Chapter 2
The last time I came to the Ardèche, it was winter, six months ago, and all the trees on the hills had shed their leaves, revealing ancient stone walls and the ruins of old cottages that I’d never even known existed.
But now, in late May, a seemingly infinite landscape unfolds into the distance, undulating layers of tree-covered mountains fading in hue from dark green to hazy white until I’m not sure if what I’m seeing is land or sky.
I only arrived this afternoon and I haven’t done much more than unpack and get ready for dinner with Jackson and Albert.
I’ve been full of elation, but as my eyes drift to the foreground where the slate tiles of Chateau Angèle glint in the early-evening sunshine, I can feel my nerves building.
From its base, the house stands at an imposing fourteen meters tall, but Mellie’s land slopes away so steeply that all you can see from this perspective is its distinctly French-looking mansard roofline.
“Ready?” Mellie calls, and I start, turning in time to see her coming down her stone patio steps. “Oh my goodness, that dress is beautiful!” she exclaims, her eyes wide at the sight of my ocean-blue, grass-green, and sunny-yellow thigh-length number.
“Thank you. You look lovely too.”
She’s wearing cream linen trousers with a pink blouse, and her long dove-gray hair is fashioned into a braid.
“And your lipstick!” she exclaims, holding me at arm’s length so she can take in my appearance.
“Yep. I’ve been on a shopping spree. I never would have thought I could pull off 1950s red, but the sales assistant was persuasive.”
She lets me go. “With your new cut and color, Jackson won’t recognize you.”
Good. I want to feel less familiar to him. Since I decided to take up his offer seven weeks ago, I’ve been on a mission. As well as revamping my wardrobe, I’ve had my long dark blond hair highlighted and lopped off to a couple of inches below my chin.
“Going to show him what he’s been missing out on, eh?” Mellie asks with a shrewd look.
I laugh, not even bothering to deny it as we set off along the dusty track through the lower part of her property.
I was expecting her to be a little sheepish about withholding the news of Jackson and Chloe’s breakup, but she was defiant.
“Took him long enough to spill the beans,” she said.
“Why didn’t you tell me yourself?” I demanded to know.
“I didn’t want you to be straight on the phone to him. I thought best for him to come running to you for a change. And he did, didn’t he?”
I couldn’t argue with her.
But I still have no idea what I want to come of this. I’m hoping three-and-a-bit months will give me enough time to figure it out. Thankfully my visa came through on time.
Mellie links her arm through mine as we emerge from under the shade of the oak trees onto the dusty verge of the mountain road.
Carefully navigating the steep hairpin bend, we soon arrive at the tall wrought-iron gates of Chateau Angèle.
My grandmother punches in the code and the gates slowly swing open, revealing an elegant three-story chateau at the end of the drive.
It’s built of creamy-white limestone with a slate-gray roof, and nine large rectangular windows face out from this facade alone, all with faded cornflower-blue wooden shutters.
The top-floor windows are dormers set into the hipped roof, and hugging the corner at this side of the house is a cylindrical turret that starts at the first floor and ends at roof height. It’s breathtakingly beautiful.
As Mellie and I clear the hedge flanking the drive, the lush garden with its fountain and palm trees comes into view.
And there is Jackson, broad and tanned in a white short-sleeved shirt and navy shorts, standing by the swimming pool with his back to us.
He played tennis when we were younger, and, with his lean, muscular build and lofty six-foot-four frame, I used to think that he had the physique of a pro. He hasn’t let himself go. The butterflies in my stomach have gone wild.
“I’ll see you inside,” Mellie says as his deep voice carries across the water in our direction—he’s on the phone.
Patting my hand, she extricates herself from what I now realize was my viselike grip. I nod, grateful that she’s giving us a minute.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her climb the wide stone steps to the main door, which must be open as her “Yoohoo!” bounces off the walls of the large entrance hall, alerting not only Albert to her presence, but also Jackson, who whips around.
He glances from the front door to me, standing there at the edge of the lawn, and his eyes widen with delight, his mouth breaking into a grin.
“Gotta go. I’ll call you back,” I hear him say abruptly before he shoves his phone into his pocket.
