Rendezvous in Cannes (5 page)

Chapter Ten

Daisy was up early the next morning and walked down to Cannes for an early screening and the following press conference. Afterwards she made her way across to one of the many cafés on the square and ordered a couple of croissants to go with her coffee.

She was sitting there eavesdropping on the conversations going on around her and trying to get some coherent thoughts about the film she’d just seen onto her laptop when Marcus briefly kissed her cheek and sat down beside her. She really was going to have to have a word about all this kissing.

‘Hi. How’s it going?’

‘Fine. You? Caught any celebrities in flagrante delicto?’ Daisy asked.

Marcus shook his head. ‘Not yet but I live in hope. Uncovered any interesting titbits for Bill?’

‘No. Thanks for the photo by the way. Was Anna alone? Did you speak to her?’ Daisy asked.

‘Anna?’

‘The woman in the photograph.’

‘Didn’t see anyone else. And no, I didn’t speak to her,’ Marcus said slowly. ‘I’m surprised you recognised the woman. I deliberately went for a slight out of focus shot because I wanted the poignancy of a mourner laying a tribute without identification. Who is she, anyway?’

‘She runs a production company and has rented the villa for the festival,’ Daisy said. ‘She’s a nice lady, but,’ Daisy hesitated. ‘Very private,’ she said finally, wondering how Anna would react if she ever saw the photograph.

‘You talked to her about Cambone?’

‘I tried. She’s not very forthcoming about him. Says she never worked with him,’ Daisy said. ‘Surely she must have known him though to lay a tribute flower?’

Marcus yawned. ‘Sorry. Didn’t get to bed until three this morning. See if you can get her to open up a bit more. Whatever Bruno says, there is something bubbling behind the Cambone family’s silence. The fact they won’t talk to anyone is suspicious.’

‘They might just want their privacy at a sad time?’ Daisy suggested tentatively.

Marcus shrugged. ‘Privacy is rarely an option in the film business. Right, I’m off to take some pics of the celebs on the beach. You want to come too?’

‘No thanks. I’m going to have a wander around, see if I can pick up some gossip in the shopping mall before I have lunch with a PR from one of the film agencies. Thought I might take a look at the floral tributes too,’ Daisy said.

The windows of the shopping mall that linked the Croisette with the rue d’Antibes were filled with expensive clothes, jewellery and the latest must-have handbags. As Daisy wandered around, advertising flyer after flyer was pressed into her hand by young girls and boys keen to publicise their talents and catch the eye of anybody who could turn them into the stars they dreamed of being. Daisy stuffed the flyers into her bag. She’d look at them later – there might be an interesting story in there somewhere.

A couple were entertaining the crowd with a juggling act. Near the mall exit doorway a violinist was setting up his music as the gendarmes moved a couple of beggars and their dogs on. Outside, the streets in the centre of town were teeming with hawkers, buskers and human statues. It was all very colourful and noisy. It took Daisy nearly ten minutes to reach Chez Cambone after leaving the mall. Although still firmly closed to customers, she saw the flowers had been moved to one side allowing access through the restaurant door.

Slowly Daisy began to read the tributes as she looked for the single rose she knew Anna had placed in the doorway. ‘A sad loss’, ‘One of the greats’, ‘You’ll be missed’.

There were two single roses – both red and both with attached cards.

‘Good-bye and God bless’ read one. The other: ‘One Life. One Love. Farewell’. Neither bore a signature.

As Daisy stood there holding them, wondering which rose Anna had placed there, which inscription was from her, the restaurant door opened. Bruno came out accompanied by another man who Daisy guessed was Jacques Cambone, Philippe’s twin brother.

The two men shook hands and Jacques disappeared back indoors, closing the door firmly behind him, without acknowledging Daisy’s presence.

‘Hi,’ Bruno said. ‘Sorry, don’t think Jacques was in the mood to be introduced. I’ve finally got some dates out of him for the funeral and the memorial service. The funeral will be on Monday – strictly private and no details will be issued to the public.’

