‘There was a Grand Prix on this route back in the thirties,’ Jamie said as we swung round a right hand bend. ‘La Garoupe to Antibes. Would love to have driven that.’
Juan-les-Pins was busy as Jamie pulled up outside the villa. ‘Thank you so much Jamie. I really enjoyed lunch. Would you like to come up for a coffee?’
He shook his head. ‘I enjoyed lunch too but now I must get back. I was wondering whether you’d be interested in coming to the Grand Prix with me? I’ve got a spare ticket if you’d like to?’
‘I’d love to.’
‘Great. I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty. Sunday morning.’
Thought he was joking at first, then realised he wasn’t.
‘Have to get into Monaco early before it all kicks off,’ he explained. ‘So I’ll see you then.’
Eliosa, walking Brucie back from the park, appeared at my side as I slid as elegantly as I could manage, out of the car.
‘Found your own sleeping dictionary have you?’
‘Eliosa,’ I said, almost choking at her words and desperately hoping Jamie hadn’t heard them as I slammed shut the door. Honestly, Eliosa can be so embarrassing sometimes. Thank goodness the roof on the Porsche was up.
‘Jamie and I are friends. And he’s English. We only met recently,’ I said glaring at her.
‘You should think about it,’ she said. ‘Good-looking man. Even if he is English.’
I know it wasn’t my imagination that Jamie deliberately chose that moment to give a vroom-vroom on the accelerator before gliding away from the pavement. On the embarrassing moment scale, this one was right off the top.
‘Just had lunch with him, that’s all. He’s taking me to the Grand Prix at the weekend.’ When I would either have to ignore Eliosa’s words and hope Jamie did the same if he’d heard them, or apologise big time.
26th May.
Am so thrilled. OB has e-mailed to say as from next week he wants to use my features in a weekly column called ‘Jessica’s Jaunts on the Riviera’. He wants eight hundred words every Thursday afternoon, ready to go in the weekend supplement.
WOW is all I can say. Had to tell someone so I rang Bella.
She was at work so couldn’t talk for long but she sounded pleased for me.
‘Just wish I could tell Katie,’ I said. ‘Still haven’t had more than the occasional text from her.’
‘Katie’s fine. Stop worrying about her,’ Bella said.
Something in her voice, and the way she’d insisted Katie was fine, made me catch my breath.
‘You know where she is, don’t you? Have you spoken to her?’
‘Jess, I can’t talk now. I’ll ring you later,’ and with that the connection died.
Furious, I texted her: “mk sre u do”. The rest of the afternoon was a write-off as I couldn’t settle to anything. What did Bella know that I didn’t? How could she be so sure about Katie? What a bitch to withhold information from me. She knew I was out of my mind with worry about Katie.
I grabbed the phone when it rang. ‘Bella, what the hell’s going on?’
‘It’s not Bella. It’s me, Mum.’
‘Katie? Are you all right? Where the hell are you?’
‘I’m OK.’ There was a slight pause before she added, ‘Sorry you’ve been worried.’
‘What about Dad? Have you spoken to him?’
‘No.’
‘Where are you anyway? What are you doing?’
‘I’ve got a part-time job in Jonathan’s Wine Bar. Fits in well with my college hours.’
‘Where are you living?’
‘Can’t tell you that Mum.’
‘Why on earth not?’ I could feel the hysteria rising in my voice.
‘Because I don’t want you to know. Not yet. But I promise you I’m fine. So stop worrying. Congrats on the column by the way. Sorry, I’ve got to go to work now. Bye.’ And she was gone.
Well, at least I now know she’s OK. It was only after I put the phone down that I had a sudden thought. Katie was clearly in touch with Bella which had to be why, from the time she disappeared, Bella had been insistent Katie was fine. Now another thought occurred. Did Bella know where Katie was living? And if she did – why the hell hadn’t she told me? What kind of friend is she?
May 31st.
