Marcus drained his coffee and pushed the cup and saucer away before asking, ‘You got a press conference tomorrow?’
‘Not tomorrow. I’m hoping to get to a screening in the morning and then I’m having lunch with a friend of Poppy’s who works for Chanel. She’s promised to give me the lowdown on some of the accessories and clothes they’ll be lending the stars. So I should have a spare hour in the morning to try and see if I can find someone to talk about Philippe Cambone. Then in the afternoon I’ll file my first daily report.’
‘Don’t forget to keep your ears open for any juicy gossip,’ Marcus said. ‘It’s what this place is good for – and Bill is keen to hear some of it.’
‘As you’re an old hand at this lark, where’s the best place to hang out to catch the gossip? See people?’
‘Any of the cafés and bars in town. This place is good,’ Marcus said glancing around. ‘Occasionally some of the up-and-coming stars like to come down here and hang out with the boules players over there. Too much security these days for the famous ones to do that, unfortunately. Mind you, if Jack Nicholson is in town he’s known to like an early morning stroll along the Croisette by himself.’
Marcus stood up. ‘Right I’m off. Want to come to a party tomorrow night? I’ve got tickets for Bruno’s bash. It should be a good starting place for gossip. Meet me after the evening screening and we’ll go together. Ten thirty outside the Petit Majestic – it’s on the corner of rue Victor Cousin.’
‘Who’s Bruno?’
‘Big name down here. Knows everybody who is anybody. Good contact.’
‘Thanks. I’ll definitely try to be there.’ Daisy hesitated. She really did want to spend the evening alone with her sister but felt she ought to at least make the offer for Marcus to join them. ‘Are you doing anything tonight? Poppy and I are planning a girlie evening but if you’d like to come to supper? I warn you, you’re likely to get the third degree from my sister.’
Marcus shook his head. ‘Thanks but I’ve arranged to meet the guys for a quick drink and then a reasonably early night. Doubt that I’ll see bed much before three or four a.m. most days while the festival is on. Expect you’ll find the same once you get into the swing of things.’
Unexpectedly he lent forward and kissed her cheek. ‘When in France and all that,’ he said. He picked up his camera gear. ‘If you need me urgently, you’ve got my mobile number and you’ll invariably find me in the paparazzi scrum at the side of the red carpet. And we’ve got a definite date for dinner one evening before the festival ends – either the Carlton Terrace or the Palm Beach. You choose. Bill can pick up the tab! See you tomorrow night. Ciao.’ and he sauntered off in the direction of Palm Beach. Thoughtfully Daisy watched him go. Well that was definitely the most unromantic dinner date invite she’d ever had, but dinner at the Carlton might be good.
Daisy gathered her things together and headed off in the opposite direction to Marcus. Passing the busy pizza restaurant on the corner brought back memories of the last time she’d had a pizza in there. The four of them, Poppy, Dan, Ben and herself had been celebrating the villa’s renovation being finished. She’d been so happy that night. She and Ben had even talked about the possibility of moving to France and restoring a cottage themselves.
Back home a week later her world had fallen apart when Ben told her it was all over between them. Apparently all the talk that night of getting a mortgage and settling down together had freaked him out.
‘I’m not ready for that sort of commitment, Daisy. I need some space.’ The space he needed was in Australia. Sydney to be precise.
How ironic then that his first letter should arrive as she left to catch her flight down here where they’d been happy. Unsure of how to reply Daisy had stuffed the letter into her bag. She’d get Poppy to read it later and see if she had any ideas about Ben’s suggestion.
Standing with several people waiting for a green pedestrian crossing light on the bord de mer, Daisy smiled at a little girl waiting with a tall man.
‘Nat, d’you think Daddy will be at the house when we get back?’ the girl asked hopefully, looking up at the man.
‘Maybe Cindy. His plane should have landed an hour ago and an official car was picking him up to bring him straight here.’
‘Good,’ Cindy said. ‘He can take me to the park tomorrow.’
