The next morning, little white-sailed boats skimmed past my cove, but where the sloop had been was just an empty shimmering expanse of turquoise water. Bad Dog and Jack Farrar were gone.
I turned away, unbelieving. I was a woman with a stone in her heart. I reminded myself fiercely that I had been wounded before. I could get over this. But somehow I showered, got dressed, got myself together. For the first time I didn’t even notice how charming my kitchen was, didn’t even think how I loved it. This kitchen was no longer mine, and Jack Farrar was not mine.
I muttered a bonjour to Nadine, who gave me a long searching look back, then poured me some coffee. I thought about what I had said to Jack about not falling in love. I didn’t even remember exactly what I’d said, only that it was stupid, just because Patrick had hurt me.
Miss N had told me not to lock love and romance out of my life because of Patrick? Well, I had gone and done just exactly that.
“Drink the coffee,” Nadine said, in French, standing over me. “Then tell me what’s the matter this time.”
“Men,” I said, staring gloomily into my coffee mug.
“A man, more like it,” she said, hands on her hips, her brow furrowed. “I just hope it’s not Patrick again; I’ve had about enough of him. He’s at the heart of all your problems.”
I agreed. “But now I’ve gone and done it again,” I said. “I’ve gotten involved. I spent last night with a man, and this morning he’s gone. He’s disappeared.” I stared at Nadine. “What is it about me, Nadine? What am I doing wrong?”
“Caring too much,” Nadine said. “You should think more about yourself instead of others. You’re a people-pleaser, Lola, and everybody loves you for it, but it’s time you put more thought into your life, your own affaires de coeur. Forget Patrick and get your own life straightened out.”
She stalked to the sink and began rattling dishes around. “And forget Jack Farrar too,” she added. “He’s like the other one, he’ll live his own life and it won’t include you.”
This bit of advice, though well meant, did not make me feel any better. The hot coffee tasted like the bitter pill of truth. “You’re probably right,” I said. “And anyway, our main problem is you and I are soon going to be out of a job. What’ll we do next?”
Nadine’s dark eyes gleamed with sympathy. “I’m not saying it’s going to happen,” she said, “but if the time comes when you no longer own the Hotel Riviera, then maybe you and I should start up a little bistro in Antibes. A little storefront place. You’ll cook, and I’ll serve, and my sister will greet the customers, when she’s not at home taking care of her babies, that is. In which case, you and I will do it between us. We’ll make a go of it, you’ll see.”
She was so good, so stoutly supportive, wanting it all to come true for me, that I got up and gave her a hug. “Thank you, my friend,” I said. “Let’s hope it won’t come to that.”
Marit walked in. “Madame Laforêt,” she said.
Instead of her usual working outfit of shorts and T-shirt, she was wearing a pretty summer dress and she was holding a suitcase. “My maman needs me at home, madame,” she said.
“Oh dear,” I said, “is everybody okay at home? Your mother?”
“Maman is fine, but I have to leave you right away. My boyfriend is picking me up at the end of the lane in five minutes.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry to leave so abruptly, madame, but as I said, maman needs me in Lyons.”
I nodded. I understood, Marit was moving on. She’d probably gotten a good job in Lyons, a city of fine food and good restaurants. It would be a step up in her career, and I didn’t begrudge it for an instant, though I would have liked more notice. Still, the guests would soon be gone; I’d manage.
“I hope everything goes well for you, Marit,” I said, writing out a check for her wages. “You have true talent as a chef and I’ll give you an excellent reference.” I smiled up at her. “Let me know how you’re doing. And thank you for working so hard, I appreciate it.”
She seemed flustered by my calmness and good wishes; obviously she’d expected rancor, anger even. “You are très amiable, Madame Laforêt,” she said, then she gave me three quick kisses instead of the usual two, a true sign of affection. “Bonne chance, madame,” she said, picking up the check and her suitcase.
“And to you, Marit,” I said. Then she kissed Nadine and was gone.
Two gone, eight to go, I thought, just as Jean-Paul cycled past the window. As usual, he flung his bike into the rosemary bush, then sauntered into the kitchen, hands in his pockets, a dreamy look on his face.
“What happened?” Nadine demanded, hands on her ample hips again.
Jean-Paul stopped to look at her. “L’amour,” he said succinctly, then he added, “Bonjour, Madame Laforêt. I will attend to the tables right away.”
He drifted into his room in back of the kitchen and we heard the shower go on. “Love,” I said to Nadine, “has a lot to answer for.”
The shrill ring of the phone blended with the sound of Nadine shunting plates around. I answered it. It was Freddy Oldroyd, Mr. Honeymoon’s lawyer father. I went over the situation in detail, promised to FedEx him copies of the documents today. He told me not to worry, he would sort it out. He’d get back to me as soon as he’d read the legal documents. I thanked him, but I didn’t believe him. In my heart I knew there was no way I was going to be able to keep my little auberge.
It was not a great beginning to the week.