on.
"Your English is excellent,"
Penny said, with an ingenuous smile that totally masked the sarcasm, for so far Marielle hadn't managed much beyond yes and no. But Penny knew from their telephone conversations that Marielle was even better at English than she, Penny, was at French.
"Where did you learn?"
she asked.
"I have a lot of English and American friends."
Penny nodded. That's nice,"
she said. Then,
"Are you married?"
"No."
Penny waited, but when no reciprocal question was forthcoming she said,
"Me neither."
The vaguely hoped-for camaraderie of independent, single women was obviously a nonstarter too.
"Are you always this talkative/ Penny enquired after a while,
"or is it just me that you've decided to pour your heart out to?"
Marielle scowled, showing that this time the sarcasm had managed to hit home, but she clearly wasn't going to rise to it.
"Well, if we're going to work together/ Penny said as Marielle threw some coins into the net at the payage,
"we're going to have to find some way of communicating. How's your semaphore?"
48
Penny might just have imagined it, but she thought she'd caught the ghost of a smile twitch those perfect red lips. Well, it was enough to be going on with, for friendship was more of a luxury than a priority and she could tackle it again when the time felt right.
A few minutes later they were turning off the boulevard Carnot on to the voie rapide, the road that ran parallel to the coast with the most exclusive part of Cannes sandwiched between. Not that Penny had a clue where they were. All she could see were the backs of tall, mostly slender white buildings on one side with the odd ad for Monoprix or Indian cuisine, and a fringe of extremely grand, almost Florentine-looking, villas interspersed with holiday apartments through the lush tropical foliage on the other. It was in a secluded, palmstudded forecourt outside one of these villas that Marielle brought the car to a halt.
This is it?"
Penny said incredulously, turning to her. These are the offices?"
"Yes,"
Marielle answered, already getting out of the car.
Penny looked up at the creamy-yellow facade of the villa, at its dark-green shutters, wide, filigree balconies and intricately carved friezes. On both sides of the upper storey were two large, balustraded terraces and reclining on each side of the pointed roof were two happily fat and impudent-looking cherubs. From the outside it appeared more like the home of a minor branch of the Medici family than it did an office, but if this was where she was going to be working she reckoned she could live with it.
The entrance hall was vast, with a high, domed ceiling, art-deco cornices and a dusty marble floor. There was no furniture to speak of and the paint was peeling, but it wasn't hard to imagine what it had looked like in its glory days.
"We don't use the downstairs,"
Marielle told her,
49
already halfway up the balustraded staircase.
"But we will - eventually."
Penny smiled, following on.
"You said on the phone that you have an assistant working with you at the moment. Is she here?"
"Not today/ Marielle answered, offering no explanation as to why.
"But it's been just you two running the shop since the previous editor left?"
"Just us and a few freelancers/ Marielle confirmed, pushing open a heavy white door. This is the main office/ she said, standing aside to let Penny through.
Penny stopped on the threshold to look around what might once have been a small, but nevertheless grand, ballroom. All the shutters were open and the sunlight was streaming across the room in wide, misty bands. The walls were cluttered with the usual paraphernalia of a magazine office, though pretty sparsely so, and only one of the half a dozen or so desks had anything on it.
"It's perfect/ Penny murmured, more to herself than to Marielle as her imagination went instantly to work.
"Where are the computers?"
she asked.
There/ Marielle replied, pointing towards an antiquated
"Your English is excellent,"
Penny said, with an ingenuous smile that totally masked the sarcasm, for so far Marielle hadn't managed much beyond yes and no. But Penny knew from their telephone conversations that Marielle was even better at English than she, Penny, was at French.
"Where did you learn?"
she asked.
"I have a lot of English and American friends."
Penny nodded. That's nice,"
she said. Then,
"Are you married?"
"No."
Penny waited, but when no reciprocal question was forthcoming she said,
"Me neither."
The vaguely hoped-for camaraderie of independent, single women was obviously a nonstarter too.
"Are you always this talkative/ Penny enquired after a while,
"or is it just me that you've decided to pour your heart out to?"
Marielle scowled, showing that this time the sarcasm had managed to hit home, but she clearly wasn't going to rise to it.
"Well, if we're going to work together/ Penny said as Marielle threw some coins into the net at the payage,
"we're going to have to find some way of communicating. How's your semaphore?"
48
Penny might just have imagined it, but she thought she'd caught the ghost of a smile twitch those perfect red lips. Well, it was enough to be going on with, for friendship was more of a luxury than a priority and she could tackle it again when the time felt right.
A few minutes later they were turning off the boulevard Carnot on to the voie rapide, the road that ran parallel to the coast with the most exclusive part of Cannes sandwiched between. Not that Penny had a clue where they were. All she could see were the backs of tall, mostly slender white buildings on one side with the odd ad for Monoprix or Indian cuisine, and a fringe of extremely grand, almost Florentine-looking, villas interspersed with holiday apartments through the lush tropical foliage on the other. It was in a secluded, palmstudded forecourt outside one of these villas that Marielle brought the car to a halt.
This is it?"
Penny said incredulously, turning to her. These are the offices?"
"Yes,"
Marielle answered, already getting out of the car.
Penny looked up at the creamy-yellow facade of the villa, at its dark-green shutters, wide, filigree balconies and intricately carved friezes. On both sides of the upper storey were two large, balustraded terraces and reclining on each side of the pointed roof were two happily fat and impudent-looking cherubs. From the outside it appeared more like the home of a minor branch of the Medici family than it did an office, but if this was where she was going to be working she reckoned she could live with it.
The entrance hall was vast, with a high, domed ceiling, art-deco cornices and a dusty marble floor. There was no furniture to speak of and the paint was peeling, but it wasn't hard to imagine what it had looked like in its glory days.
"We don't use the downstairs,"
Marielle told her,
49
already halfway up the balustraded staircase.
"But we will - eventually."
Penny smiled, following on.
"You said on the phone that you have an assistant working with you at the moment. Is she here?"
"Not today/ Marielle answered, offering no explanation as to why.
"But it's been just you two running the shop since the previous editor left?"
"Just us and a few freelancers/ Marielle confirmed, pushing open a heavy white door. This is the main office/ she said, standing aside to let Penny through.
Penny stopped on the threshold to look around what might once have been a small, but nevertheless grand, ballroom. All the shutters were open and the sunlight was streaming across the room in wide, misty bands. The walls were cluttered with the usual paraphernalia of a magazine office, though pretty sparsely so, and only one of the half a dozen or so desks had anything on it.
"It's perfect/ Penny murmured, more to herself than to Marielle as her imagination went instantly to work.
"Where are the computers?"
she asked.
There/ Marielle replied, pointing towards an antiquated
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