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“Did you know Matt has horses, Mama? He rides almost every day when he’s at home.”
“I didn’t know that. How amazing.” She gave him a look of gratitude.
“Can we go visit? Then I could ride a horse,” Alexandre said.
“Oh, no, honey. We live here. Monsieur Sommer is our guest. We’re not his.”
“I’d like to ride a horse, Mama,” Alexandre persisted.
“Maybe we’ll find a horse to go riding one day when you’re older.”
Alexandre thought about it a moment, his face scrunched up. Then he brightened and gave a brilliant smile to the man next to him. “It’s later. Now can we ask Mama?”
“Ask me what?” Jeanne-Marie asked.
“Can I go climbing? He can show me how.”
Jeanne-Marie frowned. “Monsieur Sommer is here to do serious climbing, not spend time teaching you how to climb.”
Matt shrugged. “One afternoon wouldn’t hurt. If you’d allow it. There’re some very easy climbs he could probably handle. I know what a small boy can do. My son loved it.”
Jeanne-Marie looked between the man and the boy. She could see the hope dancing in Alexandre’s eyes.
“Mmm, we’ll see. Now it’s time for bed. We’ll discuss climbing another time.” She rose and held out her hand. The little boy slid off the chair and reached for her, looking earnestly at their guest.
“We can talk more tomorrow.”
“Perhaps.” Jeanne-Marie did not want her son pestering the guests. Even though Matt had been kind enough to escort her son home, she was not in the habit of imposing on people at the inn.
After Alexandre was in bed, Jeanne-Marie caught up on some household chores, then went to sit on the veranda. It was nice to relax in the darkness and wait for the last of her guests to return for the night. Sometimes she almost could imagine she was waiting for Phillipe to return from a walk.
Though tonight her thoughts were of Matthieu Sommer. She wished he wanted a last bit of fresh air and would join her on the veranda.
The evening was cool. Settling in the shadows, she gazed toward the sea, dark and mysterious this late. Reviewing her in-laws’ visit, she wished they’d spoken about Phillipe more. She missed him. Missed all the family traditions they’d just begun. Like La Victoire de 1945. Last year she and Alexandre had gone with her friend Michelle and her family. Alexandre had enjoyed the activities, but she’d felt out of place every time Michelle’s husband had swung his son up onto his shoulders so he could see better. Alexandre should have had a father to do the same thing! He was growing so big, it was hard for her to pick him up. Not that her holding him gave him that much extra height.
The last fete she’d attended with Phillipe, Alexandre had been an infant in arms. She remembered the day with a soft smile, startled to realize that the achy pain that normally came when she remembered something done with her late husband was missing. She hoped she’d reach the stage to remember their time with nostalgia and a poignant feeling of days gone by. But for the first time she didn’t feel crushed with the weight of grief. Was she at last moving on, as so many had told her she would?
Did meeting Matthieu Sommer have anything to do with that? She almost gasped at the thought.
CHAPTER FOUR (#u9f3b84d5-db2d-5dc4-83ca-58d437defd86)
THE NEXT MORNING Jeanne-Marie was in the midst of preparing individual quiches for her guests when Matthieu Sommer walked into the kitchen. She looked up, feeling a spark of delight, which she firmly and immediately squashed.
“I can serve breakfast in the dining area,” she said, finishing the last of the crusts and carefully lifting portions into the miniature pie pans she used for the individual servings. Guests usually loved her quiches; her crusts were light and flaky, the warm filling an assortment that so many seemed to enjoy.
“Here’s fine,” he said, sitting at the same place as yesterday.
“This is a working kitchen.”
“Is there a problem?”
She frowned, wondering how to convey how self-conscious he made her without sounding like an idiot. Please, go in the other room before I lose sense of what I’m doing and just stare at you, wouldn’t go over very well. Sighing softly, she began to make his hot chocolate. Taking the mug to the table, she placed it down in front of him. His hand reached to hold her arm. “Is there a problem? “
The tingling that coursed through her warmed deep inside. She took a shaky breath. “I guess not. I’m not used to people being in here while I’m working.”
There was a definite, huge, mega problem—she was so aware of him as a man, and her own dormant needs as a woman, she couldn’t think of anything else. His hand was warm on her arm. The scent of him had her own senses roiling. She’d give anything to be brave enough to sit down with him and forget about the rest of her guests while she learned every aspect about his life she could discover.
“I’ll be as quiet as a mouse,” he said solemnly.
“Not a good analogy to use in a commercial kitchen,” she said, reluctant to pull her arm from his gentle grasp. His thumb brushed against her skin lightly. It sent shivers up her back. With that, she turned away and scurried behind the high counter, doing her best to remember she was in charge of the inn and he was a guest who would be leaving soon. Not a man to get interested in. No someone to start a relationship with.
