‘I’m sitting at a sea-front café, croissant and coffee to hand, watching Cannes come to life on the first full day of the festival. The morning sky is the brilliant blue that gives this stretch of the Riviera its other name, the Cote d’Azur, and the forecast is for a sunny day.
‘All around me there are giant billboards advertising the films that will be screening here over the next few days. Although only 7.15.a.m. there is a general sense of bustle everywhere. Queues are already forming outside boulangeries, espresso machines are hissing into life, squirting the dark, strong liquid the French call coffee, into small cups.
‘People are arriving bleary-eyed back at their hotels and apartments hoping to catch a few hours’ sleep after partying the night away. Others, bright eyed and with a spring in their step, are on their way out to the first breakfast meetings of the festival.’
Daisy took a swig of her coffee and a bite of croissant before continuing to speak the first of her daily reports into her small voice recorder.
‘I’ve collected all the daily trade magazines, signed up for a press conference tomorrow morning with a famous star – more of that later in the week – and now I’m off to view my first early morning screening. With over one hundred and twenty films to be shown during the festival, things start early around here.’
Daisy pressed the save button and switched off the recorder. She’d add some more to it after lunch with the fashion assistant who had promised to explain how the stars managed to acquire the necessary glitz for film premiers and type it up later back at Poppy’s. After drinking the rest of her coffee she set off for the Theatre Bazin on the third floor of the Palais, where many of the press screenings would be held during the festival – far away from the glamour of the red carpet.
Emerging three hours later, her head buzzing from both the film and the Q & A session with the film-makers that had followed, Daisy joined the lunchtime crowds that were thronging the Croisette: tourists and locals enjoying the presence of entertainers and starlets strutting their stuff – anxious to catch the eye of any movie maker that might be around.
As she walked, intriguing snippets of conversation floated in the air around her.
‘Sharon was really upset when Michael gave the part to …’
‘Gosh yes, a ticket to the Vanity Fair party would be to die for. Any chance of …’
‘No. We can’t meet there. It’s too risky. What if we were seen?’
Marcus was right; there was gossip everywhere. And surely that was Tom Hanks over there talking to Bruce Willis? Wandering through the crowds she wondered again about the possibility of chasing down a scoop for the paper. She just wasn’t that keen on investigative journalism. As she’d told Poppy, she much preferred to write feel good stories about people rather than ones that besmirched them.
Lingering near the roundabout she saw Cindy riding around happily on one of the carousel horses, the tall man standing to one side attentively watching. He smiled in acknowledgement at Daisy when he saw her, before turning as the carousel slowed to a stop and helping Cindy off.
‘Come on, let’s go for those pizzas. Mummy said she’d meet us there and maybe Daddy as well.’
So Daddy had arrived then, Daisy thought, wishing she could follow them and see who Mummy and Daddy were. But it was time for her to learn how the stars managed their haute couture appearances.
It was past three o’clock when she arrived back at the villa intending to write up her notes, finish her report and do some internet research on Philippe Cambone. Having failed to unearth anyone locally who’d known the director and was willing to talk to her, the internet seemed her only option. With luck too, she’d be able to grab some sleep before heading back down into Cannes for the first evening red carpet screening and then on to Bruno’s party with Marcus.
Poppy was on the telephone as she walked into the cottage.
‘Well I’m glad you’re très desolé but it doesn’t help me this afternoon, does it?’ Poppy slammed the phone down before turning to face Daisy.
‘Can you believe it. The car people have double booked and they’re “very sorry” but they are unable to meet Anna Carson this afternoon.’ Poppy ran her hands through her hair distractedly. ‘What on earth am I going to do? It’ll be impossible to find anyone else at this short notice.’
‘I shouldn’t worry. I expect she’ll just grab a taxi,’ Daisy said.
‘But Anna’s expecting to be met. I’ve got no way of telling her to take a taxi. My first booking for the villa and this happens.’
‘What time is her flight landing?’ Daisy asked.
‘In an hour,’ Poppy said looking at her watch.
‘I can look after Tom – where is he, by the way? And you can collect Anna in your car.’
