Rendezvous in Cannes Read online

  ‘That’s a great idea. You and I could have a coffee together then? Look here’s my number, give me a ring. I guess it will be easier for me to fit in a time around you as you’re here to report on the festival.’

  Daisy put the card Nat handed her in her bag. ‘I’ll find out what Tom is up to over the next few days and give you a ring,’ she promised. ‘Many thanks for the lift home.’

  Cleaning her teeth before collapsing into bed, Daisy thought about Bruno’s remarks regarding Philippe Cambone. If he was such a nice guy, why were there rumours starting to fly about him? Switching off the bedside light and snuggling down under the duvet though, it was thoughts of Nat and his blue eyes that filled her mind before she slept.

  CHAPTER 4

  Ten o’clock in the morning and Anna had found her way to her company’s temporary office in one of the large hotels on the Croisette.

  ‘OK Anna, I’ve made a hair appointment, here with Gaspard, for you,’ the company’s PR girl said, handing Anna an embossed business card.

  ‘And the limo will collect you and Leo at seven o’clock to take you to the Palais des Festivals and again afterwards to take you down to the Palm Beach for the Party.

  ‘There’s also a couple of invitations here for various parties.’

  The publicist glanced at Anna. ‘I know you said you didn’t really want to get involved with the party scene on your own, but this one in particular tomorrow night sounds fun. It’s up in Super Californie in one of the big villas there.’

  Anna hesitated and glanced across at Rick her business partner and office manager. As always he was in total charge of things for Cannes week. She knew he’d been surprised when she’d told him she was coming to Cannes this year.

  The deal had always been, Anna didn’t do Cannes. A couple of the other festivals yes, but Rick was on his own for Cannes. He’d never asked why; just accepted it as a perk that he got to spend nearly a fortnight in the South of France every year. The networking he did was invaluable to the business and Anna had no intention of cramping his style in that regard.

  ‘Usually a good evening,’ he said now. ‘The Americans attend this one in full force. There will be several people there who would love to meet you, including the eccentric Rosa Crufts.’

  ‘Aren’t we having dinner with her one day next week?’

  Rick nodded. ‘Yes, but an informal meet up at the party will break the ice. We can go together if you like,’ he offered. ‘Pick you up at nine o’clock.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Anna said, glancing at him. ‘Rick, did you ever have any contact with Philippe Cambone down here?’

  Rick shook his head. ‘Shared a couple of cocktails with him at various parties down the years but that’s about it. Different ends of the business so we were never going to be in regular contact. Seemed a nice bloke. Did hear on the grapevine that he was looking to cut back on work. Wanted to spend more time down here with his family and on his boat. Shame he didn’t manage it. Why?’

  ‘No reason, just that somebody at the villa I’ve rented asked if I’d ever worked with him and could I pass on any anecdotes for a feature she was writing.’

  Rick shrugged. ‘Sorry can’t help. Right, I’m off to the Palais Stephanie for a meeting.’

  ‘I’ll walk down with you,’ Anna said. ‘I thought I’d have a mooch around Cannes this morning before going back to the villa. I need to find a supermarché too.’

  At the hotel exit they went their separate ways.

  ‘See you tomorrow evening,’ Rick said before disappearing into the crowd, leaving Anna to cross the road and wander along the Croisette in the direction of the Palais des Festivals, soaking up the atmosphere.

  Flags fluttering in the light breeze, huge billboards, pictures of Che Guevara everywhere, police dogs and their handlers creating wide paths before them as the slow-moving crowd parted to let them through, before surging back to close ranks again behind them. Buskers, clowns, starlets hoping to be discovered, locals out for some people watching and Philippino nannies bribing their young charges with ice cream as they gazed at the over the top glamour in the designer boutiques that lined the Croisette. Anna watched them all and marvelled.

  Le Petit Train, still with a few vacant seats, was about to set off on its routine sight-seeing trip around town and Anna wondered about hopping on board with the tourists. As she stood there undecided, the decision was made for her when the driver rang the bell and the train began to slowly manoeuvre its way through the crowds and traffic.

