‘Only that he was French, was one of the top directors, wasn’t married…’ she glanced at Marcus. ‘Wasn’t gay, was he?’
Marcus shrugged. ‘If he was, it was a well kept secret. Had a reputation of loving women but wouldn’t commit to one. Anyway, I expect they’ve got all the info they need back at the office but maybe you could do a couple of paragraphs about how the news has been received down here? Cannes was his home town. Maybe interview a few people who knew him? You know the score – find a human-interest angle: the school he went to; name of his first love, et cetera.’ Marcus drained his coffee and pushed the cup and saucer away before asking, ‘You got a press conference tomorrow?’
‘Not tomorrow. I’m hoping to get to a screening in the morning and then I’m having lunch with a friend of Poppy’s who works for Chanel. She’s promised to give me the lowdown on some of the accessories and clothes they’ll be lending the stars. So I should have a spare hour in the morning to try to see if I can find someone to talk about Philippe Cambone. Then, in the afternoon, I’ll file my first daily report.’
‘Don’t forget to keep your ears open for any juicy gossip,’ Marcus said. ‘It’s what this place is good for – and, like I said, Bill is keen to hear some of it.’
‘As you’re an old hand at this lark, where’s the best place to hang out to catch the gossip? See people?’ Daisy asked. Marcus might have a reputation as being a bit of a wild boy and overly fond of leather trousers but he was a brilliant photographer and had ‘done’ the festival for several years now.
‘Any of the cafés and bars in town. This place is good,’ Marcus said, glancing around. ‘Occasionally some of the up-and-coming stars like to come down here and hang out with the boules players over there. Too much security these days for the famous ones to do that, unfortunately. Mind you, if Jack Nicholson is in town, he’s known to like an early morning stroll along the Croisette by himself.’
Marcus stood up. ‘Right, I’m off. Want to come to a party tomorrow night? Bernard Audibert, who’s a big name down here and knows anybody worth knowing, is having his usual opening party bash and I’ve got two tickets. It should be a good starting place for gossip. Meet me after the evening screening and we’ll go together. Ten thirty outside the Palais. Party’s being held in rue Victor Cousin.’
‘Sounds fun.’
‘He was a mate of Cambone’s too, so that could be useful for your feature,’ Marcus added.
‘I’ll definitely try to be there then.’ Daisy hesitated. She really did want to spend the evening with Poppy having a good catch-up but felt she ought to at least make the offer for Marcus to join them. ‘Are you doing anything tonight? Poppy and I are planning a girlie evening, but if you’d like to come to supper? I warn you, you’re likely to get the third degree from my big sister.’
Marcus shook his head. ‘Thanks, but I’ve arranged to meet the guys for a quick drink and then a reasonably early night. Doubt that I’ll see bed much before 3 or 4 a.m. most days while the festival is on. Expect you’ll find the same once you get into the swing of things.’ Unexpectedly, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. ‘When in France and all that,’ he said. He picked up his camera gear. ‘If you need me urgently, you’ve got my mobile number and you’ll invariably find me in the paparazzi scrum at the side of the red carpet. We’ve got a definite dinner date one evening before the festival ends – either the Carlton Terrace or the Palm Beach. You choose. Bill can pick up the tab! See you tomorrow night. Ciao,’ and he sauntered off in the direction of Palm Beach.
Thoughtfully, Daisy watched him go. Well, that was definitely the most unromantic dinner date invite she’d ever had, but dinner at the Carlton would be an experience.
Daisy gathered up her things and headed off in the opposite direction to Marcus. Passing the busy pizza restaurant on the corner brought back memories of the last time she’d eaten in there seven months ago. The four of them – Poppy, Dan, Ben and herself – had been out for the evening at the end of their holiday. She’d been so happy that night. She and Ben had even talked about the possibility of moving to France or finding themselves a small cottage to do up and use as a holiday home. A first step on the property ladder together. It seemed like a logical next step to Daisy. They’d been a couple then for over a year – nearly eighteen months in fact, although they still both rented their own places, despite Ben spending more and more time with her. When Daisy suggested he moved in with her as her flat was bigger than his and they could save money for buying their own place, he said he’d think about it.
They’d been back in the UK a week after that holiday when her world had fallen apart. Apparently, all the talk that night of getting a mortgage, moving in together and settling down as a couple had freaked Ben out and he’d told her it was all over between them – ‘I’m not ready for that sort of commitment, Daisy. I need some space.’ A few weeks later it turned out that the space he craved was in Australia – Sydney to be precise – which seemed to emphasise his desperation to get away from her.
How ironic then that his first letter since then should arrive as she left to catch her flight down here where they’d spent that happy holiday. Unsure of how to reply Daisy had stuffed the letter into her bag. She’d get Poppy to read it later and see if she had any thoughts about Ben’s latest suggestion.
Standing with several people on the pavement in front of a busy road junction waiting for a red pedestrian crossing light to change to green, Daisy smiled at a little girl waiting with a tall man.
‘Nat, d’you think Daddy will be at the house when we get back?’ Daisy overheard the girl ask hopefully, looking up at the man.
‘Maybe, Cindy. His plane should have landed an hour ago and a car was picking him up to bring him straight to Cannes.’
‘Good,’ Cindy said. ‘He can take me to the park tomorrow.’
‘Sorry, Cindy, I think you’ll have to make do with me for a few days. Daddy and Mummy are going to be really busy with the festival for the next week. That’s why they’ve asked me to look after you.’
Daisy smiled sympathetically as the man looked up and saw her watching. He returned the smile but didn’t speak. Just then the lights changed and the small crowd surged forward. Once across the road, Daisy stopped, on the pretence of rummaging for something in her bag, and let the man and girl walk past her, curious to see where they were going.
It was a few hundred yards or so before they stopped in front of a pair of large wrought-iron gates, where the man pressed a security button high in the wall and spoke into the intercom. One of the dark green gates with its golden spikes on top swung slowly open, giving pedestrian access, and the two disappeared into a private garden. Daisy caught a glimpse of immaculate grounds and, in the distance, a belle-époque villa covered with bougainvillea before the gate snapped shut behind them.
Daisy strolled on past and, ten minutes later, she and Poppy were sat at the table under the cottage loggia, with a glass of wine to hand, thumbing through the various film magazines and trade papers Daisy had collected in Cannes.
‘So, you still enjoying being a journalist?’ Poppy asked.
Daisy hesitated long enough for her sister to throw her a curious glance, before saying slowly. ‘Chasing after news stories is losing its appeal. Anyway, I mightn’t have a job much longer. Bill gave me my official redundancy warning letter this week, which contained an offer of voluntary redundancy if I wanted to take it. There are rumours flying around at work about the paper actually folding, so I’m seriously thinking of going freelance and finding some sort of specialism.’ She shrugged. ‘I could even move over here. I do love it down here. Live with you while I find something. I still like the idea of renovating a place, even if Ben couldn’t hack it.’
‘You could stay in the cottage if you wanted to be a bit more independent,’ Poppy said. ‘I know Dan would be pleased for me to have you near when he’s away – his business trips seem to be on the increase. I, of course, would love a live-in childminder.’ She poured