‘This place does the best pizzas,’ Nino said.
After we were seated and Nino had poured us both a glass of wine from the carafe the waiter had placed on the table, I thanked him for the postcards.
‘Sardinia looks a beautiful place.’
‘It is. I brought you back a little present,’ and he pulled a small bag out of the denim jacket he’d hung around the chair back.
Carefully, I pulled the drawstring neck of the bag and drew out a blue lace sliced agate necklace hanging from a twist of suede and blue ribbons.
‘It’s beautiful. Thank you.’ The table between us stopped me reaching across and giving him a thank you kiss. Probably just as well.
We were eating our pizzas – which incidentally were humungous and delicious – and laughing together over something Nino had said, when he muttered ‘Damn, why the hell did he have to be here today?’ as a stocky, bald-headed man approached our table.
‘Nino, my boy. You’re back. How’s the season been?’
‘Good.’
Silence. The man stared at me before turning back to Nino, clearly excepting him to introduce us. When Nino didn’t, the man’s eyes narrowed as he said, ‘Been home lately?’
‘No.’
‘I’m on my way there this afternoon. Your father wants me to try and sort things out.’
‘Good luck, but you’ll find it’s too late to sort. Only one possible ending now,’ Nino said.
A torrent of Italian erupted from the man before he turned and stormed out of the restaurant.
Nino visibly exhaled. ‘Sorry about that. I’d forgotten this was one of his favourite places.’
I looked at him. ‘What mess is he too late to sort out? Who is he?’
‘My father’s oldest friend – and his notaire. And the mess is my so-called marriage to Paola.’
Ah. That explained him not introducing me, although it might have been better if he had. It wasn’t as if we were on a secret assignation or anything. We were just friends having lunch together – in a very busy and public restaurant. Weren’t we?
‘Shall we get out of here? I need to talk to you properly.’ Nino slung fifty euros on the table, raised his hand in acknowledgement to our waiter and we left.
Five minutes later and we were on the quay in the middle of the chaos of last minute preparations for the boat show.
‘When does it start?’ I asked, narrowly missing tripping over a pile of wire and rope left in the middle of a narrow walkway.
‘Tomorrow morning,’ Nino said. ‘Come on, the yacht’s down on this pontoon.’
Once on board, Nino told me to make myself at home while he organised coffee. ‘Unless you’d like wine?’
‘Coffee’s fine,’ I said, wandering out on the deck. A quiet five minutes while Nino made coffee would give me time to try and sort my thoughts out. Decide what to do next.
How the hell had I become involved with a married man? “Involved” though is not strictly the right word, is it? We’re still at the getting to know each other stage. Apart from one fleeting kiss, Nino has never made a move on me.
I fingered the agate necklace in its bag. Was this present a signal that he hoped we’d become more than friends?
‘Coffee’s ready,’ Nino called from the aft deck.
I made my way along the deck to the outside seating area at the back of the yacht and sat in one of the comfy cane chairs arranged around the glass topped table. A picture of the very first time I’d set foot on this boat with Bella back in April surfaced in my mind.
Nino poured a coffee from the cafetiere and pushed the cup across to me before saying quietly, ‘Paola’s left me.’
My instinctive reaction was to cover his hand with mine as he fiddled with his cup and to say ‘I’m so sorry, Nino.’ Simply because I know how it feels being left. I squeezed his hand gently.
‘Thanks, but don’t be. I was expecting it. It’s not the first time – but this time I no take her back.’ Nino shook his head. ‘My father, he can bully me all he likes. I’ve had enough.’
‘What happens now then?’
Nino shrugged. ‘Suspect it’s going to get very heated when I go home at the end of the month.’ He gave me a hesitant smile. ‘You any idea what Italian families are like at putting on the pressure?’
‘Noisy?’
‘Goes without saying. Everyone has an opinion – particularly my father, when a plan of his fails to work.’
‘You married Paola because of a plan your father had?’