Well May’s certainly been a rollercoaster month for me, what with the excitement of the Film Festival, news of my own column, coupled with worries over Katie, and finishing on a noisy high note with the Monaco Grand Prix.
I was ready and waiting downstairs for Jamie on Sunday morning and within minutes we were on the A8 flying towards Monaco. And I do mean flying. Jamie was very good at keeping for the most part to the 110 kilometre speed limit but occasionally I noticed the speedometer nudging 120 for several seconds. He obviously knew where all the speed cameras were.
We left the car in Cap d’Ail and walked into Monaco. ‘Be impossible to park anywhere. It’s easier this way,’ Jamie said.
Monaco was buzzing when we got there. Red Ferrari flags were everywhere, souvenir stalls were dotted around the side streets, restaurants had placards outside stating firmly ‘No Reservations Available’ and the noise was already several decibels above the comfort level – all this before the F1 cars took to the track.
Looking at all the seating stands and the large TV screens placed in strategic positions, I wondered which terrace of seats Jamie had tickets for. With still a couple of hours to go to the big race, people were starting to claim their places and settle in for the wait.
Jamie led the way behind the high barricades that lined the main road with its white painted starting grid, past the shallow steps leading to the presentation box where the winner in a few hours would be feted and the champagne uncorked.
To my surprise, instead of making for an opening to one of the stands, Jamie turned into the entrance of an apartment block and made for the lift at the end of the foyer. Stepping inside, he pressed the button marked “Penthouse”. When I looked at him he said simply, ‘Friends of mine always host a party here.’
Before I could say anything, the lift stopped, the doors opened and we stepped straight out into – well the words “a film set” sprang to mind, and one with lots of glamorous extras standing around at that. Within minutes we were standing out on a long balcony, glasses of pink champagne in hand, taking in the atmosphere and the scenes down below.
It turned out that Jamie’s friends, an ex racing driver and his wife, hosted various people over the Grand Prix weekend including some of the behind-the-scenes staff of one of the well-known teams.
‘We’ll grab our pit lane passes in a moment and go mingle,’ Jamie said. ‘Here, you’ll need these,’ he added, handing me a packet of ear plugs.
‘Thanks. You’ve got passes?’
Jamie nodded. ‘Can’t come to a Grand Prix without wandering along the pit lane and soaking up the atmosphere.’
Have to say, while the next few hours were very exciting they passed in a noisy blur. Jamie met up with lots of people he knew as we wandered along the starting grid. He explained lots of things to me about the various teams. Even introduced me to a couple of the drivers.
We went back to the penthouse (get me!) for a lunch that included the most delicious chicken dish I’ve ever tasted, more champagne and lots of laughs. Jamie’s friends were marvellously entertaining and made me feel I was a part of it all and not someone they would probably never see again.
Once lunch was over we all went out onto the balcony to watch the race start. The atmosphere that floated up from the starting grid was electric. Standing there, clutching the inevitable glass of champagne, the whole thing began to feel surreal. The noise, even with the ear plugs securely in place, was deafening.
Surreptitiously I pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. That I really was watching the Grand Prix standing on a balcony of one of the most prestigious apartment blocks in Monaco.
Things got really exciting when the race was won by “our” te
am – the first time for over ten years they’d won at Monaco. The place erupted as the car flashed past the chequered flag first.
‘Winning any race is special,’ Jamie said. ‘But Monaco is the one everyone wants.’
Who’d have thought just six months ago I’d be standing on the balcony of a posh apartment in Monaco soaking up race-day atmosphere? Not to mention celebrating with the winning team. Not me, that’s for sure. Life is definitely on the up. Haven’t cried for weeks now – this running away lark seems to be working.
JUNE
Gosh what a month May was. I’m still buzzing a week later from the excitement of the Grand Prix. It’s been difficult getting life back onto more of a level keel again but I think I’ve just about managed it now.
Written two features for my Jessica Jaunts column. OB says the one about the Film Festival has received lots of positive comments. He’ll be publishing the Monaco one this week.
