Page 25 of The Magic of Provence (A Year in France #3)

She opened her eyes to find Christophe’s gaze resting on her face but it felt as if they were resting on her soul. As if he could see the person she might dream of being in this new life and all the shiny promises of what it might deliver.

Like feeling worthy of being loved.

Of kisses that never ended.

Feeling safe …

It could never happen, not with this man, anyway. Maybe that was why there was a poignant note to his smile as he responded to the tug Heidi gave on the lead and turned away.

Just for that tiny moment, however, Fi had imagined what it would be like to be walking into exactly that future, hand in hand with Christophe Brabant and…

…and it squeezed her heart so hard that it hurt.

* * *

They set off downhill in a slightly subdued silence.

Fi was ready to suggest it was time to stop their tour and find somewhere to have a bite to eat, despite knowing that the plan was to drive her back to La Maisonette after lunch, so this time with Christophe would be over.

Perhaps he didn’t want it to be over quite yet, either, because, when they got back to the road beside the sea and it seemed as if they were about to choose where to eat, he turned instead through a row of yellow archways between two restaurants and there was a mountain of stone steps zigzagging their way uphill in front of her.

He didn’t miss the beat of consternation on Fi’s face.

‘This is the way to the basilica of Saint-Michel-Archange,’ he told her. ‘Menton’s not-to-be-missed tourist attraction.’ He gave her an encouraging smile and held out his hand. ‘It’s worth it, I promise.’

It would have been rude to refuse his hand but it was easier than Fi expected to keep holding it as they went uphill again.

His grip was firm and strong and confident.

Did Heidi feel something like this with the contact she had with Christophe’s other hand through her leash?

If so, it was no wonder that she followed him so willingly.

He let her go as they reached the top of the zigzag and they stopped to catch their breath.

Behind her was a view of the sea and beach, framed by a terracotta-coloured apartment block on one side and a soft orange one on the other.

In front, past a square that was a mosaic of black and white tiles and up yet another set of stairs, was a church with statues set into the walls and even on the roofline and a tall bell tower.

To her left was another impressive building with towers and statues and pillars, and this was the basilica.

‘I can wait here, if you want to go inside,’ Christophe said. ‘I can’t take Heidi inside but the artwork in the chapels is amazing.’

Fi didn’t want to move yet.

‘Maybe next time,’ she found herself saying.

As if she knew there would be a next time. Or as if she wanted there to be a next time. It was like his ‘one day’ in that it held both an invitation and a promise.

Christophe turned his head to meet her gaze and Fi found herself holding her breath. She didn’t let it out until after he’d given a single nod and she caught a glimpse of a smile.

‘Next time,’ he echoed.

* * *

They sat in the sun to eat a margherita pizza, with tangy crushed tomatoes, melty mozzarella cheese and pops of fresh basil, drinking a Provencal rosé that had been poured into wine glasses filled with ice cubes.

Heidi was lying beside them but she took up a lot of the space between their table and the next and, when a young couple went to sit there, their small child screamed with fright when he saw the enormous dog lifting her head to look at him.

He burst into tears and clung to his mother’s legs as Christophe apologised and made Heidi move closer to his chair.

‘It’s no problem,’ the mother said. Her French had a Spanish accent.

‘He needs to get past his fear of dogs.’ She sat down and let her son climb onto her knee.

He stopped crying but he was clinging to his mother’s neck, his face buried against her chest as she read the menu over his head and discussed it with her partner.

Christophe shared a glance with Fi as they both reached for another slice of the delicious pizza.

‘It’s common for small children to be afraid of dogs, isn’t it? Especially large ones.’

‘And yet they can be more gentle than small ones. I got bitten by a little terrier when I was young and I can still remember being scared of walking past where it lived.’ She was smiling, ‘Didn’t stop me falling in love with an Irish wolfhound I met a year or two later, though.’

She took a big bite off the pointy end of her pizza slice and Christophe watched her face as it softened into lines of pure pleasure.

He was still watching as she used the tip of her tongue to catch a drop of tomato sauce on the corner of her mouth, and the unexpected shaft of desire made him shift his gaze swiftly.

Kissing Fiona had not only unlocked a door in his head, it seemed to be swinging ajar without being pushed.