‘Sorry, Cindy, I think you’ll have to make do with me. Daddy and Mummy are going to be really busy for the next week. That’s why they’ve asked me to look after you.’
Daisy smiled sympathetically as the man looked up and saw her watching. He returned the smile but didn’t speak.
Just then the lights changed and the small crowd surged forward. Once across the road, Daisy stopped on the pretence of rummaging for something in her bag and let the man and girl walk past her, curious to see where they were going.
It was a hundred yards or so before they stopped in front of a pair of large wrought iron gates where the man pressed a security button high in the wall and spoke into the intercom.
One of the dark green gates with its golden spikes on top swung slowly open giving pedestrian access and the two disappeared from sight into a private garden. Daisy caught a glimpse of immaculate grounds, and a villa covered with bougainvillea before the gate snapped shut behind them.
Daisy strolled on past and ten minutes later she and Poppy were sat at the table under the loggia, with a glass of wine to hand, thumbing through the various film magazines and trade papers Daisy had collected in Cannes.
‘So, you still enjoying being a journalist?’
Daisy hesitated long enough for her sister to throw her a curious glance, before saying slowly, ‘Chasing after news stories is losing its appeal. Anyway, I mightn’t have a job much longer. There are rumours flying around at work about major redundancies in the next few months. So, I’m seriously thinking of going freelance and finding some sort of specialism.’ She shrugged.
‘I could even move over here. Live with you while I find something. I still like the idea of renovating a place.’
‘You could have the cottage,’ Poppy said. ‘I know Dan would be pleased for me to have you near when he’s away – his business trips seem to becoming more and more frequent.’ She poured some more wine.
‘Any idea what you’d specialize in?’
‘Lifestyle? Property? Quite fancy the idea of getting to look around posh houses. Incidentally there’s this gorgeous belle époque villa below you that must have so much history attached to it. Dark green gates with gold spikes. D’you know it? Saw a little girl and her minder disappearing in there earlier.’
‘If it’s the one I think you mean,’ Poppy said, ‘Then it’s someone with either a lot of money or good connections staying there. It’s one of the original grand nineteenth-century villas along that road. It was bought last year by some Russian who’s spent a fortune renovating it. Now apparently it’s the latest word in twenty-first-century opulence. Available only to those with the necessary funds.’
‘Well, “Daddy” is clearly some festival VIP to warrant an official car. Shall have to do a bit of sleuthing tomorrow I think,’ Daisy said. ‘The little girl’s name was Cindy – not that usual a name. Somebody is bound to know who her VIP father is. Maybe she’s got a famous mother too.’
‘Don’t any of your official booklets and papers have potted biographies of important people attending the festival?’ Poppy asked. ‘Have a look while I go and check Tom is asleep and fetch another bottle of rosé.’
When she returned, Daisy waved a booklet at her. ‘No luck with my mystery VIP but I’ve found your Anna Carson. She’s a well respected production designer, worked on lots of films over the years. Apparently this is her first visit to Cannes.’
Later, sitting on the edge of her put-u-up bed balancing her laptop on her knees, Daisy updated her ‘To Do list’. Tomorrow she’d a) go to a screening b) find someone to interview about Philippe Cambone c) talk to the girl from Chanel d) write up her first
report e) try to uncover a scoop for Bill and f) go to Bruno’s party.
She smiled ruefully to herself as she wrote ‘uncover a scoop’. She didn’t doubt there were lots of secret scandals floating around in a place like Cannes but whether she was capable of unearthing one was something else. Maybe she’d overhear something at Bruno’s party.
CHAPTER 2
‘I’m sitting at a sea-front café, croissant and coffee to hand, watching Cannes come to life on the first full day of the festival. The morning sky is the brilliant blue that gives this stretch of the Riviera its other name, the Cote d’Azur, and the forecast is for a sunny day.
