Page 32 of The Magic of Provence

Christophe switched to English. ‘This is my mamma,’ he told Fi. ‘She wanted to know who you are and what we are doing in the middle of a forest. She wants to say hullo. And to see whether I’m feeding you properly.’

‘Hi,’ Fi said, shrinking a little under the intense gaze she was receiving. She lifted the slice of pizza she still had in her hand so that Christophe’s mother could see it. ‘Your son is an amazing cook,’ she said. ‘This issogood.’

There was a moment’s silence as the older woman smiled back at her but then there was a new flow of words that held a note of urgency. Christophe’s responses – between what sounded like distressed exclamations – were clearly questions and he got to his feet, walking away from the table as if he needed to move more than just his hands as he spoke.

Something was wrong.

Fi’s appetite deserted her. She reached down to find the comfort of Heidi’s soft coat and warmth and she gently fondled the dog’s ears as they both watched Christophe. He was on the far side of the clearing now but, when he lowered his hand, the phone call clearly ended, he didn’t move. He was standing very still, his head bowed and his shoulders curved as if he’d just taken on the weight of the world.

Fi had no idea whether she would be welcome to step past what felt like another personal boundary, but she couldn’t simply sit there and watch someone so caring and kind suffering like this. Heidi seemed to approve of her decision to walk to where he was standing and came with her, close enough for her shoulder to be brushing Fi’s leg.

‘What is it?’ She was horrified to see tears on his cheeks. ‘What’s wrong, Christophe?’

‘It’s my nonna.’ He rubbed his face with his hand. ‘She’s in hospital. There’s something wrong with her heart. Mamma thinks she will die.’

‘Oh… no…’ Fi touched his arm. ‘You must go to her.’

‘Si…’ Christophe’s ragged snatch of a new breath was audible. He turned and started walking back towards the table. ‘I must. I’m sorry, Fiona. We will have to abandon our lunch.’

Fi shook off the apology. ‘It doesn’t matter. How far away is your nonna?’

‘Menton. It’s only about an hour’s drive.’

Fi helped him wrap up the pizza and stuff it back into the bag, along with everything else he had unpacked for their picnic, but she was watching Christophe as well. She could see the pain in his face and her heart was breaking for him. His grandmother was the person he loved most in the world and this was tearing him apart. She spoke without thinking.

‘Let me come with you,’ she said. ‘I can drive. I don’t think it’s safe for you to drive when you’re this upset.’

A huff of something like laughter escaped Christophe. ‘You don’t want to do that,amore.’

‘Why wouldn’t I? I have nothing else I need to do right now.’

‘Because my mamma will… she…’ Christophe shook his head. Then he let his breath out in a long sigh. ‘My mamma thinks you’re my girlfriend,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry – I told her it wasn’t true but she said even if it wasn’t, the least I could do is to pretend it was because…’ His voice caught. ‘…because it’s the one thing that would let my nonna go in peace – to think that I’ve finally found the woman who will be my wife.La madre dei miei bambini…’

Fi blinked. She recognised the Italian word for children. Christophe had been at school with Julien, which made him the same age, mid-thirties. The closest he’d been to getting married had been when he was eighteen, which was a very long time ago. No wonder his family were concerned about his future happiness when there was no sign of him finding the person he wanted to create a family with.

‘You should pretend,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t mind.’

‘It would be a lie,’ Christophe said. ‘I do not tell lies.’

‘Only a white lie,’ Fi countered. ‘And white lies to make someone happy are okay. Especially if it’s their last wish.’

She had a sudden image of an elderly, frail Italian woman, lying on a hospital bed, a gnarled hand resting between those of her grandson. And then she could imagine the woman’s eyelids fluttering as she opened her eyes and looked up – to where Fi was sitting beside that beloved grandson – and then drifting shut again, as she took her final breath. With a smile on her face?

‘I could pretend too.’

The words came from nowhere, startling Fi as much as Christophe.

They stared at each other.

‘You’d do that?’ Christophe’s tone was incredulous when he finally spoke. ‘For me? Why?’

‘I like you,’ Fi said simply. ‘You’re a very kind man. You’re kind to your mamma and your nonna and your dog and…’ She tried to smile but it was a bit wobbly. ‘And you’re kind to donkeys when they’re frightened. You deserve someone to be kind toyouand… maybe that person is me. I’m here. I could do this for you.’

How hard would it be to look at this man in front of his family as if he was the most beautiful, desirable man on earth?

It would be playing with fire but she could do this without putting herself in any real danger. The desire to do it was strangely compelling, in fact.

The real question was whether Christophe could make it convincing. Or whether he even wanted to try. Fi had no idea what was going through his head as he stared at her in astonishment.

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