‘No. Paola and I were childhood sweethearts. The families always expected us to get married. Which we finally did, five years ago when Paola returned from the states.’
‘You didn’t rush into marriage then.’ I said. I figure Nino must be about my age, so he would have been in his late thirties when they married. ‘Not a teenage wedding. You were both old enough to know what you were doing.’
Nino laughed. ‘No, we didn’t rush. We just drifted back into our old easy relationship. Our mistake was giving in to the pressure from both families to get married.’
He topped up both our coffee cups before continuing. ‘I think in the end, the fact we knew each other so well played a big part in it all falling to pieces. Paola soon decided there was no excitement in being married to me, nothing new to learn. She’d grown up with me, and told me she could read me like a book. So she started looking for different books. Besides, there’s this man in California who she’d been involved with before.’
‘You said Paola has left you – has she gone back to California?’
Nino nodded. ‘Of course my father blames me. Says I should have given up the yachts and moved back to the farm. Taken over the management of the vineyard. Started a family.’
‘Is it too late to do that now?’ I asked quietly. ‘Do you still love her?’
‘Far too late. Although I expect my father and his friend the notaire will try and convince me otherwise.’ He glanced at me. ‘And no, I’m not in love with her any more.’ He finished his coffee and put the cup on the table.
‘Would you have given your husband a second chance if he’d wanted to try again?’
‘Well,’ I began cautiously. ‘We’d been married for a long time and initially when he left I’d have given anything for him to turn round and say it was all a big mistake. But now?’ I shook my head. ‘No. It all boils down to trust in the end, and I couldn’t trust him not to do it again.’
‘You don’t still love him then?’ Nino asked.
‘No. I’m hoping we can become friends again at some stage, because of Katie, but I suspect that’s a long way off.’
I glanced at my watch when Nino didn’t say anything. ‘Think I’d better be getting back. And you must have things to do too.’
‘I’ll walk you to the bus,’ Nino said, standing up. ‘When this show finishes, I take the yacht over to Monaco for their show at the end of the month. Afterwards I have a holiday due, so I go home to sort things. I will see you when I get back in October. OK?’
I nodded. ‘OK.’
When we reached the bus stop Nino kissed me again Gallic fashion on both cheeks, said ‘Ciao’, and set off in the direction of the marina.
Sitting on the bus coming home, I thought – what had really happened in the last couple of hours? Was there a subtle message in there somewhere that after October he wanted us to become more than friends?
The necklace I fastened around my neck, as the bus sped along the bord de mer, told me yes.
12th September.
Things feel a little flat around here now everyone has gone home. There are definitely less tourists about too. Have to say, the cooler autumn weather is welcome. Mind you, it’s still up in the mid twenties. I’ve been busy researching and writing up some Jessica’s Jaunts features. Nino has phoned a couple of times but I haven’t seen him since Cannes.
18th September.
Remember how I was waxing lyrical at the beginning of the month about how much I usually liked this time of year, bu
t was feeling a bit pressurised and pessimistic this year? Well, I had some exciting news today and I’m currently doing a dance around the apartment right now because... oh, I’m too scared to even write it down here, in case it all goes pear-shaped in the next few days. But it’s really, really exciting. Hopefully I’ll be able to tell everyone all about it next week, once it’s confirmed in writing. Definitely by the end of the month.
If I’m honest, it’s not been a bad month so far. Katie rang to tell me she got the job she wanted in Bristol – something to do with PR, not sure what exactly but she loves it. And yes, she and Matt are fine. When I asked if she’d spoken to Ben, she said she’d tried but his mobile just went straight to voicemail. ‘And there’s no way I’m phoning the house in case “she” picks up’ she told me emphatically.
21st September.
Popped across to see Eliosa this morning. Was hoping she might have some news from Nino but she said she hadn’t. When she realised I knew Paola had left him, she did say, ‘Giovani says he should go home now and help sort it out but he says it’ll keep until the end of the month.’