Or maybe it wasn’t simply the kiss. Perhaps it was the thought that he might be able to help her get past her fear of an intimate touch.

It was interesting that she’d managed to get past her fear of dogs after she’d been bitten as a young child – and that it had been gentleness that had been what was needed to get her past that fear.

He could be gentle…

And, oh là là , he was realising just how much he would like the chance to demonstrate that skill, but patience was possibly an even more valuable trait. The initiation of anything physical had to be Fiona’s decision. Her choice.

The waiter was delivering meals to the table next to them. A bowl of pasta, another filled with steaming mussels, a basket of bread and a platter of frites . The mother offered one to the little boy, still on her lap, but he wasn’t looking. He was staring at Heidi.

Christophe dropped his hand to Heidi’s head.

Just a touch and then an ear scratch, to tell her that she was behaving very well, just lying there so quietly, right against the legs of his chair.

She looked up at him, pulling her ears down and crinkling her eyes and her tail thumped the ground.

Christophe looked up swiftly – had this scared the little boy again?

He was still staring at Heidi, his eyes huge and his mouth open. And then he lifted his gaze to Christophe’s and the seesaw between fear and curiosity was palpable.

‘She’s very kind,’ he said, in Spanish. ‘Would you like to come and say “hullo”?’

The boy shook his head very firmly. He turned to accept the frite from his mother and stuffed it into his mouth.

Christophe went back to his pizza but, from the corner of his eye, he could see the repeated glances going in Heidi’s direction.

As he saved a piece of his crust for Heidi, he caught the movement from the next table.

The boy had slithered down from his mother’s lap and was standing between the tables.

Heidi thumped her tail on the cobbles.

‘That means she likes you,’ he told the boy. ‘Her name’s Heidi. What’s yours?’

‘Arlo.’

‘Would you like to pat Heidi? She won’t hurt you, I promise.’

For a long moment, Arlo stood completely still. Christophe stroked Heidi’s head.

‘It’s so soft,’ he said. ‘Come and feel it. Just with one finger? Like this…’

Arlo’s parents were watching. Fi was watching.

It felt like they were all holding their breath, and Arlo took a step closer, stretched out his hand and touched Heidi’s head.

He pulled away instantly, his head turning to look at his parents to see if they’d seen how brave he’d been.

They were smiling. His father picked up his phone.

‘Do it again,’ he urged. ‘I will take a picture for you.’

By the time Christophe and Fi were ready to leave and Heidi was standing up, Arlo was ready to give her a farewell hug, his arms around the neck of the dog who was as tall as he was. His mother looked like she was on the verge of tears.

‘ Gracias ,’ she said. ‘ Merci beaucoup , monsieur .’

‘ De rien ,’ Christophe responded. ‘It was nothing.’

* * *

Fi was quiet until they were on the other side of the road from the restaurant, walking back towards the marina and the fort and the car park beyond, but she had to say something then.

‘You love kids, don’t you?’

‘I do.’ He grinned at her. ‘I was one myself once.’

‘You’re very good with them. You’ll be a wonderful father one day.’

His smile faded fast enough to let her know she’d said too much. ‘No. Not going to happen. I gave up on that idea a long time ago.’ He shrugged. ‘But I’m happy to enjoy other people’s children.’ He looked down at Heidi. ‘And animals. They’re very like children in many ways.’

Fi’s heart broke a little for Christophe. How had one woman done this much damage by rejecting his first love? Was it possible that he could get past such a deep-seated fear of commitment?

Perhaps her thoughts were visible on her face and that could explain the sharp glance Christophe gave her.

‘Did you know,’ he asked, ‘that Theo is not Julien’s biological son?’

‘Erm… no .’ Fi was shocked. ‘But Bonnie is his daughter, isn’t she?’

‘Yes. It wasn’t that he wasn’t able to have children, it was because his wife was cheating on him.’

‘Oh, my God… Ellie’s never said anything about that.’ Not that Fi had been around enough to give her the chance.

‘No. Ellie, the beautiful soul that she is, considers Julien to be Theo’s father in every way that matters, which is entirely true.

Just as much as she is his mother. Julien believes that himself, now, but it nearly broke him when he found out.

It was not that long ago – when he and Ellie were first together. ’

A time when Fi was well hidden in a different town and a career she’d never planned to have and a lonely bedroom above a stables. Cut off from her family. Cut off from life, really, behind those walls she had constructed so solidly.

