She sighed with pleasure when she spied the smooth crescent of golden sand, bronzed baking bodies and glittering blue ocean. It was so much busier than when she’d first been there, in the middle of winter. She parked her car in a back street and headed straight for Philippe’s cafe. ‘Rose! Alors!’ he cried from behind the coffee machine. ‘You made it!’ He came around the counter and gave her a big hug. ‘I’m finishing up here in five minutes. Why don’t you sit down? Coffee?’ Rose looked gratefully at him. ‘When it’s made by you, how can I refuse?’ Later, as they strolled back to her car, companionably arm in arm, to collect her luggage, Rose found herself looking forward to the prospect of a few days chilling out at the beach. Even though it didn’t feel the slightest bit like a traditional Christmas, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad after all. The morning of Christmas Eve dawned warm and eyeball-searingly bright. She’d had a late night at the pub the night before with Philippe, Frostie and their mates, but nevertheless Rose woke early.