‘Are you going?’ Daisy asked.

Bruno nodded. ‘Of course. I’m doing a reading. Hoping my son will be able to get here in time too.’

‘The memorial service?’ Daisy asked.

‘The following Monday morning, open to everyone.’

‘The buzz at the press conference this morning was that an Irish actor called Sean Hamill is somehow involved in a scandal involving Philippe Cambone,’ Daisy said, watching for Bruno’s reaction.

He shrugged. ‘We’ll see. The Cambones have got the police looking into him. But – and this is not for publicising yet – if it becomes general knowledge too soon, I’ll know who to blame as, so far, I’m the only person outside the Cambone family who knows what I am about to tell you.’ Bruno paused before continuing. ‘Two letters have been found amongst Philippe’s effects from someone trying to trace their family tree.’

‘Is this why the Cambones have closed ranks? Worried about losing his money to a stranger?’

Bruno nodded.

‘Are these letters from this Sean Hamill?’ Daisy asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Bruno shrugged. ‘I didn’t get to read the letters and Jacques was being pretty coy about their contents. He certainly didn’t name names but it was pretty clear that Philippe had replied to the first letter. The second one arrived in response to it the day Philippe died.’

Bruno looked at the flowers Daisy was still holding. ‘From you?’

‘Oh. No,’ Daisy said. ‘I was just reading the messages. This one has a certain regretful solicitous tone to it.’

Bruno, bending down to read some of the other messages straightened up. ‘Why? What does it say?’

‘One Life, One Love. Farewell.’

‘Show me the card,’ Bruno said, holding his hand out. ‘Is it signed?’

Bruno took a deep breath as he looked at the card with its message. ‘One Life. One Love,’ he muttered under his breath, before looking at Daisy.

‘I’d bet the Palme d’Or on the fact that this Sean Hamill didn’t write the letters, or that he has any connection to Philippe,’ he said, thoughtfully fingering the card.

‘This – this is different – a real link to the past. Philippe used this phrase a lot at a certain stage of his life. Whoever wrote this knew Philippe Cambone intimately.’

Chapter Eleven

From her table at the Carlton Beach Restaurant, Anna had a clear view of the numerous luxury yachts moored out in the bay. In the distance the Isle of Saint-Marguerite lay serene in the midday sun, the Mediterranean gently lapping at its sandy shores. Noise from the helicopters busily ferrying VIPs to the Palm Beach complex at the far eastern end of the Croisette, added to the hubbub of sounds all around.

Anna reached for her tumbler of water. Lunch had been delicious – tuna salade niçoise followed by a mouth watering glacé with summer fruits and mascarpone. Reneé Porteous, the Parisian who represented the company in France, had been full of enthusiasm for the coming year. Now she’d left for another meeting, Anna and Rick were sitting there mulling over the things that had been discussed and taking in the atmosphere.

All around life, as one big social networking event, was busy: People talking animatedly on their mobiles, men in Armani suits and actresses dressed to seduce, air kissed; ladies who lunched with coiffured hair and their inevitable toy dogs, were busy seeing and being seen. Two gendarmes, arms folded across their chests, were standing regarding the diners thoughtfully.

‘Wonder who or what they’re after.’ Rick said, as one of the policemen, his gun visibly protruding from his waist holster, began to weave his way between the tables towards a large group of diners. Judging by the noise they were making and the number of empty bottles on the table, the party had clearly indulged themselves over lunch.

Turning her head to look, Anna felt her heart lurch in her chest. Sitting three tables away was Jacques Cambone. For a fraction of a second Anna believed it was Philippe – the likeness was so startling. Both Jacques and the man he was lunching with, were watching the police intently. There was something vaguely familiar about the other man, but Anna couldn’t quite place him.

The rowdy table had fallen silent as the policeman approached. A fair-haired man, clearly the subject of the policeman’s interest, had pushed his chair back and was standing up.

‘Yeah. Sure. I’m Sean Hamill,’ Anna heard him say in a drunken drawl.

