Rendez-Vous in Cannes. Jennifer Bohnet

ever worked with him and could I pass on any anecdotes for a feature she was writing. I thought I might ask around and see if anyone could help her.’

      Rick shrugged. ‘Sorry can’t help. Right, I’m off to the JW Marriott for a meeting.’

      ‘I’ll walk down with you,’ Anna said. ‘I thought I’d have a mooch around Cannes this morning before going back to the villa. I need to find a supermarché too. Stock up on some supplies.’

      At the hotel exit, they went their separate ways.

      ‘See you tomorrow evening,’ Rick said, before disappearing into the crowd, leaving Anna to cross the road and wander along the Croisette in the direction of the Palais des Festivals, soaking up the atmosphere.

      Flags fluttering in the light breeze, huge billboards, pictures of famous stars everywhere, police dogs and their handlers creating wide paths before them as the slow-moving crowd parted to let them through, before surging back to close ranks again behind them. Buskers, clowns, starlets hoping to be discovered, locals out for some people watching and nannies bribing their young charges with ice cream as they gazed at the over-the-top glamour in the designer boutiques that lined the Croisette. Anna watched it all and marvelled.

      Le Petit Train, still with a few vacant seats, was about to set off on its routine sightseeing trip around town and Anna fleetingly wondered about hopping on board with the tourists. As she stood there, undecided, the decision was made for her when the driver rang the bell and the train began to slowly manoeuvre its way through the crowds and traffic.

      A small crowd had gathered around a middle-aged woman with startling henna-red hair preparing to play an accordion. Anna, about to move on, found herself rooted to the spot as the woman began to sing ‘Jezebel’ à la Edith Piaf.

      With a voice eerily similar to that of the tragic star’s, the modern-day singer sent a frisson of déjà vu running through Anna’s body. Once a favourite song of hers, she’d bought and played the record over and over again until, in a fit of blind rage the summer her world fell apart, she’d jumped and stamped on it until it was broken into hundreds of pieces. To hear that special song unexpectedly like this, in the place where the words had once been whispered so intimately to her, was heart-stoppingly hard.

      Anna turned and blindly followed a group of teenage would-be starlets crossing the road. As the girls made their way up a busy street towards the centre of town, Anna turned in the opposite direction and took a narrower, quieter street, away from the hurly-burly of the crowds.

      A small park, a labyrinth of traffic-free roads, and Anna slowly regained her composure. Another left turn and this street was busier, housing a florist, a fashion boutique, a couple of cafés and restaurants, the inevitable pharmacy and a tabac.

      Anna sat at a pavement table at the smaller of the cafés and ordered a coffee. Waiting for her drink to arrive, she looked along the street with its tall, narrow buildings, their window boxes overflowing with scarlet geraniums, blue shutters fastened against walls, exuding an air of tranquility absorbed down the centuries.

      A typical French street, it reminded Anna of countless others she’d seen before in towns up and down the country, but there was something familiar about this particular street that she couldn’t place and it was niggling at her.

      ‘Merci,’ she said as the waiter placed the demitasse coffee on the table before her.

      Sipping her drink, she watched a couple of women, locals she guessed from their capacious straw shopping baskets, talking animatedly together as they came out of the pharmacy.

      A few doors down, a well-dressed woman was in earnest discussion with the florist, before buying a large bunch of white lilies. As the woman, carefully holding her flowers, walked purposefully past her, Anna wondered who the flowers were destined for. The woman crossed the road a few yards on and stopped outside a shuttered restaurant with a large ‘Fermé’ sign plastered across its door.

      Its pavement tables and chairs were piled up haphazardly, and there were numerous bunches of flowers already placed in the doorway. With a jolt, Anna realised where she was, why the street seemed familiar. As the unknown woman placed the lilies in the shade of the doorway, she didn’t need to read the gold embossed name, ‘Chez Cambone’, above the door to know it was Philippe’s family restaurant, the flowers placed as a tribute to him.

      Her hand was shaking as she picked up her cup to take a steadying drink. Two reminders of her past on only her first full day in Cannes. Was every day going to be like this? Her past forcing her to remember and wonder ‘what if’?

      7

      ‘Are you home this evening?’ Poppy asked as Daisy helped herself to a tumbler of water in the cottage kitchen late that afternoon. ‘Or are you off partying again?’

      Daisy shook her head. ‘Not tonight. I’ve got to finish writing up my daily report and send it, do a bit more to the Philippe Cambone feature – which reminds me. I must phone Marcus and see if he’s got a photograph of the floral tributes that are apparently being laid at the door of the family restaurant, to send with my piece.’ She took a drink before asking, ‘Where’s Tom? I thought I’d play with him for a bit.’

      ‘Anna invited him over for a swim,’ Poppy answered. ‘He’ll be back soon.’

      ‘She’s really nice, isn’t she?’ Daisy said. ‘Friendly and approachable.’

      ‘She seemed to be a bit low when I saw her this afternoon. Sad almost. I’ve asked her to join us tonight.’

      ‘She doesn’t seem to be interested in getting involved in the festivities very much,’ Daisy said thoughtfully. ‘She must know people in the business that are down here, but she did tell me she doesn’t like the limelight.’

      ‘There’s a big party tomorrow evening that she’s apparently thinking of attending. Anyway, I’ve asked her to join us for supper in the garden later,’ Poppy said. ‘I’ve warned her it’s nothing fancy. No probing journalistic questions from you, mind,’ she added, glancing at her sister sharply.

      Daisy smiled. ‘I promise. Now, what about this playdate I said I’d try and arrange for Cindy? I told Nat I’d fix a time and ring him.’

      ‘How about ice creams in the park tomorrow afternoon, see how they get on. Being the daughter of an actress, Cindy might be a bit precocious for Tom,’ Poppy replied. ‘If they get on, you can bring them back here for tea. Nat too.’

      ‘Great. I’ll ring Nat,’ Daisy said. ‘Want me to help with supper?’

      ‘No thanks,’ Poppy said. ‘It’s just the usual quiche and salad, cheese and baguettes. I’ll get Tom to help me carry it out to the loggia table.’ She looked at the kitchen clock. ‘Think I’ll go and fetch him – I’m sure Anna will have had enough of his chatter by now.’

      ‘Okay. I’ll go and do my report and email it. Might even find time to do some more research on Philippe Cambone,’ Daisy said. ‘See you in a bit.’

      Anna swam another half dozen laps after Poppy had collected Tom before getting out and going indoors for a shower. She was towelling her hair dry when Leo rang.

      As always, her heart lifted at the sound of his voice.

      ‘Leo, darling. How’s your day been? Mine’s been…’ she hesitated, ‘interesting.’

      ‘Do I detect a note of distress?’ Leo asked, the concern in his voice clear. ‘Has something happened? Are you all right? I know Philippe’s death was a shock to you.’

      Anna sighed. ‘No, nothing has happened to me other than a couple of memory-lane incidents that I’ll tell you about when you get here.’

      ‘Which will be Saturday now,’ Leo said. ‘One of my business meetings has been