Went to a huge vide grenier yesterday in Golfe Juan. Think car boot sale without the cars, just lots and lots of tables and stalls filled with second-hand goods. Apparently vide grenier means empty attic. All I can say is, it’s unbelievable the things some people keep in their attic.
Lawn mowers, stuffed bears, toys, clothes, bric a brac by the ton, carpets, wrought ironwork, furniture. I even spotted a moose’s head and you don’t find many of those on the Cote d’Azur. I bought several early 1900s postcard views of Antibes and Cannes. I’m going to frame them as a memento of my time down here.
Still haven’t had a proper conversation with Bella. Not sure why but she seems to be avoiding talking to me. All our contact for the past month has been via text and they’ve been few and far between. The couple of times I’ve rung her mobile it’s gone straight to voicemail. Strange. Might try her landline sometime.
Popped into the bar yesterday on my way back from Antibes and Jacques immediately pounced on me, asking me how Bella was. I’m sure he doesn’t believe me when I tell him I haven’t spoken to her for weeks.
Katie has texted me a couple of times to say she’s OK. Still not told me where she is. The last one simply said she’s looking forward to college finishing for the summer ‘so I’ve got time to really sort my life out’. Hmm, not sure what that means. She did also mention something about seeing me in the summer. Can’t say I’m holding my breath about that happening.
Think she may have texted Ben too, as he’s stopped ringing and berating me over her behaviour. Unless he’s just given up on me and her.
3rd June.
The tourist season is in full swing down here now. Followed a huge group of Japanese tourists along the ramparts the other day on my walk home. Even when they stopped to look at the Grimaldi museum building, there was no way of getting past them, there were so many and the road is so narrow along there. Took me an hour to get home rather than my usual thirty-five minutes.
5th June.
Lotta’s been invited to an evening of “Midsummer Madness” by one of her clients who lives on the Cap d’Antibes and has asked me if I’d like to go with her. Silly question. The only thing is, it’s fancy dress and I have no idea who or what to go as. Will have to have a think over the next week.
10th June.
Talk about coming down to earth with a bang. You know how some months anything that can go wrong, does? The stars are out of alignment or the planet Uranus is in the wrong position or something? That’s the kind of month June has turned into. The last couple of days have been truly fraught. Poor Eliosa was mugged the other day on her way home from lunch with friends in Cannes. Some little bastard on a scooter swerved alongside her, grabbed her bag out of her hand, knocking her over in the process, before speeding away. Les Gendarmes say there’s very little chance of catching him.
Aside from a broken arm in a sling, it’s left Eliosa very shaken and tearful. Her friends have rallied around and I’ve taken over Brucie walking duties morning and evening. The first evening when I went to fetch Brucie, I asked if she’d phoned Nino. She shook her head.
‘Non. And I expressly forbid you to tell him.’
‘He did say if you needed any help I was to ring him,’ I protested. ‘Even gave me his card for that reason.’
‘No point. He has enough going on with this family business. Besides, he’d tell his Papa and then I’d have my brother arriving on my doorstep bullying me. Trying to run my life.’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I rest for a few days and I will be fine.’
‘Your arm will take longer than a few days.’
‘My friends will help.’
Seeing there was nothing I could say or do to make her change her mind, I slipped Brucie’s lead on him and headed out.
On top of everything else, I am furious with Bella. Fed up with not having a proper conversation with her – she’s supposed to be my best friend for god’s sake – I phoned her landline.
I half expected it to flip straight into answer machine mode but it was picked up after a couple of rings - by Katie. Who promptly hung up when she heard my voice.
Of course when I rang back the phone had been switched over to answer machine status. Nobody responded to my “I know you’re there, Katie. Pick up the phone NOW!” screamed message.
11th June.
Twenty-four hours after I screamed down the phone, Bella has finally phoned me back. Apparently Katie is living with her and that’s all she would say, other than we need to talk – she’s telling me we need to talk! She’s booked the earliest flight she could find to come and see me – twenty-eighth of this month. But she refused to say anything else over the phone except that Katie was fine.