She shrugged. ‘Poor Nino. I think I might go home too for a week then. Give him some moral support.’
24th September.
I’m officially allowed to tell the world my big secret today. I have a book deal! How fantastic is that?
It’s going to be based on my Jessica’s Jaunts column pieces and a new blog about life down here that the publisher wants me to write. Thrilled too that they are going to use my diary title of “Pretending to be Shirley Valentine” for the blog and the title of the book. They want to use my photos too. It still hasn’t sunk in properly, although OB assures me it’s true – and with a deadline of the New Year, I’d better believe it, get my fingers typing and get on with it.
I definitely owe OB big time, as it was him who pushed the idea to a publisher friend of his. I’ve asked him if he would like to be my agent officially, but he says no.
I have to work out a proper synopsis and send it to the publisher – then, because I’m over here, we’re having a video conference to discuss everything. I can see me being a slave to my laptop for the last couple of months down here.
30th September.
Bloody f.... hell!
I was just tackling a difficult bit of my book synopsis when there was a knock on the door, at about six o’clock this evening. I opened it to find Ben of all people standing there.
‘Can I come in?’
I was too stunned to argue, so I just opened the door wider and in he came.
‘What are you doing here?’ I asked.
‘Have you got a drink?’
‘Rosé all right?’
‘No whisky?’
I shook my head. ‘Nope.’ I poured him a glass of wine and waited.
The wine went down in one gulp.
‘Sam’s left me.’
‘Oh.’ I wasn’t expecting that. ‘Why have you come running to me?’
‘Had to get away.’
‘You’ve got somewhere to stay down here?’ This as I registered the rucksack on his back. Ben with a rucksack? No designer suitcase? That was a definite first.
‘Was hoping I could stay with you.’
‘NO.’ I shook my head. Both as in ‘No you bloody well can’t stay with me’ and also as in ‘I don’t believe you said that.’
‘Well, you can’t,’ I said again, just to make sure he got the message.
‘Please Jessica. I know I’ve been a fool and I’m sorry but... well, Sam has turned out to be the bitch from hell.’
I waited.
‘Turns out Eric’s not mine,’ Ben said. ‘More wine please.’
OCTOBER
Life at the moment is quite bizarre. There I was, happily living the life of a single woman, trying to write a Jessica’s Jaunts column, set up the official “Pretending to be Shirley Valentine” blog and organise my book, when my ex-husband appears totally out of the blue and begins to litter up the place.
The night he arrived, I had to let him stay. He’d got so drunk on my rosé I didn’t dare let him out of the door. While he was sleeping it off the next morning in the spare room, I nipped out for croissants, saw Jacques and asked if he could help find Ben somewhere to stay for a few days. I knew Ben would say my spare room was fine and he didn’t need a hotel if I suggested one. But there was no way I was letting him stay in the apartment.
Jacques has apparently got a room above the bar he rents out occasionally and he said Ben could use it for a few days.
‘But he has to be gone by the twelfth. I need the room then.’
I told Ben the good news as I plied him with croissants and coffee. ‘I’ll take you down there and introduce you once you’ve finished breakfast. He wants you out by the tenth though.’ Knowing how tenacious Ben can be, I deliberately knocked a couple of days off the room’s availability.
‘So that will give you time to have a bit of a holiday if you want, and get yourself back together before you go home,’ I said. ‘Unless of course you go home before. When’s your return ticket for?’
‘Thanks. Don’t understand why I can’t stay here though. Not as if anyone else is using your spare room.’
Didn’t want to get into an argument with him, so I ignored that last remark. ‘Date on your return ticket?’
Ben shook his head. ‘Only got a single one.’
My heart sank. ‘Oh well, if you go back mid-week you shouldn’t have a problem getting a seat. Wednesday or Thursday should be OK. We’ll have a look later on EasyJet’s website.’
