Dreaming of St-Tropez

by T A Williams

  ‘So, day one of our holiday. What would you like to do?’

  ‘Whatever you like, although if I don’t have to get back into a car again for a few days, I won’t be sorry.’

  ‘Me neither, although we’re going to need to do some shopping before too long. Looking at the map, we’re only a mile or so away from St-Tropez, so why don’t we walk in and take a look round? I seem to remember reading that there’s a coastal footpath.’

  ‘Sounds good to me. Maybe we can leave Brutus at the villa while we’re away. Until he loses a good bit of weight, I don’t see him walking a mile there and a mile back again, do you?’

  Just then, there was a tap at the door and Brutus raised his head from Jess’s knee, clearly involved in an internal debate as to whether he should adopt his usual guard dog ways and bark the house down, or do nothing. In the end he must have decided he was on holiday and he just followed Jess out to the door, wagging his tail amiably.

  ‘Jess, bonjour.’

  It was Antoinette, laden down with bags. Jess rushed to help her, relieving her of the two heaviest ones.

  ‘Good morning, Antoinette. But you’ve bought half of St-Tropez! There was no need for all this, honestly.’

  A long baguette protruded from one of the bags. From the smell of it, the bread was fresh out of the oven.

  ‘This is all so very kind. How much do I owe you?’

  ‘Nothing at all.’ Antoinette made a dismissive gesture. ‘I got a phone call from Madame Dupont just as I was going home last night, and she told me to look after you both and get you anything you need.’ She caught Jess’s eye. ‘Just one thing – to be honest, I didn’t mention that Monsieur Dupont hadn’t passed on the message that you were coming. I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t want to cause trouble between them.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m afraid it doesn’t take much to make him grumpy these days.’ She shook her head sadly.

  Jess nodded. ‘I spoke to her last night as well and I didn’t mention it either. Let’s leave it like that.’

  Antoinette looked relieved. She handed over another couple of bags, from which a wonderful aroma was making not only the dog, but Jess, salivate. By this time they were back in the kitchen and Antoinette noticed a different smell. She wrinkled up her nose. ‘Have you given the dog a bath?’

  Jess and Hope exchanged glances.

  ‘Yes, but not deliberately. He jumped into the swimming pool. I’m very sorry. I took him for a short walk earlier on and I turned left instead of right and ended up at the pool. Before I could stop him, he’d splashed in. I’m sorry about that. I’ll make sure he doesn’t do it again – not least because he couldn’t get out again and I ended up getting soaked.’

  ‘I wouldn’t think it matters if he goes in the pool, but it’ll be easier for him in the sea. There’s a little beach just below the villa where he can just walk in and out and you won’t even need to get your feet wet. Just take the other door out of the walled garden and follow the path. Coming from here, it’s the one on the right you need.’

  ‘That’s terrific, thank you, Antoinette. Hope and I were thinking of walking into St-Tropez this morning. It’s so close, there’s no point taking the car, and I imagine there’s nowhere to park if we do.’

  ‘Actually, there’s a pretty big car park, and at this time of year you should be able to find space. In the summer, though, it’s normally packed.’

  ‘To be honest, we’ve both had enough of driving for a while. And with all this lovely food you’ve bought us, we don’t need to go to the shops for a few days.’

  ‘Well, if you don’t want to take the car, there’s the little local bus, the navette, but it only runs a few times a day. I’ll look you up the timetable. Otherwise, you can walk back up the road you drove down or, of course, there’s the path round the coast.’

  Jess and Hope exchanged glances.

  ‘I think we’ll go for the coastal path. I imagine it’s going to be very scenic.’

  ‘The views are super, but it’s not the best path in the world. I’m not sure if Brutus here will be able to scramble over the rocks too easily.’

  ‘Until we can get him weighing a good bit less and feeling a bit more energetic, it’s too far for him anyway, I think. Could we leave him with you for a few hours this morning?’

  ‘Of course. Just bring him up to the villa when you set off. Either ring the front doorbell or come round the side. You’ll easily find the kitchen door. It’s the opposite end of the house from the swimming pool, so you’ll walk right past it on the way to the beach.’