‘All around me there are giant billboards advertising the films that will be screening here over the next few days. Although only 7.15.a.m. there is a general sense of bustle everywhere. Queues are already forming outside boulangeries, espresso machines are hissing into life, squirting the dark, strong liquid the French call coffee, into small cups.
‘People are arriving bleary-eyed back at their hotels and apartments hoping to catch a few hours’ sleep after partying the night away. Others, bright eyed and with a spring in their step, are on their way out to the first breakfast meetings of the festival.’
Daisy took a swig of her coffee and a bite of croissant before continuing to speak the first of her daily reports into her small voice recorder.
‘I’ve collected all the daily trade magazines, signed up for a press conference tomorrow morning with a famous star – more of that later in the week – and now I’m off to view my first early morning screening. With over one hundred and twenty films to be shown during the festival, things start early around here.’
Daisy pressed the save button and switched off the recorder. She’d add some more to it after lunch with the fashion assistant who had promised to explain how the stars managed to acquire the necessary glitz for film premiers and type it up later back at Poppy’s. After drinking the rest of her coffee she set off for the Theatre Bazin on the third floor of the Palais, where many of the press screenings would be held during the festival – far away from the glamour of the red carpet.
Emerging three hours later, her head buzzing from both the film and the Q & A session with the film-makers that had followed, Daisy joined the lunchtime crowds that were thronging the Croisette: tourists and locals enjoying the presence of entertainers and starlets strutting their stuff – anxious to catch the eye of any movie maker that might be around.
As she walked, intriguing snippets of conversation floated in the air around her.
‘Sharon was really upset when Michael gave the part to …’
‘Gosh yes, a ticket to the Vanity Fair party would be to die for. Any chance of …’
‘No. We can’t meet there. It’s too risky. What if we were seen?’
Marcus was right; there was gossip everywhere. And surely that was Tom Hanks over there talking to Bruce Willis? Wandering through the crowds she wondered again about the possibility of chasing down a scoop for the paper. She just wasn’t that keen on investigative journalism. As she’d told Poppy, she much preferred to write feel good stories about people rather than ones that besmirched them.
Lingering near the roundabout she saw Cindy riding around happily on one of the carousel horses, the tall man standing to one side attentively watching. He smiled in acknowledgement at Daisy when he saw her, before turning as the carousel slowed to a stop and helping Cindy off.
‘Come on, let’s go for those pizzas. Mummy said she’d meet us there and maybe Daddy as well.’
So Daddy had arrived then, Daisy thought, wishing she could follow them and see who Mummy and Daddy were. But it was time for her to learn how the stars managed their haute couture appearances.
It was past three o’clock when she arrived back at the villa intending to write up her notes, finish her report and do some internet research on Philippe Cambone. Having failed to unearth anyone locally who’d known the director and was willing to talk to her, the internet seemed her only option. With luck too, she’d be able to grab some sleep before heading back down into Cannes for the first evening red carpet screening and then on to Bruno’s party with Marcus.
Poppy was on the telephone as she walked into the cottage.
‘Well I’m glad you’re très desolé but it doesn’t help me this afternoon, does it?’ Poppy slammed the phone down before turning to face Daisy.
‘Can you believe it. The car people have double booked and they’re “very sorry” but they are unable to meet Anna Carson this afternoon.’ Poppy ran her hands through her hair distractedly. ‘What on earth am I going to do? It’ll be impossible to find anyone else at this short notice.’
‘I shouldn’t worry. I expect she’ll just grab a taxi,’ Daisy said.
‘But Anna’s expecting to be met. I’ve got no way of telling her to take a taxi. My first booking for the villa and this happens.’
‘What time is her flight landing?’ Daisy asked.
‘In an hour,’ Poppy said looking at her watch.
‘I can look after Tom – where is he, by the way? And you can collect Anna in your car.’
‘Would you? Oh, no that won’t work,’ Poppy sighed. ‘He’s at school until three thirty this afternoon and they don’t know you so they won’t let him come with you before I’ve officially introduced you.’ She looked at Daisy. ‘I don’t suppose you?’
