heavy glass door she was greeted by Lucie, the receptionist, and her manager Josephine.

‘Well speak of the devil,’ Josephine said, catching Lizzie by surprise.

‘Oh. Surely you have something more interesting to talk about?’ Lizzie responded, scooping thick chestnut hair back from her forehead.

‘I was just telling Lucie how you began just a few years ago, right here at this post when Madame Renauld owned the business.’

It was an opportunity Lizzie grabbed when expecting her child. With a natural interest in beauty and products and lots of knowledge from her mother’s experience in the beauty industry, she impressed Madame Renault almost immediately. Within just a few months of working full time at the salon, her former boss told her that her attitude and the increase in product sales was just what the business needed and that she had the vision for its future. And that she really wanted to retire. The business was available if they could agree a sum.

‘Yes, it’s been hard work but it fitted in with my plans perfectly,’ she confessed.

‘You have done amazingly. When my mother used to come here, it was quite old fashioned,’ Lucie commented. ‘You must be proud!’

Lizzie had never stopped to consider what she had achieved, being so preoccupied with the how. All she knew was she had been hungry to provide for her child and so with determination she set about what was necessary. Eventually, after some further negotiation on price and dragging her feet to bide time, she found the resources. With her own savings and a loan from Sophie, she and Madame Renauld concluded a deal. Lizzie had made regular business plans to increase profits so she could expand. She introduced more treatments, created more space, even if it meant knocking out cupboards. With her, Josephine created a good, reliable team and with it blossomed a reputation of the place to go. They had now become pretty well established.

‘Yes, I’m proud but it’s all down to the team we have,’ Lizzie said, picking up her post. ‘If you didn’t work so well together, we wouldn’t have gained the reputation we have.’

Lizzie appreciated she could not have done it without the dedication of Josephine, a forty two year old mother of a teenager, who had worked at the salon for ten years before Lizzie took over the business, just over three years ago, so she had all the qualities and experience. She could also depend on Josephine to gear up for the busy season: extra staff or good freelancers would be contracted in for the high-profile festivals of Cannes, and the Monaco Grand Prix. It was Cannes’ most intense season. Lizzie knew she’d met the high standards when celebrity agents as well as high-profile film and entertainment industry VIPs, men and women, called her salon.

She threw herself into her work on the preparations. The salon was, conveniently, just a short walk from her apartment, just off the Marche Gambet, on a street where cars and delivery vans slid periodically in and out of tight parking bays. The terrace of shops was typical of the commercial buildings built in the early 1900s. Beaute Dedans was distinguished by the luxuriant large tinted double-glazed frontage which suffused the salon in sunshine and diffused any traffic noise. Inside, air conditioning maintained an ambient air temperature.

Lucie handed her the daily rota which Josephine produced every morning. ‘Madame D’Aramitz said yesterday again, how impressed she was.’

‘Thank you. Oh, that’s very generous of her.’ Lizzie eased herself onto one of the two leather sofas occupying the space to one side of the main door and facing the glass-fronted counter. Josephine had already gone over the diary and rota so that all the treatments tied in with the rooms and their corresponding therapists. She checked down the rota and glanced up at as Betty, the cleaner, hurried in.

‘Yes, all done and in use,’ Betty confirmed, straightening her handbag. ‘See you tomorrow. I’m in an hour earlier so just leave a note if you need anything in particular done.’

‘Thank you Betty. Will do,’ Lizzie replied, watching the older lady step nimbly out the door.

Betty was a treasure. She not only cleaned the four treatment rooms, but also the hair washing room, which really needed more work as it was a kitchen speedily transformed but Betty kept it looking sprightly. Plus linen and product supplies were replenished after she dusted. This helped Lizzie enormously as Betty kept stock and recorded it meticulously, so figures for sales and what needed re-ordering from the suppliers were available when they called in.

The fresh, welcoming appearance of the reception was also a credit to Betty who tenaciously polished the silver-flecked, black granite floor and matching surfaces encasing reception. It was her pride and joy. Betty was often heard singing with gusto as she made sure no cobwebs or dust got missed. A few hours every morning may supplement her pension but she admitted she got huge enjoyment from cleaning and being among the warm friendly, staff.

Lizzie handed some paperwork over to Josephine. ‘When you’re free, could you come up to the office?’ she asked her.

Lizzie dropped into her chair in the office and had to admit to herself she was struggling. The last few days had really drained her and she couldn’t now think straight with all the issues she had fighting for attention in her head. Right now however, she had to forget Cal, her mother and Anton and think about finding some workable space. Coordinating treatment times was becoming difficult because of the time clients needed to recover, dress and re-apply make-up.

Josephine came up to the office prepared with her notepad and pen at the ready. ‘Lucie’s bringing up the coffee,’ she said, watching Lizzie gaze thoughtfully at the wall.

‘Oh, well done, just what I need right now.’ Lizzie licked her lips, ‘I know this will be a bit tight but we need to add some cubicles somewhere or at least some space for, let’s call it recovery.

‘Do you think clients would be happy to wander around in a robe, stripped of their make-up?’

‘No, but that’s why I need to set up a meeting with Jean-Luc – see if he can come up with some ideas tout de suite.’

‘He’s never going to get all that worked out and done in two weeks.’

‘Well if I don’t ask, I won’t know. I’ll ring him but meanwhile, see what you can come up with; however outrageous? I’ve been a bit distracted lately, I should have dealt with this sooner,’ Lizzie admitted.