Page 17 of The Magic of Provence (A Year in France #3)

‘He dreams in English sometimes. But only bad dreams.’

‘ Cauchemars ,’ Christophe murmured. ‘Nightmares.’

‘He recognised Mam from them. They must be his memories. Do you know what flashbacks are?’

‘ Le flash-back .’ Christophe nodded. ‘We use the same word. Or retour en arrière but that’s only to go back.

Flashback is… more violent, yes? Something that you don’t want because it’s bad.

They come from something traumatic and they can damage your life and steal what makes you the person you want to be. ’

Fi couldn’t meet his gaze. She had to fight back tears, in fact. In any attempt to heal herself, she’d never found anything online or in books that captured that feeling so well.

Aye… The person she had wanted to be had been stolen.

She almost wanted to tell Christophe why his definition resonated so deeply with her.

She wouldn’t, of course. She didn’t want him to think about her in that way.

It would be excruciating to think he might be imagining what had happened to her to create her own flashbacks.

‘They think that he must remember the violence. Perhaps that’s all he remembers about his marriage as well as the attack that made him go on the run from the police and probably stow away on a boat to France.

The flashbacks terrify him. Seeing Mam terrified him because he thought she was a ghost. She’s been going into the hospital and just sitting in the room with him.

Talking to him. He’s only starting to wake up properly now.

It’s been…’ Fi blew out a breath as she gave her head a small shake.

‘Well… intense. I’ve discovered that being near donkeys is the best thing when you feel so…

’ She wrapped her arms around herself and could feel her muscles tightening so that she shrank a little.

‘It’s like being in a plane,’ she added.

‘When you hit turbulence that nobody was expecting and you have no idea what’s going to happen next but there’s the possibility that you could actually fall out of the sky. ’

Christophe’s smile was all the response she needed. ‘ C’est parti, mon kiki ,’ he said. ‘Let’s go. Let’s find Joseph and Mary and look after the rest of their friends.’

* * *

Maybe the donkeys remembered the peppermints and ginger biscuits that Fiona had in the pockets of her dungarees.

Or perhaps they remembered her voice reassuring them that they had nothing to fear and the kindness and skill she had shown in making their feet comfortable?

Whatever the reason, they crowded around her as she entered the enclosure.

They wanted to be near her. To be touched by her. It made Christophe smile.

He knew how they felt.

He, too, was happy to simply be this close.

For the most part, they had worked together in silence that first day. This time, it felt easy to start and stop snatches of conversation.

‘Did you bring some stromboli for us to have for lunch today?’ Fi asked as she straightened to stretch her back after finishing a set of hooves.

‘No. Today I have made a pizza with mushrooms and onions that have been cooked with balsamic vinegar and are on top of goat’s cheese and spinach. With a lot of garlic, a little sage and some… romarin . I don’t know what that herb is in English.’

‘Neither do I but it sounds delicious. I wish I’d had a nonna to teach me to cook Italian food.’

‘There is no one else in the world like my nonna,’ Christophe said with conviction. ‘She is the person I love the most. Apart from my mamma, bien s?r .’ He caught the lift of Fi’s eyebrows and smiled as he shrugged. ‘What can I say? I’m half-Italian. For us, family is everything.’

‘Do you have brothers and sisters? Cousins? Nieces and nephews?’

Christophe sighed deeply. ‘Sadly, non . My mamma and my nonna were counting on me to grow our family and I wanted that too. I had been an only child and I envied my friends who had big families. I almost got married when I was eighteen but fortunately I realised what a bad idea that was before I made such a big mistake.’

He wasn’t about to tell her that he’d been discarded by Marcella in favour of another man – an older, wealthy man.

That, in the end, who he was had not been enough for the girl he had loved so passionately.

Why would he want Fiona to know that? Or that he’d been so broken, he’d vowed to never risk that kind of pain a second time? She might think less of him.

He didn’t want her to think less of him.

‘It still seems like a bad idea.’ This time his shrug signalled an end to this subject. ‘ Qué sera sera .’

When he started another conversation as they put halters on the last two donkeys who needed attention, he made sure it was not going to get too personal.

‘Donkeys’ feet are very different to horses’ feet, yes? I know they are prone to laminitis, like ponies.’