‘Would you? Oh, no that won’t work,’ Poppy sighed. ‘He’s at school until three thirty this afternoon and they don’t know you so they won’t let him come with you before I’ve officially introduced you.’ She looked at Daisy. ‘I don’t suppose you?’
‘Poppy, you know how much I hate driving down here,’ Daisy said sighing. ‘But okay. Give me the flight details and the car keys and I’ll go and meet your Anna Carson.’
Anna was relieved when the plane finally landed at Nice airport, fifty minutes late. It had been an uncomfortable flight and she couldn’t wait to collect her luggage and meet up with the car she’d ordered to take her to the Villa Flora.
The Arrivals hall when she walked through was crowded. Official looking chauffeurs were everywhere, holding up boards with various names on them, none of them hers. As people were shepherded off to their transport and the waiting crowds thinned slightly, Anna stood there at a loss to know what to do.
‘Anna Carson?’ a voice at her elbow said hesitantly.
‘Yes,’ she said turning to face a young woman, holding a piece of paper with ‘Anna Carson’ scrawled across it.
‘Hi, I’m Daisy. I’m afraid there was a difficulty with your hire car and Poppy asked me to meet you.’
‘Oh thank goodness. Being so late I was afraid I was stranded,’ Anna said smiling. Following Daisy as she led the way through the car park, Anna listened as Daisy explained what had happened.
‘So, instead of a proper chauffeur and a limo, you’ve got me and my sister’s run around,’ Daisy said apologetically as she opened the boot and put Anna’s case inside.
‘I’m just grateful to be met,’ Anna said. ‘I’m not that fond of limos anyway. I like sitting in the front passenger seat and official chauffeurs aren’t too keen on that.’
As Daisy concentrated on finding her way out of the car park and back to the autoroute, Anna sat quietly looking out of the window.
When Daisy let out a muttered curse she said, ‘Something wrong?’
‘I’ve missed the autoroute entry slip-road. Do you mind if we go back along the bord de mer instead? At least I know my way then.’
‘The scenic route will be fine,’ Anna said. ‘Do you live down here with your sister?’
‘No. I’m staying with her for the festival. I’m a journalist,’ Daisy said. ‘It’s my first time covering the Festival.’
Waiting in a queue of traffic Daisy looked across at Anna. ‘I gather this is your first visit too?’
‘What makes you say that?’ Anna said surprised.
‘Your bio in one of the trade papers says although you’ve been in the industry for some time, you’ve never been to Cannes before.’ Daisy said.
‘Never had a film make its premier here before,’ Anna answered.
‘Your film Future Promises is showing at the weekend, isn’t it? I expect you’re looking forward to walking up the infamous steps?’
‘Think so. I’m not used to being in the glare of the spotlight,’ Anna said. ‘To be truthful I find the whole thing rather daunting. Much rather be in the background of things.’ She smiled. ‘So long as my partner Leo manages to get here in time, I’ll be fine.’
‘Personally I’m amazed at how large the whole festival is,’ Daisy said. ‘The number of trade stands is huge and everyone seems to be networking like mad.’
‘My favourite festival is Deauville,’ Anna said. ‘Less trade, far more about the films. Same with Venice. But Cannes is the big one. The important one in the industry.’
‘The public come to see the stars but people in the film industry simply want to do deals. At least that’s what Marcus the photographer I’m working with tells me. Is your company exhibiting here?’ Daisy asked.
Anna nodded. ‘Yes. I have to show my face at a couple of meetings with some American clients. Where are we now?’
‘Skirting Antibes. A few more minutes and we’ll be passing the celebrated Eden Roc Hotel where I’m told the best people stay and the best parties are held. Another ten minutes and we should be on the outskirts of Cannes.’
‘Spectacular views,’ Anna said looking out across the bay as they drove down the hill.
While Daisy concentrated on the narrow winding coast road as it made its way around the Cap d’Antibes and on through Juan-les-Pins, Anna enjoyed the changing scenery.
