Page 18 of The Magic of Provence (A Year in France #3)
They hurried.
Fiona ran into La Maisonette only a short time later, tore off her work clothes and threw on the only really tidy outfit she had, which was the tiered dress, tights and shoes she’d worn for Lili’s birthday party.
She stuffed a pair of jeans and a jumper into her shoulder bag in case she was in need of something warmer by the time they were driving home again and was back in the passenger seat of Christophe’s sleek black SUV in less than ten minutes.
He didn’t bother stopping at his own house in Vence.
‘I visit so often I already have anything I might need, like food for Heidi, at my mother’s apartment. I have biscuits in the car for her, too.’
It took less than an hour to get to Menton, France’s most southern town, which Christophe told her was about the same size as Vence.
They bypassed Nice and Monaco using the motorway and only had to slow to get through the kind of bottlenecks at toll gates that Fi had initially found terrifying when she’d made the long drive through France by herself.
The neatly marked lanes that led to the individual machines and barrier arms vanished on the other side and it was a free-for-all to see which vehicles could make it back to the motorway lanes first. Fi had never tried to compete because she found it so intimidating.
Christophe won each time but, surprisingly, it didn’t scare her at all.
Neither did it seem to annoy any other drivers.
Maybe it had something to do with the subtle hand signals and that smile of his – the one she could always feel right down to the tips of her toes.
This skill and speed of his driving was seriously impressive, however – a definitive touch of sheer masculinity in a man who came across as being such a gentle soul.
It was, Fi had to admit, something else that was very attractive about Christophe Brabant.
Perhaps that was partly because it balanced his softer side.
Or maybe it was simply an alpha-male characteristic that was, undeniably, dead sexy with its notes of confidence, assertiveness and leadership. A kind of bad-boy vibe that she suspected almost every woman would find compelling.
Fi didn’t dare let her gaze drift to Christophe’s face with that thought, even though it was highly unlikely he would notice anything odd about her expression.
From the moment she’d seen how devastating the thought of losing his grandmother was, Christophe’s focus had been on getting to his destination as rapidly as possible.
Just as clearly, conversation of any kind would be an unwelcome distraction and Fi was happy to sit as quietly as Heidi was being in the back seat.
She was starting to feel more than a little nervous, to be honest. She wasn’t going to try and back out of what she’d offered to do for Christophe, but she was going to be much happier when it was all over and done with.
It was both a relief and even more nerve-racking when they took the motorway exit and dropped to a lower speed limit as they wound their way downhill towards the coast.
Menton looked like an average French town to Fi.
She watched the tall apartment blocks slide past along with supermarkets, pharmacies and hairdressing salons.
There were petrol stations and roundabouts and so many signs, helpfully shaped like arrows.
Green ones with white writing for major destinations like Nice or Ventimiglia.
White ones with black writing for directions to the Centre Ville , Office de Tourisme and – their destination – the H?pital .
There were glimpses of the beach that hugged this seaside town, and so many palm trees.
Perhaps that was why the main hospital was called La Palmosa?
They got out of the car, having found a parking space that was in shade for Heidi’s sake, and Christophe let his dog out for a minute or two to stretch her legs and have a drink of water.
Fi looked up at the huge building that looked modern and light with so many windows but as daunting as any hospital always looked.
It felt warmer here. Not enough to be a problem for Heidi being inside the car but it felt different to the village she’d left behind in the mountains.
As if they’d arrived at a holiday destination, but this was anything but a welcome break for Christophe.
He was looking so pale it made his eyes look black as he put Heidi back into the car and then turned to Fi.
‘ C’est parti …’
Fi drew in a deep breath and followed Christophe.
She could do this.
* * *
For one horrible, heart-stopping moment as he walked into the small side room of the cardiology ward, Christophe thought he was too late.
That his beloved nonna was dead, despite the machines parked by her bedside that were emitting flickering lights and numbers and soft beeping sounds.
Eighty-eight-year-old Flora Romano was lying so unnaturally still and her face was a ghastly shade of grey.
