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‘That ferry is going to Corsica,’ he said, pointing at a yellow ship.
She nodded, shading her eyes from the high afternoon sun as she followed its progress. ‘Do you have to get back to the restaurant now?’
He frowned at his watch, wishing it would slow down. ‘Soon. I have time to walk back with you, though.’
‘Don’t let me delay you.’ She turned to him with a smile. ‘I can find my own way back. Sort of. Well, I might take a detour or two, but I’ll get there eventually.’
He watched her for a moment, the wind blowing her curls into a chaotic mess, then shook his head. ‘I’d like to walk back with you, if you’re ready to go.’
‘Sure.’ She gave him one of her beaming smiles.
‘Have you visited the flower market?’ he asked as they turned.
‘No. I’ve heard about it, but apparently you have to be there early and I’m at the school every morning.’
‘Sunday too?’
She shook her head. ‘There are no classes on Sunday.’
‘Then you should see it. The best time is around six o’clock while the tourists are still in their hotel rooms.’
‘Six! All right, I’ll set my alarm and make sure I do.’
‘I could collect you, if you like.’
‘Really? Would you?’
‘Of course.’ The idea of spending the morning with her appealed, and her happy smile warmed him.
‘What a lovely idea. I’d really like that.’
He nodded. ‘I would too.’
And he meant it. It had been a long time since he’d found a woman’s company so enjoyable. It had been a long time since he’d known a woman like Leonie. If he ever had.
Chapter Three
LEONIE was watching from her little balcony when Jacques turned into the Rue Saint Augustin just before six o’clock. With a smile at her earlyrising neighbour across the street, who surprised her by smiling back, she closed the doors and hurried downstairs to meet him.
‘Bonjour, Leonie.’
A little thrill ran through her at the way he said her name and she grinned at him. ‘Bonjour, Jacques.’
She slipped on her sunglasses, and felt a lot younger than her years as they made their way to the market, chatting about all sorts of things. There was an ease between them that was reassuring, but at the same time amazing. On the one hand, it felt as if she’d known him for ages, but, on the other, everything she learned about him was new and intriguing.
She learned that he liked art—a lot—and was very proud of French artists whom she only knew by name, and vaguely at that.
‘French people like to look at beautiful things,’ he said.
‘But that’s a generalisation. I mean, you can’t say that other nationalities don’t like to look at beautiful things. How are the French different?’
His face twisted in thought. ‘I don’t know how to explain it, but we are different.’
She laughed. She could well believe it. ‘I know nothing about art.’
‘But you must know whether you like a painting, or not?’
‘I suppose I would know, but I’ve never really looked at any.’
His horrified expression made her laugh again. It was going to be fun learning all the differences between them. Like turning to page one of a new book, so much to discover.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so excited about a new friend. At one point she caught herself practically skipping with childish enthusiasm, and shook her head, smiling.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Just that I haven’t been out so early before, and it feels good. I like it.’
And she liked not being alone, she added silently. She had to be careful not to take advantage of Jacques’ good nature. It would be very tempting to hint at other sights she wanted to see. But putting him in that position wouldn’t be fair.
When they reached the cours, the streetlamps were still on, but a pink glow above the buildings promised that the sun would soon be with them. Market awnings stretched in front of Leonie. Stripes everywhere. Yellow and white, blue and white, yellow and green.
Cut flowers perfumed the fresh morning air, but it was the beautifully presented fruit and vegetables, and the herbs and spices, that surprised Leonie.
‘I thought it was only flowers.’ She pointed at one of the stalls. ‘Look at the way that fruit has been arranged. Now, that’s like a work of art.’
They walked the entire length of the market, a hundred stalls or more, seeing everything from golfball-sized stuffed olives to live chickens.
Her stomach jumped when he touched her back to steer her out of the way of flailing elbows, and towards an item he wanted her to see.