Called her a cow and a bitch for not telling me the truth earlier. Right now I could throttle both of them. At least I’ve got over a fortnight to calm down before I say something I’ll regret.
12th June.
And now I’m in trouble with Nino too! When he phoned me this morning and asked ‘How is Tante Eliosa?’ I naturally assumed he’d heard about the mugging and was ringing to ask why I hadn’t told him.
‘She’s improving every day. Are you around to visit?’
‘Non. I’m in Portofino for a week. What the hell’s happened to Eliosa? And why didn’t you ring me? I thought we had an arrangement?’
‘Eliosa made me promise I wouldn’t. She was afraid her brother would arrive – you must promise not to tell him now you know.’
‘I can’t do that until you tell me what has happened.’
Briefly I filled him in with the details I knew about the mugging.
‘Merdè. I have to tell my father.’
Nothing I said could convince him to change his mind. In the end I gave up and we said goodbye. It was only after I’d hung up that I wondered why he’d rung me in the first place?
Later, when I went to collect Brucie for his evening walk, I apologised to Eliosa. I felt I had to warn her about Nino planning to tell his father about her broken arm. She was surprisingly laidback about it.
‘Nino is not the problem. It is my brother Giovani. For him I will become a distraction from the other family problem. Still, if I take the heat off Nino for a while…’ she said, shrugging as she handed me Brucie’s lead.
‘Nino is the family problem?’
‘Si, his wife is not happy and my brother say Nino should go home, help run the family business and save his marriage.’ Eliosa sighed. ‘Me, I think Nino is better off staying away from the business. As for his marriage – it would have been better if he no marry Paola in the first place.’
13th June.
I’ve discovered I have to be organised writing this weekly column for the OB. Eight hundred words doesn’t sound a lot but getting them down on paper and e-mailing them, plus a photo, with a Thursday afternoon deadline every week means I have to be constantly thinking about what to write next.
20th June.
Busy week researching stuff and walking Brucie three times a day. Been over a week since “that” phone call but I haven’t
heard from Katie or Bella again. Thought Katie at least might have texted me – or even phoned.
25th June.
This week’s Jessica’s Jaunts column was easy because of the Midsummer Madness Night I went to with Lotta on Cap d’Antibes. What an evening that turned out to be.
We’d both found costumes we liked in the “Party Treasures” shop – Lotta went as a jester and I became the Queen of Hearts – one of four as it turned out.
A red devil complete with horns and a pitchfork greeted us when we arrived and threatened us with dire consequences if we failed to throw ourselves into the party spirit. We had to promise to be exemplary guests before he handed us a goody bag each and pulled aside the black curtain hanging over the archway into the garden to allow us through.
All I can say is WOW. And WOW again. Days later and I’m still feeling stunned by the atmosphere of the whole thing. The garden had literally been turned into one huge fairy grotto. Talk about a dreamlike experience.
‘This is amazing. Can you see anyone you know yet?’ I asked Lotta.
She laughed. ‘Not to recognise. Although Pan the Piper over there does seem familiar. Some of these costumes are amazing.’
Lotta and I accepted glasses of champagne from an ethereal fairy waitress who floated our way before she drifted over to serve… Puck and Oberon? I watched fascinated as Oberon peered into a witch’s steaming cauldron bubbling away by a red tiled outdoor kitchen. I swear I heard him mutter ‘Hubble, bubble, toil and trouble’.
Lights twinkled up and around tall trees, wrapped around branches, while torch candles lined the various paths that wound through the garden. Small ponds dotted here and there were lit with underwater lights, and collections of long silver ribbons, hanging screen-like from branches of the oak and beech trees throughout the garden, rustled in the gentle evening breeze. Delicate gossamer-like material clung to shrubs and plants. A fairy standing by a wishing well threw a coin into the water.
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