Page 46 of The Magic of Provence

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 shewantedthere 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 Provençal 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.Herchoice.

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 offrites. 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 thefritefrom 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.’

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