Page 21 of The Girlfriend

The bell tinkled as she walked in and she knew she didn’t have long.

Daniel would be back any minute. She scanned the gallery quickly and found more paintings by the same artist displayed on the back wall.

Sold, sold, sold, she saw, and then a smaller one, an oil of Place des Lices, the dappled shade of the dozens of plane trees casting a lacelike pattern on the sandy ground.

Miraculously, it seemed to be available.

She would be in debt on her credit card for months, but she knew instinctively it was worth it.

The gallery manager wrapped the painting, she paid, and then quickly left the shop, returning to her spot on the bench, hiding the package in one of the clothing bags.

Daniel was barely a couple of minutes later and arrived slightly red-faced as if he had been running.

He apologized for taking so long, but he had a baguette and a tarte au citron for lunch.

They sat in the square and ate, watching the boules players and then headed on back to the villa. Isabella’s car was in the drive when they pulled up, and as they walked in, they could hear numerous voices. Brigitte was there too, along with Nicole.

“Here they are!” said Isabella, who’d obviously had a couple of glasses of wine. “Did you have a nice day?”

“Lovely, thanks,” said Cherry.

“So I can see,” said Isabella, smiling down at her bags.

“Do we get a fashion show?” asked Brigitte.

Cherry blushed. “No.”

“Well, at least let us see what you got.” She was pawing at the bags, trying to peek in, and Cherry bit back her annoyance. She pulled out a dress from one of the bags to exclamations of appreciation and envy.

“What else?” demanded Brigitte, and Cherry wished she’d shut up.

“Just a shirt and a top.”

“In all these bags?” she said disbelievingly. “Come on, what’s all the secrecy? Pretty, please, can we see?”

Laura had remained quiet during all this, but Cherry could sense she wanted to know what was in the bags. Isabella and Brigitte were looking at her with inquisitive, expectant eyes. She had no choice, and soon all the garments were out, being appraised and cooed over.

Cherry caught Laura looking at her in curiosity. She knew she was wondering how she’d managed to pay for all the clothes.

“You seem to have made a successful tour of the shops,” Laura said pleasantly.

“Not all of them,” said Daniel with relief .

“You went too?” Brigitte was amazed. “How did you manage to persuade Daniel to go shopping?”

“It was my idea,” he said, smiling. He put his arm around Cherry and kissed her. “Happy birthday. Sorry it was late.”

Laura’s face remained impassive. Now is the time , thought Cherry. She went to the bag that held the wrapped painting and, pulling it out, handed it to Daniel. “This is for you.”

He took it in surprise. “What is it?”

“Open it,” she said, smiling.

He pulled off the tissue and his face lit up. “But it’s . . . ,” he trailed off.

Cherry nodded. “I saw it and just wanted you to have it.” It had almost bankrupted her, but it had been necessary.

He loved it, she saw, but was clearly concerned. “You mustn’t . . . You can’t . . .”

Cherry put up a finger. “Nope. I don’t want to hear it. I wanted to get you something special.”

“No . . .”

She put the finger on his lips. “Shush.”

He looked at the painting again, eyes lit up, and he threw an arm tightly around her neck, kissing her. “Thank you. I absolutely love it.”

He was incredibly touched, she saw, and was glad she’d done it. “Yours was a present,” he gently admonished.

He kissed her again. Over his shoulder, she saw Laura looking on with uncertainty. She was probably trying to work out how she’d got the euros to pay for the painting.

Let her wonder.

* * *

Laura slept badly that night. So many things were niggling her.

Daniel had paid for Cherry’s flights, and seemingly extra, and then all the clothes.

He’d clearly spent a fortune; and to be fair, Cherry, understandably, would have struggled to pay for either.

So, why the painting? How could she afford a two- to three-thousand-euro original oil when she couldn’t pay for her own flights?

It kept her awake until two in the morning, and she woke early too—around six.

The unsettled, slightly queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach wouldn’t go away, so she got up and went down to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

As she held the glass under the tap, it slipped from her fingers and smashed in the sink.

Laura swore; she seemed to be so clumsy these days, dropping things, losing things.

She still had to get the rental car fixed, and now it was too late, as she was leaving the following day.

She carefully picked the pieces of glass from the sink and placed them on an old newspaper.

Then got herself another glass and filled it, drinking slowly, the same questions from the night before still hammering away in her head like a pinball machine, but no clear answers came.

Laura stretched her aching, twitching limbs.

