Page 47 of The Riviera House Swap
She’d treated today as a holiday while waiting for her ‘lesson’ and it had been fun. She hadn’t gone stalking Pierre, or carrying out any sort of amateur sleuthing, but spent her day exploring Cagnes-sur-Mer, visiting the beach and the beachfront shops, having lunch in one of the restaurants on the front. She’d taken a few selfies – one by the statues of fishes was a particular favourite – and sent them to Sal and Bess. She’d quipped:
Well, you said there were plenty more fish in the sea. Love you.
Sal had sent her own picture back, snapping herself looking great and almost as if it might be a date.
Taking Jean-Luc out for a traditional English pub roast
Nina had enquired:
Oh, yes? Anything I should know about?
She’d just received a winking emoji in response.
Now, she steadied her arm and eyed the target ball, trying to gauge the amount of effort she ought to put into her throw. Then, she breathed deeply and launched. The ball rose into the air then thudded down, about five metres wide of target.
She looked at Antoine, and briefly saw a horrified expression on his face. He quickly rearranged his features into a more neutral expression.
‘OK!’ he said. ‘Good for the first throw. But maybe we should try it again.’
‘Definitely,’ she said.
Antoine had arrived at 5p.m., having managed to get out of work early – and it was already quarter to six. The evening was mild and cool, bright, but with a dusting of cloud across the white sky. She sighed, wondering if this was going to be another romantic dead-end. She wasn’t there to become world champion at pétanque, but she needed at least to be good enough not to embarrass herself too much in front of Pierre. Or to make it obvious that she’d just joined the pétanque group just so she could bump into him.
Taking a deep breath, she tried again; this time, her boule landed closer to the target – not close enough, but a definite improvement. She threw her third – again, a small improvement – and walked to pick the balls up for another go.
‘It is not so bad,’ Antoine told her. ‘You need to angle your arm more to the centre.’
‘Like this?’ she asked, holding a boule in her hand and moving her arm.
‘No,’ he said, and came to stand behind her. ‘Do you mind if I…’
‘It’s fine,’ she said, feeling his arm slide under hers for support.
‘You pull back like this,’ he said, guiding her arm backwards. It felt strange, the skin of his arm touching hers – intimate. Hisbreath was on her neck. ‘And then you thrust!’ He pushed her arm forward at a slightly different angle than the one she’d tried previously. She released the ball and it arced perfectly in the air, landing directly on the target ball.
‘Wow!’ she said. ‘That was amazing.’
‘Ah, a happy accident, I think,’ he said. ‘I do not usually land quite so well. But perhaps you felt the difference when I was holding your arm.’
‘I did,’ she said, glancing at him. ‘I felt the difference.’ Their eyes locked for a second before he turned away, picking up another boule from close to her feet and holding it out to her.
‘Perhaps it is good to try again, while you still have this feeling,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, good idea.’
She held out her arm and steadied it, before focusing on the target ball. This time, the ball arced more cleanly through the air. It landed less than two metres from the target – much closer than she’d achieved before. ‘Yes!’ she said, exhilarated.
‘Bravo! And another,’ he said, holding another boule in his hand.
Once again, the shot was a success. And suddenly, she realised she had a feel for it – that she now knew how to play pétanque at least well enough to visit the club without shame. She’d continue to practice over the three days between now and the Sunday club and hopefully when she turned up, she’d have a game and then go about seeing if she could catch Pierre’s eye. According to Antoine, the club was very informal – a group of locals gathering to play together each week. Anyone who turned up would be included, and some would stay on afterwards to socialise.
‘Thank you,’ she said to Antoine, ‘I think I’ve got it. Or at least enough to fool Pierre into thinking I like pétanque.’
He smiled. ‘No problem. And he is very lucky, this man, to have someone like you working so hard for him. I am guessing you have some wonderful memories together?’
She smiled. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Lots of them.’ She racked her brain for an example. There was the time when he’d grabbed her hand at the disco. The time they’d got the giggles in the classroom. Once he’d sent her a scribbled note saying she looked good. None of those moments quite lent themselves to anecdote though, she thought. They sounded, if anything, a bit juvenile from the outside. Not enough to explain her longing for him now.
But it was impossible to put into words how Pierre had made her feel. That rush of love and excitement whenever she’d seen him. The way his eyes had looked into hers and made her feel special and magical all at once.
