The Promise of Provence (Love in Provence Book 1) (32 page)

Sipping refreshing lemonade at one of the beach stands, they convinced each other to resist the tempting orders of
frites
so many others were devouring.

“I wonder why the beaches to the west of Antibes are such beautiful sand and to the east are pebble,” Molly noted. “I’m going to google that.”

The ongoing high temperatures guaranteed the beach was jam-packed, and it became apparent that the issue of personal space was not a high priority as people parked their towels and beach gear almost on top of each other.

“It’s the way they do it here. Take it or leave it, eh?” Katherine said, laughing as several far-from-perfect bodies stretched topless nearby.

Molly rolled her eyes.

As they stopped to watch some of the afternoon
boules
games nearby on their walk home, they agreed that La Gravette was more their style, in spite of the pebbles.

On Thursday, the forty-minute train ride to Monaco was on the agenda.

“I’m telling you,” Molly murmured during the trip, “it’s so tempting to get off the train at any one of these beach towns we are passing through. They all look so charming and inviting.”

The better part of the day was spent exploring through the old town of Monte Carlo, the harbor, and the stunning casino area. Taking the local bus up to the adjoining town of Roquebrune, they passed the late afternoon visiting the artisan shops before climbing up to the castle ruin to admire the eye-popping view over the hills and the coast.

“This is the thing,” said Molly, leaning on a wall and posing for a photo. “Everywhere you look in this part of the world, you see beauty.”

“And there are so many places to visit, so many little towns and villages. There’s always an option, and that really appeals to me.”

Friday morning bright and early found them on the train again, this time heading for Ventimiglia and the well-known Friday market.

“I’m excited to be getting a little taste of
bella Italia
!” Molly exclaimed as they got underway.

“It will take us over an hour because of all the stops. We could have driven there a lot faster,” Katherine said.

“No way! I love this train! It’s like going on a scenic trip every time, hugging the coast as it does. I can’t imagine a commuter line as beautiful as this anywhere in the world. If there is, I want to see it!”

Watching Molly’s reactions to being in France, Kat was thankful she had been able to make it happen and thought about the way her own life had changed in such a short time. Her travel to France was the prime example. First of all, going on her own and proving to herself she could do that happily. Then, being here with Molly and experiencing the fun of traveling with a girlfriend, rather than meekly following where James chose to go.

I honestly don’t miss him . . .
The thought passed through her quickly with a brief moment of satisfaction at her ongoing transformation.

Her mind wandered as the train rolled by lush palms and exotic flowering trees and shrubs, through seaside villages, and under rugged towering cliffs. Past luxurious villas in elegant gardens and simple cottages overgrown with brilliant blossom-covered shrubs. Past gleaming megayachts with pools and hot tubs on special decks and local fishermen’s wooden boats with paint peeling and nets piled. The contrasts somehow blended to create this area of unparalleled beauty.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the conductor walked through the car announcing arrival in Ventimiglia.

Time for more new memories
.

The market was a short walk straight down the street from the train station. On the way, they passed what had to be the most enormous fruit-and-vegetable market they had ever seen.

“I could stay all day just taking photos. Look at those eggplants—and those tomatoes!”

“I’m too busy at the chocolate displays,” Molly called over.

The rest of the market bordered the local beach and wrapped around a beautiful garden-filled park. Stalls sold much the same merchandise as in the French markets, but there were also deals on all sorts of fragrances and Italian leather goods: purses, luggage, belts, gloves, and clothing.

Most stands were fronted by enthusiastically vocal vendors, creating a carnival atmosphere. Laughter filled the air.

“I actually think I can easily stick to my budget here,” Molly commented as they determined it was time for some cautious retail therapy.

There were bargains to be had on locally made clothes, and some stalls had rock-bottom prices on leather goods. They each purchased small Prada purses that came with certificates of authenticity.

Bernadette had warned them about the issues around knockoff luxury
goods coming into France. At border crossings you might very well have
your purchases checked by police and be charged if you have phony goods.

“No joke. Luxury goods are an important part of ze French economy,” she had explained.

Lunch was authentic and delicious, perfectly al dente, pasta in a lightly fragrant marinara sauce—after which they happily put their feet up for the train ride home.

“Loved my taste of Italy, Katski,” Molly said with a happy grin.

