jail.
The feeling persisted into the next day, when she and Sammy boarded the plane for Nice and got there to find it cloudy and cold and being thrashed by the mistral. It was only Sammy's rapturous cries as the estate agent took them slowly along the drive towards the wonderful villa that stopped Penny getting on the next plane back.
Fortunately the following day the wind had dropped and though it was still cold it was clear and sunny, so Penny decided that a little exploration of their surroundings was in order. They started by searching out the local boulangerie, where a fat, merry old lady with a whiskery chin and floury apron treated them to a hearty Gallic welcome and wanted to know all about what they were doing in France, while wrapping their crusty baguettes in flimsy paper and popping a couple of succulent butter croissants into a bag - on the house.
After, they strolled across to the cafe, which was satisfyingly populated by Gitane-puffing ouvriers in black berets and blue serge overalls and, less satisfyingly, a few local yobs. They sat outside sipping piping-hot, thick creamy coffee and
80
soaking up the uniquely French atmosphere.
Later they took a walk through the artist's village of Mougins, which nestled around the peak of the hill overlooking their villa and the sea. Though they were not wildly impressed with the paintings, the village itself was so picturesque that Sammy used up an entire roll of film on shots of the old stone fountain, the quaint little houses fringing the narrow, cobbled streets and of Penny, braving the cold outside one of the chic, overpriced bistros.
After lunch the rain started again, so they drove around in their rented car for a while getting a feel of the densely forested, hilly terrain with its cute little Provencal villages and brief but glorious glimpses of the sea.
Finally, tired but a lot happier than she'd been the day before, Penny turned the car for home, while Sammy snored gently in the seat beside her, maps, guidebooks, a new beret and ropes of garlic scattered around her feet.
When they returned to the villa, Penny stood for a while gazing out at the drizzling rain as it rippled the surface of the pool. She was even more nervous than she had expected to be at the prospect of all that lay ahead and, standing here now, she could once again feel herself starting to doubt her ability. However, deciding the only way to beat her nerves was simply to get on with things, she picked up the phone to call Marielle, firstly to let her know she had arrived and, secondly, to ask if Marielle had arranged the meeting Penny had mentioned in one of her faxes.
"Yes, I have called it for tomorrow morning at ten,"
Marielle told her.
"I see/ Penny said, failing to keep the tightness from her voice.
"Well, I'm afraid that doesn't suit me, so I'd appreciate it if you could call it for Wednesday, as I asked."
Marielle was silent.
"I take it that the people I asked you to contact have all 81
been contacted?"
Penny enquired silkily.
They have/
"What about David?"
"He says he will come to the meeting if he can. Maybe Wednesday won't be convenient."
Penny looked up as Sammy walked into the room. Thank you, Marielle/ she said, meeting Sammy's eyes. Til see you in the morning."
Turning over the pages in her address book, Penny found the phone number of David's apartment and dialled it. She let it ring for some time, but there was obviously no one at home so she put the receiver down again, damned if she was going to call Marielle back to find out if she knew where he was.
"Well?"
Sammy prompted.
Penny's eyes moved back to hers.
"Well,"
she said,
"I think it's high time David Villers and Marielle Descourts found out who the real boss is around here."
Sammy grinned. That's the spirit,"
she said.
"But just don't let them become an obsession, OK? No, I know it's still early days, but now's as good a time as any to remind you that there are other things in life that are more
The feeling persisted into the next day, when she and Sammy boarded the plane for Nice and got there to find it cloudy and cold and being thrashed by the mistral. It was only Sammy's rapturous cries as the estate agent took them slowly along the drive towards the wonderful villa that stopped Penny getting on the next plane back.
Fortunately the following day the wind had dropped and though it was still cold it was clear and sunny, so Penny decided that a little exploration of their surroundings was in order. They started by searching out the local boulangerie, where a fat, merry old lady with a whiskery chin and floury apron treated them to a hearty Gallic welcome and wanted to know all about what they were doing in France, while wrapping their crusty baguettes in flimsy paper and popping a couple of succulent butter croissants into a bag - on the house.
After, they strolled across to the cafe, which was satisfyingly populated by Gitane-puffing ouvriers in black berets and blue serge overalls and, less satisfyingly, a few local yobs. They sat outside sipping piping-hot, thick creamy coffee and
80
soaking up the uniquely French atmosphere.
Later they took a walk through the artist's village of Mougins, which nestled around the peak of the hill overlooking their villa and the sea. Though they were not wildly impressed with the paintings, the village itself was so picturesque that Sammy used up an entire roll of film on shots of the old stone fountain, the quaint little houses fringing the narrow, cobbled streets and of Penny, braving the cold outside one of the chic, overpriced bistros.
After lunch the rain started again, so they drove around in their rented car for a while getting a feel of the densely forested, hilly terrain with its cute little Provencal villages and brief but glorious glimpses of the sea.
Finally, tired but a lot happier than she'd been the day before, Penny turned the car for home, while Sammy snored gently in the seat beside her, maps, guidebooks, a new beret and ropes of garlic scattered around her feet.
When they returned to the villa, Penny stood for a while gazing out at the drizzling rain as it rippled the surface of the pool. She was even more nervous than she had expected to be at the prospect of all that lay ahead and, standing here now, she could once again feel herself starting to doubt her ability. However, deciding the only way to beat her nerves was simply to get on with things, she picked up the phone to call Marielle, firstly to let her know she had arrived and, secondly, to ask if Marielle had arranged the meeting Penny had mentioned in one of her faxes.
"Yes, I have called it for tomorrow morning at ten,"
Marielle told her.
"I see/ Penny said, failing to keep the tightness from her voice.
"Well, I'm afraid that doesn't suit me, so I'd appreciate it if you could call it for Wednesday, as I asked."
Marielle was silent.
"I take it that the people I asked you to contact have all 81
been contacted?"
Penny enquired silkily.
They have/
"What about David?"
"He says he will come to the meeting if he can. Maybe Wednesday won't be convenient."
Penny looked up as Sammy walked into the room. Thank you, Marielle/ she said, meeting Sammy's eyes. Til see you in the morning."
Turning over the pages in her address book, Penny found the phone number of David's apartment and dialled it. She let it ring for some time, but there was obviously no one at home so she put the receiver down again, damned if she was going to call Marielle back to find out if she knew where he was.
"Well?"
Sammy prompted.
Penny's eyes moved back to hers.
"Well,"
she said,
"I think it's high time David Villers and Marielle Descourts found out who the real boss is around here."
Sammy grinned. That's the spirit,"
she said.
"But just don't let them become an obsession, OK? No, I know it's still early days, but now's as good a time as any to remind you that there are other things in life that are more
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