Her Mediterranean Makeover

‘No. There was, once, a long time ago. There’s a waterfall, and a park.’

‘I like waterfalls.’

‘There are lots of steps. We can use the lift, if you prefer.’

‘One minute you’re telling me not to say I’m old, and the next you’re implying that I’m elderly and infirm.’

‘I did not.’ He frowned. ‘That was not what I meant.’

She laughed at his consternation. ‘I’m only teasing. Come on, let’s go. But we’ll walk.’

As they weaved their way slowly up the side of the hill, Leonie took in the increasingly breathtaking views of Nice below. At the top, they made their way straight to the viewing platforms.

‘Oh, my word,’ Leonie gasped. It was the first time she’d seen the harbour, and the number of three-storey yachts, millionaires’ toys, moored in the neat rectangular harbour stunned her. For the first time since her arrival it sank in that this was the Riviera, the playground of the rich and famous.

Turning a hundred and eighty degrees, she gazed across the red roofs of the old town to the city and the more distant mountains. After a long, spellbound moment, Leonie sighed. ‘I’m glad we made the hike. It was worth it.’

She looked back at the harbour, then turned away. ‘Even if there is no château, which is a pity because I would love to see a real French château.’

‘Then you need to go for a drive,’ Jacques said as they walked away from the platform and wandered through the park.

‘I know.’ She shrugged. ‘Never mind.’

‘What do you mean?’

Leonie had stopped to watch some children on the playground, their laughter carrying to her as they scrambled up a rope climbing frame. She looked over her shoulder. ‘What do I mean?’

‘I don’t understand. Don’t you want to visit anywhere else?’

‘Oh, well, yes, of course I’d like to, but I’m not going to drive a car on the wrong side of the road, and I have no sense of direction, and besides…’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t enjoy sightseeing on my own.’ Rolling her eyes, she said, ‘Now I sound pathetic.’

‘No, you don’t. I can understand that.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘I could take you.’

‘What? No.’ She flapped her hands at him. ‘You’re too busy. You can’t do that.’

‘I can. My staff can manage on their own for a day. I’ve left them before, occasionally, when I’ve needed to take Antoine to an appointment, for instance.’

‘But that’s different. I don’t want to put you to so much trouble just for me.’

He nodded. ‘I’d like to take you for a drive, but it’s your choice.’ He lifted his shoulders, his eyes glinting in the sun. ‘If you don’t want me to, I’ll understand.’

‘Well, of course it’s not that I don’t want you to…it’s just…Are you sure?’

He shrugged. ‘Of course. Why would I have said it if I wasn’t sure?’

She tilted her head to the side as excitement bubbled inside her. ‘Would you really take me to see a château?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then, I’d love to. It won’t matter if I miss a day’s lessons tomorrow.’

‘Not tomorrow.’ He grimaced. ‘I should have said. Tomorrow I’ll be with Antoine. I’m sorry, he’s expecting me. I don’t like to disappoint him.’

‘Oh.’ Leonie smiled brightly to hide the fact that she was ridiculously disappointed. ‘No, of course you don’t. No problem.’

He put one hand on his hip and pushed the other through his hair. ‘You’re disappointed.’

‘No. Goodness, I’m not a child. Whenever you can spare the time will be fine.’

She took a deep breath. She wasn’t sure whether her disappointment came from having the trip postponed, or from the thought of not seeing Jacques for a couple of days. But, either way, she certainly didn’t begrudge him the chance to spend a day with his son. Not at all.

They walked on through the park, saw a museum that had been built to resemble a Roman ruin, and the impressive waterfall, but best of all Leonie loved the stepping stones with intricate mosaics which Jacques told her depicted scenes from Homer’s Odyssey.

‘Sam and Kyle would have loved these when they were kids,’ she said, stepping from one to another.

He smiled, sadly, she thought. Then she remembered that his son would never have been able to use them as stepping stones. Her heart hammered and her stomach rolled at her insensitivity. She made a mental note to think before she spoke in future, because the last thing she wanted was to be hurtful to Jacques.

Half of the morning had gone by when they stopped at a lawned area where Leonie sat on the ground, put her flowers down beside her and stretched out her legs. She wasn’t used to so much exercise. ‘Cripes, I feel unfit.’

She watched Jacques as he sat down near her. He had such a smooth, fluid way of moving, nothing awkward or clumsy about him. She enjoyed herself for a moment, just watching him, then looked away, embarrassed that she’d been staring.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jacques check his watch, and guessed he’d soon have to be making tracks.

‘Come to La Bergamote for lunch,’ he said suddenly.

She blinked. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Do you have other plans?’

‘No.’

‘It’s Sunday. You shouldn’t eat Sunday lunch alone.’

Sunday had always been a family day. Shane had loved his Sunday roast, and the kids had always made sure they were home for this one, even if they didn’t make it for all the other meals she cooked during the week. She wondered if Sam and Kyle would eat together while she was away. She hoped so.

No, she didn’t want to eat alone, and it would be very interesting to see Jacques’ restaurant, she thought as she moistened her wind-dried lips. ‘Thank you. I’d like that.’

‘Good.’ He smiled and her stomach twisted itself into a knot.

‘I need to put these in water, though,’ she said, gesturing at the flowers. And she needed to change her clothes, she thought, looking down at her navy shorts and T-shirt. The white denim jacket she’d worn over the top, since it had been chilly at six in the morning, was now on the ground beside her. She didn’t know how classy Jacques’ restaurant would be, but she would bet on it requiring something dressier than this outfit.

‘No problem. I can wait for you.’

La Bergamote was intimate and crowded and buzzing with conversation. Leonie enjoyed watching the smart clientele who were clearly there for both the good food and the sense of being somewhere special.

What she didn’t enjoy so much was feeling unstylish and out of her league. She’d changed into a tiered cotton skirt with a plain white, closefitting T-shirt, which was about as dressy as she could manage. She made a decision right then that she would spend Monday afternoon shopping for clothes. The next time she came to eat at La Bergamote, she intended to fit right in. If there was a next time, of course. This could turn out to be a one-off invitation, but she hoped not, it was such a great place.

Located just off the Promenade des Anglais, which ran the length of the seafront, the restaurant was a long, narrow room, lit by old-fashioned sconce lamps even though it was the middle of the day, with plum-coloured banquettes along the walls and dark wood tables and chairs. It was elegant and refined, but also gave the impression of solidity. Much like Jacques, she thought with a smile.