The Italian theme continued in the evening in Antibes as they strolled to a restaurant in the tree-lined open square of Place Nationale for wood-fired thin-crust pizza.

As they sat enjoying their meal and the warm evening air, two men at the next table passed the occasional friendly comment to them. While Katherine was initially quite cool in her response, Molly quickly engaged in good-humored chatter.

Nick and Graham were easy company, with typical Australian humor and casual friendliness. Tall and tanned, Nick had an air of sophistication about him, while Graham, stockier and slightly rumpled, was warm and personable. Conversation and laughter soon flowed among the four of them.

Nick was a businessman who owned a boat anchored in the harbor, and his friend Graham had come over to spend some time with him but was returning to Sydney in a few days. Explaining they were seriously in vacation mode, they soon had the women laughing with tales of their exploits, most of which centered around food, drink, and some disastrous attempts to communicate in French.

“Even when we know the correct words to say, our Aussie accent messes things up!”

Another bottle of wine was ordered as Graham mentioned they were actually celebrating his sixtieth birthday that evening. “Join us in a toast, ladies,” he invited. “A toast to remind us to live every day as though it might be our last.”

“Santé!”
they replied.

By the end of the evening, Molly had accepted an invitation to join them for lunch and an afternoon on the boat the next day. She simply ignored Katherine kicking her ankle under the table.

“Bring your bathing suits if you like, and we can go out on the open water. The sea is the perfect temperature these days with the blistering heat of the past few weeks.”

“You know, we thought we were just going out for a simple pizza and a glass of wine this evening. Who knew?” Molly said as Katherine launched another attack on her shin.

The men laughed and joined her as she raised her wine glass in a toast. “Here’s to tomorrow.” Katherine feigned pleasure.

“We’ll walk you back to your house,” they offered as the evening was winding down. “It’s on the way to our mooring, and it’s a beautiful night for a stroll.”

“It seems to me that every night here is beautiful for a stroll,” commented Katherine, to unanimous agreement.

Once inside, Molly knew she would have some convincing to do.

“Kat, what are you so paranoid about? We aren’t teenyboppers, and they are not lecherous guys looking for an easy lay or they wouldn’t have been talking to us. Have you noticed the vast selection of hot young women around here?”

Katherine nodded as Molly continued.

“Let’s trust our judgment too. Just relax and enjoy their company, because they seem like decent guys to me.”

39

At noon on Saturday, Graham was waiting for the women in front of the fish market stands by the harbor.

“G’day ladies! Nick is busy preparing lunch, so I hope you’re hungry. He tends to get carried away. We stopped by here this morning and picked up some sardines and the catch of the day.”

The fishermen, their catch, and their customers were long gone. Fishing nets were neatly piled on the boats after hours had been spent in the morning untangling and cleaning.

Walking down one of the many docks in the Marina Port Vauban, they were astounded by the number of luxurious yachts moored in the large harbor.

“This is your . . . boat?” Molly called up incredulously as Nick stood at the bow of a beautiful black one-hundred-foot motor launch named
Searendipity
waving to them.

“Nah. I just rented it for the day to impress you,” he shot back.

Graham assured them it did indeed belong to Nick.

“Holy shit . . .” Molly muttered. Katherine was speechless.

Nicholas Field was a successful IT businessman, based in London, England, when he needed to be. Most of the time he operated from his floating home in Antibes. He and Graham had been school chums in Sydney and best friends all their lives, even as their destinies carried them in completely different directions.

Graham operated his family’s sheep farm in the outback of Australia and barely had enough money to pay his bills.

“Nick’s an incredibly generous chap, and each year he insists I come to visit. He always offers to fly my wife and children over as well, but they were busy with school commitments this year. We’re on a different schedule down under, as you know.”

Both men were gracious hosts, relaxed and good fun to be with, and Nick’s suggestion they go for a cruise was met with enthusiasm. Katherine was feeling comfortable now too. The sun was high and hot and there would be a beautiful breeze, he assured them.

Going up to the bridge, he called to someone who apparently was a captain, and after a low rumble of engines, they were under way. Standing at the stern, watching their exit from the harbor, both women marveled at the precision, quiet, and ease of movement of the enormous motor launch. Passing the medieval walls, Katherine commented she could almost feel the sense of history that permeates the port.