The thought stunned her. She’d never thought to fall in love again. She’d adored Phillipe. They’d had a wonderful marriage. Too soon over, but she’d never expected to become involved with another man.
Then, she’d never met a man who piqued her interest as much as Matthieu Sommer. Or was as different from Phillipe as he could be. Where her husband had been friendly and outgoing, easily making friends wherever he went, Matt was quiet, kept to himself and seemed to ignore the rest of the world.
“The quiche won’t be ready for a half hour. I have some fresh croissants and breads,” she said. “I can make you an omelet.”
He checked his watch. “I’d planned to leave early, but my friend Paul called last night. He and I’ll climb together today. I’m meeting him in Marseilles. We’re tackling a cliff on that side. But he won’t get up until I pound on his door, if I know him. He was probably up until after two.”
Jeanne-Marie looked at him. “So why didn’t you stay in Marseilles?”
“This place suits me.”
“Mmm.” If he’d never come, she’d never have met him. That wouldn’t have been all bad. She didn’t like the sensations that rose whenever he was near. It reminded her of all she’d lost. And filled her with a vague yearning for things that couldn’t be.
Matt watched Jeanne-Marie as she worked. She seemed to enjoy cooking. She could make so much more money if she expanded her meals. Not everyone was so talented or content with less than she might achieve.
Thinking about it, he realized she’d not changed her attitude toward him, either, once she’d learned about his family’s situation. She still treated him as any guest, no more sympathy or less than for any other. At least she didn’t tiptoe around, afraid to say anything that might remind him of his wife and son.
Jeanne-Marie was that rare individual who seemed genuinely content with life as it was. Too bad he couldn’t feel the same way. The raw grief that wouldn’t fade drove him. He wanted to escape his thoughts and find some change in climbing, in pushing himself to the limit. Sleep then would be uneventful and deep.
“Here you go. And I warmed a croissant for you,” she said, placing in front of him a heaping plate of cheese, pepper and onion omelet, along with a fluffy croissant.
“Thank you. When do you eat breakfast?”
“Before I prepare, or I’d be nibbling all morning.”
He began to eat, enjoying the flavors that burst in his mouth. After a moment, he said, “I might eat dinner in Marseilles before returning tonight.”
“I won’t worry then if you’re late back. The center doors are left open for any guest coming in after I go to bed.”
“You’d worry otherwise?” Now that was interesting.
She looked up and shrugged. “I’d worry about any guest climbing those cliffs.”
He ate, finishing the delicious breakfast she’d prepared. Drinking the last of his hot chocolate, he debated asking for another cup. Instead he put it down and looked at her.
“I could take your son on an easy climb tomorrow afternoon, if you’d permit.” He’d thought about it long into the night last night. Being with Alexandre was different from being with Etienne, yet on one level it was the same. Both young boys exploring their worlds. It wouldn’t hurt him to spend a few hours helping in that exploration.
“Why would you do that?” she asked, studying his face as if looking for clues.
“For my son.”
“Oh.” She glanced away and nodded. “Then if you think Alexandre won’t be a pest, I guess we could take advantage of your expertise. I don’t want him to try more than he can do. But he pesters his grandfather all the time to take him climbing. Maybe trying it once or twice will have him lose interest.”
“Or capture his interest even more.”
“There is that risk.”
“You’re a good mother to let him try this when I know you don’t approve.”
She continued working. “It’s not that I disapprove so much as I don’t want him hurt. I think all mothers feel that way. But I’m trying very hard not to be overprotective. If I had my way we’d live someplace totally flat where the most exciting thing he could think of would be to ride a bicycle.”
Matt nodded. He remembered Marabelle being concerned when Etienne rode his pony. The boy had loved that pony. And he’d only fallen a couple of times. Nothing to dim the delight he took in riding.
Surprisingly, once they agreed on a time, Matt felt a spark of anticipation. Today’s climb would be challenging. But tomorrow’s might be more rewarding.
Much as he might like to stay for another cup of chocolate and talk to Jeanne-Marie, he had agreed to meet Paul early. He hoped his friend was ready to climb and not handicapped by a hangover.
Jeanne-Marie watched Matt leave with mixed feelings. He invaded her space, yet when he left it seemed emptier than before. She couldn’t figure out how to keep him out of the kitchen. She felt disturbed by his presence. The disruption to her carefully planned life, the extra excitement of being fully alive when he was around made her restless and agitated when he left. She didn’t want to come alive, to feel love and then loss. Better to stay in a state that didn’t allow strong emotional feelings. It would be safer.
Shaking off her feelings, she tried to draw contentment from her baking. Her life was full, satisfying and suited her and Alexandre perfectly.
As the day progressed, Jeanne-Marie went through her normal routines. Two couples checked out. Another two were due to arrive. When her friend Michelle called to see if they were attending La Fête de la Victoire de 1945, Jeanne-Marie was grateful for a break.
