Chapter 16
Only one full day.
Twenty-four hours before Alfie was due to be taken to the airport, where the rental agency would be waiting for the car’s return and a plane to Edinburgh would be waiting for Angus to board.
Tilly was intending to make the most of every one of those hours and this morning was all about Nice – the largest city and the central hub of the C?te d’Azur.
She couldn’t hope to show Angus everything, of course, but she’d lain awake last night trying to choose a flow of ‘must-see’ highlights that would give him a taste of this vibrant icon of the French Riviera.
She directed Angus to a parking area far enough along the Promenade des Anglais to enjoy a time that was more for locals than tourists.
The sea was clear and calm, with just enough of a ripple to catch and throw the first glitter of sunshine.
Some people were already swimming and others were starting to set up umbrellas and folding chairs to claim their patch of the pebbled beach for what was promising to be a perfect summer’s day, and there were joggers and cyclists on the wide path between the palm trees, weaving through the obstacles of people walking their dogs or queuing at a coffee cart.
Tilly had wanted their day to begin with more than simply an espresso, so she’d ducked into a corner boulangerie near the car park to get takeaway coffee and pains au chocolat still warm from the oven, and they were carrying the small lidded cups and the paper bags to find the nearest cluster of bright blue chairs placed for people to sit and admire the Baie des Anges.
The coffee was hot and strong and the warm chocolate inside the flaky pastry the most indulgent and delicious breakfast imaginable.
She knew Angus was watching her as she took her first bite, but she didn’t realise how many flakes of pastry were stuck to her face until he smiled and raised his hand to brush some off her cheek.
And, ohh… in that brief moment, Tilly could have sworn that the look in his eyes, as a corner of his mouth lifted in just a hint of a smile, was far more than amusement. It looked – and, more importantly, felt – intimate.
As if he was loving her company.
Loving her, even?
He took a sip of his coffee then, his gaze drifting from her to the sea and then towards Castle Hill, which overlooked Nice Old Town.
‘That’s where I thought you might like to go next,’ Tilly told him. ‘To walk up the hill for the gorgeous views. Either that or we could go to MAMAC – the Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art. We don’t really have time to do both if we’re going to drive up into the mountains this afternoon.’
‘A museum?’ Angus licked crumbs from his lips and then grinned at her and Tilly melted a little inside. ‘That’s different.’
‘A bit of culture,’ she said. ‘We don’t have to, but you did employ me as a tour guide, after all.’
It was meant to be a light-hearted comment but, as soon as the words left her mouth, Tilly wished she hadn’t uttered them. She didn’t want to dim what felt more and more like a genuine connection with the reminder of how this had started.
And she didn’t want to think about it finishing.
‘We can walk through the old town after that,’ she added. ‘And find some lunch along the way. It’ll be time to check into the hotel by then.’
‘Ah… the Hotel Negresco.’ His glance at Tilly was almost startled. ‘Do you know, I’d almost forgotten that you’d made a booking for me at the most famous landmark of the French Riviera?’
‘You’re going to love it,’ Tilly said.
‘We’re going to love it,’ Angus corrected.
‘I was lucky enough to get a table at their restaurant across the road, as well. The one in the corner with the best sea view for the sunset.’
The romance of the new dinner reservation – part of the frantic rearrangements Tilly had made the day Angus had arrived – didn’t seem to be a problem so perhaps any tension from that ticking clock in the background could also be ignored.
Maybe she could even hope that Angus might have almost forgotten the reason he’d been coming to the South of France in the first place.
Tilly was finding it intruding on her thoughts more than she was comfortable with.
This last day of the trip had, after all, been all about the shopping and spa and the sunset at the top of èze for the finishing touches of the proposal that was never going to happen.
‘There it is.’ A few minutes after they’d started walking again, Tilly could point out the impressive shape of the huge Hotel Negresco, with its distinctive pink dome. ‘It’s like a symbol for what Nice used to be all about – the luxury winter holidays for the rich and famous.’
‘Did I read that the Beatles stayed here once?’
‘Yes. They were here in the sixties to film one of their movies. Queen Elizabeth has stayed here, too. And Picasso.’ Tilly pointed in the direction they’d come from.
‘And back that way, a bit further than where we parked the car, there’s a children’s hospital right by the beach.
That’s where Angelina Jolie had her twins.
I remember it because I used to come into Nice on the bus after school once a week for my piano lesson and I couldn’t get there one day – there was a traffic jam on the promenade caused by all the paparazzi. ’
Angus managed to look impressed at Tilly’s close brush with fame, which made her laugh. This time it was Tilly who caught his hand as they walked on and, to her delight, he gave her fingers a squeeze that suggested he was happy she had.
He was less happy with the suggestion that she took his photo in front of the red, white and blue #ILoveNICE sign, so she moved swiftly on to the end of the promenade and around the corner to the stone staircase that was the most direct route up to the summit of Castle Hill.
It was cooler in the shade of the trees but the heat of the day was increasing, which made pausing beside the waterfall a welcome break.
The view at the top, with the entire curve of the Baie des Anges below them and the extraordinary blue of a seemingly endless Mediterranean, was also a place to pause and this time it seemed that Angus did want a photo taken.
By him. Of Tilly, perched on a low stone wall where she was enjoying the view and the sea breeze on her face.
It made her smile. Not because she was having a photo taken but because it suggested he wanted to remember her in years to come, when she was no longer to be seen in real life.
She had a feeling that her smile would be more than a little poignant.
They went down a more gentle path that led into the old town.
