Page 2 of The Little Provence Book Shop

Unlike her daughter, Adeline had been pleasantly surprised at the house; had worried it might be damp or dingy or uninhabitable in a number of different ways, despite assurances on the phone from the landlady. Yet it was light and, while rudimentary, freshly painted and more than adequate for the two ofthem. Lili was used to the straight lines, fresh plaster and the kind of order that comes with a newly decorated house in England. It would take her some time to get used to the exposed stone, the gaping fireplace, the wooden stairs with their worn treads. But Adeline already saw the beauty in all of it – perhaps she had been right to come.

‘Come on,’ she said, suddenly throwing the covers back and swinging her legs around. ‘Get dressed and we’ll get croissants for breakfast.’

Her daughter’s nose screwed up again. ‘Frosties?’ she asked.

Adeline laughed. ‘I’m sure we can get some later. For tomorrow. But we’ll have to make do with fresh pastries from the boulangerie for breakfast I’m afraid.’ It was tongue-in-cheek but Lili, used to sugary cereal and cold milk, sighed and nodded her head.

‘OK, Mum,’ she said, resigned.

Minutes later, they were crossing the narrow road outside their house in hurriedly pulled on clothing, standing in the queue outside the boulangerie behind an elderly man in a blue jacket who turned and gave them a briefbonjour. Behind the counter, a young man with sandy brown hair and impressive biceps was wrapping a baguette expertly in a sheet of thin, brown paper. He wore a white apron over blue jeans and a black T-shirt, slightly dusted with flour. As he turned the baguette over with a flourish, his tongue hovered at the side of his mouth. He was almost too good-looking and Adeline’s longing, hungry gaze soon grew tired of pains au chocolat and rested instead on the tasty morsel serving them.

‘Mummy,’ said Lili quietly, tugging at Adeline’s hand and interrupting her thoughts.

‘What is it?’ she said, looking at the little, inquisitive eyes fixed on hers.

‘Why are you staring at that man?’

Adeline felt her neck get hot. Had she been? ‘I wasn’t, silly,’ she said, hoping any anglophones eavesdropping would hear her denial. ‘I was looking at the croissants. Don’t they look tasty!’

There was a slight snort behind her and she turned, her brow furrowed, to meet the sparkling black eyes of an old lady in a green coat. The woman gave a small shrug and winked, her mouth stretched in a delighted smile.

Was she laughing at Adeline? It was true, shehadbeen staring at the man behind the counter, but in her defence, hewasextremely good-looking. Adeline gave a reciprocal shrug of her shoulders and smiled, hoping that covered all eventualities.

The man handed the baguette to the woman at the front of the queue, looking up briefly. His eyes alighted on Adeline and they exchanged a smile.

Adeline had been aware of people watching her and Lili on their way across the courtyard and now in the queue. St Vianne was small and she’d expected to be noticed. Most people she passed nodded or smiled, although one or two affected not to have seen them at all. The patissier had acknowledged her as a stranger, but his smile – albeit brief – had been welcoming.

Another woman joined the queue behind them and soon began talking to the man in front, over the head of Lili and past Adeline whom she apparently assumed couldn’t understand.

‘It is early in the season for tourists.’

‘Yes, but they come earlier each year. It’s good for the businesses.’

‘But not for the town.’

‘Perhaps.’

Adeline felt her cheeks flush as she realised they were discussing her and was tempted to say something sharp. Luckily,she was able to hold her tongue – it wouldn’t do to get off to a bad start when she’d yet to even meet Monique. ‘Actually, I’m here to work,’ she said instead, in perfect French.

The conversation stopped, both participants wrong-footed by her understanding of their conversation; her flawless French spoken with only a hint of a British accent.

‘Sorry,Madame,’ the man said. ‘It was rude of us.’

‘No matter,’ she said and smiled.

He returned her smile and held out his hand. ‘Patrick Delage.’

‘Adeline Townsend.’ She gave him her hand for a small shake, then turned to the woman whose face still seemed fixed. ‘And you are…?’

‘Eva Lenore.’ The woman nodded but didn’t hold her hand out for a shake.

‘Nice to meet you,’ Adeline said, as if Eva’s greeting had been perfectly civil.

‘And where is it you’ll be working?’ Patrick enquired.

‘La Petite Librairie – the bookshop.’

His eyes widened slightly. ‘Oh!’ He glanced quickly across at Eva, a momentary shadow seeming to cross his face. ‘I see.’

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