Chapter 18
18
Le réveillon .
Noah had been invited to half a dozen New Year’s Eve parties but, instead, had come to his favourite café just outside the fortress walls of St Paul de Vence, where he could have a drink and a cigarette and watch people gathering in the square to dance to live music from a band. He’d stay for the fireworks at midnight and then walk home.
Both Christmas Eve and New Year’s Eve could be called le réveillon but, while Noah avoided everything to do with Christmas, starting a new year was entirely different. This was a time to make new resolutions and strengthen old ones and he was ready to embrace a new start.
Ready to talk to Laura and make plans. She may have already left to go back to Scotland but that wasn’t a problem. It might even be preferable, given their experience in communicating via technology. Okay… it would definitely be preferable. Being close to Laura in person created all sorts of distractions that would not be helpful when practical things such as finances and legal matters needed to be discussed.
‘ Merci bien .’ He nodded at the waiter who delivered the coupe de champagne he’d ordered. Because it was nearly midnight and you had to have a glass of champagne in your hand when the bells rang to welcome in the new year. C’était une règle, n’est-ce pas ?
‘ Bonne année, Monsieur .’ The waiter took the notes offered but Noah shook his head as he opened the pocket on his belt to find the change.
‘ Gardez la monnaie ,’ Noah said. ‘ Et bonne année à vous .’
Noah took a long swallow of a very good champagne, lit a cigarette and narrowed his eyes to peer through the plume of smoke he exhaled to take in a noisy crowd of expats – or tourists, perhaps – in fancy dress who were either leaving or heading towards a party that was clearly intended to be patriotic. Wearing navy-blue and white striped Breton tee shirts, red berets, and sunglasses, even the women had curly black moustaches and goatee beards painted on their faces. They were attracting a lot of attention and phones were being raised to take photographs or videos. Some people were shaking their heads at the spectacle, or possibly at the flimsy attire in temperatures that were low enough to have most people wearing layers of warm clothing, with coats and woollen hats and gloves. Like that woman with an anorak over a warm-looking jumper, a dark green scarf and a matching knitted hat with a furry bobble on the top. A woman who looked remarkably similar to Laura.
Noah put down his glass and leaned forward, the ash on his cigarette dropping, unnoticed, onto the table moments later.
It was Laura.
Walking in his direction. He was right on the edge of the café’s terrace, so it was impossible to hide. Noah didn’t want to hide, anyway. He wanted Laura to notice him. He wanted…
Oh, mon Dieu … he just wanted… her .
So much that it hurt.
* * *
She liked that he was stubbing out that disgusting cigarette as soon as he saw her approaching him.
Laura could never have lived with his kind of lifestyle habits, so it might turn out to be a blessing in disguise that he wasn’t interested in long-term relationships.
But… ohh … the way he was looking at her. That look that could make her feel as if she was naked, which should have been an unattractively freezing proposition on a winter’s night but was, in fact, making her feel far, far too hot for comfort.
Surely this attraction would have to fade at some point? With this level of heat it felt like it should burn itself out in no time at all and, when that happened, it would be so much easier to co-parent their child. To share photographs and videos and, on occasion, to cross the conveniently protective moat of the English Channel and have brief, well-controlled visits.
Laura was lucky, really. There was never going to be any ugly custody battles over this child. Her father didn’t want to be a parent and she wasn’t aware of any grandparents who might demand access. If she and Noah could establish a civilised relationship – some kind of friendship, even – she could see a glimpse of a future that was… well… possibly as close to perfect as she could hope for.
So Laura offered Noah a smile.
‘ Bonne année ,’ she greeted him.
‘ Bonne année , Laura.’ Noah stood up, stretching his hand towards the empty chair at his small table. ‘Please, sit down.’ He had to raise his voice over the increasingly noisy crowd of people in the square. ‘Can I get you something to drink? A coffee? A taste of champagne?’
‘No, thank you.’ Laura glanced over her shoulder. People were blowing on whistles that had streamers attached to them and the noise was getting too much for her. She’d never liked being in crowds. Even on a happy occasion such as this, there was a feral element to a large group of people. It could tip into chaos in a heartbeat and it wasn’t just herself that Laura needed to protect now.
‘I came to see the fireworks,’ she told Noah. ‘But I think I’m ready to go home.’
