Chapter 5
Aix-en-Provence was known as the city of a thousand fountains and, although the restaurant Tilly was heading for – L’Inoubliable – was not far from her mother’s apartment in the Mazarin quarter, she had passed at least three very beautiful ancient fountains already.
The first was the fountain of the four dolphins, who still managed to look dignified even though they were continuously spitting water into the pool below them.
Good King René, holding a bunch of grapes as homage to both the culture and wine production of Provence, was far more formal.
Tilly had always thought the king looked a bit miserable as he scowled down at passers-by.
This evening, it made her think of Angus McLeod but, oddly, the memory of his ill humour made her increase her pace slightly.
Because she didn’t want to be late, Tilly told herself, and make him even less happy.
It was not because she was looking forward to seeing him again.
Tilly had only had time for a very quick shower when she returned her mother’s car, having been frantically busy making phone calls including letting her photographer know that his next gig wasn’t happening and cancelling reservations for things like the romantic after-proposal dinner in an exclusive restaurant with possibly the best view available of the French Riviera.
She’d changed out of the blue dress she’d been wearing all day and into one she’d bought at a stall in the market in Vence only a few days ago, when its lemon yellow had caught her eye, like a ray of sunshine.
On closer inspection, the tiny white daisy print on the fabric had delighted her even more, and she’d loved the tiered skirt that fell to mid-calf level, the high waistline and the bra that was built into the smocked bodice with its spaghetti straps.
She had left her hair loose with just thin braids at the top to hold it back like a headband, had her ballet flats on her feet and her vintage satchel with its cross-body strap that she’d used for so long as a handbag it didn’t even occur to her to borrow something more suitable from her mother for a dinner date.
No… As she’d pointed out to Sophie in a quick phone call she’d made to save her sanity, this was purely business. It was nothing like a date.
Angus was heartbroken and was very likely to be mistrustful of all women for a considerable time, and as far as Tilly was concerned, she would be more likely to turn down a date with him even if he was the last man on earth.
He didn’t have even a hint of romance in his soul.
Men could always pretend at the start, couldn’t they?
And then you’d be faced with the reality of a life that was diminished by having a partner who simply couldn’t be bothered making you feel like a princess.
The wet towels lying on the floor. The new dress that wasn’t even noticed. The anniversary that was forgotten.
Except…
The soft whisper of the tiny voice in the back of her head, which was reminiscent of Sophie’s tone when she’d told her about the extraordinary request for her company, was all too easy to hear.
…he’s so beautiful…
The statement was true enough to spark a flutter of sensation deep in her belly but trying to stifle it prompted another, slightly louder complaint from that same voice.
Sérieusement? You haven’t had sex in at least two years. You’re only going to be with this man for a few days. Would it really matter if he’s not The One?
Maybe it was Sophie’s voice she was hearing. She’d had a bit to say when Tilly had walked away from her last relationship, come to think of it.
‘You expect perfection, Tilly, but it doesn’t exist. True love can be a messy, unromantic rollercoaster but you know what? If there were no storms, who would really appreciate a beautiful day? It would be “le train train” – same old, same old. Just… boring. And nobody wants boring.’
Tilly managed to banish the memory of her best friend’s admonishment as soon as she could see the red awnings of L’Inoubliable, with candles flickering on the tables and fairy lights in the trees.
Oh, merde… With the daylight fading, as they’d left the airport later than anticipated, it had been a rush to get Angus to his hotel to check in, make the most urgent phone calls and then take the car to her mother’s and jump into the shower to get ready to go out for dinner.
If she hadn’t been so concerned with choosing a dress, touching up her make-up and brushing her hair until it shone, she might have remembered that the name of this restaurant – The Unforgettable – had largely come from its reputation for having one of the more romantic courtyards to dine in, with the lights and leafy trees and a view of the gorgeous mossy fountain.
She should have made another booking somewhere else, shouldn’t she?
Somewhere more… what was the word she needed? Ordinary?
Maybe it wasn’t too late. Tilly made a beeline for the restaurant door to find the ma?tre d’, whom she knew well enough to be confident he would be sympathetic when she explained the problem.
He might even have a useful suggestion of where a good place would be for Angus to have dinner.
With her, if he hadn’t already given her up as totally incompetent in her task of removing those ‘extras’ he didn’t want to experience.
