Rosie’s Little Café on the Riviera. Jennifer Bohnet

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.

CHAPTER FIVE

      Rosie bought a box of candles and went across to the hotel with them to say a proper thank you to Seb.

      She knocked tentatively on the side door, which was ajar. ‘Hi. Anyone here? May I come in?’

      No answer, so Rosie pushed open the door and walked in. The empty kitchen was gleaming with stainless-steel equipment, copper pots by the dozen hung in rows and huge refrigerators lined one wall. Close up, the range Rosie had seen being delivered last week was even more beautiful. God, did she covet that stove.

      The saloon-style service swing doors were just too high for her to see over so, clutching the box of candles, she pushed her way through into the dining room. ‘Anyone here?’

      A smell of paint still hung in the air from its recent decoration, and tables and chairs were arranged haphazardly, but even so, the room still managed to give off an air of luxury. Helped by the ceiling frescoes and the gold leaf that was literally everywhere. Round one – decoration and ambience – definitely went to Seb, although the Café Fleur being on the beach had to be worth some Brownie points.

      Rosie was still standing there trying to take in all the details to tell Tansy later when Seb appeared and caught her snooping.

      ‘Seen everything you want?’

      ‘Umm, yes, thanks. These are for you.’ Embarrassed, Rosie thrust the box of candles into Seb’s hands. ‘The door was open. I did try to find someone. I’d better go.’

      Seb shrugged. ‘No worries. Have a coffee.’ He moved back towards the gleaming espresso machine in the kitchen.

      ‘Sugar? Milk?’

      ‘Neither, thanks.’ Rosie watched as Seb placed a plate of tiny, delicious-looking pastries alongside the coffees on a tray.

      ‘We’ll take this through to reception. The chairs are comfy out there. Follow me,’ he ordered. Rosie followed meekly, wondering how long before she could leave. On a scale of one to ten of embarrassment,