His mother’s colour looked almost as bad but she was moving – holding out her arms to him as tears sprang to her eyes.
It wasn’t until Maria Brabant broke the fierce embrace and held her arms out again that Christophe remembered that Fiona had come into the room right behind him.
His mother was about to welcome the woman who was – to all intents and purposes right now – his fidanzata .
A step up from merely a girlfriend to being not necessarily a fiancée yet but in a relationship that was being taken seriously.
As seriously as it needed to be taken if it could make his nonna happy before she left this earth.
‘Call me Maria,’ his mother said, as she put her arms around Fiona. ‘ La ringrazio molto . Thank you so much for coming.’
Christophe could see the emotion on Fi’s face and it was obvious that she was returning the hug with genuine warmth and it made him feel proud of her.
Proud of her warmth and her generosity in going along with this pretence for the sake of people she didn’t even know.
It was enough to make his breath catch in his chest and make him want to take Fiona into his own arms and hold her tightly enough to let her know how special she was.
The sound from the bed made them all jump, despite not being more than a loud sigh – almost a whimper.
Maria went straight to her mother’s side and held her hand and Christophe went to the other side of the bed, aware of an overwhelming wash of relief that his nonna was still alive enough to be waking up.
Her eyes flickered open but Christophe wasn’t sure if she recognised him. Or was she even looking at him?
No. He could see exactly what Nonna Flora was seeing when he turned his head a fraction.
Fiona hadn’t moved from where she was standing, and the afternoon sunlight coming through the window behind her was creating a halo effect with that extraordinary hair of hers.
A halo that was a mix of red and orange and gold, like the luminous glow of the kind of exceptional sunsets this stretch of coastline was famous for.
Christophe could feel the corners of his mouth trying to curl upwards into a smile but being held back by how poignant this was.
And how astonishing. With her pale, perfect Scottish skin and her body no more than a shadow in those black clothes, Fiona Gilchrist looked…
like an angel? If this was the last thing his grandmother was to ever see, at least it was this.
Something so meravigliosa . Magnifique .
Stunning , in any language.
The moment only lasted a heartbeat. Flora’s eyes drifted shut again as the door to the room opened and the medical staff came in to crowd around the bed.
It didn’t matter that Christophe could no longer see Fiona.
He was watching and listening to the doctors.
Looking at the recordings of blood tests and the function of his grandmother’s heart shown by the ECG and an echocardiogram.
Moving to put his arm around his mother as they asked questions to help them understand what it was they were being asked to give consent to for the next stage of her emergency treatment for a heart attack.
And then there were more people in the room and they barely had time to lean in and place gentle kisses on Flora’s forehead before the bed, all the monitoring equipment around it and the old woman lying with her eyes closed on top of it were being moved.
Taken away as one unit. Maria kept walking behind the bed until it reached the swing doors at the end of the ward and she wasn’t allowed to go any further.
Christophe stood at the door and watched.
Then he turned back into the room.
‘They are taking her to a laboratory,’ he told Fi. ‘To do something called an angiography. She has a blockage in an artery in her heart and it has caused a heart attack and is now making her very unwell. If they can’t open the artery and let the blood flow again, she will die.’
His voice broke on the word and Christophe squeezed his eyes shut to stave off tears.
He felt Fiona coming close to him. Touching his arm but then, a little tentatively maybe, she lifted her arms to offer him a hug.
Or maybe she was responding to him moving closer?
Had he initiated this gesture of comfort?
‘They’re doing everything they can,’ she said softly, so close to his ear that he could feel the puff of her breath. ‘Don’t lose hope.’
Christophe swallowed around the lump in his throat. The softness and warmth of Fiona’s body offered an unexpectedly powerful solace but something told him not to sink into it too far. To step back a moment later before it became something it wasn’t intended to be.
‘I don’t know how long this will take,’ he warned. ‘If they can’t open the arteries with the… I’ve forgotten the word – the little metal cages?’
Fi shook her head. She didn’t know.