  A small crowd had gathered around a middle-aged woman with startling henna-red hair preparing to play an accordion. Anna, about to move on, found herself rooted to the spot as the woman began to sing Jézébel à la Edith Piaf.

  With a voice eerily similar to that of the tragic star’s, the modern day singer sent a frisson of déjà vu running through Anna’s body. Once a favourite song of hers, she’d bought and played the record over and over again until, in a fit of blind rage the summer her world fell apart, she’d jumped on it and broken it into hundreds of pieces.

  To hear that special song unexpectedly like this, in the place where the words had once been whispered so intimately to her, was heart stoppingly hard. Anna turned and blindly followed a group of teenage would-be starlets crossing the road. As the girls made their way up a busy street towards the centre of town, Anna turned in the opposite direction and took a narrower, quieter street, away from the hurly-burly of the crowds.

  A small park, a labyrinth of traffic free roads, and Anna slowly regained her composure. Another left turn and this street was busier, housing a florist, a fashion boutique, a couple of restaurants, the inevitable pharmacy and a tabac.

  Anna sat at a pavement table at the smaller of the restaurants and ordered a coffee. Waiting for her drink to arrive she looked along the street with its tall narrow buildings, their window boxes overflowing with scarlet geraniums, blue shutters fastened against walls, excluding an air of tranquility absorbed down the centuries. A typical French street, it reminded Anna of countless others she’d seen before in towns up and down the country but there was something familiar about this particular street she couldn’t place that was niggling at her.

  ‘Merci,’ she said as the waiter placed her demitasse coffee on the table before her. Sipping her drink she watched a couple of women, locals she guessed from their straw shopping baskets, talking animatedly together as they came out of the pharmacy. A few doors down, a well dressed woman was in earnest discussion with the florist before buying a large bunch of white lilies.

  As the woman, carefully holding her flowers, walked purposefully past her, Anna wondered who the flowers were destined for. The woman crossed the road a few yards on and stopped outside a shuttered restaurant with a large ‘Fermé’ sign plastered across its door. Its pavement tables and chairs were piled up haphazardly, and there were numerous bunches of flowers already placed in the doorway.

  Suddenly Anna realized where she was. Why the street seemed familiar. As the unknown woman placed the lilies in the shade of the doorway she didn’t need to read the gold embossed name ‘Chez Cambone’ above the door to know it was Philippe’s family restaurant; the flowers a tribute to him.

  Her hand was shaking as she picked up her cup to take a steadying drink. Two reminders of her past on only her first day in Cannes. Was every day going to be like this? Her past forcing her to remember and wonder ‘what if’?

  ‘Are you home this evening?’ Poppy asked as Daisy helped herself to a tumbler of water in the cottage kitchen late that afternoon. ‘Or are you off partying again?’

  Daisy shook her head. ‘I’ve had enough for one day. I’ve got to finish writing up my daily report and send it, do a bit more to the Philippe Cambone feature – which reminds me. I must phone Marcus and see if he’s got a photograph of the floral tributes that are apparently being laid at the door of the family restaurant, to send with my piece.’ She took a drink before asking.

  ‘Where’s Tom?’


  ‘Anna invited him over for a swim,’ Poppy said. ‘He’ll be back soon.’ She glanced at her sister. ‘I’ve asked Anna to join us tonight. She seemed to be a bit low when I saw her this afternoon. Sad almost.’

  ‘She doesn’t seem to be getting involved in the festivities very much,’ Daisy said thoughtfully. ‘She must know people in the business that are down here but she did tell me doesn’t like the limelight.’

  ‘There’s a big party tomorrow night apparently that she’s thinking of going to. Anyway, I’ve asked her to join us for supper in the garden tonight,’ Poppy said. ‘No probing journalistic questions from you, mind,’ she added, glancing at her sister sharply.

  Daisy smiled. ‘I promise. Now, when can Tom and Cindy get together? I told Nat I’d fix a time and ring him.’

  ‘How about ice creams in the park tomorrow afternoon, see how they get on. Being the daughter of an actress, Cindy might be a bit precocious for Tom,’ Poppy said. ‘If they get on you can bring them back here for tea. Nat too.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll ring Nat,’ Daisy said. ‘Want me to help with supper?’