Leonie tried to put her reaction out of her mind. She’d been taken by surprise, that was all. She took her time over choosing a mixed bunch of flowers to brighten her apartment. Dominated by yellow lilies and white daisies with touches of orange and purple, it made her smile as she joined Jacques, who was waiting without any sign of impatience.
‘Isn’t it gorgeous? It will look lovely on my little table.’
She strolled at his side, acutely aware of him despite the mingling scents, the noise and jostle of the market.
She wanted him to touch her again so she could see if she’d imagined the electricity that had zipped through her. But at the same time, she didn’t want him to touch her because she hadn’t reacted like this to a man in…well, in for ever, and it was scary.
She couldn’t even remember feeling such a strong response to Shane in the early days. But maybe it was her memory that was the problem. It had been a very long time, after all, since she and Shane had gone from classmates to boyfriend and girlfriend.
Yes, a long, long time.
And Jacques would probably be horrified. He was being friendly to her because…well, just because he was a nice man. Not because he saw her as anything other than a middle-aged woman who was trying to learn his language.
She tried to jolt herself out of her disturbing awareness of him, because there was no way she was going to let Jacques see what his presence was doing to her.
When they’d finally seen enough, they stood for a moment in front of the tall, washed-out yellow house where Jacques said the artist Henri Matisse had lived early in the previous century, then he pointed and said, ‘What do you think about climbing la colline du château?’
‘Hmm?’ She turned around to see the hill that rose from the edge of the old town. ‘There’s a château up there?’
‘No. There was, once, a long time ago. There’s a waterfall, and a park.’
‘I like waterfalls.’
‘There are lots of steps. We can use the lift, if you prefer.’
‘One minute you’re telling me not to say I’m old, and the next you’re implying that I’m elderly and infirm.’
‘I did not.’ He frowned. ‘That was not what I meant.’
She laughed at his consternation. ‘I’m only teasing. Come on, let’s go. But we’ll walk.’
As they weaved their way slowly up the side of the hill, Leonie took in the increasingly breathtaking views of Nice below. At the top, they made their way straight to the viewing platforms.
‘Oh, my word,’ Leonie gasped. It was the first time she’d seen the harbour, and the number of three-storey yachts, millionaires’ toys, moored in the neat rectangular harbour stunned her. For the first time since her arrival it sank in that this was the Riviera, the playground of the rich and famous.
Turning a hundred and eighty degrees, she gazed across the red roofs of the old town to the city and the more distant mountains. After a long, spellbound moment, Leonie sighed. ‘I’m glad we made the hike. It was worth it.’
She looked back at the harbour, then turned away. ‘Even if there is no château, which is a pity because I would love to see a real French château.’
‘Then you need to go for a drive,’ Jacques said as they walked away from the platform and wandered through the park.
‘I know.’ She shrugged. ‘Never mind.’
‘What do you mean?’
Leonie had stopped to watch some children on the playground, their laughter carrying to her as they scrambled up a rope climbing frame. She looked over her shoulder. ‘What do I mean?’
‘I don’t understand. Don’t you want to visit anywhere else?’
‘Oh, well, yes, of course I’d like to, but I’m not going to drive a car on the wrong side of the road, and I have no sense of direction, and besides…’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t enjoy sightseeing on my own.’ Rolling her eyes, she said, ‘Now I sound pathetic.’
‘No, you don’t. I can understand that.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘I could take you.’
‘What? No.’ She flapped her hands at him. ‘You’re too busy. You can’t do that.’
‘I can. My staff can manage on their own for a day. I’ve left them before, occasionally, when I’ve needed to take Antoine to an appointment, for instance.’
‘But that’s different. I don’t want to put you to so much trouble just for me.’
He nodded. ‘I’d like to take you for a drive, but it’s your choice.’ He lifted his shoulders, his eyes glinting in the sun. ‘If you don’t want me to, I’ll understand.’
‘Well, of course it’s not that I don’t want you to…it’s just…Are you sure?’
He shrugged. ‘Of course. Why would I have said it if I wasn’t sure?’