And fair enough. He’d been more than clear that he wanted his holiday in Provence to be swept completely clean of any trace of romance, and here she was in the glow of hundreds of twinkling fairy lights and background music of classical French love songs.
The ma?tre d’ was walking towards her, a smile on his face, a white linen napkin over his arm and a bottle of Bollinger in his hands.
‘Tilly! ?a va?’
‘?a va très bien, merci, Laurent. Et toi?’
‘Très bien, aussi.’ Laurent was close enough to drop a kiss on both her cheeks. Then he held up the bottle of champagne. ‘C’est pour ton client.’
Oh, no… this wine was for her client? Her head swerved. Sure enough, there was Angus glowering in her direction, already seated at the best table in the courtyard – the private corner closest to the mossy fountain.
She was too late.
‘Take it back, please,’ she said to Laurent, speaking in rapid French. ‘I was supposed to have cancelled anything romantic. The woman he was supposed to be travelling with to propose to has apparently broken off the relationship.’
Laurent made a sympathetic sound. ‘Consider it gone. I will bring you the wine list.’
‘Oh…’ Tilly had just spotted the in-house piano accordion player arriving, dressed in his tourist-pleasing outfit of a white shirt and waistcoat, a red bandanna and a battered felt hat. ‘And can you cancel the serenade I booked? Please tell Bernard not to come anywhere near our table, if possible.’
Imagine if Bernard came over and started playing something like ‘La Vie en Rose’? It would really be the last straw, Tilly thought, walking towards Angus. She would be going to the bank first thing tomorrow morning trying to arrange a loan so that she could refund a very unhappy client.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said as soon as she was within earshot. ‘I hoped to get here before you and cancel the reservation. We can go somewhere else.’
‘Why?’
‘Because this is… unacceptable. It’s…’ Tilly frowned. ‘The fairy lights. The candles? I can find something much more… ordinary?’ Was there a better word to convey that she understood how painful this might be? ‘Unremarkable?’
Angus raised an eyebrow. ‘Boring?’ She was beginning to expect his eyes to narrow like that. ‘Sit down, Tilly.’
It was the second time he’d ordered her to be seated but this time it didn’t sound like the command of an angry man. More like an invitation.
Tilly sat. Slowly. She could hear Sophie’s voice again.
‘…nobody wants boring.’
But she wasn’t convinced. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked. ‘Isn’t this…’ She bit her lip. ‘I’m trying to think of the English saying that’s like our “remuer le couteau dans la plaie”, which means “to wiggle the knife in the wound”.’
Angus’s lips twitched. ‘Are you thinking of “to rub salt into the wound”?’
‘Ah, oui. C’est ca. Thank you. It’s harder to remember when I don’t have someone to speak English with every day.’
‘I saw you sending the champagne back,’ Angus said calmly. ‘Because you remembered that it was on that rather long list of romantic things I didn’t want to see, yes?’
Tilly nodded.
‘I think that cancels out a little salt, don’t you? And… it’s not as though you’re going to order the bouillabaisse, is it?’
Tilly’s eyes widened. She shook her head – a small but emphatic movement.
It was Angus’s turn to nod. ‘Because you prefer steak, don’t you? Like me.’
‘I do,’ Tilly agreed.
Laurent appeared with the wine list but Angus didn’t open it. ‘Your best Merlot, please,’ he said. ‘We’re both going to have your steak frites this evening.’
‘An excellent choice, monsieur. A bottle or a glass?’
Angus’s gaze rested on Tilly. ‘Will you share the red?’
She really wanted to share his taste in wine as well as the meal but she just couldn’t. Tilly hated red wine. She did her best not to let an expression of distaste show on her face but she caught the almost invisible change to the crinkles at the side of his eyes.
Nothing got past this man, did it?
‘What’s your preference?’ he asked. Then one side of his mouth tilted in a wry twist, accompanied by a resigned shake of his head. ‘No… let me guess… champagne?’
Tilly felt her lower lip curve downwards in a grimace that was both an admission and an apology. Angus handed the wine list back to Laurent. ‘Please bring back the champagne.’
‘Just a glass,’ Tilly said quickly. She smiled at Laurent. ‘Your house crémant would be lovely.’ She didn’t want Angus forking out for a premium vintage champagne when he wasn’t going to be drinking it himself.
‘Crémant?’