  ‘Wonderful, thanks.’

  Jess opened a paper bag protruding from one of the carriers and her eyes opened wide. In it were fresh croissants and pains aux raisins, and the aroma that wafted up from the bag was irresistible. She raised her eyes towards Antoinette again. ‘Will you join us for breakfast, Antoinette? These look amazing. Thank you so much. Hope’s already an expert with the coffee machine.’

  ‘Cappuccino or espresso?’ Hope was already at the machine.

  ‘Thank you, but I’d better go back and prepare breakfast for Monsieur Dupont. He normally surfaces about now.’

  Jess glanced at her watch and saw that it was now almost nine o’clock. She hesitated for a moment. She was honest enough to admit to herself, if not to the other two, that it was the other occupant of the house that interested her more.

  ‘And David? Is he an early riser?’

  Antoinette shrugged. ‘Who knows? Some days I don’t see him until lunchtime. Other days his car’s already gone when I arrive. The car’s still here today, so maybe he’s already up, or maybe he’s still closed in his room.’

  ‘I spoke to Mrs Dupont last night and she told me they’ve both been depressed. Are they still suffering?’

  Antoinette instinctively glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. ‘I’m afraid so. I try, but I just can’t seem to get through to either of them.’

  ‘Mrs Dupont asked me to try to cheer them both up. Do you think it can be done?’

  Antoinette shrugged again.

  ‘It won’t be easy, but please do try.’

  Chapter 7

  They walked up to the villa at just after ten and left Brutus with Antoinette. The back door to the kitchen was open and easy to spot and the dog, nostrils flared, needed no persuading to trot in and station himself alongside Antoinette, who was busy preparing food.

  Hope nodded towards him. ‘No treats for Brutus, please. He needs to lose a good bit of weight. We’ll be back by two and we’ll feed him then. Is that all right?’

  ‘Of course.’ Antoinette smiled down at the dog. ‘My cousins had a Labrador and he was always hungry. They say it’s a gene thing. He was always begging, but we had to harden our hearts – for his own good. So you can rely on me. By the time you take him back to England, let’s see if, between us, we can get him looking slim and fit.’

  Both Jess and Hope agreed that one of their priorities was going to be to get the Labrador back into shape, and that would involve getting him walking and swimming. As they emerged at the end of the path from the villa to the sea, they immediately found the little bay that Antoinette had described. The gravel beach shelved gently into the clear water and they felt sure Brutus would find it easy to get in and out. That, at least, would be a start to his rehabilitation.

  The coastal footpath was, as Antoinette had said, quite sketchy in places and they had to take it slow. Certainly, in his present corpulent state, Brutus wouldn’t have stood a chance of scrambling along it. In fact, Jess and Hope would have taken their time even if the path had been wide, flat and perfect. The views were a delight and they were forever slowing or stopping as something caught their attention. The coastline was rocky – low cliffs punctuated by narrow creeks and occasional beaches. The water was crystal clear and they regularly spotted fish – sometimes quite big fish – in the shallows.

  There was little or no wind and the sea was flat calm. A handful of yachts of differing sizes dotted
the mouth of the bay, their sails hanging hopefully, but limply, from their masts – going nowhere fast. An open fishing boat was close in to the coast and they could clearly see the fisherman on board as he pulled up lobster or crab pots, many of them containing valuable crustaceans that would, no doubt, appear in the local fish shops later that morning.

  The vegetation on the hillside behind them was mainly just low scrub with an occasional pine tree, but it was punctuated by flowers of all colours, ranging from swathes of bright red poppies to clumps of big yellow daisies and different exotic flowers right down by the water’s edge. It was an idyllic scene and they both drank it in appreciatively.

  There were very few houses to be seen. On a low headland, surrounded by overgrown bushes and shaded by an enormous umbrella pine, Jess’s attention was drawn to what looked like a tumbledown farmhouse. It was made of stone and looked as if it had been there for centuries. To an architect like Jess, this represented perfection – a house in a wonderful position, with an amazing view, packed with history and needing complete restoration. She had no illusions as to the number of millions of euros a place like this had to be worth and she sighed at the thought of it ending up in the hands of a barbarian like Drugoi, or worse – if that was possible.

