Chapter 19
The weather couldn’t have been more perfect for a beach wedding.
Sophie and Tilly were on the restaurant terrace, putting the finishing touches to tables that had been pushed together to make one long, communal table de fête where the buffet-style picnic and barbecue food would be served, along with speciality salads and small plates of tapas francaises for the adults.
The long strands of fairy lights were on but couldn’t compete with the sunlight filtering through branches of the pine trees that had been pruned and trained over decades to stretch out like enormous umbrellas over the outdoor area.
Tilly was on a stepladder, tying the strings of silk butterflies to the branches.
Florence was tucking some sprigs of recently dried lavender into bouquets of fresh wildflowers down the centreline of the long table.
The daisies, cornflowers, cosmos, rockroses, wild marigolds and even some late-blooming sunflowers were explosions of colour against the white linen cloth beneath big glass preserving jars that were being used as vases.
Sophie found herself wrapping her arms around her body, giving in to a moment of soaking in what looked like a visual interpretation of happiness.
‘I love this,’ she told Tilly. ‘This might be the happiest wedding we’ve ever been a part of. It’s starting to feel like the whole world is smiling.’
Ohh…
Those two words were enough to hear Luc’s voice, as clearly as if he was murmuring in her ear – an echo of the past she’d never imagined she would allow, let alone welcome back into her life.
‘…the whole world, huh?… I’m impressed…’
She was smiling herself as she turned to look down at the beach, shading her eyes as she tried to see as far as the car park on the other side of the bay.
Was that shape a horse float? The middle sister, Fiona Gilchrist, was in charge of the transport of their unusual addition to a wedding party today, but there was no sign yet of three small donkeys being led along the beach to the shady area that had been prepared for them near the rose-covered archway where the ceremony would take place.
What Sophie could see, however, was the man standing alone at the water’s edge, a wave rolling over his feet and soaking the bottom of his jeans as he took in the view in exactly the way Sophie had when she’d come here just a few days ago.
The day she’d driven up to Draguignan in the afternoon and Luc had taken her out for a dinner that had almost turned into a disaster.
There were parts of that night that would be in her memories forever.
The mention of Hannah that was a reminder of losing such a precious friendship.
The realisation that this wedding was taking place on a significant anniversary of Tom’s death.
Together, they had stripped away whatever emotional cushioning she’d been using to avoid digging too deeply into the darker implications of being with Luc.
She hadn’t been floating on that magic carpet any longer. Not at all. Sophie had been sinking into a darkness that only Luc would ever be able to share. And he had held her up. They had cried together. They had talked for hours, remembering everything they’d loved about Tom.
‘That smile,’ Luc said. ‘It absolutely lit up the world. Nobody could say no to Tom Baxter when he smiled at you.’
‘That confidence,’ Sophie added with a smile. ‘He just assumed I was going to marry him. That I would never say no.’
‘The loyalty.’ Luc’s voice cracked. ‘He was going to be my wingman for the rest of my life. The bond was simply unbreakable.’
‘The romance.’ Sophie sighed. ‘Who else would buy a car because it was the eye colour of the woman he loved?’
And then the mood had become sombre again.
‘I let him down,’ Luc said. ‘I didn’t keep him safe.’
‘And I let him down,’ Sophie whispered. ‘I couldn’t love him as much as he deserved to be loved by the person he was going to marry.’
She pressed her fingers to her lips for a long moment and, when she spoke, her voice was a little rough.
‘Ding ding,’ she said.
Luc looked at her in astonishment.
‘The Crusaders brought the Black Death plague to London.’
Luc’s brow furrowed. ‘But that’s true. How can I argue with that?’
‘Because it’s not true,’ Sophie said. ‘The last Crusader ships got back to England more than fifty years before the plague arrived.’
Luc was looking bewildered now. He had no idea what relevance this could possibly have to what they’d been talking about. Sophie touched his hand.
‘The Crusaders took the blame,’ she said softly.
‘And they were partly to blame, because they introduced people to the good stuff they could import from Asia and Europe, like silk and spices and beautiful glassware. Horses, even. And that started the merchant ships and they brought the rats and their fleas that brought the plague.’
Sophie blew out a breath. ‘A disaster is always a chain of circumstances. It’s not black and white.
