If it had not been for MonsieurDubois, the Lido choreographer, who had eventually worked outPaul’s true nature, she would not have been able to stay in Franceand pursue her dancing career for so long. Her physical and mentalhealth had deteriorated, which in turn affected her dancingability.
Paul’s contract had not beenrenewed. He left Paris under a cloud, and without a backwardglance, for the bright lights of Vegas. She had not seen or heardof him again, but the scars ran very deep. Chloe could deal withflaws, everyone had them in one form or another, but a man whowould not value her, she would not tolerate. Writing down herthoughts and feelings had somehow unlocked this piece of her lifeshe had long ago tried to bury. It appeared she had not put itbehind her after all.
The tranquil countryside soothedher. Chloe wound down the windows and allowed the warm breeze toruffle her hair. Her friends Angelique and Gerard had also offeredthe use of their Mercedes sports car to drive to the coast. Theyhad no use for it as they were in Tuscany on business.
When she had arrivedat their Paris home in a taxi, their housekeeper had handed her aset of keys and a remote control for the garage door, and closedthe front door with an abrupt “adieu”. The French are not known fortheir gregarious nature when they are dealing withstrangers.
As she drove through the windinglanes and picturesque villages, her troubles vaporised under thewarm late summer sun. She had to admit that France had becomecloser to her heart over the years, and more familiar to her thanAustralia. Since she had returned to Paris, she talked, thought,ate, and read the French newspapers like a native. The thought ofthe cold, wet weather at this time of year in her home town ofMelbourne made her appreciate the August sunshine all themore.
In a town only a fewmiles away from the beach house, she stopped to top up the car withfuel and asked for directions. The tang of salt in the air broughtback such pleasant memories as she strolled back to the car. Sheloved the water. Nearlythere. She smiled at the thought of sippinga glass of wine, and perhaps sitting on the terrace overlooking theocean.
The gatehouse cameinto view as Chloe drove around the bend in the narrow lane. Thebrass numbers embedded in the brick wall confirmed she had arrivedat her destination. She used the remote tucked into the console andthe black wrought-iron gates swung inward. The car purred past thegatehouse and down the short tree lined avenue to the beach house.The single-storey whitewashed brick dwelling appeared small andunobtrusive from this angle, surrounded by shrubs and floweringtrees. Climbing vines covered a large section of the wall aroundthe door, and the small portico had pots of pink and white flowersspilling out of them. How perfectlycharming. She pulled up adjacent to thehouse, and unloaded her suitcase and belongings.
However, once insideshe realised the view from the driveway was cleverly deceiving. Shedropped her bags on the floor. The shimmer of sunlight on waterdrew her down the hall into the lounge, towards the windows. TheU-shaped building wrapped around a pool of sparkling sapphire bluewater. She unlocked the sliding doors and stepped out onto thepaved patio to get a better look. A table had been set up in thecorner for alfresco meals, and several comfortable lounge chairscovered in midnight-blue cushions were dotted around the pool.Miniature orange and lemon trees in dark-blue glazed pots, combinedwith the informal setting, gave the space a charming rusticambiance. Wide steps at the far end of theterrace descended to an expanse of golden sand, and a few hundredmetres away, the sea frothed and bubbled against the shore.Oh so inviting.
She desperately wantedto grab a glass of wine and to sit and take in the view.Not yet, unpack first. Put away the supplies.
Warm sun caressed her, and shelifted her face to soak it in. The stress and strain of the lastfew months melted away from her shoulders, her concerns scuttledoff in search of some other tortured soul to harass. Her phone inher pocket rang, shocking her out of her reverie.
“Bonjour.” Chloe answered, with hereyes closed, breathing in the sea air.
“BonjourChloe. Have you arrived?” Angélique enquired.
“Maisoui Angelique..I am standing on the patio, enjoying the view andwondering if I will take a dip in the pool or a swim in the oceanbefore dinner.”
“Either would beacceptable I am sure. I have asked Jean Claude, the caretaker, tostock the fridge and pantry for you. There should be plenty of foodand wine to keep you happy. He lives in the gatehouse at the end ofthe drive, and is available if you need anything. But if you don’tfeel like cooking, there is a wonderful little restaurant in townwhich would more than satisfy your Australian tastes.”
“Angelique, I am everybit as French as you are, and you know it. We didn’t spend yearseating and drinking our