  It took them twenty minutes or so before the rocky part of the path finished and they found themselves at the start of a gently-curving beach. At the end of it was a beach bar, complete with colourful umbrellas and reggae music coming from a series of speakers. The two girls looked at each other.

  ‘This would appear to be our local.’ Jess glanced at her watch. ‘Coffee time?’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’

  They sat down at a table and relaxed under an umbrella. The air was already hot and it felt good to get into the shade, stretch their legs, shrugging off their sandals and pushing their feet into the warm sand. A black girl with blonde dreadlocks came across and gave them a smile.

  ‘Hi, I’m Thérèse – everybody calls me Terri. Can I get you anything?’ She spoke in English, with just a hint of a French accent lurking in the background.

  ‘Hi, could we have two cappuccinos please?’ Jess caught her eye. ‘So, how did you know we spoke English? How could you tell?’

  The waitress grinned. ‘You look like you’re on holiday, so I thought it was likely you’d be foreign. We get visitors here from all over the world and most speak English, rather than French. Where do you come from? England?’ Both girls nodded. ‘Staying long?’

  ‘Hopefully at least a month, maybe longer.’ It was on the tip of Jess’s tongue to tell her they were staying at Mr Dupont’s villa, but decided against it. It was pretty clear from what Antoinette had said that he and his son were keeping themselves to themselves, so it was probably best not to name names.

  Terri smiled. ‘Then I hope you come and see us often. If you come around sundown on Fridays and Saturdays, there’s rum punch and dancing.’

  As she went off to get the drinks, Hope settled back in her chair, a contented expression on her face, and glanced across at Jess. ‘Ever tried rum punch?’

  ‘Oh, yes… Tastes like a fruit salad, kicks like a mule.’

  ‘What about dancing on sand?’

  ‘Could be fun.’

  ‘Could be hard work. We’ll have to give it a try.’

  Jess looked along the beach. It was almost empty. It took her a few moments to work out that today was Tuesday, the second or third of June. Presumably the place would get busier when July and August came along. The only people she could see for the moment were an elderly couple walking along the water’s edge, a family with little children playing in the shallows, and a girl sunbathing at the far end of a wooden jetty. There were only two other people sitting under the shade of the umbrellas of the beach bar, both deeply engrossed in their phones.

  As Jess and Hope sipped their coffees, they chatted and made plans for the next few days.

  ‘I don’t know about you, Hope, but I get bored very easily when I’m on holiday. I think I might have a go at the garden by the house. It’s such a shame it’s been neglected. The least I can do is to cut the grass and do a bit of weeding.’

  ‘Sounds like a good idea. I’ll help. We’d better just make sure we recognise the weeds from the good stuff. It wouldn’t do to start pulling up Mr Dupont’s prize specimens.’

  After their coffee, they carried on round the last headland, past the waterside cemetery, until they arrived at St-Tropez proper. They threaded their way down through the narrow streets between lovely ochre townhouses – many covered with creepers, rambling roses and brightly-coloured bougainvillea – until they reached the harbour. After the peace and quiet of the coastal walk, this came as quite a shock to the senses.

  Hope suddenly stopped dead, turned and grabbed Jess by the arm and then enveloped her in a warm hug.

  ‘Thank you so very, very much, Jess. I really don’t know how to thank you enough. I’ve been dreaming about this place for so long, I was starting to think it would never happen. And, without you, it wouldn’t have.’ She released her and grinned. ‘Now that I’m here, the next thing on my agenda is that millionaire I’ve been searching for. Keep your eyes peeled.’

  The harbour itself was packed with boats, and the quayside was crowded with people. Cars threaded their way through tourists on the road that ran along the water’s edge, while a couple of serious-looking policemen, carrying pistols in holsters, directed the traffic.