She tilted her head to the side as excitement bubbled inside her. ‘Would you really take me to see a château?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then, I’d love to. It won’t matter if I miss a day’s lessons tomorrow.’
‘Not tomorrow.’ He grimaced. ‘I should have said. Tomorrow I’ll be with Antoine. I’m sorry, he’s expecting me. I don’t like to disappoint him.’
‘Oh.’ Leonie smiled brightly to hide the fact that she was ridiculously disappointed. ‘No, of course you don’t. No problem.’
He put one hand on his hip and pushed the other through his hair. ‘You’re disappointed.’
‘No. Goodness, I’m not a child. Whenever you can spare the time will be fine.’
She took a deep breath. She wasn’t sure whether her disappointment came from having the trip postponed, or from the thought of not seeing Jacques for a couple of days. But, either way, she certainly didn’t begrudge him the chance to spend a day with his son. Not at all.
They walked on through the park, saw a museum that had been built to resemble a Roman ruin, and the impressive waterfall, but best of all Leonie loved the stepping stones with intricate mosaics which Jacques told her depicted scenes from Homer’s Odyssey.
‘Sam and Kyle would have loved these when they were kids,’ she said, stepping from one to another.
He smiled, sadly, she thought. Then she remembered that his son would never have been able to use them as stepping stones. Her heart hammered and her stomach rolled at her insensitivity. She made a mental note to think before she spoke in future, because the last thing she wanted was to be hurtful to Jacques.
Half of the morning had gone by when they stopped at a lawned area where Leonie sat on the ground, put her flowers down beside her and stretched out her legs. She wasn’t used to so much exercise. ‘Cripes, I feel unfit.’
She watched Jacques as he sat down near her. He had such a smooth, fluid way of moving, nothing awkward or clumsy about him. She enjoyed herself for a moment, just watching him, then looked away, embarrassed that she’d been staring.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jacques check his watch, and guessed he’d soon have to be making tracks.
‘Come to La Bergamote for lunch,’ he said suddenly.
She blinked. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Do you have other plans?’
‘No.’
‘It’s Sunday. You shouldn’t eat Sunday lunch alone.’
Sunday had always been a family day. Shane had loved his Sunday roast, and the kids had always made sure they were home for this one, even if they didn’t make it for all the other meals she cooked during the week. She wondered if Sam and Kyle would eat together while she was away. She hoped so.
No, she didn’t want to eat alone, and it would be very interesting to see Jacques’ restaurant, she thought as she moistened her wind-dried lips. ‘Thank you. I’d like that.’
‘Good.’ He smiled and her stomach twisted itself into a knot.
‘I need to put these in water, though,’ she said, gesturing at the flowers. And she needed to change her clothes, she thought, looking down at her navy shorts and T-shirt. The white denim jacket she’d worn over the top, since it had been chilly at six in the morning, was now on the ground beside her. She didn’t know how classy Jacques’ restaurant would be, but she would bet on it requiring something dressier than this outfit.
‘No problem. I can wait for you.’
La Bergamote was intimate and crowded and buzzing with conversation. Leonie enjoyed watching the smart clientele who were clearly there for both the good food and the sense of being somewhere special.
What she didn’t enjoy so much was feeling unstylish and out of her league. She’d changed into a tiered cotton skirt with a plain white, closefitting T-shirt, which was about as dressy as she could manage. She made a decision right then that she would spend Monday afternoon shopping for clothes. The next time she came to eat at La Bergamote, she intended to fit right in. If there was a next time, of course. This could turn out to be a one-off invitation, but she hoped not, it was such a great place.
Located just off the Promenade des Anglais, which ran the length of the seafront, the restaurant was a long, narrow room, lit by old-fashioned sconce lamps even though it was the middle of the day, with plum-coloured banquettes along the walls and dark wood tables and chairs. It was elegant and refined, but also gave the impression of solidity. Much like Jacques, she thought with a smile.