Although it was the last day of her supposedly relaxing holiday, she felt more stressed and exhausted than before she’d arrived.

Cherry had changed everything. She’d made herself at home and yet had so far proven unwilling to spend much time with her hostess.

In fact, Laura got the distinct impression she was barely tolerated.

She picked up the painting Cherry had bought for Daniel. The light caught the plane trees, the sandy shadows of the square. It was truly beautiful. No wonder Daniel treasured it.

“It is an original.”

Laura spun round and saw Cherry standing in the doorway.

“Just in case you were wondering.”

“How long have you been there?” she burst out, irritated—guilty—although Cherry could hardly read her mind.

“Not long.” Cherry smiled and walked over and took the painting from her. Met her eye. “Anything else you want to check out?”

Laura was puzzled. What did she mean? She was only looking at it, for heaven’s sake! She was about to retort when a cold, dousing memory returned to her. The day she’d gone into their room. Cherry’s things, her flight details. Did she know they’d been looked at, read?

Daniel appeared and put his arm around Cherry. “Still fancy the beach?”

She smiled. “Sure. I’ll just get my stuff,” and she went back upstairs.

“How about you, Mum? Last day of hitting the rays? ”

“No, thank you.”

“What’s up?”

She hadn’t intended to sound so curt, but she’d just about reached her limit. “Cherry had a nice holiday?”

He frowned. “Yeah. Really good. Is something wrong?”

“Oh, come on, you really don’t know? She’s been here quite a long time.”

“I thought you said it was okay?”

Laura sighed. “I did. But let’s face it, I didn’t expect it to be quite so long.”

“I’m sorry, I would’ve got us a hotel, I did offer—”

“It’s fine,” said Laura tightly. “I would like to know, though, why it’s such a big secret, the day she’s leaving.”

“It’s not a secret.”

“But when I asked, she wouldn’t say. And she hasn’t volunteered any information since.” Laura felt the tension of the last few days rise up in her. “How long is she intending to stay, anyway? Weeks, months, the entire summer?”

“She’s leaving on Saturday.”

She was brought up short. “Saturday? What, the day after tomorrow?”

“Yes, she’s got to go back to work.”

“Right. So, why hasn’t she said?”

“She has. I’ve known for ages.”

“But she didn’t think of telling me?”

“She . . . I . . . probably forgot. Sorry, I should’ve thought. If I’d known we were invading your space, we would’ve moved out. Honestly.”

Laura swallowed her dismay. “We.” He kept saying “we.” She had missed her son the last couple of weeks. “You know that’s not what I wanted.”

They fell silent. Both had more to say, but neither wanted to go on.

“We’d really like it if you came to the beach, Mum. I’d really like it. Just for a couple of hours? ”

She almost did. Almost. “Sorry, Daniel. I’ve promised I’d meet up with Izzy.”

It was obvious she’d made it up, and she felt bad for it, but how could she explain there was something about Cherry that didn’t add up? And she was sure she wasn’t imagining the awkwardness between them. It was clear from the hurt look on his face that he thought she didn’t like his girlfriend.

“Okay, well, I’ll see you later.”

It was just a brief peck, and then he got Cherry and they were gone.

She felt guilty for fabricating the visit to Izzy, so she decided to try to make it the truth and drove down to Saint-Tropez.

But unluckily for Laura, Isabella wasn’t in.

She stood for a moment at her friend’s empty villa, wondering what to do with herself, and then thought she’d just go home again.

She packed her suitcase for the following morning, then decided to go outside and see if any of the peppers or tomatoes needed picking.

She took a colander from the kitchen and managed to while away half an hour or so, even forgetting about Cherry for a bit, and then she heard voices from the kitchen.

She considered staying outside for a bit longer, but she knew that would be churlish.

So, with a sigh, she went in with a red and yellow pepper and four beef tomatoes.

“We’re getting quite a crop this year,” she started to say, and then she saw their faces. “What’s the matter?”

Daniel was holding his painting. It had a tear in the canvas, about an inch long, right across the center of Place des Lices.

Laura was horrified. “How on earth . . . Your beautiful painting. . .”

“It was on the broken glass,” said Daniel, “when we came in.”

On the worktop was the glass she’d broken earlier and had forgotten to wrap and put in the bin.

“But . . . what was it doing there?” She looked at them both, but Cherry wouldn’t meet her eye. Instead she gazed ruefully down.

It took a moment before it sank in; then she dismissed it, laughed. She stopped short, incredulous. “What? ”