‘Yes. The hooves are quite a different shape. They’re longer than they are wide and it’s very important that they walk on the wall of the hoof and not the sole.’

‘Why is that?’

‘I can’t quite remember. It’s a very long time since that particular lecture at university and it was about all sorts of hooves – cows and goats and sheep as well as donkeys and horses.’

‘Did you go to university to learn to become a farrier?’

‘No. That was by working as an apprentice. University was for vet school.’

Christophe unhooked the stethoscope from around his neck but didn’t put the earpieces in place. He was staring at Fi’s back as she bent over the hoof she was holding in her hand, using her knife to clean it.

His tone was astonished. ‘You went to university to become a vet?’

He saw the way she froze. He heard how strangled her dismissive words were.

‘For a while. It didn’t work out.’

He could also hear the regret that she had shared the information in the first place and he could almost hear distant doors being slammed shut. He was not welcome in this space. He suspected no one was. Was it because she didn’t want anyone to think less of her because she had failed in some way?

Christophe, of all people, could understand that.

He made a sound of what he hoped was acknowledgement with no hint of judgement and they worked in silence again after that. They both seemed to have stepped a little too close to boundaries that were there for a reason.

Perhaps the picnic lunch, which he’d made with such care last night, would make things right again between them?

* * *

She’d let her guard down, hadn’t she?

Enough to open a window into a part of her life that she had no intention of sharing with Christophe.

It was a relief to focus on finishing the work they’d come to do. By the time the last physical check, dosage of worm paste and foot trim had been completed the peacefulness of both the forest and the small herd of donkeys had worked its magic.

With Heidi lying under the hunter’s table as Christophe unpacked the picnic, any residual fragments of discomfort had evaporated. He was smiling as he offered her a drink and a slice of the pizza he’d made for their lunch.

Maybe the fact that the food was cold somehow enhanced the flavours.

Or perhaps it was just astonishingly delicious at any temperature.

Fi closed her eyes as she chewed the first mouthful.

Very slowly, so she didn’t miss anything.

Rosemary, that was the herb that Christophe hadn’t known in English.

She’d recognised the baked leaves scattered over a cheese layer above the spinach and goat’s cheese that had created a golden-brown bed for the mushrooms. She savoured everything, swallowed and made an appreciative murmur.

And then she licked her lips in anticipation of the next bite.

She could feel that Christophe was watching her.

He was sitting at the head of the table, at right angles to Fi, and he was close enough for her to feel how still he was.

She knew he was waiting. That her opinion of his food was important to him.

She opened her eyes, lifted her gaze, a smile already beginning to emerge, as she tried to think of an appropriate superlative for his amazingly good cooking, but then it died on her lips.

Oh, my …

The way he was looking at her mouth in the heartbeat of time when she’d just finished licking her lips.

The look in his eyes the moment they met hers as he lifted his gaze.

Was it her imagination or was he thinking about kissing her?

Did she want him to think about kissing her?

No .

Absolutely not ! She hit the notion on the head with a mental sledgehammer but it also killed what she’d intended to say about the food.

In the nanosecond before it could all become incredibly awkward, salvation came in the form of a ringtone and Christophe pulled his phone from his pocket and swiped the screen to answer a call.

‘ Ciao, Mamma . ?a va ?’

Fi could see the screen of his phone. A woman with dark, shoulder-length wavy hair was staring back – at her .

‘Christophe?’ A stream of what sounded like rapid-fire questions followed in Italian and Fi heard her name more than once as they were answered.

Christophe switched to English. ‘This is my mamma,’ he told Fi. ‘She wanted to know who you are and what we are doing in the middle of a forest. She wants to say hullo. And to see whether I’m feeding you properly.’

‘Hi,’ Fi said, shrinking a little under the intense gaze she was receiving. She lifted the slice of pizza she still had in her hand so that Christophe’s mother could see it. ‘Your son is an amazing cook,’ she said. ‘This is so good.’

There was a moment’s silence as the older woman smiled back at her but then there was a new flow of words that held a note of urgency.

Christophe’s responses – between what sounded like distressed exclamations – were clearly questions and he got to his feet, walking away from the table as if he needed to move more than just his hands as he spoke.

Something was wrong.

Fi’s appetite deserted her. She reached down to find the comfort of Heidi’s soft coat and warmth and she gently fondled the dog’s ears as they both watched Christophe.