“Life in Antibes has always revolved around this port, from as far back as 500 BC, when the Phoenicians used it as part of their trade route,” said
Nick. “Did you know that the name Antibes is derived from Antipolis, which means ‘the town on the other side’? This harbor mirrors the Nice
port on the other side of Baie des Anges. That’s my history tidbit for today.”

Graham added, “And this fort we are passing right now, Fort Carré, is from the sixteenth century. You should take the guided tour while you are here, Katherine.”

“I will. I love this—the history that surrounds us here,” Katherine replied.

“There’s an excellent English tour of the town from the tourist office, but they only have it once a week, so you should check that out too,” Nick told her.

Graham had not been exaggerating about Nick’s lunch.

After a glass of champagne, they sat in the luxurious off-white upholstered seating area one deck up, shaded by beige sun umbrellas. Later they moved to the dining terrace.

On a long earth-toned granite sideboard was a sumptuous buffet looking like something from a photo shoot, Katherine commented as she took out her camera. Most of the offerings had been prepared on the biggest barbecue grill the women had ever seen.

Grilled sardines, full of flavor and perfectly seasoned. Escargot in a simple mouthwatering garlic butter sauce that demanded the fresh baguette be dipped into it. The tantalizing tomato, onion, and olive oil salad Kat had first tasted in Provence. A huge bowl of grilled veggies—eggplant, zucchini, leek, carrot, parsnip, peppers. A whole grilled local whitefish stuffed with fennel, garlic, and lemon. A simple green salad. The inevitable cheese platter with some of the most flavorful tastes, accompanied by an array of fresh fruit, put the finishing touches on the meal.

“What an impressive meal, Nick,” Katherine exclaimed.

“I spent years toiling in restaurants and actually achieved being a sous-chef while I was in uni and first working. In another life, I think I would be a chef,” Nick told them. “I love to cook!”

“You have some cheese here that I’ve never even seen before, let alone tasted,” said Molly as she helped herself to seconds. “I mean, every one I’ve tried has been fucking remarkable. Oops, pardon my French.”

Nick looked at her with a raised eyebrow and laughed. “How is it I knew you were going to come out with something like that at some point?”

Graham chuckled as he explained they had discovered one particular cheese vendor in the market who was truly a connoisseur. “I mean, this guy talks to you about cheese like a sommelier does about wine.”

Nick continued, “I’ve received quite an education from him through the past four years. I’ll have to introduce you to him if you enjoy cheese, and you should while you are here, Katherine. It’s like a religion in France, you know!”

Laughing, Katherine nodded, explaining how she had learned this lesson well during her two weeks in Provence.

This in turn led to her answering their questions about home exchange. Graham in particular was very interested and said his wife had spoken about it, but they had not looked into it.

“It’s something that might work very well for us, even though we live on a farm.”

Katherine assured him it was worth a try through stories about Andrea and her success in exchanging with her farm.

One thing led to another in the comfortable ambiance of their setting, and gradually each spoke about their careers and lifestyles. Nick told them he had been a workaholic most of his life and his marriage had dissolved as a result. He did not have any children and had been single for almost twenty years. “Married to my work, you could say,” he admitted, a grim look crossing his face, “until four years ago, when I had a heart attack and a triple bypass. That was my wakeup call. I sold my business and just work as a consultant now—no pressure and a schedule I make as I wish.”

“That’s a frickin’ big change!” said Molly.

“I’m discovering it takes work. Doesn’t come easily to a type A like me—”

Graham interrupted, “Let me tell you, he’s making a good effort. Every once in a while he’s tempted to start up another business, but then he manages to talk himself out of it.”

They cruised westward past Cap d’Antibes, Nick pointing out various estates and the beautiful beaches and restaurants of La Garoupe.

Beginning to veer away from land by Juan-les-Pins, Katherine asked about the difference between Antibes and Juan-les-Pins, since they were considered the same town.

“Juan is the glitzy beach resort sister of historic Antibes, and they are separated by the Cap d’Antibes.”

Both men commented on the nightlife there and the Jazz à Juan festival in July.

“That’s an exciting time to be here and it’s right after the Nice jazz festival, so you really get a full month of the most fantastic music—artists from all over the world.”

