Not Quite Nice (16 page)

The new girl, Jessica, told everyone she was having an extended stay in the town while recuperating. She never told anyone what she was recuperating from and no one believed her anyhow. When pressed further, by Zoe, naturally, Jessica simply said that she had had a lung infection – the modern term for a bit of a cough. She was a writer, she told them, working on a small picture book about the Rolling Stones’ album,
Exile on Main Street
, which had been recorded a few miles along the coast on the edges of Villefranche-sur-Mer one stoned summer.

No one really believed this either. They were all certain she was working for Sian as her mole. Sally was the first to come to that conclusion and she told Theresa and Carol as much. As a result, all three woman kept a sharp eye on her, especially when she was in Ted’s company. Ted did appear to be quite taken by her, and they all noticed little intimate moments of familiarity between them. No one dared to warn Ted that Jessica was a spy just in case they were wrong, and also because they knew the heat of Sian’s wrath. Anyhow, the only thing that really could be pinned on her was that, while at Theresa’s Cookery Club meetings, Jessica always took copious notes in a little red notebook. Theresa even made a joke one evening, asking Jessica if she was going to publish a book of her recipes. Jessica laughed and explained that her memory was very bad, and she certainly wanted to make these things again, on her own, at home and how on earth could she do that without notes?

Faith had moved into the old Molinari house and, since the move, seemed entirely composed, and no longer the nervous, timid woman who had so feared becoming an inhabitant of Bellevue-Sur-Mer. She was frequently seen in the bistro, taking dinner, alone with a book, or waiting at the bus stop all prepared for a day out exploring somewhere along the coast. She had even spent a night at the opera with Zoe, seeing
La Ballo in Maschera
, and including a late-night drink in a cafe in the bustling Cours Saleya after the final curtain. When Zoe had suggested they go on to do a bit of dancing in a fabulous little gay disco club in the Ponchettes along the way, Faith had drawn the line and found a taxi to take her home.

Faith spent a fair amount of time with Sally, because Sally had helped her out with the move, and particularly in handling and dealing with all the legal complications that she had so feared. Sally knew all about buying property out here and the pair of them had contrived an excellent contract, which would be to their mutual benefit. Sally had in fact invested in the house, leaving Faith enough money to enjoy life, and alleviating Sally’s own worries about leaving her money in the bank.

After a rough ride with her tutor at the sea school, Sally had finally got her certificate in power-boat driving, and was now looking out for a small boat to buy. Ted had been unable to join her in taking the course, but he had decided that he was going to buy the boat and register it in his name, with Sally as his certificated skipper. Sally spent most days helping him in his search, the pair wandering round local marinas, and occasionally taking a boat out to sea for a test run. So far nothing had met their fancy. Sally was attempting to teach Ted all the things she had learned at sea school, but Ted’s attention span was not great, and Sally found his eyes were more often roving to inspect a gaggle of passing tourists, than paying attention to the details of making a round-turn knot with two half hitches. His knowledge of engines on the other hand was, to Sally’s surprise and delight, supreme.

Sally frequently thought and worried about him. Sian’s girl spy was surely the enigmatic Jessica, who didn’t ever have much to say, but spent much time cosying up to Ted at Theresa’s Cookery Club sessions, which Sally enjoyed attending, now that she had passed her power-boat test. There was no other new woman in town who could possibly fit the bill. She still wasn’t sure whether or not to warn Ted. Would that be interfering in his marriage and bring Sally a visitation from Sian in dragon-mode? It was best left alone, she decided.

The only cloud on the horizon was a spate of burglar­ies in the town, though, it must be said, that none of them were very serious. There was never any violence, and mostly it happened when people were out for the day, or away on holiday.

Understandably, the victims did feel unnerved to get home and find their front doors open and all their cash and the TV or a digital radio gone, but everyone was insured, and the actual damage done never amounted to much beyond a new lock or window, so it was more of an inconvenience than a tragedy.