The sudden whoosh of a TGV rushing past on the railway line that followed the road as it approached Golf-Juan made her jump. Approaching Cannes the traffic began to build up and soon they were reduced to a crawl.
Anna saw Daisy glance at the dashboard clock before saying, ‘At this rate it’s going to take us ages to get to the villa.’
‘Have you got things lined up to do this evening?’ Anna asked, guiltily aware her plane being so late had probably created a few problems for Daisy.
Daisy nodded. ‘I’ve got to finish and file my first report for the newspaper, do a spot of internet research on this big director who’s just died, take a look at tonight’s stars on the red carpet and then I get to go to a party later.’ She glanced at Anna.
‘Don’t suppose you knew this Philippe Cambone did you? Work with him even? Any info – personal anecdotes or anything – would be gratefully received.’
‘No I never worked with Philippe Cambone so unfortunately I can’t help you with any anecdotes that you won’t find on the internet.’ Anna turned to look out of her passenger window, effectively finishing the conversation.
‘That’s a shame,’ Daisy said disappointed. ‘There’s not a lot of info out there. Seems Mr Cambone was a very private person. Oh good the traffic is clearing, we’re on the move again.’
‘Are we going via the Croisette?’ Anna asked.
‘Only so far. The police will have barricaded the road before we reach The Bunker, ready for the evening screening.’
‘The Bunker?’
‘Local name for the Festival des Palais,’ Daisy explained. ‘We’ll have to take a right and go round the back streets. Hopefully it won’t add too much time to the journey.’
With a silent Anna beside her Daisy concentrated on her driving and a few minutes later turned into the villa drive. Poppy, hearing the electric gates opening, was waiting by the front door to greet them.
Daisy turned to Anna. ‘Poppy will look after you now. Hope you don’t think me terribly rude but I must dash and try and catch up with a few things before I walk down to Cannes. I expect we’ll bump into each other over the next few days, either here or in town. Enjoy the festival.’
‘Thanks for meeting me, Daisy. Do come and have glass of wine with me when you’re not so frantic.’
‘I’d like that,’ Daisy said. ‘Ciao.’ And Daisy ran down the path to the cottage leaving Anna with Poppy.
‘This way,’ Poppy said, taking Anna’s suitcase and leading the way into the Villa Floral.
‘I’ve never rented the villa out before,’ Poppy said. ‘I hope everything is okay for you,’ she added anxiously as she showed Anna around.
‘Please don’t worry,’ Anna said. ‘I’m sure you’ve thought of everything. It looks fantastic.’
Long buttercup yellow curtains hung either side of the French doors and windows. A bookcase lined the wall alongside the fireplace and a small glass table holding some glossy magazines and candles was placed between a couple of inviting cream sofas with deep feather cushions. A large terracotta pot filled with lavender stood in the fireplace infusing the whole villa with its perfume.
‘There’s a welcome box in the kitchen with a few basics: cheese, eggs, baguette, tomatoes, milk, butter. And there’s a bottle of rosé in the fridge,’ Poppy said, going into the kitchen with its views out over the patio towards the swimming pool.
Just then Tom ran into the kitchen. ‘Mummy, can I have one last swim before Mrs Carson gets here? Oh, you’re here all ready,’ he added seeing Anna.
‘Tom, please say how do you do to Ms Carson,’ Poppy said. ‘And then go back to the cottage. I’ll be there in a moment to get your supper.’
Anna held her hand out for Tom to shake. ‘How do you do, Tom? My name is Anna.’
‘How do you do, Anna,’ Tom said seriously. ‘Do you like swimming?’
‘I do indeed and I guess you do too.’
Tom nodded. ‘Only now I can’t. Mummy says the pool is yours while you’re here and nobody else can use it ’cause you’re paying for it.’
‘Tom!’ Poppy exclaimed.
Anna bent down to talk to Tom. ‘Ah. Well I expect my friends will be coming for a swim, so if you’re my friend I can invite you and Mummy won’t mind then.’
‘Now?’ Tom asked hopefully.
‘No.’ Poppy answered before Anna could say anything. ‘Anna has to settle in this evening. Besides it’s almost your bedtime. Cottage,’ and she held the kitchen door open for a reluctant to leave Tom.