“I’d like that. Alexandre has seen the posters I put up and has been plaguing me about when we’re going.”
“The parade begins at eleven. I thought we could meet at the corner where we met last year.”
“Perfect. He’ll be thrilled.”
The celebration was a big deal in small St. Bart. Phillipe told her how often his parents had brought him to stay with his grandparents for the fete. He’d enjoyed it as a child, much as Alexandre loved it now. They’d only shared one fete here after they married. Now attending each year was special, doing something he’d done. She could tell her son about his father, and continue his memory as best she could.
Her thoughts went to Matthieu Sommer. What would he do that day, another climb? Holidays must be especially lonely for single people, she thought. And especially sad to remember them spent with loved ones now gone. The first without Phillipe had been hard—but she had Alexandre. Matt had no one.
She could invite him to join them.
She caught her breath at the thought. The last couple of years, she’d invited her guests to enjoy the fireworks from the veranda. But she’d never mingled with them during the day.
Late in the afternoon, Adrienne called.
“Antoine and I can come for Alexandre next Monday afternoon,” she offered.
“I’ll bring him up. I have some shopping I’d like to do in Marseilles. What time works best?”
“Of course we’d like him to come for as long as possible, so early morning, but I know you have things to do at the inn. Come when you can.”
“Let’s plan on early afternoon, then. Anything special going on I should make sure he has proper clothes for?”
“A swimsuit and sturdy shoes. We’ll take a ramble in the park,” Adrienne said.
The seaside park in Marseilles was a favorite of Alexandre’s.
“He’ll love that.”
She hung up, happy for Alexandre to have his grandparents so near. Yet she was already missing him for when he left to visit. Usually she let him stay a few days at a time. Every so often his grandparents asked for longer, but so far Alexandre hadn’t pushed for any longer visits. And she missed him too much when he was gone to agree.
She finished up her work and went to take Alexandre for a swim. He was going to be thrilled with all the plans.
It was after ten o’clock that night when Jeanne-Marie went to close up the French doors. Rene had left a half hour ago. All her guests except Matt had returned. The last couple had just gone up. How late was he planning to be? Had he decided to stay the night in Marseilles rather than drive back? If so, wouldn’t he have called to let her know?
Then she heard the sound of a car on the gravel of the parking area. He was back. She couldn’t help the sudden skip in her heart. Every inch of her went on alert and she waited impatiently for him to come in, holding the French door open wide.
He saw her the moment he stepped on the veranda. “I didn’t keep you up, did I? I know you rise early.”
“No, this is my usual closing time. Did you enjoy climbing with your friend?” She shut the door after he walked through and turned around to face him. He was growing more tanned each day he spent on the cliffs. He had a rugged masculinity that attracted like nothing else had. She wanted to check her hair and make sure she looked as good as she could. How silly was that? Matt hadn’t shown a speck of interest. He was still mourning.
“Paul’s driven to competition. Everything has to be a challenge. He made bets on who would reach the top first. Then he wanted to try a different climb down. Racing to be first in both treks, he made me tired just watching him. I didn’t come to make everything into a contest.”
“Have you climbed together before?”
“Once or twice. I know, I should have expected it. He’s always like that. Only this time, I was feeling differently about things. It’s the first time I’ve gone with him since Marabelle and Etienne’s deaths.”
“Your family?” she asked gently. She hadn’t known their names.
He nodded.
“Did they share your love of climbing? Your son must have, if he went with you.”
“As long as it was a gentle ramble around hills and lakes. Once serious rock climbing came into the picture, Marabelle always found other pursuits. I had hoped Etienne would like to climb when he got older.”
“Phillipe’s father taught him. They had lots of treks together. I think it was a bonding time; they were very close.”
“Any shared activity would draw parents and children closer. Etienne liked to walk around the vineyard with me. That’s what I miss most, I think.”
“Tell me about him. Would you like something to drink? Brandy? Coffee?”
He hesitated so long, she was sure he’d refuse. Then he nodded once and said, “I’ll take a brandy if you have it.”
Jeanne-Marie went back into the kitchen and drew out a bottle of fine brandy and two snifters. She carried them back to the lounge, pleased to see Matt standing near one of the comfortable sofas with a coffee table in front of it.
She set the glasses down and offered him the bottle. He poured them each a small portion of brandy and lowered himself beside her on the sofa once she sat.
“How old was Etienne?” she asked. She hoped he wanted to talk about his son. She often wanted to talk about Phillipe, to remember the good times, to share his life again with friends. It had been hard at first, but now it brought comfort.
“He was five. Alexandre’s age. His hair was blond and his eyes blue. Even if he was my own, I thought he was engaging. Funny. Inquisitive.”
“What was his favorite thing to do?”
