A Riviera Retreat. Jennifer Bohnet

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      6

      Vicky woke to silence the next morning and for a moment she struggled to work out where she was. Normally, her day began at six thirty, when she awoke to a cacophony of traffic noise and the sounds of various neighbours leaving for work. Here, apart from the odd pigeon cooing from high up in one of the garden trees, the silence was absolute – not even the cicadas were up yet – and was wonderful to listen to.

      Lying there, Vicky was relieved to recall that breakfast was a help yourself affair. Her body might have been conditioned over the years to waking her up early, but she was definitely not a social being first thing in the morning. It wasn’t just a caffeine hit she needed, it was time on her own to wake up properly. The nightmare of the school run years was thankfully over, but Anthony still liked her to join him for breakfast.

      Was Anthony missing her this morning? She’d texted him to say she’d arrived safely and that the villa was lovely, but he hadn’t replied properly. Just sent one of those thumbs up signs. Well, there was nothing really to say, was there? He’d already told her to enjoy herself and he wouldn’t waste time saying the same thing again. Not because he didn’t care but because, as far as he was concerned, he’d said it once and he wasn’t one for repeating himself. He’d always been straightforward like that. Unlike many of his fellow politicians, he would always try to give you an honest answer. It had got him into trouble with the party more than once, when they’d wanted him to toe the official line.

      Telling the others last night that he was a civil servant hadn’t exactly been a lie, but she hadn’t wanted to tell them the truth. At home, once people knew whose wife she was they could never resist having a dig at ‘this inept government’ or, equally embarrassing, asking her to lobby Anthony for some cause on their behalf. She doubted anyone here would do either of those things, but still, she wanted to be just herself, Vicky Lewis, for the next nine days. This holiday was about being selfish for once and seeing whether she could actually start to write a novel – and kickstart a life of her own alongside Anthony’s.

      Vicky stretched luxuriously. Having such a comfortable double bed all to herself was wonderful. Five more minutes and she’d shower and go and find some caffeine and maybe a croissant.

      Half an hour later, she was sitting on her terrace, a mug of coffee from the jug under the very professional looking machine in the kitchen and a pain au chocolat on a plate placed on the small wrought-iron table in front of her. She didn’t think she was the first to be up, the coffee jug was only half full, but she hadn’t seen anyone on her way to and from the kitchen.

      Sitting there enjoying the calm and the early morning sunshine, she thought about the plans for the week Amy had mentioned and came to a decision. The excursions would be enough entertainment for her, she wouldn’t need to go anywhere else. She’d spend the mornings on the other days working on her laptop, have a swim before lunch, and then write again for a couple of hours in the afternoon.

      Right, she had a plan. She was always happier when she had a plan and with luck this particular one should produce a sufficient amount of writing by the end of the holiday. Writing that might, or might not, be good enough to give her a new career. Vicky sighed.

      She’d been reading a couple of ‘How to’ books and a writing magazine, all of which had been at pains to point out how the market was changing, how difficult it was these days to get an agent, not to mention a deal with a publishing house. But she was determined to have a go. If she didn’t even try to write something during this holiday, she’d be forever wondering whether she’d let herself down.