Noah was frowning as he, too, stared at the crowd. A shout had gone up and there was the sound of glass breaking. ‘Where is your car?’ he asked.
‘Not far from your office,’ she said. ‘I remembered that was a good place to park to come here.’
‘I will come with you.’
It was a statement, not an offer. He was going to make sure Laura got safely to her destination. He was going to walk beside her.
To protect her and, by default, to protect their child.
And Laura felt a wash of gratitude that was strong enough for her to accept his offer of an arm to hold as they made their way past the edges of the dancing, singing crowd.
It was strong enough to feel like more than gratitude. This felt like love. Longing. And a sadness that was poignant enough to bring the prickle of tears too close to Laura’s eyes. She let go of Noah’s arm once they were across the road and walking up the slope of the cobbled street.
It was nearly midnight and they could hear the increasing excitement of the revellers below them. The road felt steeper than Laura had remembered it being and she was too out of breath to hold a conversation with Noah, but the silence they walked in didn’t feel awkward. It felt like the worst was behind them now. The bomb had been detonated and the embers of destruction were cool enough to walk on. They could start picking their way through this new landscape and find some solid ground to start building whatever their shared future might be.
As they came to the tiny chapel where one of her favourite photographs of Ellie and Julien’s wedding day had been taken, Laura had to stop to catch her breath. It was worth stopping for the view of St Paul de Vence, especially now, lit up in sparkling party lights with the sound of the music and a happy crowd drifting up to where she and Noah were standing, side by side. Close enough to touch, but the gap between them felt like a ravine to Laura.
A new sound floated up from the old city. People were counting. Shouting numbers over the cacophony of whistles and cheers.
Dix… neuf… huit…
The countdown to the new year had begun. It didn’t matter what language the numbers were in, they were simply bursts of sound.
Three… two… one …
A single shell shot into the black night sky and then exploded with a boom that Laura could feel right through her body. Trails of sparks erupted from the centre of the star towards them and she instinctively ducked. She felt Noah’s arm wrap around her shoulders.
He didn’t need to say anything.
He was keeping her safe.
She wouldn’t have heard him say anything over the sound of more and more shells exploding. From this vantage point they could see the midnight pyrotechnics as far away as Nice or Cannes lighting up the sky, the faint pops in the distance filling any gaps in the show right in front of them. Massive stars of all sizes and colours were filling the sky along with swirling patterns, as if a school of tiny fish had been shaken loose, and flickering lights that spread sideways and hung there like a gathering of giant fireflies.
Laura looked up to see if Noah was as captivated by the fireworks as she was, only to find him looking down at her. He put his lips so close to her ear she could feel his breath on her cheek.
‘ Bonne année , Laura.’
‘Bonne année, Noah.’
It seemed that neither of them hesitated for even a heartbeat to follow the tradition of the midnight kiss. Noah held her face between his hands, his fingers weaving themselves into her hair beneath her hat as his lips touched and then settled on hers.
And then that kiss exploded just as effectively as any one of those huge, manmade stars they had just been watching. Laura could feel the trails of sparks burning tracks over and through every inch of her skin, heading for her bones, leaving pools of fire deep in her belly.
She knew she should pull away but she couldn’t. Maybe Noah felt the same way because she could feel the growl of a groan rather than hear it before the touch of his tongue soothed it into oblivion.
It was a kiss like no other.
A kiss that Laura would never forget.
One that left her completely stunned.
They both were. When they finally broke apart, they stood there, staring at each other as the fireworks finally ended. And then Laura gave her head a tiny shake, unable to find any words, and gestured towards her car. Noah gave a single nod. She was safe. It was time for her to go home.
She could hear the crowd in the square singing as she unlocked the car. The words were muffled but the tune and rhythm were as familiar as every other New Year tradition.
‘Ce n’est qu’un au revoir…’
The French version of Auld Lang Syne. Laura could remember translating it in a long-ago school lesson.
It’s only a goodbye.
She could remember another line, too.
Faut-il nous quitter sans espoir? Do we have to leave without hope?
She slid into the driver’s seat of her car and she could feel the shock of that kiss wearing off.
It was only then that Laura could feel something it had left behind. She knew it wasn’t real, but she also knew it would be impossible to ignore what was right there in front of her.
Hope, that’s what it was.
And how could anyone resist taking that with them?