  ‘No thanks,’ Poppy said. ‘It’s just the usual quiche and stuff, cheese and baguettes. I’ll get Tom to help me carry it out to the loggia table.’ She looked at the kitchen clock. ‘Think I’ll go and fetch him – I’m sure Anna will have had enough of his chatter by now.’

  ‘OK. I’ll go and do my report and e-mail it. Might even find time to do some more research on Philippe Cambone,’ Daisy said. ‘See you in a bit.’

  Anna swam another half dozen laps after Poppy had collected Tom before getting out and going indoors for a shower. She was towelling her hair dry when Leo rang.

  As always her heart lifted at the sound of his voice.

  ‘Leo darling. How’s your day been? Mine’s been …’ she hesitated, ‘interesting.’

  ‘Do I detect a note of distress?’ Leo asked, the concern in his voice clear. ‘Has something happened? Are you all right? I know Philippe’s death was a shock to you.’

  Anna sighed. ‘No, nothing has happened to me other than a couple of memory-lane incidents that I’ll tell you about when you get here.’

  ‘Which will be a day early,’ Leo said. ‘One of my business meetings has been cancelled so I’ve rearranged my flight.’

  ‘Oh Leo, that’s wonderful.’

  ‘Will you book a table for dinner somewhere? I hear there’s a good place at Mougins.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Anna promised. ‘I’m having supper with Poppy this evening, I’ll ask her if there is anywhere special she can recommend.’

  ‘Anna my darling, I’ve got to go. Alison wants my opinion on a cradle she’s keen to buy – not that I really have any idea on such things. I’ll ring you tomorrow. Love you.’

  Anna smiled fondly at the thought of Alison and the expected baby. She could tell that Leo was already relishing his role of grandfather.

  Half an hour later, taking a bottle of rosé out of the fridge, Anna made her way across the garden to the loggia attached to the cottage where Poppy had said they’d be eating supper.

  Tom was busy putting cutlery and glasses on the gaily patterned Provençal tablecloth, before folding the matching napkins and placing them carefully on plates. Daisy was typing away on her laptop on a corner of the table and raised a hand in greeting as she mouthed ‘Hi’ in Anna’s direction.

  Poppy came out of the kitchen carrying bowls of salad and a quiche which she placed on the table. ‘Hi – oh thanks,’ as Anna handed her the bottle.

  ‘Daisy will be finished soon and we’ll eat. I must just light some candles before the midges decide to descend en masse. Grab a chair. I’ll pour you a drink in a moment,’ and Poppy took a match to several citronnelle candles that were dotted around.

  Daisy closed the lid of her laptop with a flourish. ‘Finished. Today’s report sent and my piece about Philippe Cambone just needs the photo Marcus promised to take today.’

  ‘Did you manage to uncover much information?’ Anna asked curiously.

  ‘Not a lot. But I did find a film biography site that mentioned his love of sailing so I put that in, and the fact that his twin brother still runs the family restaurant here in Cannes – not that he would talk to me. I decided not to mention the rumours that are floating around. Can always do another feature.’

  ‘What rumours are those?’ Anna asked, but before Daisy could answer Poppy returned and the question was forgotten.

  ‘Let’s eat,’ Poppy said, placing a bowl of buttered asparagus and new potatoes on the table. ‘Bon appétit.’

  ‘How are you enjoying the festival?’ Daisy asked, looking at Anna. ‘Have to say I’m already feeling exhausted at the sheer pace of things. Goodness knows how people actually in the trade cope with the frantic networking and partying that is going on.’

  ‘Haven’t really seen a great deal of it yet,’ Anna replied. ‘It’s certainly different to the first time I was here.’

  Daisy looked at her in surprise. ‘I thought …’

  Anna looked at her. ‘I think I owe you an apology, Daisy. The trade-paper bio you read got it wrong.’

  Anna swirled the wine in her glass reflectively before looking up and saying, ‘I was here in ’68, the year the festival was closed early. I was in my first year at Art College and had managed to get a job as a messenger for the duration of the festival for a small UK film company.’ She smiled at Daisy.

