A Proposal in Provence

Chapter 1

‘Ohhh…’

The sigh that escaped Mathilde Pascoe’s lips was one of soul-deep yearning.

Flavoured with a lick of defeat because this was something she strove to avoid completely when it was work related.

It was inappropriate and professionally unacceptable to feel like this, but that didn’t make it any easier to dismiss, especially when it had a sting in its tail that felt disturbingly like despair.

The power of the promise her phone was able to deliver, however, with no more than the first bars of her all-time favourite ringtone, was pure magic. No wonder Edith Pilaf’s ‘La Vie en Rose’ was considered one of the most romantic songs ever written.

Tilly was tempted to let it continue a little longer – to get to her feet, even, and do a slow twirl as she closed her eyes and held her phone to her heart – but that was Sophie’s face on the screen requesting a video call and it felt like far too long since she’d spoken to her old boss and best friend.

‘Cou cou, Sophie. ?a va?’

‘I’m good, thank you, Tilly. No, make that great – apart from a lack of sleep. Maddie’s finally getting her first tooth. Luc’s giving her a bath to distract her at the moment, which is also giving me a chance to call you. Win-win!’

‘Take me up to see her?’

‘In a minute. I’m breathing in a moment to myself which I want to spend just with you.’

‘I can’t believe Madeleine is nearly a year old already. Where has that time gone?’

‘I know, right? We’ve both been too busy to notice the clock.’

That was so true. Time had been passing in a blur ever since Sophie had made the decision to wind down the destination wedding business she’d set up in the South of France and let Tilly downsize it into a new venture – curating bespoke and intimate proposal events, supported by an established network of connections for people and places, boutique hotels and romantic restaurants.

A Promise in Provence was on its way to finding its feet at last, but that didn’t mean Tilly could afford the time to slow down.

Quite the opposite. Sophie wasn’t the only one who was feeling the effects of a lack of sleep these days.

‘At least I remembered in time that tomorrow’s the big day.’ Sophie sounded relieved. ‘You’ve got your Scottish couple arriving, yes?’

A single word was lingering as Sophie finished speaking.

The Scottish couple. The soon to be an engaged-to-be-married couple, thanks to her own best efforts over the last month to construct the most romantic holiday that could be experienced anywhere in the world, culminating in a proposal that no woman could say no to.

Tilly’s gaze slid sideways for a heartbeat to the image still filling her laptop screen.

What woman in her right mind would say no to that man, with or without the lavishly romantic trimmings she had lined up, like fairy lights, vintage champagne and candles, rose petals and hopefully the moonlit waters of the Mediterranean on a balmy summer night?

‘Yes,’ she confirmed, a beat too late but infused with what she intended to be excitement.

‘And he’s definitely the most important client I’ve had since I started this business – almost a whole week of romance instead of just a couple of days.

It’s costing him a fortune. I think he might be the most famous person I’ve had so far, too. ’

‘Famous? I thought you said he was some kind of consultant?’

‘He is. A risk consultant.’

‘What’s that when it’s at home?’

‘They’re experts who can advise global companies or banks or individuals when the consequences and costs of not dealing with a risk effectively are too high.’

Sophie laughed. ‘When did your English get so good? I’m not sure I even understand that.’

Tilly made a face. ‘I might have read it in an article that describes the job as being a “quiet fixer” and this consultant in particular as being “precise, laser-focussed and difficult to reach”, which apparently only adds to his appeal to those who seek discretion. It’s in the Financial Times.’

Sophie’s jaw had visibly dropped. ‘Is there a reason why you’re reading the Financial Times? In English?’

‘Yes.’ Tilly bit her lip. ‘That’s the only result that came up when I googled my client. It’s no wonder he’s hard to reach when he doesn’t even have a personal website.’ Tilly turned her phone so that Sophie could see the computer screen. ‘That’s Angus McLeod,’ she said.

There was a tiny silence on Sophie’s end and then a small, appreciative hum of sound. ‘Oh… my… He looks like Pierce Brosnan in his James Bond days. What’s that French expression for “drop dead gorgeous”?’

‘Il est à tomber.’ Tilly didn’t need to stare at a photograph she’d memorised the moment she first saw it but she did anyway, just for a second or two, and she couldn’t quite suppress another sigh.