Zoe Redbridge had been the first to have been burgled. She arrived home from her ‘skiing’ trip to Montreux, the skin round her eyes and neck tauter than ever, her lips inflated to three times their normal size. The door had been propped shut, the lock picked. Someone had broken in and taken her costume jewellery, only the pieces she had left behind when she went to Switzerland, which wasn’t that much, and a jar of petty cash in the kitchen. But, as she was obeying the clinic’s orders and resting her face after the treatments, she didn’t want to make a huge fuss, just thanked the Lord it had happened while she was out of town. If she had been in residence, she told people, she thought she would have died of fright. ‘Can you imagine what a shock it would have been, just for the sake of a few measly euros and a couple of really unattractive brooches?’ she said to anyone who would listen. ‘Waking up and finding a man rummaging around inside your drawers?’

Most people were too busy staring at Zoe’s new strangely stretched face, now in an expression of perpetual astonishment, or searching her visage to see whether they could recognise any remaining traces of the pre-Switzerland Zoe, to listen to any of the words that came out of her swollen trout-pout mouth.

The local view was that the burglaries were being done by kids or teenagers. The police took a low-profile outlook on the crimes too.

‘Albanians on day-trips from Italy,’ they said. ‘Perhaps tourists? Or petty crooks, coming over for the day from Marseille.’

A man had been reported, on a couple of occasions, lurking in the streets of Bellevue-Sur-Mer, peering through windows and letterboxes. His unkempt, straggly long hair and unshaven face had attracted attention, not to mention the fact that his clothes were rather dirty.

‘A
clochard
!’ exclaimed the local businessmen indignantly. ‘A tramp!’

The tramp had not been seen in Bellevue-Sur-Mer for a few weeks, but the gendarmerie had received calls about his presence in many towns and villages along the coast from Cannes to Cap d’Ail. But, so far, he had never been discovered in the act of anything more sinister than walking about looking intently at houses, so no action had been taken.

Theresa made the occasional phone call to Imogen, but had learned to brace herself and never to dial before taking a deep breath, sitting down and pouring herself a glass of wine. She went on inviting, while Imogen went on sneering. Despite the hurtful comments, Theresa loved her flat more and more. She had no regrets about leaving Highgate and moving to Bellevue-Sur-Mer.

Theresa was really enjoying the whole process of the Cookery Club now. She was sitting at her table early one morning, totting up the figures, when she realised that since the first session the numbers had doubled and if any more people turned up she would have to start doing two sessions a week as there would not be enough room in the flat to accommodate them all. She brought out her calculator and after a few minutes tapping in numbers she could see that from her calculations, she would have repaid the loan for the boiler by Easter. She put the accounts aside and started working out the necessary ingredients for tonight’s session when Brian came in from outside.

‘Another flat taken,’ he said, pulling off his jacket. ‘I really am looking, Theresa, but every time I see a suitable place by the time I get to the agent the place is gone. I was this close today.’ He held up his finger and thumb with a fraction of air between them.

‘Oh, Brian, don’t be silly,’ said Theresa. ‘You can stay as long as you like. You’re always so helpful around the house and you make very good tea.’

‘Is that a hint?’ asked Brian, moving towards the kettle.

‘Good idea,’ said Theresa, shuffling her papers into some order. ‘Look at the time. I’ve got to dash out for tonight’s stuff.’

‘The Huit-à-8? I wouldn’t. I passed it on my way down. That tramp’s been prowling round outside, shouting obscenities at everyone going in and out. The police are there, taking statements.’

‘Really?’ said Theresa. ‘I thought they said he wasn’t dangerous?’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’ Brian filled the teapot with hot water and rinsed it out. ‘Look how many places have been burgled lately.’

Theresa crossed her fingers. ‘I know. It makes one feel so nervous when there are shady characters lurking round the place. But anyhow I’m heading into town for the market,’ said Theresa. ‘The produce is much fresher and I need a huge box of watercress. I’m making soup.’

‘Yum,’ said Brian.

Naturally, that night at the Cookery Club, the tramp was the main subject of conversation.

‘I hope he’s not burgling us all while we’re in here,’ said Zoe. ‘It’s hardly worth losing all your valuables for a bowl of home-made soup and a glass of plonk.’