  ‘Unfortunately it didn’t work out as planned. But then I’ve found life itself rarely does.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Poppy said. ‘I never expected to be living in France but here I am. May I give you some quiche, Anna?’

  Anna held her plate out. ‘Please. And you, Daisy? Is life working out for you so far?’

  Daisy considered the question. ‘Well, my love life hasn’t lived up to expectations, that’s for sure. I guess I’m lucky with my career going very much the way I wanted since I left university. I’m toying with the idea of going freelance though, so whether that will mess things up remains to be seen.’

  ‘What sort of freelance writing?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Lifestyle features. Property. Anything but hard nosed reporting,’ Daisy said. ‘I’m finding it difficult to justify the kind of intrusive journalism that seems to be the norm these days. I guess I’m just not noisy enough; I think people are entitled to their privacy – unless they’ve done something criminally wrong of course and it needs exposing “in the public interest” as they say.’

  She looked at Anna, ‘How long did it take you to establish your business? Did you have lots of contacts before you went independent?’

  ‘Oh it was years before I felt brave enough to go solo. Meeting Rick – my business partner – was the catalyst.’ Anna said. ‘With hindsight there are lots of things I would have done differently, but in general, I suppose my working life has turned out fine.’

  She turned to Poppy. ‘Talking of work, can you help me organize a party here at the villa next week? Or tell me where I can get help?’

  ‘No problem,’ Poppy answered. ‘Glad to help. We’ll get together in the next couple of days and work things out.’

  ‘The other thing is, Leo wants me to book a table somewhere special for dinner on Saturday evening, any ideas? He mentioned somewhere in Mougins. Le Moulin something or other?’

  Poppy pulled a face. ‘Difficult. I suspect the place he means will already be fully booked. It’s expensive and a favourite with the celebrities. Everywhere gets so busy this fortnight. You might have to go to Antibes or even Cagnes-sur-mer.’

  ‘I can always do something here. I saw a couple of delicatessens with some mouth-watering food this morning,’ Anna said. ‘In fact I think I’ll do that. Especially as it’s the day before the premiere – I don’t want a late night.’

  Poppy stood up. ‘Come on, Tom. Bedtime for you. Say goodnight. Daisy, help Anna to some more dessert.’

  ‘How many people are you inviting for your party next
week?’ Daisy asked as she offered Anna the bowl of fruit salad and some meringues.

  ‘Thirty – thirty-five. I doubt everyone will come. Depends on what else is on the same evening. These meringues are delicious.’

  A loud croak from a frog somewhere in the garden made them both smile.

  ‘Now that’s something I remember from my first visit down here,’ Anna said. ‘There were a lot of croaking frogs. I was staying in a run down guest house with a stagnant pond in the overgrown garden; the noise was unbelievable.’

  ‘It gets quite noisy in this garden too sometimes,’ Daisy said absently. ‘Anna, I’ve just had an idea. Would you talk to me about the differences you find in the festival this time around? The way it’s developed from those early days? Maybe we could walk around Cannes together, a nostalgic walk for you, a history lesson for me.’

  ‘Oh, Daisy, I don’t know. I’m not sure that …’ Anna shook her head, thinking about her memory lane incidents earlier in the day.

  ‘Will you at least think about it?’ Daisy asked. ‘So much must have changed in the last forty years – not just buildings being pulled down and re-built but people’s lives have altered too. You could always remain anonymous if you want, but I think the comparison between then and now would interest a lot of people.’

  ‘I’m not sure I remember enough to highlight the differences,’ Anna said slowly. ‘I was barely seventeen. Of course I remember the atmosphere, the students and the old Palais des Festivals but—’ Anna shook her head.

  Poppy returned at that moment with a pot of coffee and Anna accepted a cup, glad to be able to change the subject.

  ‘I meant to say earlier, you will both come to the party won’t you?’

  ‘Love to,’ Daisy said, picking up her mobile from the table. ‘Excuse me, I’ve got a text from Marcus – oh it’s ok. It’s just to tell me he’s sent the photo for my feature and forwarded me a copy too.’

  As the sonar garden lights flickered into action, Anna stood up to leave.