Page 90 of The Riviera House Swap
Nina was silent. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ she said. ‘I’m just not sure.’
‘OK, well you know where I am,’ Sabine said, although in actual fact, Nina didn’t, exactly. ‘And you know, the offer is there.’
‘Thank you. Maybe next time,’ she said.
Sabine laughed. ‘OK, and I will still see you in Vienna, I hope?’
‘Definitely.’ She would book the tickets when she got back, she decided. They’d have a great time at the markets, and perhaps she’d book another month’s leave next year some time and go travelling for real – find out what it was like to go where the wind took you.
When she ended the call, she gave a quick sigh and saw Antoine glancing at her. ‘You are OK? You look worried,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry. I can get you there, I am sure of it.’
Had she made the right decision? Her fingers itched for her notepad and pen. But then she realised, this was not the time to mull over the pros and cons of something. This was something that couldn’t be measured by pluses and minuses. On paper, the scales would no doubt tip towards St Albans, Jemima, her friends, her parents, her obligations.
But maybe this time, she had to think with her heart.
48
As they drove closer and closer to their destination, Nina tried to look out of the window and take in the beautiful scenery, rather than think of the gurgling going on within her stomach. It was bound to feel odd, she told herself. She was just nervous. And being nervous didn’t mean you’d made a horrendous mistake – just that you felt a little unsure. It was a natural feeling whenever any of life’s natural stressors occurred. It didn’t mean a thing.
Antoine looked over at her, taking his eyes from the road for a moment, then looked back without saying anything. Were her feelings written all over her face, she wondered? And if they were, perhaps Antoine would be able to explain to her just how she was feeling, as she actually had no idea.
Despite the afternoon’s promising start, it had begun to rain heavily as they drove, and the windscreen wipers of the truck were swiping across the glass at a hundred miles an hour. Rain was beginning to gather at the edges of the road and flow into drains. Antoine slowed a little – peering forward through the splattered screen – and put his lights on. ‘It is truly autumn,’ he told her.
‘Looks like it,’ she said.
She felt a little shy sitting next to him, knowing how he felt about her, and unsure how she felt about him. She definitely felt something – there was a spark, an ease between them – but after the experience with Pierre, she no longer felt certain of herself; wasn’t ready to trust her own feelings for a while.
Despite the rain, the journey passed quite quickly and soon the houses they passed became bigger and more densely packed, the road widened and they were in the town itself. People were scurrying about in the rain, the disorganised with scarves or bags over their heads, those who’d checked the forecast strolling more slowly with umbrellas.
She checked her watch. Even if they turned around now, she’d never make the plane. The choice had definitely been taken out of her hands.
They passed a sign which readCagnes-sur-Mer. She was home. She was the opposite of home. There was no longer a decision to make. She was free – whether she liked it or not.
And then she saw him. Striding in the direction of his office block with a large, black umbrella, wearing well-fitted, charcoal trousers and a black jumper. Pierre. He looked up at the passing traffic, and for a moment, she thought he might have seen her.
She sank slightly in her seat.
‘What’s the matter?’ Antoine glanced at her, then back at the road as realisation crossed his face. ‘That is Pierre?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘With the umbrella?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you don’t want him to see you?’
‘No. I’m too embarrassed. Too… I don’t know. I just don’t want to see him after everything.’
‘After he hurt you?’
‘Well, yes,’ she said. ‘After he hurt me.’
‘He is a bad man,’ Antoine said, almost to himself. ‘A pig.’
Pierre reached the sliding door of an office block and, under the concrete portico, took down his brolly and began to flap it, sending droplets from the fabric as he dried it off. She was watching him, feeling a mixture of sadness and anger, when Antoine suddenly said. ‘Hold on,’ and she was flung sideways as the truck veered wildly to the right.
By the time she realised what he was doing, it was too late to stop him, even if she’d wanted to. Antoine had driven hard into a large puddle on the side of the road, sending up a torrent of water which soaked Pierre – and one other passer-by – from head to toe. Pierre looked up, his eyes wide, his hair dripping. His trousers clung to his legs and the umbrella dropped, uselessly at his side.
