Chapter 20
‘Donc…’
Tilly tucked her phone safely back into her satchel and looped the strap over her head as they started to head back down the mountain.
‘So… Luc used to take amazing wedding pictures that always went viral,’ she told Angus. ‘But it was a hobby that he kept completely separate from his business because it was kind of controversial.’
‘How could wedding photography be controversial?’ Angus seemed distracted.
It felt like he was watching every move Tilly was making as she negotiated the rocks and, more than once, his hand shot out to steady her.
He didn’t need to. Okay, she’d almost fallen when she hadn’t been careful enough on the cliff under the cross but she was quite confident now so she ignored his offers of assistance.
‘He made images that were… thought-provoking but also uncomfortable. Like a bride whose wedding dress was on fire.’
‘That sounds downright dangerous, not thought-provoking.’
‘I think it was meant to be a statement about the waste of money spent on wedding dresses.’
‘But he’s married now?’
‘Oh, yes. Very much so. To the absolute love of his life. The way he looks at Sophie sometimes… I told her once that it was the kind of love that would burn forever and a day, even if you couldn’t be with that person because they didn’t feel the same way.
Enfin…’ Tilly didn’t want to dwell on the torture of unrequited love.
The notion might hit just a little too close to home right now.
‘I met him for the first time when Sophie and I were doing a wedding in a lovely castle not far from Aix-en-Provence and our photographer had a heart attack. He sent Luc to cover for him. Or rather, he sent Le Phénix.’
‘The Phoenix? Like the bird?’
‘It was Luc’s alter ego. How he kept his hobby separate from his mainstream business.
He made himself mysterious. Nobody knew his real name and he wore black clothes and a hat.
He took a photo that day of our bride and groom sitting in a pile of rubbish that was dégueulasse – so disgusting!
There were smelly chicken bones and broken wine bottles.
But the bride and groom were looking at each other like the way Luc looks at Sophie and, because of what was around them, it was the love that jumped out at you.
So clever. He called that photo “Treasure in the Trash”. ’
‘Hmm.’ The sound Angus made was interested. Admiring, even?
‘A man who can recognise the cake,’ he suggested, ‘when the icing is something that is totally unacceptable. I’d like to meet him.’
‘That’s good,’ Tilly said. ‘They’ll be here next week and Sophie wants to meet you. I… ah… told her that we’ve become friends.’
And the rest! But Tilly knew she could trust her best friend not to reveal that ‘friendship’ was a cloak for feelings that went far, far deeper.
Or that the hope that had seeded itself in her soul on what should have been her last night with Angus had unexpectedly become a new beginning when he decided to extend his holiday.
And yes, she understood that he was avoiding the awkwardness of having to be in an office with Moira but that hadn’t stopped the hope growing tendrils. Taking root, even.
‘Luc can show you some of his photos,’ Tilly added, her tone deliberately light. ‘And you can help me persuade him that the top of this mountain will be the perfect location to add to my website gallery. Something different. Dramatic.’
The walk back to where they’d parked seemed to go too quickly and the van was hot and stuffy.
Tilly rolled the windows down to make up for a lack of air conditioning. ‘Shall we find somewhere nice and shady for lunch?’
Angus tapped his phone screen to reveal the time.
‘I have to get a few hours’ work in this afternoon,’ he said.
‘I’ve got a new client – a Swiss drug company – and there may be a problem with a drug trial they’ve just started.
I have a gut feeling it might turn into something rather big so I need to stay well on top of it. ’
No wonder he seemed distracted. It was a relief that it was work related and not something she might have said.
‘No problem,’ Tilly said, sincerely. ‘I have things to do, too. Like my emails and shopping and housework.’
‘I’ll take you out to dinner this evening,’ Angus offered. ‘Wherever you like. We didn’t eat at the Chateau Saint-Martin.’ He was tapping his phone as he spoke. ‘It comes highly recommended. Shall we go?’
But Tilly shook her head, with a smile to soften her rejection of the offer. She wanted time with Angus that nobody else could intrude on, including waiters and the presence of other diners. And she wanted to feed him, with food that she’d cooked herself – with love.
‘I’ll make dinner,’ she said. ‘And I’ll bring it round tonight.’
* * *
Tilly smeared a generous layer of Dijon mustard over the outside of the filet de b?uf and seared it in melted butter on each side before putting into a hot oven. She added a few sprigs of thyme because they reminded her of the walk up her beloved baou.
