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 OK?’
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 raise it.
‘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’ll meet up with Izzy.’
He could tell 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 by the hurt look on his face that he thought she didn’t like his girlfriend.
‘OK, 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 decided to try and make it the truth and drove down to St 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 ready 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 forget about Cherry for a bit, and then she heard voices from the kitchen. She considered staying outside for a bit longer, but, with a sigh, knew that would be churlish and so went in with a red and a yellow pepper and four beef tomatoes.
‘We’re getting quite a crop this year,’ she started, and then she saw their faces. ‘What’s the matter?’
Daniel was holding his painting. It had a five-centimetre tear in the canvas, right across the centre 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 gazed ruefully down.
It took a moment before it sank in; then she dismissed it, laughed. She stopped short, incredulous. ‘What?’
‘Whatever happened, it was likely an accident,’ said Cherry graciously.
Laura was dumbfounded. ‘You don’t really think . . . it was me?’
‘No, Mum. I just don’t know how it happened. We came home and found it – lying on the broken glass.’
‘I meant to clear it up earlier, but I forgot.’ Laura stopped, realizing she was sounding guilty. ‘Paintings don’t just rip by lying on glass. They have to be torn, slashed.’ Upset, she stopped. ‘I am very sorry about your painting,’ she said to Daniel, ‘but I really have no idea how it came to be damaged.’ She flicked her eyes across to Cherry, who was staring at the floor, crestfallen.
Dinner was quiet; no one mentioned the painting. Laura made her excuses early and went to bed.
The following morning, Daniel loaded her bags into the back of his car. Cherry stood in the open doorway and shook her hand. ‘Thank you very much for a lovely stay, Laura.’
That’s the first time she’s said it, thought Laura, and tried to bury the irritation at being waved off from her own front step.
Daniel was quiet on the way to the airport and Laura felt a bout of sadness that they weren’t on the same good terms they usually were. She wanted to try and clear the air before she flew back home. ‘You do know I didn’t – wouldn’t – dream of doing something like that to your painting, don’t you?’ she said, not quite believing she was having to say it.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘You don’t sound convinced.’
He took his eyes off the road for a second and smiled at her. ‘Hey, maybe it’s just one of those unexplained things.’
Such as what? thought Laura. But it was clear the subject was closed. And nothing would be gained from flogging it to death. She knew she hadn’t done it, and it was hardly likely Daniel had, which left Cherry, or a random accident. She couldn’t make sense of the latter but equally couldn’t understand why Cherry would do it. It was hard to comprehend, but there was something else distracting her, a niggling disquiet: Cherry was still in her house.
Cherry watched the car pull away and disappear round the end of the drive. So she was gone. It was a huge relief. Laura knew things, she was certain of it. She knew she’d not booked a return flight, maybe even knew Daniel had paid a tiny bit more than it had actually cost. She’d been in desperate need of some new swimwear, unable to afford it, and anyway, it was for him: she wanted to look nice for him. So it was a relief the suffocating mother was gone. Now she could let her hair down; she could be free! Free to enjoy this magnificent house.