It was going steadily now, the rocking motion and the sound of the train a delight. Windows got hastily shut when they went through tunnels and the smoke was trapped around them but then opened to let some air into carriages that were already hot enough to be stifling. It was a relief when they stopped for a break at a station along the way, giving everyone a chance to stretch their legs and admire the train from the outside again.
Christophe and Fi went straight to the engine. They watched a man with a soot-streaked face shovelling coal into the furnace and sympathised with what the job would be like on a hot summer’s day. They admired the shine of the brass rim around the headlights and agreed that the restoration of this train had been a labour of love. And then it was time to get a photograph.
For Nonna.
Christophe took out his phone and took some pictures of the train and of Fi with the side of the engine behind her. Another passenger smiled at him, speaking with an American accent.
‘Would you like me to take a photo of you and your lovely girlfriend?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
This wasperfetto. Christophe handed over his phone, positioned himself beside Fi and put his arm over her shoulders. It wasn’t hard to smile, especially when she leaned into him so that her head was on his shoulder. When he looked down he found that she was looking up at him as if… as if…
As if shewashis girlfriend. Hiscopine.
As if they were head over heels in love.
The kind of love that led to marriage and babies and… forever…
He knew it was only a pretence. That she knew this was a photo for Nonna and this was just a game.
But…oddio… it feltreal.
As real as what he was feeling for Fiona in this moment and that was a mirror-image of what he was seeing in her eyes.
He’d always known how easy it would be to fall in love with her. He had also always known that her falling in love with him could only hurt her and she’d been hurt enough already. Had this game for Nonna’s sake gone on for too long already? Did he need to make sure she understood that he was not capable of offering anything more than friendship? Was it, perhaps, time to pull the plug out gently and let the game drain away?
Maybe.
But not today.
Not when they had a lunch to enjoy at their destination and time to explore the village of Annot before the train ride back.
And not when being looked at like that made him feelthisgood. It wouldn’t hurt to have a day of imagining what it could be like if itwasreal, would it? To imagine what it would be like to be able to reach the part of his heart that had been hidden so long it was irretrievably lost. Not only to find it but then have the courage to offer it to Fiona?
* * *
The shade of the plane trees in Annot’s main square was very welcome in the midday heat. So was being able to eat outside. The waiter brought them menus, glasses filled with ice cubes and a jug of Provençal rosé.
‘How do you say “no anchovies”?’ Fi asked Christophe as she saw the waiter coming back. She wanted to try ordering in French.
‘Pas d’anchois.’
‘Je voudrais une salade niçoise, s’il vous plaît,’ Fi told the waiter. ‘Pas d’anchois.’
Christophe ordered moules-frites and then raised an eyebrow at Fi. ‘You don’t like anchovies?’
Fi made a face. ‘They’re hairy little fish bombs and I hate them.’
His burst of laughter made other people in the café turn to look at them. It also made them smile. The American tourist who’d taken their picture beside the train engine was also eating here and he came over to their table.
‘Would you like another picture?’ he said. ‘You guys look like an advertisement for eating in a cute little French café.’
Fi grinned and handed him her phone. The ice cubes in her glass tinkled as she picked up her wine and held it towards Christophe. He picked up his glass and touched it to hers.
‘Cin cin.’
‘Cin cin,’ Fi echoed.
