Chapter 12
Slipping into Alfie’s low seat was beginning to feel as familiar as climbing onto Pesto the Vespa or into Maeve the van but it was a whole lot more fun.
Especially when the roof was down and they were on a road like the Corniche Sublime that clung to the cliffs on the side of the Gorge du Verdon.
There were guard rails in places but, in others, they could see the sharp drop into the gorge a little too close to the road for comfort.
There were tight bends and short tunnels that had been carved into the rock and…
Angus was clearly loving the drive and the engine sounds of hugging the curves and then putting his foot down a little.
‘I feel like I’m in a Bond movie,’ he told Tilly. ‘Or Mission: Impossible.’ He was grinning. ‘Let me know if someone starts shooting at us. Or if you see a car rolling off the edge and bouncing down the cliff.’
‘Dick flicks,’ Tilly said.
Angus gave a surprised shout of laughter. ‘Where on earth did you learn that term?’
‘Probably from my best friend, Sophie. But it’s true, isn’t it? They are mostly the favourite movies for men?’
‘And romcoms are for women. Chick flicks.’
‘Also true.’
‘So what’s your favourite?’
‘Titanic,’ Tilly said promptly. ‘Notting Hill. Chocolat.’ She was counting them off on her fingers. ‘Four Weddings and a Funeral. Amélie.’
‘I haven’t heard of Amélie.’
Tilly gasped. ‘C’est choquant! That is one of the most loved romantic French movies and they are the best.’
‘I’ve heard people say they have weird endings.’
‘People expect happy endings. Love is not always like that, as you know. But Amélie does have a happy ending. Perhaps you’d like to watch it?’
‘Maybe. For now, I’m going to watch the road. Can you find some music for us to listen to? I can drive faster when the road straightens and it will be harder to talk.’
‘But I might find something romantic.’
‘Just no saxophones,’ Angus said sternly. ‘It’s a rule.’
Perhaps ‘it’s a rule’ was going to be added to their personal vocabulary, like ‘picturesque’.
Did Angus realise that developing a private code could also be considered romantic?
And it wasn’t just words. Was he learning the kind of nonverbal signals she was collecting without even noticing?
Like the way she could tell if Angus liked his food just by the way he closed his eyes in a long blink when he tasted it.
And see an embryonic smile when it was no more than an almost invisible twitch of his lips.
Tilly scrolled through her music app and found she was actively seeking a romantic song that she thought she could get away with.
What if, she thought, she could teach Angus, bit by bit, how important romance was?
That he might discover that it was what his father was talking about when he’d said how important it was to really live?
If she could show him the sparkle well enough for him to be convinced, it might make all the difference for his future.
He might be able to find his true love and have the happy ever after that his father had missed out on.
What a gift that would be to give someone.
It might even be a gift to herself as well, to restore her faith that she wasn’t wasting her life waiting for The One. Her prince.
A good place to start would be a romantic song that sounded nothing like the clichéd crooning that Angus associated with love songs.
A rock god like Jon Bon Jovi, perhaps – with ‘Always’?
No. Tilly had just found something even better and it was one of her all-time favourites. She paired her phone with the Bluetooth speaker, turned the volume up and let Bryan Adams do the talking for her with his ‘Everything I Do…’
And Angus liked it.
As they left the gorge behind them and he let Alfie off his leash on the straight sections of the road they were both singing along to ‘Summer of ’69’, and then Tilly risked Bon Jovi but started with ‘Living on a Prayer’ before sneaking in ‘Always’.
Making a joint playlist was also romantic but she wasn’t going to mention that to Angus.
Petits pas. Baby steps.
* * *
It was early evening by the time they drove up a long tree-lined driveway and arrived at the main building of the Chateau Saint-Martin, a luxury five-star hotel on a hilltop overlooking the medieval walled city of Vence.
The reception area opened onto a terrace that had a stunning view of Tilly’s hometown, with the cathedral tower dominating the skyline.
The Chateau Saint-Martin had been a Knights Templar estate in the twelfth century and some ruins of the original castle were still to be found in the extensive grounds and manicured gardens.
Tilly had booked two nights here for Angus and Moira but the carefully curated itinerary had been thrown into disarray yesterday, so she’d had to cancel the first night in the private villa. Maybe that was why the doorman and receptionist were so delighted to welcome them as they arrived.