‘I tried to help,’ Christophe continued.

‘I thought I would be able to because I knew, only too well, what it was like to live through that kind of betrayal, but no…’ He shook his head.

‘It was even harder than when his wife was killed in the accident and he discovered that she hadn’t been alone in that car.

She was not only leaving him, she was abandoning her child to run away with her lover. ’

‘Theo’s father?’

‘Probably. But who knows with a woman like that?’ Christophe’s snort was a sound of disgust.

The silence that fell was full of dark things like betrayal and deceit and death.

‘But… he did get through it,’ Fi said quietly. ‘And he found Ellie. They adore each other.’

Christophe nodded slowly. ‘Ellie is perfect for him but I was amazed that he had been that brave. That he could trust enough to let that kind of love back into his life.’ His breath sounded like a sigh of defeat. ‘I don’t even want to try being that brave. My life is just fine the way it is.’

Wow …

Had Fi really thought that her friendship with Christophe could develop to a point where he might believe that at least some women could be trusted to be more than just a friend or a fleeting liaison?

She’d had no idea of how big this challenge really was or if she was capable of helping him towards a future where the love of his life might have only two legs instead of four.

She could, at least, try to lighten the atmosphere before they needed to spend an hour in the close confines of a car, however. Her cheeks puffed with the breath she blew out as she shook her head sadly.

‘Poor Nonna.’

‘What?’ Christophe looked startled at the change of subject, as well he might. ‘Why?’

‘She wants those bambinos so much.’ The children he never wanted to have. ‘No… what’s grandchildren in Italian?’

‘ Nipoti .’ Christophe shrugged. ‘Nonna will be okay. She will live in hope as long as she thinks we are together.’

Ah…

It was a lightbulb moment for Fi that swiftly grew into an idea.

A way to distract him from the sins of the past. Maybe even a new direction to a goal that had become even more important since she’d seen the way Christophe had been with that little boy at the restaurant.

He would love to have his own children and they might be the luckiest kids on earth to grow up with this man as their father.

She could hear an echo of something Ellie had said about him.

‘He might not even realise it himself, but he needs a family of his own.’

Fi’s tone was crisp. A decision was being made. A plan of distraction was forming. If nothing else, this would give them something to talk about on the drive back to La Maisonette.

‘We’ll have to make sure she does think that, then, won’t we?’

Christophe’s glance was bemused. ‘How?’

‘We can visit sometimes, but what would be even better is to let her know that we are together at other times. We can go places or do things.’

‘Like what?’

‘What do couples do in France in the summer? Go to beaches? Swim? Eat at lovely outdoor restaurants? We can take pictures and send them to her. Has she got a phone?’

‘Of course. She forgets to charge it sometimes but Mamma could share the pictures.’

Christophe was definitely distracted from memories of past emotional traumas. His eyes were brighter. He liked this idea. ‘She would love that,’ he said. ‘And she would know that you were being a good influence on me. I can be bad at keeping in touch often enough.’

Fi nodded. ‘That’s what we’ll do then. We’ll make it look like we’re together. We can help her hold onto the hope of some nipoti for as long as possible.’

They’d reached the car. Christophe opened all the doors and gave Heidi a bowl of water to give the car time to cool down.

He was beside the passenger door as Fi climbed in.

‘What about you, cara ?’ he asked quietly. ‘I’ve seen you with your family and the babies. You love children, too, don’t you?’

Fi reached for her safety belt. ‘I do.’

She felt the car rock as Heidi jumped in. Christophe closed the back door but didn’t move to the driver’s side. He was standing there, looking at her.

‘You’d make a wonderful mother,’ he said, returning the compliment she’d given him.

Fi could feel herself freezing again. They were only words but they could feel like a physical touch. Like a tongue touching hers. She reached to pull her door shut, fighting the horrible current that was trying to drag her down into the clutches of a flashback.

‘Not going to happen,’ she said. She knew she was running again but this one was too big to face right now. It might always be. ‘I’ll never have my own babies.’ She shrugged to indicate there was nothing more that needed to be said. ‘I can’t.’

The door shut with more of a slam than she’d intended but it did the trick.

That particular conversation was over.