The sheer presence of the man made the image seem three-dimensional, and the intensity of that gaze made it feel as if he was looking directly at her and not at the lens of a camera.

He probably looked at his intended fiancée just like that.

So intently. With the quiet certainty that she loved him as much as he loved her.

Moira was a lucky, lucky woman…

The way he was leaning with one elbow on a desk, his chin resting on the heel of a hand that was curled into a soft fist. His expression, other than those steely blue eyes, was absolutely relaxed.

He wasn’t smiling but his lips were not pressed into a tight line, either.

He looked, if anything, as if having his photograph taken was tolerable but only if it didn’t take too long.

He gave the impression of a man who was well aware of his surroundings and totally in control of his situation.

The formal pinstriped suit jacket was a suggestion of authority.

Power. The unbuttoned shirt collar and no tie said that this was someone who made his own rules.

Oui… Il est à tomber. He was also, without any doubt, the sexiest man Tilly had ever laid eyes on.

‘I’m going to take you upstairs to see Maddie.’ The background behind Sophie began to change as she started moving but then she stopped abruptly, her brow both furrowing and rising at the same time. ‘You’re not stalking this guy online, are you?’

It was Tilly’s turn to laugh. ‘Of course not. I… just wanted to know what he looked like. We’ve been in communication almost every day for weeks and weeks.’

But Sophie had turned away. She wasn’t listening. ‘I need to put you down for a tick, Tilly. There’s someone at the door. Don’t go away!’

Tilly wasn’t going anywhere. She hadn’t even moved on from her last words. She was thinking about the sheer volume of that communication she’d been having with Angus McLeod.

So many emails. Phone calls. Photographs and links sent. Suggestions made.

Every aspect of every new idea was examined in minute detail until they were both totally satisfied.

Like the balloon ride over the lavender fields of Luberon to start the first full day of the holiday in style.

She’d sent some gorgeous photos of a rainbow-hued balloon floating over swathes of purple flowers as the sun rose over hills in the distance.

They can’t guarantee flying or landing near the lavender because the direction depends on the winds of the day, but it would still be pretty, I promise, with hilltop medieval villages and rivers and the patchwork of farmland.

How many people are in that basket? Is it possible to get a private charter?

Absolutely.

By now, Tilly knew to expect that Angus would want to ramp up the romance of the experience to the highest level possible.

I’ll get you a quote but it won’t be cheap.

This has to be perfect. I’m only doing it once.

Of course he was. This was a man who had chosen his woman and knew he would never change his mind. He would be fiercely loyal. Devoted, even.

Will such an early start be acceptable? You’ll need to be picked up from the hotel in Aix-en-Provence well before dawn. Around 4.30 a.m.

Is it safe?

They don’t fly unless it’s safe. That’s why the flights are at dawn, when weather conditions are most stable. I understand that the heat of the sun later in the day can create turbulence and unpredictable wind gusts.

Send me a link to the company. I need to check its reputation myself.

The balloon company had been deemed acceptable but the communication had apparently not been fast enough for Angus because her next query, about the change in outward flight times from Edinburgh, resulted in her phone ringing only moments later.

For the first time, Tilly heard his voice and was momentarily thrown by its deep tone, a precision that suggested words were chosen with care but most of all by the musical lilt of his Scottish accent.

She’d had to make an effort to focus on why he’d called.

‘So is the new flight time into Marseilles going to work for you?’

‘Aye. It’s ideal. We can go straight from work to the airport.’

Tilly’s determination to make every aspect of this commission as perfect as possible had intensified instantly from that point. Earning Angus McLeod’s approval had become a sought-after prize.

‘I’ll be there to collect you. It’s about a twenty-five-minute drive to Aix-en-Provence.’

‘Excellent. I’m looking forward to meeting you, Mathilde.’

Ohh… The way her name sounded with that accent. The fact that he was looking forward to meeting her. Tilly could swear her heart did a small flutter that felt exactly like a bird being released – like those white doves that she and Sophie used to release at weddings sometimes.

‘I’ve taken the liberty of booking a table at a nearby restaurant that’s known for its romantic courtyard dining and their in-house piano accordion player.

You can pay a little extra and he’ll serenade your table with a French love song.

You’ll have time to check into your hotel and it’s only a five-minute walk away. ’

‘Can you send me a menu?’

‘Let me bring one up and send it to you right now.’