I know Sam has hurt him and he’s going to take time to get over being fooled by her – but for heaven’s sake! It was as much as I could do not to yell at him, ‘Get a bloody grip Ben.’ I am so not here to pick up the pieces of his life.
Something else which didn’t go down well that first day was me telling him I was busy with work and would only see him in the evenings.
‘I was hoping we’d spend some time together. You could show me the sights,’ he said. ‘Seeing as how you’re a local now.’
‘Sorry, no chance. I’ve got deadlines to meet. You’re on your own for sightseeing.’
5th October.
Three days later and Ben and I seem to have settled into something of an uneasy truce. I’m still waiting for him to tell me why exactly he thought I’d welcome him with open arms.
I mean, I know I’m having my Shirley Valentine year but unlike her I left an ex-husband behind – not a current one who is waiting for me to return home. But like Shirley I do think Ben, like her Joe, deserves a break in the sun and a chance to be happy again, without me.
Ben’s certainly looking better than he did the evening he arrived, but he hasn’t said anything more about Sam and Eric. Don’t want the gory details, but can’t help wondering how he found out the baby wasn’t his.
Maybe I’ll learn more tonight. I’ve agreed to have dinner with him. He says we need to talk. Hmm. Bit late for that on several counts.
8th October.
Ben must have asked Jacques for a restaurant recommendation because the one he took me to the other evening, hidden away in the back streets of Juan-les-Pins, was a little gem.
Small and intimate, there was only one other couple there when we arrived – but by the time we were tucking into our magret de canard, all the other tables were occupied. Ben had really pushed the boat out and ordered a bottle of our favourite champagne. Two glasses in and he started reminiscing – I was soon laughing at some of the memories he brought up. Mainly ones that concerned Katie as a child thankfully, not us as couple.
‘Talking of Katie, you’ve got some bridges to build with her,’ I said.
‘I know. Will you put in a word for me?’
‘Already have, several times. She tried to ring you about her move to Bristol but you never answered, and she wouldn’t ring the house in case Sam picked up the phone.’
‘You met this Matt fellow? D’you like him?’
> ‘Yes. He’s lovely. Very protective of Katie.’
‘I was so looking forward to having Eric around,’ Ben said suddenly. ‘The son I’d always wanted. I hate Sam for what she did.’
‘Well at least you didn’t marry her,’ I said. ‘There aren’t any legal complications to worry about.’
‘True.’
I risked asking, ‘Do you know who the baby’s father is?’
Ben shook his head. ‘No. Sam wouldn’t tell me. She just said she’d made a mistake and that the baby wasn’t mine.’
‘DNA test to be sure?’ I suggested.
‘Refused to consider it.’
I sighed. ‘Don’t think there’s a lot you can do then. Other than to get on with your life.’
‘What life? I threw it all away when I got together with Sam. I desperately regret the end of our marriage, Jessica. Don’t you?’
I picked up my glass and took a large sip, playing for time. How could I answer that question without hurting Ben even more? Any regrets I’d had when he’d first walked out, were long gone. These past few months I’d managed, in true Shirley Valentine fashion, to find “me” again. And I’m realising I like being me. If I’m to be truthful, he did me a favour when he hooked up with Samantha and left me.
The only thing I could think of saying was, ‘I’ve moved on, Ben. You have to do the same.’
He shrugged. ‘Not that easy. Shall I ask for another bottle?’ This as he emptied the remaining champagne into both our glasses.
I shook my head. ‘Not for me thanks. This will be enough.’ I waited while the waiter cleared the table and we chose desserts.
‘How’s work been?’
Ben shrugged. ‘Embarrassing. My life has turned into the office fiasco. ‘Not looking forward to going back, that’s for sure.’ He glanced at me.
‘I’m thinking of running away, like you.’
‘It definitely has its good points. Where would you run?’
Ben shrugged. ‘No idea. Open to suggestions.’
You Had Me At Bonjour Page 9
