Page 79 of The Riviera House Swap
‘A connection you don’t even remember. And what is this – the dates we’ve been on or whatever – to you? A bit of fun at my expense?’
‘No!’ he said, reaching his hand out again then thinking better of it. ‘No, this is real. Something special, something…’ he trailed off.
‘Who was the woman?’ she said, into the silence.
‘The woman?’
‘That woman at the window. Was she your wife?’ Nina said, feeling sick.
‘No of course not! She is nobody,’ he said.
‘Pierre?’
‘A girlfriend, perhaps.’
‘You have another girlfriend? And a wife?’ she said. A buzzing noise started in her head and she thought for a minute she might pass out.
Something changed in him then. The game was up. He dropped his fork and looked at her, his face sulky, like a teen caught out in a lie. ‘So, what is it to you?’ he said. ‘We are just having fun!’
‘I… but…’
‘We met by chance, we had some dinner. Perhaps we would have made love a few times. But then you are leaving soon. It is a holiday romance. A bit of fun, eh?’ he said. ‘What is it to youif I play into your romantic idea – that we find each other after twenty years. That we still love each other? You think maybe we were going to get married and have children together?’ He laughed, then, looking at her, his face dropped.
She looked at the tablecloth, big tears pooling in her eyes.
‘My God!’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You really do think this! But we do not know each other, Nina. What can really come of this? It was just a bit of fun, a bit of…’
Every dream and fantasy she’d been harbouring about this man, this meeting, crumbled. She’d made this happen, hadn’t she? And how could she be mad at him when she’d also based this relationship, or fling or whatever, on a lie? He didn’t know she’d come specifically to find him. He was just having a bit of fun with a stupid, divorced woman on holiday. And clearly, she wasn’t the first.
She stood up abruptly, flung a couple of €20 notes on the table and stumbled out of the restaurant. Pierre did not try to follow her.
In the street, it was dark and cold. Her jacket remained on the back of her restaurant chair, she realised. But she wasn’t going to go back and get it. She pulled her phone from her bag and made to dial Bess’s number. But what was the point of calling her friend – who would probably be at work in any case – to cry down the phone when there was nothing she could do to help?
She started to call Sabine but remembered with a wash of sadness that her friend would now be miles away. She should just call a taxi, she thought. She should just get back to Jean-Luc’s and pack her bags and get the hell out of France, back to a life that, while a little dull, was at least safe.
But her Uber app wouldn’t connect, and she hadn’t the energy to google a new taxi firm. She stood, bereft, half an hour’swalk from home, and of course the skies decided to open – as if to confirm, if there was any doubt, that she was at rock bottom.
She took a few steps, thinking she would walk. But her slight heels – she cursed her choice of footwear – and her thin, tight jeans and top were no match for the weather.
So she called the only local person she knew and prayed he wouldn’t mind the intrusion.
42
Nina had never been so glad to hear the buzz of an underpowered electric bike in her life. And there he was, suddenly, rounding the corner, the light illuminating a little of the road in front of him. He stopped, propped himself up against the kerb, and removed his helmet, his hair springing up in its wake. Antoine.
He looked at her, shivering, concerned, before removing his jacket and offering it to her. Underneath, he was wearing what appeared to be a pyjama top and, as her eyes moved down, she realised that in fact he was completely dressed for bed – the jacket had obviously been flung over the ensemble in haste when she’d called.
‘Take it,’ he said. ‘You are shivering.’
‘I couldn’t. You’ll freeze.’
‘But I insist.’
He looked at her, raised his eyebrows and continued to hold his arm out until she relented. Slipping the warm jacket over her shoulders made her shiver with relief. But she felt terrible, both because of what had happened and because she was racked with a terrible guilt at having dragged Antoine out of bed – albeit onlyat 10p.m. – to ride the freezing cold streets on his bike, in his PJs.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, finding to her horror that her voice was thick with tears. She hadn’t even realised she’d been crying. ‘I shouldn’t have called you. I was just going to ask you for the number of a taxi firm!’
‘That is ridiculous,’ he said. ‘I am glad you called me.’ He shuddered slightly as the cold pierced his striped top. Nina wondered how it would feel for him on the bike. The rain had thankfully petered out, but with the wind chill factor taken into account, he might well lose a body part or two. ‘I am happy to help you. To take you home.’