The last time I saw him was just before he set off on his honeymoon, when he came to Mellie’s to say goodbye. It was the morning after his wedding and I was a wreck, but I let him take me in his arms and hold me tight, and I remember thinking, This is the last time I’ll ever hug him like this.
I’m not sure that I’m ready for him to sweep me up in his arms again, and yet, suddenly, here I am, cocooned in his fierce embrace.
The top of my head is tucked beneath his square, stubble-free jaw and my cheek is pressed against his warm neck.
My hands act of their own accord, sliding around his waist, and the warmth of his firm body seeps straight through his linen shirt and into my skin.
Being this close to him after believing that he was lost to me forever is too much, and yet I can’t seem to loosen my grip. He smells of summer, and unrequited love, and lost hope, and with that thought I tense up and, finally, he releases me.
He doesn’t allow me to stray far though. His hands come up to cup my face, his fingers slipping into my new, shorter locks and making my skin fizz and tingle. His eyes are a dappled mix of brown and green and they catch the light, like sun streaming through a canopy.
The air crackles between us as we stare at each other, and there it is, that spark of chemistry that we’ve always had, along with too many missed opportunities to count.
“It is so good to see you again,” he says in a voice so low that it’s almost a whisper.
He sounds reverential.
I snap into action, taking another step backward and pulling his hands down from my face.
He’s immediately discomfited. “Sorry,” he says, showing me his palms.
“What for?” The last thing I want is for this to be awkward.
“For, I don’t know…” He scratches the back of his head. “Being too…friendly?”
I can’t help but laugh. He flashes me a grin, relieved.
The truth is, I like how familiar he was with me just now, even if it’s confusing. A part of me wants us to slip back into the way we used to be: playful and tactile. I sense that’s what he might have been hoping for too.
But there have also been other times when the line has been blurred between friendship and something more. I wonder if there’s any part of him that wants to slip back into that version of us. Maybe he’s trying to figure that out as much as I am.
It’s a sobering thought. I don’t want to be at the mercy of his decisions—not again.
“Let’s go and find our grandparents,” I suggest, needing reinforcements.
As soon as we walk into the living room, Albert springs up from the sofa.
The last few times I’ve seen him, he’s been layered-up for cooler weather, but now he’s decked out for summer in salmon-pink shorts and a cream T-shirt.
This is Albert making an effort, but the rest of us are overdressed in comparison.
His feet are bare, but he’s clean-shaven and has combed his white hair—I’m more used to seeing it fresh out of the swimming pool, blown into a mess in the hot breeze.
He’s the most unassuming businessman you could imagine and I love that about him.
He still goes to work at the mineral-water bottling plant each day.
I’ve known him since I was six years old when I came here for my first summer.
Mellie had moved here a year earlier and she and Albert were already firm friends—they’d met when he’d walked up the road to say hello to the rescue donkeys she’d just brought home from a sanctuary.
He’d heard them braying and had been curious.
I still remember how Mellie had laughed when she relayed seeing him for the first time.
His hair was so wild and his clothes were so shabby.
When he told her that he lived in the chateau that she’d been ogling, she could barely believe it.
But he invited her for breakfast the next morning and sure enough, it was true.
Whenever I came to stay, he insisted that Mellie and I use his swimming pool as though it were our own. He often hung out with us too—he’s young at heart, just like my grandmother; full of joie de vivre.
During my second summer at Chateau Angèle, Jackson’s mother, Sandrine, brought him over from New York for the first time in four years.
My connection with Jackson was instant. I’d been horribly homesick here the year before, but it helped having a kid my own age to play with.
More than that, Jackson brought me out of my shell.
I was quite shy as a young child, but after that first holiday with him, I went home with a bit more bounce.
I looked forward to seeing him the following year—and every summer after.
“My little Gracie!” Albert cries, coming over to give me a hug followed by two enthusiastic cheek kisses. Like his grandson he towers over me, but there’s a lot less muscle on his bones. “At last you have joined the family business! What I have always wanted.”
“Don’t start that again,” Jackson chides with a good-natured eye roll.
When we were younger, Albert used to tease us that one day we’d grow up and get married and would unite his two favorite families. He stopped joking about it when we were teenagers and it became embarrassing.