Rosie’s Little Café on the Riviera. Jennifer Bohnet

Groc right next door.’ He shook his head.

      ‘Different markets,’ Rosie said. ‘Seb and I have already discussed it. Finished your soup? I’ll get your main course.’ And she snatched the bowl away the instant Charlie replaced his spoon in the empty dish.

      ‘Main course ready? Good. You take it out,’ she told Tansy. ‘Make sure he’s got everything he needs – and don’t talk about me. I’ll start the clearing up in here.’

      Rosie pulled the lever that sent the large, old-fashioned dishwashing machine whirling into action down with a bang.

      ‘Temper. Temper. It won’t last the season treated like that,’ Tansy said, picking up the roasties and the veg in the serving dishes to accompany Charlie’s beef.

      ‘Here, you’ve forgotten his favourite horseradish sauce,’ Rosie said, thrusting the pot towards Tansy.

      Surreptitiously, she watched the pair of them through the small hatchway between the kitchen and the bar area, envying the way they could still laugh and joke together like she had in another life – before everything had changed between her and Charlie.

      Rosie turned away and vigorously set to cleaning the roasting tin until it was pristine and the ends of her fingers could take no more from the sharp shrouds of the shredded-steel wool. Tansy came back as she rinsed the tin and left it to dry on the draining board.

      ‘No prizes for guessing what Charlie wants for dessert,’ Tansy said. ‘And please, will you join him for coffee?’

      Silently Rosie opened the fridge and took out a tiramisu – Charlie’s absolute favourite dessert.

      ‘I let Lucky in, by the way. Like a true female she made a beeline for Charlie and is now worshipping at his feet,’ Tansy said. ‘You going to take this out to him?’

      Rosie nodded. ‘Okay.’ She couldn’t hide in the kitchen for ever, and now Charlie had had his say about the Café Fleur, maybe they could at least be civil to each other.

      Have I ever told you, you make the best tiramisu?’ Charlie said.

      ‘Once or twice,’ Rosie said, determined to keep the conversation on an even keel.

      ‘I think I might have overreacted last night,’ she said, bending down to stroke Lucky. ‘Tell James if he wants to come back – ten o’clock Tuesday morning.’

      ‘Will do,’ Charlie said as he spooned the last vestiges of cream from the bowl. ‘Have you still got that beaten-up mini you call a car?’

      Surprised by the question, Rosie shook her head. ‘No.’ The car had gone for a few hundred euros to add to her pot of money for the Café Fleur.

      ‘I figured I could live without one for a while. Working here seven days a week in summer, I’m not going to be going anywhere.’ She was blowed if she was going to tell Charlie the truth – that she couldn’t afford a car until the restaurant was a success.

      His eyes narrowed. ‘How about getting home at night?’

      ‘I walk.’

      ‘I don’t like the thought of that.’

      ‘I’ve got Lucky now,’ Rosie said. ‘And it’s not far.’

      ‘Well, that’s something, I suppose, but it’s a bloody good fifteen-minute walk,’ Charlie said. ‘I’d prefer it if you took a taxi.’

      ‘And I’d prefer it if you minded your own business. How I get home is nothing to do with you – besides, it’s not fifteen minutes away. It’s five. I’ll get your bill,’ Rosie said forgetting that Charlie was unaware of the fact that she’d moved. Another economic necessity. The rent for the apartment in one of the new gated blocks overlooking the sea had been an expensive luxury even when she was working on A Sure Thing.

      To Rosie’s relief, Charlie paid his bill, included a generous tip, and kissed Tansy goodbye. ‘Any time you want a job, you know what to do,’ he told her. ‘Ciao. I’ll be seeing you both.’

      Rosie, safe behind the bar and out of Charlie’s kissing reach, muttered ‘Ciao’ and held her breath until the door closed behind him.

      ‘Thank God he’s going to Sardinia tomorrow out of the way,’ she said. ‘Right. That’s the door locked. I’ve had enough for today.’

      She glanced at Tansy. ‘I did ask him to tell James he could come back if he wants to. I can’t believe he said that to you about wanting a job. Cheek. He seems to think this place is doomed because I’m English.’

      ‘He’s worried about you losing all your money, that’s all,’ Tansy said.

      ‘So am I – that’s why I intend to work flat out to make sure this place is a success,’ Rosie said. ‘Here’s the tip he left for you.’

      ‘Half each?’ Tansy said.

      Rosie shook her head. ‘No, you take it. I’m sure Charlie meant it for you, anyway.’

      ‘Thanks – generous as ever,’ Tansy said, taking the euros. ‘Right, I’ll see you on Tuesday morning, bright and early. Don’t work too hard tomorrow. Remember it’s supposed to be your day off as well. If nothing else, take Lucky-dog for a walk.’

      ***

      Rosie pottered around after Tansy left, tidying up and putting some leftover food in her basket to take home. The bottle of wine she’d opened for Charlie was still half full so she stuck the cork back in and put that in her basket, too. She’d enjoy a glass tonight while she did the week’s accounts and worked on her laptop.

      ‘Right, Lucky, time to go home,’ she said, looping a piece of thin rope around the dog’s neck. ‘Tomorrow we’ll buy you a collar and a proper lead but this will have to do again for now.’

      Satisfied the door was securely locked and the security grill down, Rosie turned to walk through the car park and out onto the main road, where she came face to face with Charlie.

      As the basket was taken out of her hand and he fell into step alongside her Rosie said, ‘What d’you think you’re doing?’

      ‘Seeing you get home safely.’

      ‘It’s not dark. It’s Sunday afternoon and I don’t need an escort.’

      ‘Maybe not, but I want to see where you’re living now.’

      Ah, so he had picked up on her ‘five minutes away’ remark.

      ‘Well, we turn left here and it’s at the end of this street. The converted villa. See, literally five minutes.’

      ‘You going to ask me in for a glass of my wine?’ Charlie asked, looking at the basket.

      ‘N… oh, all right. I’m on the second floor.’ And Rosie pressed her code into the pad at the side of the ornate front door. Damn, why had she just agreed to that? Guilt, probably. He’d paid for the wine so was entitled to drink more than just the one glass he’d had at lunch.

      Charlie followed her up the marble staircase. ‘Sad to see these old places converted like this really. Imagine what they must have been like in their heyday.’

      ‘At least this way more people get to live in and enjoy them,’ Rosie said, unlocking her own door.

      She released Lucky from her makeshift lead and the dog made straight for the end of the sofa she’d taken as her own.

      Charlie placed the basket on the kitchen counter. ‘Glasses?’

      Rosie indicated the glass-fronted cupboard. ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’

      From her perch on the loo, Rosie studied the small bathroom. The linen basket, filled with a week’s worth of washing, overflowed onto the floor and the paper holder was empty. Feverishly Rosie stuffed the clothes deep into the basket and pressed the lid on, slid the last roll of