Читать книгу Rosie’s Little Café on the Riviera - Jennifer Bohnet - Страница 14

CHAPTER SIX

The bord de mer was busy with traffic despite the early hour as Rosie made her way to the local market for her fresh vegetables. She’d planned her plat du jour menus for the week and now she quickly picked up the potatoes, onions and fresh garlic that were basic to so many of her recipes.

She hesitated over bunches of new season asparagus. Her favourite – gently steamed and served with Hollandaise sauce. Expensive stuff to waste but she could always make soup, she decided, placing five bunches in the basket before moving on to the cheese counter.

Back at the café she switched on the espresso machine and opened the shutters. The beach was deserted. Things were quieter over at the hotel, too. No hordes of workmen rushing in and out. Just the occasional glimpse through a window of chambermaids moving from one room to another, preparing the newly decorated bedrooms for their first guests of the season.

Tansy, when she arrived, looked at the party invite Rosie had pinned to the noticeboard in the kitchen.

‘You going?’

Rosie shook her head. ‘Planning on being too tired.’

‘Might be fun?’

‘You can have the invite if you like.’

‘Any other Saturday night, I’d love it,’ Tansy said. ‘But Rob’s taking me clubbing when we finish here.’

The café phone rang and Tansy moved across to answer it.

‘Hi, Antoine. Table for two tomorrow? Fine. You’ll probably have the place to yourselves as it’s still quiet. See you at seven-thirty then.’

‘Who’s he bringing?’ Rosie mouthed at Tansy.

‘Antoine, who… sorry, he’s hung up,’ Tansy said, looking at Rosie apologetically.

‘It had better not be Charlie, that’s all,’ Rosie muttered, savaging the potato she was supposedly peeling.

As a busy morning turned into lunchtime, Rosie was pleased to serve half a dozen plates of daube provençale, her plat du jour, to a group of walkers on their way to the Cap d’Antibes.

Tansy left at three o’clock. ‘I’ll be back about six-thirty. Make sure you have a rest this afternoon. Go for a walk on the beach or something. We’re all organised for this evening.’

‘I want to check upstairs first. See if there is any way we can make use of the place,’ Rosie said. ‘See you later.’

Locking the door behind Tansy and turning the sign to Closed, Rosie turned the key in the door by the bar and began to climb the stairs. Steep and clad in threadbare carpet, they weren’t the easiest to negotiate and Rosie was glad when she reached the room.

It was larger than she remembered. There was even a walk-in shower in one corner. A halfway decent sofa bed covered in boxes was against one wall and there was a kettle on a wooden table. The whole set-up reminded Rosie of her very first bedsit at college.

The windows were curtainless and, through the back one, she looked directly into the conservatory sitting room of the hotel. Lloyd Loom chairs and matching small coffee tables were dotted around, palm trees in pots and Seb working on a laptop. Rosie stepped back out of view. The last thing she wanted was for Seb to look up and catch her watching him. He’d probably accuse her of spying on him after the way he’d caught her snooping around the hotel.

Rosie pulled at the lid of one of the boxes on the settee. Beautiful wine glasses. Mentally she made a note to remember them for special functions. The rest of the boxes, though, were filled with kitchen equipment well past its sell-by date. Rubbish really.

Back downstairs, Rosie locked up and set off for a walk along the beach. Strolling along inches from where the Mediterranean was gently lapping at the sand, enjoying the warmth of the sun, the temptation to paddle was strong. Her feet, though, were nice and snug in her trainers and she decided she wouldn’t torture them by placing them in water that was still certain to be on the cold side.

The gentle breeze that blew in her face was invigorating and by the time she returned to the Café Fleur the exercise had banished her tiredness from the busy morning.

A dog was lying under one of the terrace tables when she got back. ‘Hello. Where’s your owner?’ Soulful brown eyes that tore right into Rosie’s heart looked at her but the dog made no attempt to move.

‘You’re very thin,’ she said, gently stroking the dog’s head. She wasn’t wearing a collar, so no helpful name tag and address. ‘Stay there,’ and Rosie went into the kitchen to get some of the mince she had left over from the lasagne.

When she’d eaten and drunk, the dog managed a few wags of her tail before curling up under the table again and going to sleep.

Black and white, she reminded Rosie of the collie dogs her Aunty Elsie had kept on her Somerset farm. Whenever Rosie had visited with her parents there had always been at least two dogs bounding around for her to play with. And just once there had been a litter of puppies.

That litter of puppies had caused a family row Rosie had never forgotten when she’d begged to be allowed to take one home. Olivia, her mother, had said yes, but her father had said no, and however much Rosie had cried and begged, nothing would make him change his mind.

Rosie remembered shouting at him through a blur of tears. ‘I hate you. When I’m grown up I’m going to live in the country and have six dogs.’

Of course it had never happened – living in the country or the six dogs. Maybe the dog turning up unexpectedly was some sort of sign? Could she keep her?

Gently Rosie examined the dog’s ears. Every French dog was supposed to have a number tattooed in their ear. No tattoo. Which probably also meant no micro identification chip either. Rosie sighed. The lack of both would mean the paperwork would be immense and would probably mean the dog went straight to ‘death row’ at the local dog pound. No way could Rosie bear the thought of that.

There was only one thing for it. Tonight she’d take the dog home with her and, if nobody claimed her in the next few days, she’d keep her – and christen her Lucky. With the French being so laissez-faire about dogs in restaurants it was unlikely to be a problem.