Page 80 of The Riviera House Swap
Nina looked dubiously at the bike. Remembering her last white-knuckle experience on the thing, she wasn’t sure whether this was a genuine rescue or more of an ‘out of the frying pan into the fire’ moment. Perhaps she could ask Antoine to walk back with her instead? But she looked at his steady gaze and couldn’t bring herself to insult his mode of transport. He was here. In his pyjamas. The least she could do was risk her life on the roads in return.
‘Get on,’ he said, nodding to the empty part of his seat. ‘You can wear the helmet, of course.’
‘Are you sure?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I cannot have you being hurt.’
‘But what about you…’
‘Quickly, before I lose all sensation in my hands,’ he said, with a hint of a smile. ‘And if we crash, it is my fault, because I should have bought another helmet for this thing by now.’
Despite her misgivings, the rain and the cold forced her to acquiesce. ‘Sorry,’ she said again – although she wasn’t sure what for this time – and obediently lifted her leg and slid onto the chilly seat, slipping her arms around his waist as instructed.
The ride home seemed to take forever – she was aware that he must be suffering, taking the cold air straight to his chest – and the colder she felt, the colder she knew he must feel. It made for an uncomfortable ride. At the same time, there was such relief to know that she was moving further and further away from Pierre, from her mistakes and from the version of herself that thought that horrible man held any of the keys to her future.
They arrived at Jean-Luc’s at last, and once Nina’s jaw had thawed enough to talk, she thanked Antoine again. ‘You really saved me,’ she said.
‘It is nothing,’ he said, slipping on his helmet again.
‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘Don’t go. Come in and warm up.’
‘You are sure?’
‘Yes, you must,’ she said, rushing up the front path with Antoine in her wake. ‘You’ll catch your death.’
Inside, the air was warm and the room, slightly lit by the light of a lamp she’d left on in the corner, felt welcoming and safe. She quickly raced up to find a jumper and returned with another – her largest – for Antoine. He squeezed into it gratefully, not seemingly bothered to be wearing a giant picture of a cute kitten. She noticed his hands and the part of his chest she could see above the pyjama neckline were red.
‘Shall I make you a drink?’ she said. ‘Something hot.’
‘Yes, but then I must go,’ he said. ‘And it looks like you need to rest.’
‘What I need,’ she said, able to half-joke, now she was warm and safe and rescued and had had time to think everything through, ‘is a stiff drink and a good talking to. I must have been mad to track Pierre down, to think I could recreate something from two decades ago.’ She smiled, but could feel tears just below the surface, threatening to spill.
‘But what happened?’ he said. ‘I thought things were very good.’
As she stirred their hot chocolates, she told him, watching his face furrow as she explained what Pierre had done.
‘Well, he is a pig,’ he told her at last.
She laughed, still on the verge of tears, but with something like happiness in the mix too. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But you know, I suppose I was a bit of an idiot.’
‘Pah, why?’ he said. ‘There is nothing wrong with hoping. With wanting a happy ending for yourself.’ His phone beeped and he looked at the screen, then smiled. ‘It is Sabine,’ he said. ‘She will be here soon.’
‘Sabine?’ she said, aghast. ‘Oh no! she isn’t coming back because of… Oh, tell her not to. It’s not so bad. I just…’
He shook his head. ‘You think that I can influence Sabine, then you don’t know her very well,’ he said. ‘I called her earlier and when she heard you were in trouble, she said she would come. She said she was only fifty kilometres away and it is not far.’ He shrugged. ‘When you have known her as long as I have, you learn not to try to change her mind.’ He smiled. ‘Anyway, I think it will be good. I think you need a friend.’
She nodded. ‘Well, it’s so nice of her,’ she said. ‘And you’re right. It will be good to talk. But when it comes to what I need…’ She sighed deeply and put her chocolate down on a small side table. ‘Antoine, I need to get back to reality, I think. I need to get back to work, back to my normal life. And I need to start seeing this for what it was.’
‘What do you mean?’
She turned to him. ‘I suppose it might have been a bit of a midlife crisis,’ she said. ‘Turning forty, getting my divorce through. The house selling. I think I might have gone a little mad. Racing off to France to find a lost love. What an idiot!’
He shook his head, his hand suddenly on her arm. ‘No,’ he said firmly.
‘No?’
‘No. You are not an idiot. Pierre is the idiot. You will not be the first he has taken in, or the last, I think. You say you were mad to race here, but perhaps the real madness would be to race again. Perhaps the idea of Pierre was wrong, but that doesn’t mean the whole idea was wrong.’
