Her Mediterranean Makeover

He stopped to draw breath and Leonie touched his forearm in concern. ‘What happened? Is everything all right now?’

Her sincere expression touched him too, but inside, throwing him off balance.

‘Yes. Yes, it is,’ he said, recovering his equilibrium. ‘Did you get my message?’

She nodded. ‘Jean-Claude told me you’d been held up. That was thoughtful of you, to call the café. When it got so late, I decided you weren’t coming at all today.’

‘I wasn’t sure I’d get here in time. Where are you going? Back to your apartment?’

‘No. I’m staying over there.’ She gestured vaguely. ‘Not far from Place Garibaldi, in Rue Saint Augustin.’

It struck him that they’d come a long way in a few days. At the beginning, she wouldn’t have told him where she lived, which was good—he didn’t like to think of her being vulnerable to unscrupulous people who might take advantage of her kindness. She didn’t deserve to be ripped off. But today, she hadn’t hesitated to reveal her address…as if she trusted him.

The thought gave him a jolt.

‘I was just going for a walk,’ she said. ‘Nowhere in particular.’

‘May I join you?’

‘Yes, of course, but are you certain you wouldn’t rather go back?’ She pointed to the café. ‘Don’t you want a coffee?’

He shook his head and turned in the direction she’d been walking, adjusting his steps to match her shorter ones as they set off.

‘It was one of my kitchen staff,’ he said. ‘She has been having problems with her husband and she made the decision to leave him.’

‘Oh?’

For the first time, a look of disapproval crossed her face. Perhaps she found it hard to accept that not all marriages were as long and happy as hers had been. But it was a sad fact of life that some marriages were not made in heaven. His own included.

He shook off the bad memory before it could spoil this pleasant moment with Leonie.

‘He was violent,’ he said. ‘She made the right choice.’

‘Oh, I see. Of course she did. That’s awful.’ Her forehead creased. ‘But how were you involved?’

He shrugged. ‘She needed someone to help move her belongings out of the house while her husband was at work. She needed to find a safe place for her children and herself to stay where he is unlikely to find them.’

‘She has children?’ Biting her lip, she frowned. ‘Did she find somewhere to stay?’

‘Yes. She’s safe now.’

‘Oh, good.’ She blew out a breath. ‘You helped her do all this?’

He nodded. ‘Someone had to. It took a little longer than I expected.’

‘For what it’s worth, I think you did absolutely the right thing.’ After a hesitation, she said, ‘Is she your girlfriend?’

‘No! Of course not. I told you, she is married.’

‘I don’t think that would stop everyone.’

‘It would stop me.’

She gave him a doubtful glance.

‘You don’t believe me?’

‘Of course I do. But I don’t understand why you felt obliged to help.’

He shrugged. ‘She has no one else.’

Smiling, she shook her head. ‘You’re a nice man, Jacques.’

‘Let’s go this way.’ He touched her elbow with one hand as he pointed with the other. Embarrassed, he drew her attention to the baroque architecture of the church in front of them.

He watched her as she looked up at the building. She might be over forty, but she was quite beautiful, and not at all aware of the fact.

He’d noticed her as soon as she’d entered Jean-Claude’s café that first day with the light from the door shining through her blond curls and making a striking picture. Then she’d turned her gaze on him and it was so direct, so frank, that he’d been taken aback for a second or two.

Hers wasn’t the classical beauty he’d always preferred, but she had a charming, expressive face, a genuine smile and eyes as blue as the Mediterranean, eyes that warmed at the slightest mention of her children.

She seemed surprised to find herself here playing truant from her role as a mother. Leonie, it seemed, had never taken time for herself and was long overdue for a break. As they moved on she stared up at the pastel-coloured façades of the buildings they were passing.

‘Why did you choose to stay in Vieux Nice?’

‘The old town? Well, I thought it would be full of character. And it is. These buildings…they’re so tall and thin and so close together. It’s as if they’re reaching up for the sun.’

Jacques chuckled. ‘You have a point.’

‘But they’re so pretty too. I love all the shutters on the windows. They’re like eyelids.’

‘Eyelids?’ He frowned, wondering whether he’d misunderstood the meaning of the English word, but then he realised what she meant. ‘Eyelids. That’s different.’

‘It’s colourful and cheerful.’

He nodded. ‘It’s a popular area now. At one time it was crime-infested and poverty-stricken, but it’s changed. There has been a lot of restoration work to preserve its architecture, and urban regeneration has encouraged the young, trendy people to move in. In fact, the further east you go in Nice, the younger the population becomes.’

‘Oh.’ Leonie laughed. ‘I didn’t know that. Perhaps I should have chosen the other end of town.’

‘I didn’t say it for that reason. You are not old, Leonie. You have to stop talking of yourself that way.’

‘Why? It doesn’t bother me.’

It bothered him. She was a vibrant, beautiful woman, and her age was an irrelevant number. ‘Besides, it’s not all young people. There are some lifelong residents here too.’

‘Yes, I’ve seen some older people. There’s a lady who always sits at the window opposite mine.’

They continued walking through the labyrinth of streets packed with shops, galleries and bistros. Leonie stopped to look into a store selling handmade toys and puppets, then they made their way to the Quai des États-Unis where they stopped to gaze at the glimmering sea.