She used the minutes it was going to take to cook to call Sophie.
‘I’m cooking,’ she told her. ‘Beef stroganoff.’
‘Nice,’ Sophie said. ‘For the gorgeous Scot?’
‘Mmm…’
‘Can’t wait to meet him. I can’t wait to be back in my little house, either. I miss you, Tilly.’
‘I miss you, too.’
‘We’ll be home by Thursday afternoon. Come and visit. It might be a bit chaotic until Maddie’s in bed but then we can spend as long as we like talking about the old days. We can drink wine and I can make my world-famous – in Saint Jeannet – croque-monsieur.’
It was tempting to sink into reminiscence of the late-night toasted sandwiches they’d shared in the more hectic times they’d worked together, but Tilly needed to start making her mushroom sauce.
She could hear a baby’s demanding cry in the background, too, along with the low, soothing rumble of a male voice.
‘Sounds like you’re needed,’ she excused Sophie.
‘And tell Luc I’ve got a brilliant idea for my new photos.
I’ll tell you both all about it when you’re here. ’
She’d sautéed the shallots and mushrooms by the time the beef came out of the oven to rest and she let them simmer in wine before slicing tender pink meat and folding it into the sauce.
She would add the crème fraiche later, when she reheated it in La Maisonette and cooked the fresh tagliatelle that was already packed in her basket.
* * *
It was well into the golden hour before sunset by the time Tilly arrived with her basket at the front door of La Maisonette underneath the fragrant arch of profuse small, pale-yellow roses.
The kiss she received from Angus felt detached, as if his mind was elsewhere, but he followed her into the kitchen and leaned over her shoulder as she lifted the lid on her flame-coloured vintage Le Creuset casserole to check on how their meal had travelled.
‘That smells amazing,’ he said. ‘Is it stroganoff? How did you know it was one of my all-time favourites?’
‘It wasn’t difficult.’ Tilly leaned back into the length of his body as she tilted her head to look up at him. ‘You love steak and you chose mushroom sauce to go with it, the first time we had dinner together. Are you hungry now?’
‘Not just yet.’ Angus stepped away and reached down to open the small under-bench fridge. ‘It’s been a fairly intense afternoon’s work for me. Can we wind down with a glass of wine first? It’s so nice on the terrace at this end of the day.’
It was perfect on the terrace. At this time of the year it felt like the world was turning as slowly as it possibly could, creating a warm, peaceful drift, like a contented sigh to welcome a day’s end.
Having a glass of chilled crémant to sip elevated mere relaxation into something more like bliss, but Tilly could still detect a note of stress when Angus spoke.
‘Shall I light the candle?’
‘Which one?’
Angus gestured at the one on the wrought-iron table but then glanced up at the holders hooked onto the branches of the tree above them and the larger ones dotted around the terrace. The look on his face made Tilly laugh.
‘Ellie does love her candles,’ she said. ‘She might possibly be even more into romance than I am.’
‘I find that hard to believe.’ Angus was peering up at the tree again. ‘Or maybe not. Are those fairy lights up there as well?’
‘Yes.’ Tilly nodded. ‘It was Julien who put those up there. Ellie told me about the night he proposed to her, right here on this terrace. She said it felt like there were a thousand stars twinkling with the lights and the candles.’ Her sigh was one of approval.
‘And he’d put champagne and her favourite cheese on the table because she’d told him that was her fantasy of a romantic scene. ’
Angus grunted. ‘Maybe it’s a genetic advantage being French. Do you all have romance embedded in your DNA?’
‘My parents didn’t,’ Tilly reminded him.
‘Did they like each other, at least?’
‘Oh, yes. I think they were good friends. But that wasn’t enough to…’ She gave her head a tiny shake. ‘It just wasn’t enough.’
They both sipped their drinks in silence that accentuated the sounds carried in the still evening air. Tilly could hear the sporadic clicking of cicadas, the song of a blackbird and the tolling of church bells from the nearby village.
‘I’m still not sure what defines a good friendship.
’ It sounded as if Angus was thinking aloud.
‘Let alone what makes it less of a risk to commit to spending the rest of your life with someone. Isn’t friendship how a significant relationship should begin?
How do you know when you’ve crossed the boundary? ’
Tilly drank some more of her champagne, needing a moment to choose her words with care. Was he asking because he was wondering about the friendship he had with her?