Rosie’s Little Café on the Riviera. Jennifer Bohnet

worth the money.

      At six o’clock Rosie left Tansy preparing a tomato and mozzarella salad and went through to the restaurant to make sure everything was in order ‘front of house’ for the evening. She enjoyed this side of things – meeting and greeting her customers. After years of working in a galley hidden from view onboard the yachts, it was a welcome change.

      Antoine’s table for two had been joined by another three bookings. She and Tansy would manage just fine – they were used to cooking and serving dinner for up to sixteen guests on A Sure Thing. They’d even cope if there were some unexpected customers off the beach. Though how she’d cope if Charlie came with Antoine she refused to even contemplate.

      As she lit some table candles, Rosie glanced out through the windows. Shame it was still too cold to eat out on the terrace in the evenings. She was looking forward to the long summer evenings when the place would be full of people enjoying her food. Maybe next year she’d be able to invest in some of those outdoor gas heaters.

      Rosie glanced at her watch. Antoine was late. Charlie’s fault? He was a terrible time-keeper. When Antoine did finally arrive, accompanied by a fellow yacht skipper, Rosie felt the tension leaving her body and succumbed happily to a bearlike hug. No Charlie to spoil the evening.

      By the time Antoine had been out to the kitchen to see Tansy and decided they all needed glasses of champagne, the guests for the other tables had arrived. For the next hour or two things were busy and Rosie had very little chance to talk to Antoine.

      As she handed him his favourite dessert, he said, ‘James not working tonight?’

      ‘I can’t afford him every day. Wish I could,’ Rosie said. ‘I meant to thank you, too, for sending him my way.’

      Antoine shook his head. ‘Not me.’

      ‘But James told me what you said about me.’

      ‘He asked my opinion, that’s all.’ Antoine looked at his dacquoise. ‘I wish you’d tell our new chef how to make this. Her dessert dishes aren’t a patch on yours. How am I going to survive next week’s trip to Sardinia without a decent dessert?’

      ‘You’re off to Sardinia?’ Rosie asked, delighted to know Charlie wouldn’t be around for a few weeks. No chance of him popping uninvited into the Café Fleur.

      ‘William wants Charlie to spend a couple of days over there with him. He reckons there’s a good business opportunity over there.’ Antoine glanced at Rosie. ‘Talking of Charlie – he sends his love.’

      ‘Does he?’ Rosie said. ‘That’s nice.’ A sudden thought struck her. ‘He knows about this place? That you’re here tonight? Oh, Antoine, you promised.’

      Antoine held his hands up in defence. ‘I didn’t tell him. But hell, Rosie, out of season it’s like a village down here. Everyone knows what everyone else is up to. And you’ve advertised on the radio. You can’t seriously have expected him not to put two and two together.’

      Rosie sighed. ‘I suppose not. At least he’ll be out of the way for a few weeks in Sardinia.’

      ***

      Busy serving customers out on the terrace Friday lunchtime, Rosie smiled in welcome as Erica and Cammie arrived. She’d liked Erica the moment GeeGee had introduced them, sensing a kindred spirit behind Erica’s quiet demeanour. Erica had been back to the beach several times since then, both with and without Cammie, and was turning into a real friend rather than just a customer.

      ‘Hello, you two,’ Rosie said. ‘You’re just in time for the last table. Not sure why we’re quite so busy today. I think people must have the weekend feeling early.’ She quickly wrote down their lunch order and returned to the kitchen.

      Ten minutes later, taking Erica and Cammie’s croque monsieurs out to them, Rosie smiled. Cammie was playing with Lucky and squealing with delight.

      ‘I’ll be pestered even more now to get a dog,’ Erica said. ‘Still it’s good to see Cammie laughing.’

      ‘I haven’t seen GeeGee for a few days,’ Rosie said, stopping briefly to chat. ‘Do you know if she’s all right?’

      ‘I expect she’s busy with clients,’ Erica said. ‘The property market usually picks up as the summer gets underway.’

      ‘There’s definitely more people around this week,’ Rosie said. ‘Enjoy your lunch.’ And she made her way back to the kitchen.

      When James stopped by for a coffee, Rosie asked him to stay and work for a couple of hours and also to work at the weekend. ‘I’ll even pay you this time,’ she promised.

      Later that day, an exhausted Rosie thoughtfully stroked Lucky. Would she make a guard dog? There had been a couple of dodgy-looking young men buying stuff from the takeaway this morning – portion of chips each, then ten minutes later one would come for a drink, followed in five minutes by the second one. When they returned for a third time for one flapjack, Rosie, remembering Seb’s mention of last season’s drug bust, began to seriously wonder if they were casing the place. Having a dog around might be a good idea.

      Lucky had been no trouble during the day; in fact she’d shown every sign of settling in, wagging her tail as she greeted customers on the terrace, as well as playing happily with Cammie and any other child who happened to be around.

      Saturday evening there were several reservations and even some casual passing-by trade. When the last couple walked in at half past nine, Rosie knew it was going to be a late night. It was James who stayed to help Rosie clear up when Tansy left to go clubbing with Rob at nearly midnight.

      ‘Are you ready to party next door, then?’ James said.

      Rosie shook her head. ‘I’m way too tired. If you want the invite, you take it.’

      ‘I’ve got one of my own, thanks,’James said. ‘My new stepbrother is a friend of Seb and wangled me one.’ He shrugged his shoulders into his denim jacket. ‘D’you want me to stay while you lock up?’

      ‘No, you get off. And thanks for your help. See you in the morning,’ Rosie said.

      As James left, a blast of music drifted over in the air from the hotel. The party was clearly going strong. Lucky was curled up outside on the terrace and thumped her tail as she saw Rosie before getting up and wandering over to her.

      ‘You ready for supper?’ she said, bending down to gently stroke the dog.

      The dog lifted her head from the bowl of minced meat that Rosie had put down for her on the kitchen floor and growled as there was a knock on the door before Seb entered.

      Tonight, dressed in smart black jeans and a crisp white shirt, a single woven leather bracelet on his right wrist, he was less of a drifter, more of a suave party animal. Even his hair had been subdued into behaving.

      ‘Nice dog. Is she yours?’

      ‘Yes. She turned up a couple of days ago and nobody seems to want her so I’m keeping her. I’ve always wanted a dog. I’ve called her Lucky,’ she said, glancing at Seb. ‘I’m hoping she’ll be my good luck mascot as well as a deterrent.’

      Seb raised his eyebrows.

      ‘There were a couple of scruffy men – boys, really – hanging around earlier,’ Rosie said. ‘Probably perfectly innocent but…’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at your party?’

      ‘I’ve come to collect you. Your champagne awaits.’

      ‘Seb, I’m sorry but I’ve had a busy evening. I’m tired – besides I’m not dressed for a posh party.’ She glanced down at her smart, but plain, little black dress.

      ‘You look fine to me,’ Seb said. ‘Maybe comb your hair. Bit of lipstick. Come on, Rosie. Just the one glass. There are a few people over there who could be potential customers. Come and do a bit of networking.’

      Rosie