Chapter 30
It’s thirty-seven degrees on Saturday, which is far from ideal for wandering around a hilltop town, but we’re sticking to the plan. Jackson drives us in his BMW, which is roomier than Albert’s Peugeot and has much better air-conditioning.
I sit in the back, sandwiched between Mellie and Sandrine.
Albert is almost as tall as Jackson so he’s up at the front in the passenger seat.
From this angle I can see the similarities in their profiles, their square jaws and high cheekbones.
Even their hair is a similar length, although Albert’s is thinner and whiter.
He’s quite an attractive older gentleman, I muse to myself.
“Have you persuaded him to sell the garage to us yet?” Sandrine asks, causing me to tense up.
“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” I reply uneasily.
“Oh pfft,” she says dismissively.
Mellie leans forward in her seat to talk across me. “Have you seen that H?tel Dubois is for sale, Sandrine?”
“Which one is H?tel Dubois?” she asks.
“It’s just across the bridge by the factory,” Mellie replies.
“Where?” I ask. This is news to me too.
“Right next door to the restaurant where the painting is, Gracie,” Jackson tells me in the rearview mirror.
Albert swivels in his seat, joining in on the conversation. “It used to have a very nice reception room. Quite big for an old building.”
“It has a pleasant river view too,” Mellie chips in.
“I can set up a viewing if you like,” Jackson offers.
“Why not?” Sandrine replies. “Let’s go and take a look.”
She stretches forward and squeezes Jackson’s broad shoulders. He reaches back and rubs her hand affectionately.
I sit there, feeling like I’ve just dodged a bullet. étienne too.
Mellie gives my knee a subtle pat.
Aiguèze is a picturesque medieval village that’s perched right at the top of a rocky peak. It has fortress ruins and is surrounded by olive groves and vineyards, and it’s unbelievably pretty.
It’s a bit of a walk from the car park, but all the same, Jackson wants to make a detour to look at the view from the top of the hill.
“Come on, Gracie,” he urges in the voice he uses to get me to do something that requires more energy than I want to muster.
It has the effect he wants though.
Sandrine, Mellie, and Albert decline his invitation to spend another minute in full sunshine and carry on toward the shaded streets of the village.
Cream sand from the dusty track slides into my sandals as I diligently trail after him, climbing steps carved into the hillside and dodging the occasional overgrown bush. Eventually we reach the top of the hill and are rewarded with a panoramic view of the wide green river far below.
“I reckon that if I could dive down from here and know for sure that I’d survive, I’d do it,” I say.
He laughs. “I definitely would.”
“Oh, I know you would. You’re up for anything.”
He throws me a smile.
“Hey, I forgot to say, I’m sorry I didn’t know that your dad had remarried.
” I feel really bad about this. Mellie mentioned it this morning off the back of something Albert told her, but I had no idea.
Jackson’s dad has had very little involvement in his life, which has always been painful. “When did that happen?”
“Couple of years ago. I did text you at the time.”
“You didn’t tell me about your dad in a text,” I state with confusion. I’d definitely remember that.
“No, I just asked you to give me a call when you could. You replied to say that you were really busy at work.”
It’s how I responded to most of his texts after he got married. I was brutal at deflecting his attempts to reach out to me. I hate that the situation made it hard for me to be there for him.
“I’m sorry,” I say with regret.
“Don’t sweat it.”
“What’s she like? Your dad’s new wife?”
“Half Mom’s age.”
“Oh dear.”
“Yeah, she’s incensed.”
“I bet.”
We share a knowing smile.
He shrugs. “I try not to think about him too much these days. He made his choice.”
“Are you any closer to changing your surname to Osier like your mum has always wanted?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “No, although she has turned the dial right up on that one.”
Sandrine reverted to her maiden name after the divorce.
She wanted Jackson to do the same so that once he inherits his great-grandfather’s legacy, the family business will still be run by an Osier.
But over the years he’s steadfastly remained a Cole.
He feels loyal to his dad, even though his dad has shown next to no loyalty to him.
He blows out a breath. “Man, is it hot. I could so do with a swim right now.”
He leans forward and peers over the edge.
“Don’t even think about it. Come on, Gracie, dive off a cliff with me!”
He laughs. “You were the one who suggested it.”
“Obviously I was joking. That river is, like, waist-high.” And we’re about three hundred meters up. “I don’t think this is that far from where we kayaked,” I say. “Are the Gorges of the Ardèche that way?” I attempt to peer past the rocky peak we’re standing beside.
“I’m not sure,” Jackson replies as I try to work it out.
I turn to look downriver. “Is that a floating playground? I don’t recognize it. I think we must have got out somewhere up there.” I turn to look left again.
“I overheard Mellie telling Albert that étienne came over to watch a documentary the other night,” Jackson says. “About rallying?”
“Yeah.” I nod.
“How’s it going with him?”
“Good.”
“Have things, like…progressed?”
I blanch. “Mind your own business.”
His neck flushes red, but he looks away before the color reaches his face.
I laugh to try to soften the retort, but he scratches his jaw and stares toward the town.
“Guess we should go catch up with the elders,” he says.
He’s unusually quiet as we make our way back downhill toward the village.
Is he hurt because I snapped at him or upset because he’s guessed that étienne and I have moved things along?
Is he jealous? I know I initially wanted him to be, but I feel as though that moment in time has passed.
I don’t really want to play games anymore.
Sandrine, Mellie, and Albert said they’d meet us at the café in the square and we hug the shade as we meander along the narrow cobbled streets, ducking under arches blanketed with vines and wisteria and winding between beautiful cream-stone houses with painted wooden shutters.
I keep glancing at Jackson, but he won’t meet my eyes.
There’s a market today and the square is thriving. French hip-hop blares out of a speaker at a stall right by the old church and it’s such a funny juxtaposition that I touch Jackson’s back and laugh as I point it out. He smiles, but it’s weak.
We pass a little antique shop and I jolt to a stop at the sight of a corkboard filled with enamel pin badges. My eyes have zeroed straight in on a teeny-tiny Michelin Man. étienne has a whole wall of them in his garage.
“I’ll just be a sec,” I say to Jackson, nipping inside to buy it.
Sandrine, Mellie, and Albert have managed to snag a table on the terrace in the shade of the gigantic plane trees, which is no mean feat.
I take a seat opposite Sandrine who has switched out her big round sunglasses for reading glasses and is perusing the menu.
She looks up and clicks her fingers at a passing waitress, calling out to order water, even as the waitress continues on to another table.
Sandrine tuts and returns to studying the menu.
I’m always on edge when I’m out with her. I’ve done a bit of waitressing myself and there’s nothing worse than a rude customer. Politeness costs nothing, but it makes a world of difference, especially to someone who is relying heavily on tips and the kindness of strangers.
I surreptitiously observe her as she looks around for another waitress. I wonder what she’d be like as a mother-in-law. I used to want so badly for her to be mine.
“I give up,” she announces suddenly, throwing down her menu.
Albert, Mellie, and Jackson stop talking and look at her. “What’s wrong?” Jackson asks.
“I can’t get anybody’s attention,” she replies with frustration. “Someone else can order. I’m going to the ladies’ room.”
Jackson stares at her as she pushes out her chair and gets up from the table.
A minute later, the waitress comes over.