‘What’s the problem?’

The officer’s reply was lost in the general buzz as he reached in a pocket for a pair handcuffs, which he proceeded to snap around Sean Hamill’s wrists, before indicating with a jerk of his head and a pull of his arm, he was to accompany him.

‘Hey lighten up, man. It was just a publicity stunt. A joke.’

As Sean and the policemen passed their table, Anna and Rick got a good look at him. Late thirties, tall, sunglasses pushed up into his fashionably long hair, expensive loafers on his feet, wearing white jeans and polo shirt, he appeared unfazed by his arrest.

‘Interesting,’ Rick said. ‘That’s the actor who’s been claiming to be related to Philippe Cambone.’

Shocked, Anna looked at him before slowly turning and looked at Jacques in time to see him glance at his companion and mutter ‘Good. It is to be hoped that that should put a stop to it.’

‘Right,’ Rick said, pushing his chair back and standing. ‘I’m off. See you this evening. The party,’ he added as Anna looked at him puzzled. ‘Super Californie?’

‘Sorry, I’d completely forgotten,’ Anna answered. ‘See you later then.’

Anna sat for a few moments after Rick had left, lost in her thoughts. She turned to look at Jacques and his companion. Idly she found herself wondering how Jacques would react if she approached him to offer her condolences about Philippe. Would he recognise her or simply accept her platitudes about his brother as coming from an ex-colleague? Would he introduce her to his companion?

One of the African beach sellers approached, offering a selection of watches and sunglasses, kaftans and various other items. Anna shook her head, the interruption breaking her thoughts.

‘Non merci,’ and the man continued his hopeful trawl around the restaurant tables.

Pensively she looked out across the bay towards the islands – was life over there still as simple and idyllic as it had appeared to be, forty years ago? If there was time, she’d suggest she and Leo take one of the local ferry boats and spend a couple of hours wandering around Saint-Marguerite. She knew Leo would be intrigued by the story of the Man in the Iron Mask who’d been held captive for decades in the ancient fort there.

Jacques Cambone and his friend had stood up and were walking towards her table on their way to the beach exit. Anna felt a jolt of recognition as she saw the face of Jacques’ companion. She couldn’t remember his name but she was certain it was a friend of Philippe’s whom she’d met years ago.

She half stood up to speak to him, to claim acquaintance, to offer Jacques her condolences, but sank back down again on to her chair without speaking. What was the point? It couldn’t possibly serve any purpose, so was best left.

Chapter Twelve

‘What did you mean about the rogues in this business the other day?’ Daisy asked Nat as they stood on the Croisette, watching Tom and Cindy on the carousel.

‘Somebody, pretending to be interested in representing me, took my last script and got it commissioned as his own work,’ Nat said ruefully.

‘That’s awful,’ Daisy said. ‘Couldn’t you expose him?’

Nat shook his head. ‘Unfortunately there’s no copyright in ideas and he’d altered the script just enough to make it difficult for me to prove anything. So from now on I intend to be more careful whom I trust and make sure I register everything with the script-writers’ union and other places.’

‘Did it become a big film?’

Nat nodded. ‘Oh yes. It did very well at the box office – I wouldn’t have had any money problems for years. C’est la vie,’ and shrugging his shoulders, he smiled at Daisy.

‘Can’t Teddy Wickham help you get started? He must know all sorts of people in the business,’ Daisy said, waving to Tom and Cindy as they passed by, each sitting on a gaily painted carousel horse.

‘He’s promised to introduce me to a couple of producers this week,’ Nat answered, ‘Being on the jury he’s very busy. It’s Cindy’s birthday next week too. He’s hoping to be able to be able to at least spend a couple of hours with her that day.’

‘Is Verity planning anything special?’

‘Lots of presents and treats here, and then a big party when they get back home.’

As the carousel glided to a stop, Daisy and Nat helped the two children off.

‘Time for ice creams now,’ Daisy said. ‘Then back to the cottage for tea.’