Church bells told her that it was getting close to lunchtime, and Tilly took them through the Cours Saleya markets with the noise and bustle that was a sharp contrast to the peace and quiet of the Colline du Chateau.
It was an overload to the senses walking in a crowd of people between the stalls under their striped umbrellas.
There were different languages to be heard all around them, and the shouts of the vendors, a rainbow of colours on the flower stalls, vast arrays of vegetables on sale and punnets of summer fruit and even brighter berries, and the smells – so many lavender products and then olives in bowls of oil, salamis and nougat and so many buckets of fragrant flowers.
Finally, they got to where the street food stalls and caravans could offer the lunch they were looking for.
‘There’s lots to choose from,’ Tilly said. ‘What do you feel like? Pizza, socca, pissaladière?’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s a savoury tart with onions and black olives and anchovies.’
‘Anchovies?’
Tilly bit her lip to stop herself smiling. She loved that they had short cuts to things that only they would understand. ‘D’accord – no fish. I’m guessing no stuffed vegetables, either?’
‘What’s the most traditional lunch someone from Nice might have?’
‘That’s easy,’ Tilly said. ‘Pan bagnat.’
‘Which is?’
‘Basically, a sandwich that was created for the working people like fishermen and builders who needed something easy to carry but substantial. It’s very traditional.’
‘Is it good?’
‘It’s great. A bit messy but very delicious. Bagnat means “bathed” and this is a bread bun that is bathed in olive oil.’
Angus looked unconvinced of its appeal.
‘But then it’s filled with tuna and hard-boiled eggs,’ Tilly told him.
‘And tomatoes and onion and red capsicum. It’s like a salad Nicoise in a sandwich.
It can come with anchovies but they can easily leave them out.
And yes, I know tuna is fish but it’s different when it comes out of a can, don’t you think? ’
Angus laughed. ‘I totally agree. Except for anchovies. And it sounds like just the thing to eat on a hot day. Not here, though.’
‘No. I know just the place.’
Fifteen minutes later, carrying paper bags that were heavy with the pan bagnats well wrapped in greaseproof paper so they didn’t leak oil, a handful of paper napkins and some bottles of water, Tilly was delighted to find an empty bench exactly where she wanted one – where they could sit and watch the water mirror in the Promenade du Paillon.
This was a large area paved with pale stones that had dozens and dozens of metal nozzles arranged in a grid, which spurted water at irregular intervals, to varying heights from a low bubble to a high spout and for a range of times.
It was impossible to guess where or when the next spout would appear and on a hot summer’s day during school holidays this was heaven for small children.
Some tried to run across without getting wet, others ran to each spout to try and touch it or even stand in it before it stopped and shrieked with glee if one suddenly appeared right beside them.
Between the bursts that had droplets glittering in the sunshine, a thin layer of water was left on the stones and this created the mirror effect, reflecting the sky and the movement of people.
It was a joyous spectacle, like having a picnic on the edge of a child’s playground or a family gathering.
Even teenagers were playing amongst the jets and parents were there, holding babies or the hands of toddlers.
The gurgle of water and the laughter was a lovely layer on top of the hum of traffic in the background.
Angus and Tilly had shade from a tree above them and a sandwich that was admittedly drippy and inclined to have bits of tomato or olive or capsicum falling out but tasted far too good for the inconvenience to detract from the pleasure.
Tilly had ripped open her paper bag to put over the skirt of her favourite blue dress, with a napkin as extra protection, and she kept her food carefully wrapped in the greaseproof paper as she ate it.
Angus leaned forward so that any bits that fell landed on the ground and he was holding the bun with both hands and eating this traditional lunch with enthusiasm.
‘Absolutely banging,’ he told Tilly. ‘The ham baguette we had at the lake was fantastic but I don’t think I’ve ever had a sandwich this delicious in my entire life. I can’t believe it doesn’t even have any mayonnaise in it.’
‘It doesn’t need it with all the oil that’s soaked into the bread.’
‘Maybe that’s why I like it so much. When I was a bairn, and we’d get fish suppers from the chippy on a Friday night, the grease would be dripping out of the bag by the time we got to the door of the shop.’
‘A fish supper?’ Tilly raised her eyebrows.
‘Battered fish and frites. In those days they were wrapped in newspaper and then put in a paper carry bag.’
‘I’ve had fish and chips,’ Tilly told him. ‘Sophie and Luc took me to a pub that serves it here. It was you eating fish that surprised me.’
‘But fish-and-chip fish is different too. It’s nothing like bouillabaisse or… or, oh my God, I once got served a trout with its head still attached. It was looking at me and it was full of bones and it tasted…’
Angus seemed to be having difficulty finding a word that could describe how disturbing the taste had been.
‘Fishy?’ Tilly offered.
‘Aye. Exactly!’ His smile lit up his face and then his breath came out in a sigh that sounded… what? Relieved? Contented? ‘You’re the only person I’ve ever met who understands,’ he added. ‘Fish is only acceptable when it doesn’t taste fishy.’
Maybe it was the smile. Or that sparkle in his eyes. Or perhaps it was that sigh that made Tilly think of how you’d feel if you’d just walked through the door of your home after being away for too long.
Whatever it was, she felt a prickle behind her eyes that came from nowhere. It only took a blink or two to make it go away but the sudden tightness in her throat was harder to swallow. Quietly, Tilly slid the rest of her lunch back into the bag. She wasn’t hungry any longer.
She was a little disconcerted, to be honest. Being in love had always given her moments of happiness that felt like every cell in her body was experiencing a wash of euphoria.
But this was the first time that happiness had – very nearly – made her cry.