  Hope turned her attention to the boats moored, stern-first, up against the quayside. ‘Blimey, take a look at these, would you? It all looks like my poster, but the boats have got even bigger. I shudder to think what one of these costs.’

  Jess nodded. The unbroken row of massive luxury yachts – what her father would have called ‘gin palaces’ – was certainly impressive. Some were two storeys high, and with a bridge on top – absolutely huge. Further out, moored along the side of the long stone breakwater, were even bigger yachts – one even with its own swimming pool. Some boasted masts and sails, but the majority were quite clearly powered by engines, rather than the wind. As the girls walked along the waterside, trying not to trip over the hefty mooring ropes looped over iron bollards, they read the names of the boats and, unsurprisingly, the names of the tax havens where most were registered.

  ‘So what does one of these cost?’

  It so happened that Hope asked the question as they were walking past a particularly big specimen, named Helios IV, registered in the British Virgin Islands. Her question was overheard by a man sitting on one of the mooring bollards. He looked up and provided the answer.

  ‘Three million dollars, give or take a few thou.’ His accent might have been Australian or maybe South African. He grinned up at Hope, who was now looking embarrassed. ‘They don’t come cheap.’

  Jess took a better look at him. He was a good-looking guy, probably about their age, or maybe early thirties at most. He was wearing deck shoes, shorts and a dark blue T-shirt bearing the name of the yacht on his left breast. His shoulder-length hair was bleached – presumably by the sun, although Jess wasn’t going to rule out chemical intervention. He looked suntanned, fit and healthy, and she couldn’t miss the fact that his eyes were still trained on Hope. Clearly he had seen something he liked. Jess wondered if his interest was going to be reciprocated and waited for Hope’s response.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound nosey. I was just talking to my friend.’

  The man stood up and held out his hand, first to Hope and then, as an afterthought, to Jess. ‘No problem. Hi, my name’s Max, and this is my yacht – Helios.’

  Jess did a double-take. Surely a young guy like this couldn’t be the owner of a boat worth millions. She saw Hope’s jaw drop as she also took in the ramifications of what she had just heard.

  ‘Your yacht?’

  Max nodded. ‘That’s right. Want to come aboard and take a look?’ He glanced at Jess, once again as an apparent afterthought. ‘Of course you’re both v
ery welcome.’

  Hope’s eyes were by now wide open in amazement. She gave Max a big smile and introduced herself in return. ‘Hi, Max. I’m Hope and this is my friend, Jess. We’re here on holiday and I’ve never been on anything like this before.’ She exchanged glances with Jess for a moment. ‘We’d love to look over your yacht. Wouldn’t we, Jess?’

  Jess nodded, although she still wasn’t totally convinced. Max looked way too young to own something like this. Still, at any rate, she knew she owed it to Hope to come along as company, at least for now, and she was quite interested at the idea of taking a look inside. Rafael had chartered one in Greece a few years before, but that had been nothing like as huge as this.

  ‘Is it all right to go aboard the boat in these shoes?’ She pointed down at her sandals and saw Max nod.

  ‘Of course. We just don’t like high heels. They tend to make a bit of a mess of the teak. Come aboard.’

  He led them both over a polished wooden gangplank with stainless steel handrails on either side of it and onto the boat. Jess noticed that he offered Hope his hand as they reached the end of the plank and Hope demonstrated no hesitation in accepting his help. As for Jess, she had to make her own way across the plank and onto the low stern deck, barely a foot or two above the waterline.

  They followed Max on a tour of the vessel, which confirmed Jess’s expectations. It was quite simply the lap of luxury. In fact, inside the main lounge – he referred to it as the saloon – you could have been forgiven for thinking you were in a prestigious apartment somewhere on dry land. There were fitted carpets, luxurious sofas, even a cocktail bar in one corner, and real windows, rather than portholes. There were paintings on the walls and French windows leading out onto a patio with no fewer than three little palm trees in pots. Max led the girls out and invited them to sit down on the smart rattan furniture.

  ‘Can I get you ladies a drink? It’s noon so I could break out the gin and tonic if you like. Or how about a glass of champagne?’