‘Poppy, you know how much I hate driving down here,’ Daisy said sighing. ‘But okay. Give me the flight details and the car keys and I’ll go and meet your Anna Carson.’
Anna was relieved when the plane finally landed at Nice airport, fifty minutes late. It had been an uncomfortable flight and she couldn’t wait to collect her luggage and meet up with the car she’d ordered to take her to the Villa Flora.
The Arrivals hall when she walked through was crowded. Official looking chauffeurs were everywhere, holding up boards with various names on them, none of them hers. As people were shepherded off to their transport and the waiting crowds thinned slightly, Anna stood there at a loss to know what to do.
‘Anna Carson?’ a voice at her elbow said hesitantly.
‘Yes,’ she said turning to face a young woman, holding a piece of paper with ‘Anna Carson’ scrawled across it.
‘Hi, I’m Daisy. I’m afraid there was a difficulty with your hire car and Poppy asked me to meet you.’
‘Oh thank goodness. Being so late I was afraid I was stranded,’ Anna said smiling. Following Daisy as she led the way through the car park, Anna listened as Daisy explained what had happened.
‘So, instead of a proper chauffeur and a limo, you’ve got me and my sister’s run around,’ Daisy said apologetically as she opened the boot and put Anna’s case inside.
‘I’m just grateful to be met,’ Anna said. ‘I’m not that fond of limos anyway. I like sitting in the front passenger seat and official chauffeurs aren’t too keen on that.’
As Daisy concentrated on finding her way out of the car park and back to the autoroute, Anna sat quietly looking out of the window.
When Daisy let out a muttered curse she said, ‘Something wrong?’
‘I’ve missed the autoroute entry slip-road. Do you mind if we go back along the bord de mer instead? At least I know my way then.’
‘The scenic route will be fine,’ Anna said. ‘Do you live down here with your sister?’
‘No. I’m staying with her for the festival. I’m a journalist,’ Daisy said. ‘It’s my first time covering the Festival.’
Waiting in a queue of traffic Daisy looked across at Anna. ‘I gather this is your first visit too?’
‘What makes you say that?’ Anna said surprised.
‘Your bio in one of the trade papers says although you’ve been in the industry for some time, you’ve never been to Cannes before.’ Daisy said.
‘Never had a film make its premier here before,’ Anna answered.
‘Your film Future Promises is showing at the weekend, isn’t it? I expect you’re
looking forward to walking up the infamous steps?’
‘Think so. I’m not used to being in the glare of the spotlight,’ Anna said. ‘To be truthful I find the whole thing rather daunting. Much rather be in the background of things.’ She smiled. ‘So long as my partner Leo manages to get here in time, I’ll be fine.’
‘Personally I’m amazed at how large the whole festival is,’ Daisy said. ‘The number of trade stands is huge and everyone seems to be networking like mad.’
‘My favourite festival is Deauville,’ Anna said. ‘Less trade, far more about the films. Same with Venice. But Cannes is the big one. The important one in the industry.’
‘The public come to see the stars but people in the film industry simply want to do deals. At least that’s what Marcus the photographer I’m working with tells me. Is your company exhibiting here?’ Daisy asked.
Anna nodded. ‘Yes. I have to show my face at a couple of meetings with some American clients. Where are we now?’
‘Skirting Antibes. A few more minutes and we’ll be passing the celebrated Eden Roc Hotel where I’m told the best people stay and the best parties are held. Another ten minutes and we should be on the outskirts of Cannes.’
‘Spectacular views,’ Anna said looking out across the bay as they drove down the hill.
While Daisy concentrated on the narrow winding coast road as it made its way around the Cap d’Antibes and on through Juan-les-Pins, Anna enjoyed the changing scenery.
The sudden whoosh of a TGV rushing past on the railway line that followed the road as it approached Golf-Juan made her jump. Approaching Cannes the traffic began to build up and soon they were reduced to a crawl.
Rendezvous in Cannes Page 2