“Concerts on the streets. Musicians just wander around and start to play. It’s
so
good! Even if you can’t get tickets to concerts, which sell out early on, you still get to hear great music.”

Molly was very familiar with the information. “It’s on my wish list. I’ve listened to music by relatively unknown artists who have gotten their start at those venues.”

Katherine apologized to Molly and then went on to tell the men what a talented singer she was. Molly modestly waved the compliment away with her hand.

“She’s shy about it until you get her on stage, and then look out!” Kat assured them.

Next along the coast was Cannes and beyond that the red hills of the Massif de l’Esterel.

“It’s amazing how quickly the landscape changes along here,” Nick said. “That’s part of the incredible appeal of the South of France—of all of France, really. It’s a country that has so much to offer.”

“Are you ladies on a schedule today? Any rush to get home?”

Molly looked at Katherine, who had an ambivalent expression on her face, not quite knowing what was being asked.

Nick took that as a positive response.

“Since we’re talking about jazz, I have to tell you about the piano bar at the Hôtel Belles Rives. It was originally Villa Saint-Louis, the home of F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald during one of their stays in these parts.”

“Les années folles!”
said Katherine. “I’ve read everything about Scott and Zelda. He’s one of my favorite authors, and they were mad about jazz!”

“That’s right,” Nick agreed. “They did have a wild time here, that whole gang—Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Picasso—the Lost Generation, as Stein called them. The bar has an amazing pianist, and it’s always a good time. When we go back, you can go home and change and we’ll pick you up to take you there for dinner. How does that sound?”

Nick was obviously an organizer. No stone left unturned.

“It sounds like fun. What do you say, Kat?” Molly answered, while Katherine suppressed her anxieties. Her memories from Provence and Matt were too fresh.

We really don’t know these guys.

“Great! Let’s do it! Right now, though, we will drop anchor and test the water. We’ve got Jet Skis and Windsurfers, if that interests you. Pick any suite down below and make it your change room. I’ll let Tim know we want to stop. He’s driving this ship.”

Back at the house later that afternoon, Kat expressed her concerns to Molly.

“I hate to be a party pooper, but do you think Nick is too pushy? He’s been organizing us since we met last night!”

Molly smiled warmly at her friend. “Lighten up, Katski. I’m not getting any bad vibes. I think he’s a very nice guy with pots of money and he likes to enjoy life. I mean, today was pretty frickin’ fun, wasn’t it? No one made any untoward moves. Graham is a sweetheart who loves his wife and is proud of it. I got that.”

Bent over, rubbing her wet hair with a towel, Katherine mumbled
from underneath, “I guess you’re right. It’s the paranoia in me coming out.”

“Well, we both know I haven’t always been the best judge of character in my life, but I have learned a lot about trust more recently.”

“From the mysterious Antonio?”

“In a word . . . yes.”

Katherine sighed. “Someday I hope there will be an unveiling of that relationship, and I will be first in line to meet this man. He seems to mean the world to you.”

“On the first part of your comment—not bloody likely. On the second—he means everything.” Changing the subject, Molly continued, “Singing at the Note all these years has definitely sharpened my perceptions and observations of people in general and men in particular. I feel I could write a goddamn thesis on that now.”

“Well, I hope you’re right about tonight. I don’t want to have to deal with any awkward situations.”

“Strength in numbers, my friend. We’ll be fine, but hey, let’s google Nick and see what we find.”

Katherine’s anxiety was fueled when Graham knocked on their door to walk to the parking area and she saw they had hired a taxi. Feeling overly suspicious, she immediately sensed they planned on some heavy drinking.

Molly gave her the evil eye and mouthed, “Lighten up.”

“That way we can drink as much as we want and not worry about getting home,” Nick explained with a wink, as if reading Kat’s mind. Her stomach knotted recalling a somewhat similar wink from Matt.

The Hôtel Belles Rives oozed charm and history. The ambiance in the piano bar was exceptional with a wide terrace overlooking the sea toward the Îles de Lérins and Cannes, backed by the Esterel.

Molly wore a fairly low-cut green silk dress, her hair pulled back into a sophisticated chignon. “I hate to tell you how old this dress is, Kat, but I still love it.”

“And it still looks beautiful on you,” Katherine replied. She was wearing a more conservative pale-blue linen sheath, complimenting her slim stature.