Every link plays a part. All of us who loved Tom have got something we can feel guilty about.
Maybe it’s time we accept that and move on?
Tom wouldn’t want us to live the rest of our lives beating ourselves or anyone else up, would he? ’
Luc’s arms were around her now. His forehead pressing against hers. ‘But what on earth just made you think of playing the game?’
‘A very long time ago, I wanted to find something a bit more intelligent to say when we were playing the game than cats were superior to dogs. I was studying the Crusades at uni at the time so I tucked the statement away but I never got to use it. It’s always been there, I guess.
Waiting for its moment.’ She pulled back far enough to be able to focus on Luc’s eyes. ‘Some things are worth waiting for.’
‘Hannah was right,’ Luc murmured. ‘You’re amazing. You really do know the history of the whole world.’
The words, the odd huff of laughter and the tears had eventually run out but not before an extraordinary peace had been discovered.
They were the two people who’d been the closest and most beloved in Tom Baxter’s life and they’d had a secret that could have destroyed him but they’d kept it.
They hadn’t even acknowledged it back then so it had never hurt Tom and, somehow, they seemed to have arrived at a shared agreement to try and let go of the guilt they’d carried for so many years.
They had gone to bed for the few hours they had left of the night, too emotionally exhausted for any lovemaking to be even a consideration.
Luc had simply turned Sophie to hold her in his arms, his body curled around her back so that she’d been able to feel his warmth from his breath on her neck right down to where his legs were tangled with hers.
She’d drifted into sleep, aware of his heart beating, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed and the astonishing feeling of safety that came from being within the circle of his arms.
Not a word had been spoken but it felt as if a conversation had been continuing nonetheless with thoughts and feelings being shared through merely a sigh of breath or the smallest movement, like fingers linking or the whisper of a kiss on skin.
The physical contact had had no sexual undertones whatsoever.
And yet it had been the most intimate experience Sophie had ever had with another human being.
She’d known how much in love with Luc she was but this had taken it to a whole new level.
She couldn’t imagine existing without him being in her life.
She watched him now, his stance changing as he lifted his chin, his gaze moving from the beach to the terrace.
He was too far away for her to see a smile curving his lips but she could feel his focus the moment he spotted her watching him.
He was walking towards her now, one hand steadying the camera bag he was carrying, the other holding a tripod.
He looked so completely different to the way he had when he’d walked back into her life up the steps of the Chateau d’Orval.
This wasn’t the mysterious and charismatic Goth photographer who was making waves in the art world with his dystopian portrayals of wedding couples.
This was Luc Moreau, wearing faded blue denim instead of black, his hair neatly tied up and no distinctive black hat on his head.
Just as sexy, as far as Sophie was concerned.
More so, in fact. Would she ever see him, across a room or any amount of outdoor space, without experiencing this exquisite flash of sensation deep inside her body?
What was it exactly? Desire? An echo of an unforgettable climax or simply the delicious anticipation of the next?
Maybe it was a mix of everything with the added spice that could only come from being so utterly, head over heels, in love.
The difference between Luc and his alter ego or how Sophie felt about him didn’t quite explain what was missing, however.
Ah, that’s what it was… That extra camera in the battered leather case he’d always had slung across his shoulder, in tandem with his modern, digital gear.
His precious vintage Leica. He’d brushed it off as just a ‘thing’ that had been lost in that storm, unimportant compared to people, but Sophie had seen beneath those words when he’d told her why it was special.
It had become a symbol of the new friendship that had changed his life.
A key to a future that was more than he’d ever dreamed of.
Something solid he could carry with him. And touch.
Something precious.
The love she felt for Luc meant that Sophie could feel the pang of a loss that was greater than anything she might have felt for herself.
She knew it was impossible to replace that particular camera but what if she could find a replica?
Greg would be the go-to person to help with that, wouldn’t he?
She made a mental note to ring him as soon as she had a free moment.
It might only be a token but, after that last night together, Sophie was sure that Luc would see the gift – if she was able to source it – for what it was intended to be.
An expression of a love that encompassed a bond in their past history that no other two people on earth could ever have.
An understanding of the significance of what had been lost but also a symbol of a new key.
To a new, shared, future.