Poppy was sitting at the kitchen table writing a long list when they got home.

‘Hi. Tea will be in ten minutes. Tom, why don’t you show Cindy your tree house – but stay away from the villa. Anna’s just gone for a siesta by the pool. Try not to disturb her.’

Daisy glanced at the list. ‘You and Anna sorted things?’

‘Yes. She wants a “1920s on the Cote d’Azur” theme. She’s asked me to try to find a pianist for the night – thank goodness I had the piano tuned last month!’

‘Sounds fun,’ Daisy said. ‘As guests, do we get to wear flapper dresses? I’ve forgotten – which evening is it? Must make sure I’m not busy.’

‘Tuesday. Don’t know about flapper dresses – I’m going to be in a bit of a flap I think. Can you help me with things? It’s a bigger event than I thought it was going to be.’ Poppy appealed to her sister. ‘I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t offered to do the catering.’

‘Tom can come and play with Cindy after school for a couple of hours Monday and Tuesday, if that’s any help,’ Nat said. ‘They seem to be getting on well,’ he added, as a burst of childish laughter drifted across the garden from the tree house.

‘That would be brilliant, thanks,’ Poppy answered. ‘Now all I need to do is work my way through this list before next week.’

‘Don’t worry, sis, it’ll all work out,’ Daisy said reassuringly. ‘Right now though, you’d better get some tea organised for Tom and Cindy before Nat has to take Cindy home and I have to get back down to Cannes. Eating outside? I’ll lay the table and then go and get the children.’

Walking out into the garden Daisy saw Anna, asleep on a sun-bed under one of the pool-side parasols. Tom waved from the tree house and Daisy beckoned to them to come down, before turning to go back to the cottage.

As they tiptoed past the end of the swimming pool, Tom told Cindy in a loud stage whisper, ‘That’s my friend Anna. She’s really nice. She lets me swim in the pool with her. She’s come for the festival like your mum and dad.’

‘Is she a film star like Mummy?’ Cindy whispered back.

‘Gosh no,’ Tom said. ‘She’s too old. I think she helps make the films.’

Anna opened her eyes. ‘Hello Tom. Who’s this?’

‘This is my new friend Cindy. Her mummy is an actress.’

‘Hello Cindy.’ Anna said. ‘That’s a pretty name.’

‘It’s really Lucinda,’ Cindy said. ‘My mummy wanted me to be Charlotte but Daddy really wanted Lucinda, so Mummy said yes. My full name is Lucinda Charlotte Natasha,’ and Cindy smiled at Anna.

Anna sat up and looked at Cindy. ‘Is your daddy an actor too?’

Cindy shook her head. ‘No. I don’t know what he does but he’s always very busy,’ she said seriously. ‘It’s my birthday next week,’ she said. ‘Mummy says we might go and see the whales but Daddy doesn’t know yet if he can come.’

‘How old will you be?’ Anna asked.

‘Six.’

‘Tom. Cindy. Teatime. Leave Anna in peace,’ Poppy called.

‘Bye Anna,’ Tom and Cindy said together as they ran over to the cottage.

Anna pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and watched the children disappearing into the cottage, before slowly making her way into the villa to prepare for the party in Super Californie she’d promised to attend with Rick.

With Cindy between them holding their hands, Daisy and Nat walked down to the grand belle époque villa where Teddy Wickham and his family were staying for the Festival. Nat pressed the security button, the gate swung open and Cindy skipped inside. Nat glanced at Daisy.

‘I’ve got tickets for the cinema on the beach tomorrow evening, want to join me? Not sure what’s showing – could be Tom and Jerry or a decent classic feature.’

‘Hey, don’t knock Tom and Jerry,’ Daisy laughed. ‘I’m a big fan. Shall I see you by the Carlton beach after the evening’s red carpet proceedings? I’ll need to take a look at that first. Should be finished about eight o’clock.’

‘Look forward to it. Thanks for this afternoon,’ and Nat followed Cindy into the landscaped villa gardens.