‘Oh, I’m sure we’ll be all right.’ Brian beamed. He seemed pretty certain. ‘So do we leave this watercress in the iced water, Theresa, or just rinse it?’

‘They’re watching him, Zoe,’ said Ted. ‘If he tries anything, the gendarmes will be all over that
clochard
, like flies round . . .’

‘Thank you,’ said Theresa, putting a hand up. ‘Not while we’re talking food.’ She peered at the work top in front of Sally. ‘You’re very behind . . .’

‘Well, they will,’ said Sally, hacking into an onion and throwing the pieces into an oiled frying pan. ‘Jolly good thing too. I know, I know. I won’t be a minute.’

Theresa looked around for some spare space to put down her board, and shifted the answering machine along. She noticed its little red light was blinking. In the rush of getting things ready she hadn’t bothered to check it between getting in from town and the first people arriving.

Ah well, she thought, there’s nothing so desperate that can’t wait an hour or so. Anyhow, everyone she knew was here in the room, so it was probably only a wrong number or someone asking if she wanted double-glazing.

‘Mine’s all ready,’ said Carol. ‘I’m absolutely ravenous. Can we get on?’

‘Put a sock in it, 57,’ said Ted, lifting his bowl of ingredients high above his head, like a champion. ‘Even a Neanderthal like me is ready.’

‘Everybody, leave the ingredients in the ice bowl.’ Theresa tried to bring the club back to order. ‘Now, folks, as I only have one blender, we’re going to have to stagger the next process. So, in the meanwhile, let whoever isn’t at the blender, sit at the table and enjoy a
verre du vin
. Perhaps Ted and Jessica could pulverise first?’

‘I don’t think that’s such a good idea,’ said Sally, briskly stirring in her chopped watercress, and starting humming the chorus of ‘Love and Marriage’.

Faith knocked over a glass of water and Zoe rooted about in her bag, pulling out an English newspaper, which she spread over the table to soak it up.

‘How surprising,’ said Faith. ‘I didn’t imagine you to be one of those nostalgic Brits, Zoe, who like to keep in touch with the homeland.’

‘The
Daily Muckraker
?’ snapped Zoe. ‘I occasionally buy the vile, right-wing rag to remind me why I’m so happy here and why I never want to go back to Blighty and live among all those smug, self-righteous, finger-pointing prigs and prudes.’

Jessica’s eyes flickered. She cleared her throat.

‘Hey, Sal?’ Ted called across the counter. ‘Did you manage to sell the folks’ old place back in Pom-land?’

‘Yes. I told you, Ted, didn’t I? A few months ago.’

‘Yowser,’ grinned Ted. ‘So you must be worth a few quid, then. Like to take me on a holiday somewhere?’

Sally flicked a piece of onion at him. ‘Always worth a try,’ he laughed.

‘I’m buying another place out here with it, Ted. You know that was always the plan. Anyway, the money’s all gone now.’

She exchanged a look with Faith. The deal between them was still a secret. Sally gave Faith a wink. Faith blushed a little.

Sally started singing a chorus of Madness’s ‘Our House’.

‘I thought that the police had collared that tramp,’ said Faith, in a voice loud enough to drown out Sally. For the Cookery Club, Faith was now partnered with Brian, leaving Theresa free to perform the demonstrations.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Zoe. ‘The ruddy bastard was out there swearing at the top of his voice and the girl in the shop said that so many people complained that the police had carted the little fucker away in a van.’

‘Good thing too,’ said Ted, placing his hand in the small of Jessica’s back to steer her across to the cooking counter. ‘If I’d been the boys in blue I’d have bagged that sundowner weeks ago.’

Faith turned to Ted and asked why he had earlier said 57 in the middle of a sentence.

‘Is it code?’ she asked.

He jerked his head towards Carol.

‘My mate, 57. Before she married David there, she was maiden named Heinz. Am I right or wrong?’

‘Oh!’ Carol rolled her eyes. ‘Who cares?’