He was on the far side of the clearing now but, when he lowered his hand, the phone call clearly ended, he didn’t move.

He was standing very still, his head bowed and his shoulders curved as if he’d just taken on the weight of the world.

Fi had no idea whether she would be welcome to step past what felt like another personal boundary, but she couldn’t simply sit there and watch someone so caring and kind suffering like this.

Heidi seemed to approve of her decision to walk to where he was standing and came with her, close enough for her shoulder to be brushing Fi’s leg.

‘What is it?’ She was horrified to see tears on his cheeks. ‘What’s wrong, Christophe?’

‘It’s my nonna.’ He rubbed his face with his hand. ‘She’s in hospital. There’s something wrong with her heart. Mamma thinks she will die.’

‘Oh… no…’ Fi touched his arm. ‘You must go to her.’

‘ Si …’ Christophe’s ragged snatch of a new breath was audible. He turned and started walking back towards the table. ‘I must. I’m sorry, Fiona. We will have to abandon our lunch.’

Fi shook off the apology. ‘It doesn’t matter. How far away is your nonna?’

‘Menton. It’s only about an hour’s drive.’

Fi helped him wrap up the pizza and stuff it back into the bag, along with everything else he had unpacked for their picnic, but she was watching Christophe as well.

She could see the pain in his face and her heart was breaking for him.

His grandmother was the person he loved most in the world and this was tearing him apart. She spoke without thinking.

‘Let me come with you,’ she said. ‘I can drive. I don’t think it’s safe for you to drive when you’re this upset.’

A huff of something like laughter escaped Christophe. ‘You don’t want to do that, amore .’

‘Why wouldn’t I? I have nothing else I need to do right now.’

‘Because my mamma will… she…’ Christophe shook his head.

Then he let his breath out in a long sigh.

‘My mamma thinks you’re my girlfriend,’ he said.

‘I’m sorry – I told her it wasn’t true but she said even if it wasn’t, the least I could do is to pretend it was because…

’ His voice caught. ‘…because it’s the one thing that would let my nonna go in peace – to think that I’ve finally found the woman who will be my wife. La madre dei miei bambini …’

Fi blinked. She recognised the Italian word for children.

Christophe had been at school with Julien, which made him the same age, mid-thirties.

The closest he’d been to getting married had been when he was eighteen, which was a very long time ago.

No wonder his family were concerned about his future happiness when there was no sign of him finding the person he wanted to create a family with.

‘You should pretend,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t mind.’

‘It would be a lie,’ Christophe said. ‘I do not tell lies.’

‘Only a white lie,’ Fi countered. ‘And white lies to make someone happy are okay. Especially if it’s their last wish.’

She had a sudden image of an elderly, frail Italian woman, lying on a hospital bed, a gnarled hand resting between those of her grandson.

And then she could imagine the woman’s eyelids fluttering as she opened her eyes and looked up – to where Fi was sitting beside that beloved grandson – and then drifting shut again, as she took her final breath. With a smile on her face?

‘I could pretend too.’

The words came from nowhere, startling Fi as much as Christophe.

They stared at each other.

‘You’d do that?’ Christophe’s tone was incredulous when he finally spoke. ‘For me? Why?’

‘I like you,’ Fi said simply. ‘You’re a very kind man.

You’re kind to your mamma and your nonna and your dog and…

’ She tried to smile but it was a bit wobbly.

‘And you’re kind to donkeys when they’re frightened.

You deserve someone to be kind to you and…

maybe that person is me. I’m here. I could do this for you. ’

How hard would it be to look at this man in front of his family as if he was the most beautiful, desirable man on earth?

It would be playing with fire but she could do this without putting herself in any real danger. The desire to do it was strangely compelling, in fact.

The real question was whether Christophe could make it convincing. Or whether he even wanted to try. Fi had no idea what was going through his head as he stared at her in astonishment.

But those questions were answered when his smile lit up his face and crinkled the corners of dark eyes that were sparkling with new tears.

‘ Grazie ,’ he whispered. ‘ Grazie mille , Fiona. It would only need to be one visit to the hospital and I can bring you back home tonight.’ He picked up his backpack and the picnic bag. ‘But we need to hurry. I don’t know how much time we have.’