‘I’m sorry,’ Poppy said, embarrassed. ‘I’ll keep him out of your way while you’re here. I’ll take him to the beach so he can swim.’
‘Poppy, it’s not a problem. Please let him come for a swim. I like having children around.’
‘If you’re sure. Now, I think I’d better leave you in peace to settle in. If you want anything, just come over to the cottage. Bye for now.’
Closing the door behind Poppy, Anna went upstairs and pulled her swimming costume out of her case. The pool was too tempting to resist. The unpacking could wait.
The water was warm and inviting and Anna swam ten lengths before turning over and floating lazily on her back, allowing her mind to wander over the upcoming days.
So far her diary contained just four definite appointments: The gala screening of Future Promises at the weekend; a meeting with her company’s French representative; dinner with the American producer who was keen to come on board for the Agnes Marshall film. The fourth date was the party here at the villa she was planning to hold during the second week of the festival – when Leo had arrived. She’d need to talk to Poppy about the catering for it. The fifth appointment ‘Ring Philippe’ would never be made now.
A moon was rising in the darkening sky as she made her way indoors to shower and finish unpacking. Hanging the evening gown she intended wearing for the weekend premier in the spacious wardrobe, her attention was caught by a series of postcard size photographs grouped together on the bedroom wall.
Moving closer she saw that some were sepia in colour and showed the beach and harbour before the Croisette was built. Another showed the old casino on the edge of the harbour with figures in Edwardian costume stiffly posing outside.
The one that caught Anna’s attention was more recent; a black and white photo of a large building with square flat columns and a short flight of steps leading up to the entrance. Even as she bent closer to read the faded lettering at the base of the card, Anna had already recognized it as the old ‘Festival des Palais, Cannes’.
It had been a lovely building, she thought affectionately. So different to the concrete ‘Bunker’ she’d glimpsed before Daisy had turned off the Croisette. Her mobile phone rang as she finished arranging the rest of her clothes in the closet. Pressing the answer button with shaking fingers she said, ‘Hello Leo,’ as she ran downstairs to the kitchen.
‘Anna my darling. How was the flight?’
‘Terrible,’ Anna answered. ‘But I’m here now. Villa Flora is delightful. A real find. You’re going to love it.’
‘Are you going out for dinner tonight?’
‘No. I’ve just had a swim and I’m about to indulge in a baguette and some cheese with a glass of rosé that Poppy very kindly left for me, before having an early night. Tomorrow I’ll wander down to Cannes and show my face. The office is doing all the major stuff – I just have to show up a couple of times and do as I’m told.’
‘Haven’t done any sightseeing yet then?’
Anna laughed. ‘Leo, I’ve barely got here. I’ll probably have a bit of a mooch around tomorrow, if the crowds aren’t too large. I’ve got to do some food shopping anyway. How are things at your end?’ she asked, knowing that Leo was spending the night with his daughter and her new husband. ‘How’s Alison?’
‘She’s blooming,’ Leo laughed down the line. ‘Literally. Told me tonight she’s making me a grandfather before Christmas!’
‘Oh Leo, how wonderful. Do give her my love.’
‘I will. Speak tomorrow. Goodnight, my darling.’
Thoughtfully Anna prepared herself a supper tray with the goodies from the welcome basket, poured herself a glass of wine and carried it out to a small pool-side table. Sonar garden lights placed randomly around were illuminating the terrace and garden.
Sitting there, absently fingering her gold locket Anna allowed herself to dream about her future with Leo. What would life be like as a married woman? Having a ready made family?
Carefully she slipped the locket with its chain over her head and pressed the catch. Two photographs, a few strands of hair, were nestling together in the interior. Anna gently stroked the hair as she looked at the photos. For years she’d kept the photos, both as a memento and as a link to her past, always hopeful that maybe one day her secret dream would come true. Then, she planned to replace the photos with new, modern versions. Tonight though, brushing a tear away, Anna realized she had to accept the facts. Too much time had passed. She’d left it too late.