Page 41 of Falling for Provence

Traffic had been blocked from the old town because the evening market was set along the cobbled main street that led towards the central square – where Ellie and Laura had walked together after that first visit to La Maisonetteand their lunch in the tiny square hidden behind the cathedral. There were tables set along the footpaths, but the shops on the street were also participating, staying open longer and putting racks of clothing or other goods outside to attract customers. There was music, with a live band and a stall where children could get their faces painted, and there was a bouncy castle and whole families and many dogs – a slow-moving river of people out to enjoy a long summer evening.

Ellie was drawn to a table of handmade leather items, like belts and bags, and she bought a small, dark brown bag with just enough room for her phone and a few small items and a strap long enough to wear across her body, which would make it easy to use when she rode her bike.

Pascal stayed very close to Ellie’s feet. When a child tried to race between them, Julien reached out to take Ellie’s hand, perhaps to protect the little dog from being stepped on, but then he didn’t let it go. They strolled past the offerings of jewellery and dreamcatchers, polished gemstones and lavender oil, handin hand, as if they’d known each other for ever and were totally comfortable in each other’s company. Amazingly, that’s what it felt like to Ellie. Comfortable.

Safe.

Safe enough to soften those sharp edges that could have destroyed the delicious flicker of butterflies still dancing in her belly. If anything, the feeling of her hand enclosed within his had increased their number.

‘Oh…look…’ The table tucked against a stone wall at the opening of a side street was very different to any around it. Paintings were propped against the wall. Big, colourful paintings with textures that gave the images a choppy, three-dimensional look. Images that were utterly Provençal, capturing not only the soft colours of the stone buildings and flower-studded fields but that light that was so distinctive here. More than that, even. This artist, if that’s who the man sitting on a stool behind the table was, had managed to capture that sense of peace that Ellie had been so aware of. She actually had to blink back sudden moisture in her eyes as she found herself drawn so far into this work she didn’t even notice when Julien let go of her hand.

The biggest painting, which had to be well over a square metre of canvas, had a smudged stone building that could have been a small chapel to one side and the shadow of mountains in the background, but the focus was the colours of the flowers in front. Blood red and clear white against the gold of dry summer grass and stony ground. The colours of her own tiny front garden. The flowers that were pretty much the first French words Ellie had learned since high school.

CoquelicotsandMarguerites.

‘That’s…magnifique,’ she said softly. But then she turned to Julien. Saying ‘J’aimeça’this time was not going to be enough. ‘How can I say Ireallylove this?’ she asked in a whisper.

‘You could say “J’adore ça tellement”,’he whispered back.

But the man was half hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat, and Ellie suddenly felt too shy to try out her French on a complete stranger, so it was Julien who said something, and then the man looked up. He had a bushy grey beard and eyebrows that he could hide behind, but he stared at Ellie for a long moment. Long enough to make the moment so awkward that she actually stepped back as she broke eye contact.

‘Do you want me to ask how much it is?’

‘No.’ Ellie shook her head. ‘It would be too much. And it’s far too big. How on earth would I ever get it back to Scotland?’

Julien’s nod was an agreement. ‘We’ve run out of time in any case. I have a reservation for dinner.’

He led her through a stone archway onto a cobbled street with crowded footpaths as customers spilled out of busy eateries and then into narrower pathways between buildings. It wasn’t until they emerged into a wider space that Ellie recognised where she was.

‘I know this place,’ she exclaimed. ‘I had lunch near that tree with my sister on my very first day here. That’s the back of the cathedral, isn’t it?’

‘It is. Did you eat at the vegetarian restaurant?’

‘No. I had a slow-cooked beef stew that was the most delicious meal ever.’

‘Daube de boeuf,’ Julien smiled. ‘One of my favourites, also. And that is where we have a table waiting for us.’

The restaurant looked completely different at night. The huge chestnut tree had fairy lights woven amongst its branches, and candles flickered on every table. A man with a top hat and a piano accordion was wandering through the large group of diners, and there were peals of laughter that suggested the song was an amusing story. It didn’t look as if there was any space at all, but the owner had spotted Julien and ushered them to asmall table almost hidden beneath the tree. Pascal curled up, out of sight, behind the drooping corners of the white tablecloth.

A short time later the propriétaire was back, carrying two glasses of champagne, and began to talk about the special blackboard menu for the evening. His words flowed around Ellie, competing with the music, and conversation from a nearby table for six. With the addition of the warmth of the summer evening, the aroma of the food around them and the myriad tiny lights and flames, this was not only the essence of what Ellie was coming to love so much about France, it was also the most romantic setting imaginable. The crisp tingle of champagne on her tongue was the final touch, and Ellie almost had to blink away a prickle of embryonic tears.

She was happy, she realised.

Reallyhappy. It felt like the first time she’d ever felt quite like this. There wasn’t a single thing she would change about this moment, and, even if it only lasted a heartbeat, she would remember it for ever.

Okay… maybe it wasn’t the champagne that was adding the final drops to a happiness that was quite unlike any she could ever remember experiencing. Maybe that final touch was that she had Julien sitting on the other side of the table. Or the way he was smiling at her.

This was as full of promise as any first date could aspire to be.

Except… this wasn’t really a first date, was it? Not in the usual sense. She wasn’t hoping it might turn into anything more than a… what was it, exactly? A friendship with the benefits that could come from a mutual attraction? An opportunity to find out if male companionship could provide something that would enhance the quality of her life?

But was Julien on the same page?

Perhaps he’d seen that flicker of doubt on her face, because he put down his wine glass. ‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.

‘That I’m only here in France for a short time,’ she said, quietly. ‘And that this might be the only time I’m ever here.’

He understood exactly that she was saying she didn’t want this to be the beginning of a significant relationship. Was it a wash of relief she could see inhiseyes?

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