Page 33 of Falling for Provence

‘And it might have a fair bit of stuff in there already,’ Bert warned. ‘Sheds like that often get used for storage if people rent out their houses over summer.’

‘I don’t think this house has been lived in for a long time,’ Ellie told them. ‘But it might explain why I haven’t found anything personal here. No photos or books or… I don’t know…’ She shrugged. ‘Drawers full of letters or old birthday cards or whatever.’

‘No time like the present.’ Mike drained his mug of tea and grinned at Ellie. ‘I’m getting curious myself, now. Shall we go and see if there’s a family skeleton or two in the shed?’

Oh… he had no idea how close to the bone that phrase actually went. Did Ellie want to discover family stuff that had an unwelcome genetic link to her own family? In a way, it had been a relief not to find anything personal in the house, because it might have included a glimpse into her father’s life and stirred up old memories best left undisturbed.

Except those memories had already been disturbed by the inheritance of this property from her father’s brother, hadn’t they? And the shed would have to be cleaned out prior to sale, anyway. As a bonus, this was a new distraction. Despite the energy she’d been devoting to the renovations, it seemed to be getting harder to keep her thoughts from straying back to Julien. To stop herself imagining what might have happened if she hadn’t panicked and pushed him away so fiercely. To think about the path that a single kiss could have led them both down…

‘Let’s do it.’

Pascal got up from the shady corner he’d found under the tree and followed Ellie as she led the way through the house and into the front garden.

While Mike and Bert went to fetch the bolt cutters, she busied herself pulling ivy away from the door hinges and pushing aside any new doubts about whether this was a wise thing to do. For heaven’s sake, the shed was probably empty.

It wasn’t, of course. Why would anyone have used such a heavy-duty padlock to secure an empty shed? What was inside wasn’t what any of them were expecting, however, and they all entered the shed to have a closer look.

It was a car. One that Ellie recognised, thanks to an ex-boyfriend who’d been a car fanatic.

‘It’s a Citroën, isn’t it? A 2CV?’

‘Sure is,’ Mike said. ‘In great condition, too.’

It was possibly the cutest car Ellie had ever seen. Bright red – almost the same shade as her bicycle, with headlights sitting on top of the front mudguards, like eyes.

‘Be worth a bit,’ Bert added. ‘Even more if it still goes.’ He opened the driver’s door and climbed in. ‘The key’s in here.’ He turned it but there was not even a sigh of response from the car. ‘Dead as a dodo,’ he declared.

‘Prob’ly just needs a new battery,’ Mike suggested. ‘I’ve got a mate who’s a mechanic. I could get him to come and have a look if you like?’

Ellie was tracing the slope of the bonnet with her fingers, leaving tracks in the thick layer of dust. Stroking the protruding headlight was irresistible, too. ‘I don’t need a car. I can get everywhere I need to on my bike.’

‘What about the beach?’ Mike was edging around the little car to get to the passenger side. ‘Or a trip north to see the lavender and sunflower fields in bloom in a couple of weeks?’

Mike’s enthusiasm was contagious, but it wasn’t persuading Ellie to learn to drive on the wrong side of the road. Instead, his words were creating images in her head of picturesque scenes, like a field of lavender in full bloom, that Laura would be thrilled to include in her advertising of the house. Even this little car, washed and shiny and parked in front of the stone cottage, would be eye-catchingly charming. It could be included as a chattel, perhaps, in which case it would need to be in working order.

‘If getting it going is as easy as putting in a new battery, it’s a good idea,’ she told Mike, turning away from the car. ‘But I don’t want to drive it.’

Her eyes were adjusting to the dim light that was such a contrast to the bright sunlight outside, and she could see gardentools like spades and rakes and hedge clippers in a corner, piled against an old hand mower. Beside the useful-looking tools was a set of shelves cluttered with objects and boxes, and there was an antique-looking rocking chair almost buried in piles of dusty books.

Personal stuff…

She drew in a deep breath. Did she want to go any closer? No… but her hand was reaching towards the closest pile of books.

It was Bert who broke the silence. ‘Can’t muck about in here all afternoon,’ he announced. ‘I’ve got that rotten board in the bathroom floor to replace, and if I don’t get it done today, goodness only knows when I’ll be able to get back. There’s too many people who want jobs done yesterday at this time of year, what with so many Brits opening up their holiday homes.’ He gave the car a last, lingering glance. ‘Always liked these,’ he nodded. ‘Tin snails, we used to call them.’

Ellie picked up a book. It was just a book. Nothing personal. And how good would it be to turn real pages instead of scrolling to read on-screen?

‘What does 2CV stand for?’ she asked. She tucked the dusty book under her arm and stepped towards the open stable door before she changed her mind and put the book back.

‘Deux chevaux-vapeur.’Mike’s French accent sounded impressively good. ‘Literally, two steam horses.’ He was blinking as he followed Bert and Ellie out into the garden. ‘About as much power as a decent-sized lawnmower – which is something else you could do with, come to think of it.’

They both watched Pascal disappearing into the jungle of poppies and daisies still blooming in the long grass she hadn’t had time to tackle yet.

CoquelicotsandMarguerites.

The French words sounded in her head in Julien’s voice and came with a knot of sensation in her belly that felt like… longing. Almost like loss?

Oh, help… Was all this effort in distracting herself from that attraction only making things worse?

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