‘We were so disappointed you couldn’t be with us last night.’ The front-desk receptionist sounded sympathetic. ‘What a shame you had trouble with your car.’
Angus and Tilly shared a glance and she felt the heat ignite, deep in her belly. It was no more than a graze of eye contact but it was both an invitation and a promise and Tilly instantly let go of thinking that perhaps she should go back to her apartment tonight.
Angus was clearly not of the opinion that it was a shame they hadn’t reached Vence last night and neither was she.
If they hadn’t had the trouble with their car, they wouldn’t have ended up in the olive-grove cottage.
They wouldn’t have ended up in bed with each other.
Tilly might have ended up not breaking her moral code about casual sex, and she would never have entered a world she’d assumed was no more than a fantasy conjured up by the writers of steamy novels and the creators of impossibly romantic movies.
‘We managed to make the most of the delay,’ Angus said. ‘But we’re very happy to be here now.’
‘And we were happy that you let us know in good time that you wouldn’t be here. We were able to give that room to other guests. If you would like to stay an extra night, that can be arranged.’
Their bags were taken and Alfie was whisked away for garaging and they were shown to their accommodation by the concierge.
They walked downhill along stone pathways by terraced gardens, past an outdoor dining area, where silverware and crystal glasses were glinting in the last of the sunshine on tables covered with crisp white linen.
They passed villas screened by cypress and olive trees and stone walls, and the path narrowed and they could feel the privacy of the space on the other side of the hedging and walls.
The villa was small, stone-built and honey-coloured, with pale blue shutters. There was one bedroom, one living area, a bathroom and a completely private deck and garden area with a pool.
‘There are menus for room service. There is also a hotel shuttle if you wish to explore the options in Vence and include wine with your dinner. Just come up to the reception area.’
Angus shared another glance with Tilly, who nodded decisively. She couldn’t wait to show him everything she loved about her hometown.
‘Thank you.’ He slipped a folded euro note into the concierge’s hand. ‘I think we will take advantage of that very soon.’
* * *
Thirty minutes later they were standing on a footpath in the centre of Vence – with the Grand Jardin, the central square, framed by magnificent plane trees on one side of the main road and a line of restaurants and bars on the other, with outdoor seating areas that were already busy with tourists on summer holidays.
It was a very warm summer’s evening but Tilly had changed into her yellow dress after a cool shower and felt refreshed.
There was a game of boules happening in one corner near the fountain, around which a couple of small children were playing a game of chase that was making them shriek with laughter.
A busker was playing a saxophone near the parking area for motorbikes – fortunately some jazz music and not ‘Fly Me to the Moon’.
‘It’s got a nice vibe here,’ Angus said. ‘Feels alive.’ He was smiling ‘What are you going to show me?’
‘What would you like to see first? The tourist attractions, like the most picturesque street? Matisse’s chapel won’t be open now but we can see that tomorrow. And the cathedral.’
‘Show me where you grew up,’ Angus said. ‘And where you went to school. Where’s your favourite place to walk and your favourite restaurant?’
Tilly blinked. She hadn’t expected that. He wanted to know about her life? About her favourite things? This suddenly felt very personal.
It felt… like a date.
Lines were getting blurred and Tilly knew this was dangerous territory. How easy would it be to fall in love with someone who was this interested in who she was?
Who could make love to her as if she was the only woman in the world that he was interested in?
But, as she pointed out to Sophie in one of their brief but regular text exchanges, how deeply could you fall in love with someone in just a few days?
Especially when you knew you were so different you could never be compatible. And that they would disappear from your life after those few days and never be seen again.
She was simply following a piece of advice that may have been her own but it had sounded remarkably like Sophie’s. She was just having a few days with a gorgeous man. It really didn’t matter that he wasn’t The One.
And surely it wasn’t long enough to get your heart badly broken.
Not when it wasn’t going to be any kind of surprise because she’d known right from the start that she was walking into a dead-end road.
She just needed to remember that, Tilly told herself.
And to also remember what could happen when you chose to be with someone who didn’t have a romantic bone in their body.
There would be no glue. No sparkle. No magic.
So why did it feel as if that magic was all around her?