The Promise of Provence (Love in Provence Book 1) (44 page)

56

Katherine had requested fish soup for lunch at Nounou before they spent her last afternoon at Philippe’s property.

She filled load after load into a wheelbarrow as she clipped and dug and cleared another swath of overgrown flowerbeds. Philippe emptied the brush on the fire burning in the large open area behind the house, along with larger tree limbs he was attacking.

The mellow, smoky smell of the wood fire brought back childhood memories to Katherine of blissful weekends spent with her parents and Andrea’s family on their farm.

Who can predict where life will take us? As a child, I had dreams. As an adult, I thought my life was settled. It was what it was. I looked forward to things like holidays, times with family, but I stopped dreaming. Now, like a child, I’m filled with dreams again. Here everything fills me with . . .
le plaisir
. . .

When he returned the empty barrow this time, Philippe removed his work gloves. She looked at him and smiled, smudging her face slightly as she brushed her hair back.

“Time for a break?” she asked, pulling off her gardening gloves and stretching her back as she rose from her kneeling position in the dirt.

He gently laid a hand on each side of her face, his eyes determined and sure. “Stay here, Katherine. Don’t go.”

Somewhere deep inside, she knew these were words she longed to hear.
Something deep inside could not let her say the words she longed to say.

“I’m afraid.”

He pulled her into his arms. “I’m ready to take a chance.”

They remained like that for several moments.

“I want to stay with you. I can’t imagine being without you. But I’m so afraid.”

“We are battling the same demons.”

Taking her hand, he led her down to a point where they had placed a dilapidated, sun-bleached wooden loveseat discovered buried in overgrown brush in a remote corner of the property. Overlooking the spectacular bay and beaches of La Garoupe, the turquoise water shimmered in the late October sun. The warmth of summer still lingered in this year of unusual and unpredictable weather patterns.

This year of unusual and unpredictable life patterns.

Holding nothing back, they laid bare the fears that haunted them from the past. Their exchange was raw and honest about the hurt, the damage, the struggle, the need to feel protected from any remote chance of recurrence.

“I want so much to trust what we have found together,” he said. “I’m beginning to feel I can do that in a way I never believed I would.”

“I have to go back home. I have a new job waiting, a house to take care of . . .” Tears streamed down her cheeks as her words stuttered out. “This has been like a dream, and I’m afraid dreams don’t come true. I don’t really know how to believe in them. Maybe we need some time apart to see how we feel then.”

Philippe sat staring at the ground, his hands hanging between his knees.

“I don’t want to let go of this. I’m afraid if you go, we will lose what we have.”

Katherine could barely speak now. “I don’t want to lose what we have either . . .”

They sat in silence, lost in their thoughts.

“Promise you will come back—soon,” he whispered.

Katherine nodded silently. First . . . yes. Then . . . no. “That . . . that will be difficult with my new job—at least until the spring. Perhaps you can come to Toronto.”

“I will.”

Side by side, bodies molded, gazing at the movement of the sea and the boats gracefully gliding by but seeing none of it, Philippe and Katherine sat; his fingers lightly caressed her back.

Katherine’s mind kept replaying everything that called to her about this part of the world, about the person she was here, about the way she was learning to love like she never had before.

I’ve been a different person during this time, but somehow I feel like I have never been more myself. Whether it’s forever should not be the issue. I want to keep living in the moment in a way I never have before. Why can’t I take one more step and do it?

Their plan had been to cycle to a favorite secluded cove with a picnic they had decided upon the day before and prepared after an early-morning stop at the market, where Philippe had left his associate in charge.

Putting away the gardening tools and tidying the villa one last time, they were lost in their own thoughts and acceptance of the reality of this day. Soon they were on their bikes, riding a short distance along the coastal road.

At the side of the road, there was a plaque on a stand showing a print of a painting by Claude Monet that captured Antibes across the bay. The artist had worked in that very spot. Katherine loved how there were such plaques all along the Riviera.

This was a popular place for the fortunate few who arrived before the space was taken. Down a narrow, barely visible path and around a slight bend was another small cove with just enough room for two people to sit on rocks smoothed by waves during more turbulent times.

Sitting unseen from anywhere else, the view was that of Monet’s painting with the glistening water of the sea leading the eye to the stone buildings and ancient towers of the old town, appearing golden in the late-afternoon sun. Set against the backdrop of rolling hills behind which the setting sun would slowly sink in a blaze of pinks and reds, Katherine knew it was her most favorite view.

Even today, confused and conflicted as I am, this view fills me with such a sense of beauty and peace.

They shared a light menu and slowly sipped champagne. Katherine had banished the painful memories long before. Baguette,
foie gras
, with a decadently creamy Délice de Bourgogne. Succulent figs followed, accompanied by a Roquefort Papillon Noir, the clean and forceful flavor Philippe had once declared was “an emotional experience.”

Between bursts of conversation and moments of silence, they wished time would stand still.

