Rosie’s Little Café on the Riviera. Jennifer Bohnet

      ‘I’m Georgina George. Yep, I know my parents had no imagination! Most people call me GeeGee.’ She smiled at Rosie. ‘A large coffee right away, please. And a croque monsieur in about half an hour – with another coffee. Thanks.’

      While she waited for her coffee, GeeGee wrote an email to Stan, the sleazy landlord of her studio flat, reminding him she was waiting for the renewed lease to sign. Should have been sent over a week ago. As she pressed send, Rosie appeared with her coffee.

      ‘You’re a lifesaver,’ GeeGee said. ‘Need my coffee fix. How are things going with the café? I’m one of the regulars here, by the way.’

      ‘Fine so far,’ Rosie answered. ‘Looking forward to a busy season. You live around here?’

      GeeGee nodded. ‘Out on the Cap d’Antibes. I’ve been down here eight years now and I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be – even if things have gone a bit pear-shaped recently.’

      ‘What do you do?’ Rosie asked.

      ‘I’m an estate agent and live off commission – which makes life a tiny bit scary at times.’ GeeGee picked up her coffee and took a sip. ‘Right now there’s a bit of a slump, but the signs are it’s slowly picking up. I’ve got a sale going through this month. And an apartment viewing this afternoon, which I have high hopes of selling.’ She didn’t add that she’d be in desperate straits if she didn’t sell another villa or an apartment in the next couple of weeks.

      ‘Bit like me then,’ Rosie said. ‘Not that I work on commission only, but I’ve sunk all my money into this place and need it to start earning me some money asap.’

      ‘Oh, it will,’ GeeGee said. ‘This place is a honey pot in season. Some days it’s impossible to find a spare table. My friend Erica and her daughter are always down here, too. We’ll spread the word for you, but trust me, you won’t need it.’

      ‘Thanks.’ Rosie smiled. ‘I’ll be back soon with your lunch.’

      GeeGee sipped her coffee and watched her go before returning her attention to the spreadsheet she’d opened on the laptop and its rows of figures.

      Twenty minutes later her concentration was broken as an email pinged into her box. Jay. She stifled a sigh.

      ‘Bon appétit,’ Rosie said, appearing with her lunch and another coffee.

      ‘Thanks. This looks good,’ GeeGee said as she closed the laptop down. Reading another of Jay’s happy happy missives wasn’t what she wanted right now so it could wait until this evening – if she didn’t delete it unread before then. Right now she was going to enjoy her lunch.

      ***

      An hour later, GeeGee waved goodbye to Rosie, left the beach and made her way through town to meet her client, Marc, and show him a new property on her list. A top floor apartment in one of the oldest townhouses on the coast road.

      Marc and another man were waiting for her on the opposite side of the road to the house, their backs to the sea, looking at the four-storey terraced house with its pale-green shutters. Both men were in their early thirties, and both wore the regulation uniform of the ‘yachties’ who crewed on the large luxury yachts. Smart bermuda shorts, polo shirts with their yacht’s name embroidered discreetly on the pocket, and sockless feet in deck shoes.

      It was Marc who had contacted her and booked the viewing, so she assumed he was the buyer and the other man was there to give him some moral support. Clients often brought friends along to voice their unbiased opinions and to help them decide about a property. Sometimes, of course, the friends were being just plain nosey. Or maybe Marc and his friend were an item and they were looking to buy together?

      ‘Hi, not late, am I?’ she said, searching in her bag for the keys.

      ‘No, we just thought we’d come and spy out the lie of the land first,’ Marc said. ‘This is Dan – my financial adviser,’ he added, laughing.

      GeeGee held out her hand. ‘Nice to meet you, financial adviser Dan,’ she said, smiling at him.

      As her hand was taken in a firm grip and shaken, unexpected tingles shot up her arm and she was glad when Dan released it.

      ‘Love the position of the house,’ he said. ‘Must have wonderful views.’

      ‘It does and it’s a really lovely apartment. The sort that’s on my personal wish list,’ GeeGee said. ‘Despite the fact it’s on the fourth floor and there isn’t a lift,’ she added.

      ‘How many apartments in the building?’ Marc asked as they made their way up the stairs.

      ‘Three apartments and a couple of studios. 4c at the top is the nicest apartment – and the most expensive.’

      She could tell from the moment she opened the door to the apartment that it was Dan who really loved the place. Marc didn’t seem that enamoured of either the recently decorated sitting room or the slightly old-fashioned kitchen with its original butler sink and blue and yellow tiles on the walls. The ‘Juliette’ balcony off the sitting room with its French doors and sea view was, in his opinion, too small to be of any use.

      Finally she led them up the spiral stone staircase into the room that opened onto the pièce de resistance as far as she was concerned – the roof terrace. The first time she’d seen it, she’d immediately pictured it with urns and pots full of plants and tumbling geraniums and hidden lights dotted around. A perfect romantic hideaway for two.

      After warning Marc that the apartment had only been on the market a matter of days and the owner wouldn’t consider an offer – he wanted the full asking price – GeeGee stayed up on the terrace while Marc and Dan had a wander downstairs on their own.

      Standing there by the railings, watching the people down below making their way along the narrow coast road pavement, she longed to own a place like this. Romantic suppers in the moonlight with a loved one. She sighed. Maybe one day.

      Downstairs, Marc and Dan were talking too quietly for her to make out what was being said, but her gut instinct told her that Marc wouldn’t be buying the apartment. She turned to face them as they joined her on the terrace.

      ‘Have you seen enough?’

      ‘Yes, thanks,’ Marc said. ‘It’s a lovely apartment but…’

      ‘I’ll pay the asking price,’ Dan interrupted. ‘Where do I sign?’

      Surprised, GeeGee looked from Dan to Marc. ‘I thought you were the one looking to buy?’

      Marc shrugged. ‘We both are. But, to be honest, this place is much more Dan’s style than mine. I’d prefer a penthouse studio in one of the modern blocks with a swimming pool.’

      ‘That’s because you’ve no soul,’ Dan said. ‘Who needs a pool when you’ve got that twenty yards away…’ And he gestured towards the Mediterranean.

      ‘Right, Dan. I’ll contact the owner. Then you’ll have to sign the first part of the contract and you’ll need to notify your notaire,’ GeeGee said. ‘You do have a seven-day cooling-off period if you want to change your mind. But after that the notaire will start things moving.’

      ‘Right,’ Dan said.

      ‘I can give you the names of a couple of a mortgage brokers,’ GeeGee asked. ‘They’ll make sure you get the right deal for you. Oh, I forgot you’re a financial advisor so you’ll have your own contacts.’ She grinned up at him, waiting for him to say Marc had called him that as a joke. But he didn’t.

      Instead he said, ‘I’ll have the funds in place by next week.’ He held his hand out. ‘All business deals need to be sealed with a handshake.’

      As her hand was again enveloped in his, GeeGee said, ‘Thank you.’ And prayed he couldn’t feel her trembling.