Reminiscing about their first meeting in Sainte-Mathilde, both chuckled at the memory of Katherine thinking the other Philippe was the one who left the flowers. They expressed amazement again at the coincidence of Katherine finding herself in Antibes and discovering each other once more.

“I felt your special qualities in Provence,” Philippe told her, “but I also knew we would never see each other again.”

Katherine confessed that she had experienced similar thoughts.

“Whatever this is, whatever we have found, we have to hold on to now. We have to see how this will fit into our real worlds,” Katherine said at length.

“Perhaps fate put us together to show us we can take down our walls. We can find happiness again. Maybe that is what this was . . .
une affaire de coeur
,” Philippe said, sounding unconvinced.

They had agreed a few days earlier, during a ride in the hills, that they would not spend this last night together. Katherine had insisted it would be far too difficult to say good-bye to each other. She wanted Bernadette to drive her to the airport so she could begin her trip, possibly, without being a total mess.

The night before had been their last together. They had moved the mattress onto the roof terrace and made love bathed in soft moonlight under the stars, the quiet rhythm of the waves lulling them. Knowing how to please each other, they still found ways to surprise in some tender and other wildly passionate moments. They held back nothing, and everything felt right.

Each wondered how they could walk away from what they had found. How everything that had become so familiar to them together would fade away.

Now Philippe leaned his bike against the front wall, under the brilliant blossoms of the cascading bougainvillea. He held the gate open for Katherine as she wheeled her bicycle into the garden, then she went into the house to get the travel carton.

Together they securely packed the bike away.

“
Ma chère Katherine, mon petit chat, mon amour, c’est le temps
. I will go now.”

Sweeping her into his arms, they kissed until they were almost breathless and clung to each other. Finally, with great reluctance, they released each other amidst promises to talk as soon as Katherine arrived in Toronto.

“Some people search all their life for what we have found together. This is not good-bye, I promise you,” he declared, his voice husky and breaking as he gathered her to him once more.

Katherine nodded into his shoulder, unable to speak. Her face wet with tears.

And then he was gone.

Katherine slowly climbed the stairs to her room. Her bags were packed, with the exception of her nightgown and toiletries. Putting today’s clothes into her travel laundry bag, she tucked that in her suitcase and stepped into the shower. Water mingled with her tears.

Crying would change nothing. They would have to work things out. The fact neither of them had said “I love you” was no longer a concern. Molly had helped her with that. Kat had felt the love they shared in every other way.

Perhaps Philippe was right and this was simply a lovely
affaire de coeur
that allowed us both to discover we were capable of more
. That thought was quickly banished.

Katherine slept one floor down so she could lie in bed looking at the strip of moonlight reflected in the waves one last time. She did not want to be in the same bed where, for so many nights, they had made love, slept in each other’s arms, and felt sensations and emotions they thought had been lost forever.

The sea air was not soothing her now.

Her mind replayed the reasons she had convinced herself she needed to return home. A house. A job.
Really?
True friendships and treasured memories would remain with her no matter where she lived.
This I am learning.

As she tossed with anxiety over her decisions, from the depths came her mother’s calming words.

Every day is a gift, Katica. Try to live your life knowing what matters most and always, always remember . . . what doesn’t kill us . . .

Finally she slept.

Katherine turned the key in the lock, rubbing her hand over the worn wooden door as she pulled it closed for the last time.

This has begun to feel like home.

A gray drizzle added to the somber mood in the car. Katherine said a silent good-bye to her familiar neighborhood before she and Bernadette passed through the arch in the ancient wall. In the harbor, the local fishermen were unloading their catch, preparing for their first customers.

As they turned onto the Bord de Mer, she leaned her head back against the seat.

“Not a nice way to remember this route,” Bernadette muttered. “You should ’ave one last beautiful sunrise, not this rain. It was to know you,
un plaisir
. Please say you will visit Antibes again.”

“The pleasure was mine. With all my heart, I hope to return.”

With few cars at that time of the morning, they were soon approaching
Nice. Bernadette’s cell phone rang, and Katherine swallowed hard as she turned her attention back to the route she had driven and cycled so often.

She fought back tears, thinking of everything she was leaving behind.
Philippe
. Passing a cluster of cyclists caused her heart to wrench.

“You are so fortunate to live in this beautiful part of the world,” she told Bernadette when the brief call had ended.

Bernadette grumbled yet again how it would be even more beautiful if they could replace the French men with Swedes.

Katherine smiled briefly and then tears came, in a way she could not control.

I do not want to leave.

Bernadette handed her a box of tissues from the front seat.

I can always come back. This doesn’t mean the end to anything. I may be happy to be back in Toronto. I may love my new job.

Bernadette apologized before she pulled the car to the shoulder of the road and raised the hood. “
Excusez-moi
, there is a little problem with the engine, and I know we ’ave enough time before your flight. May I stop
un moment
?”