‘And one looking at me,’ the American said, with a laugh. ‘If you can take your eyes off of each other for long enough.’
Was that what made it suddenly feel as if the wine glasses had evaporated and it was Christophe’s hand touching hers?
Whatever it was, Fi could feel the colour wash into her face. She took her phone back and put it down without checking the photos. ‘We can look at them later,’ she said, ‘and you can choose the best one for Nonna.’ The waiter was coming back already with their meals and she leaned back so that her plate could be placed in front of her. ‘This salad looks amazing.’
It was. Crunchy lettuce, green beans and tomato wedges, hard-boiled eggs and chunks of tuna. The olives and vinaigrette dressing made it the perfect Mediterranean summer lunch. She stole a few of the hot chips from Christophe’s bowl as well, though.
Then they went walking into a labyrinth of narrow, cobbled streets between tall stone buildings. There were heavy wooden doors with ancient iron handles, which hinted at centuries of secrets hidden behind them, and worn cobbles in alleyways that could conjure up images of the feet or wheels and maybe hooves that must have gone over them millions of times to create those hollows and dips in solid stone – evidence of so many lives that had been lived in this village for hundreds of years.
An old galvanised-iron tub was full of cheerful red pelargoniums but it was easy to imagine a baby being bathed in it. A lush grapevine smothering a stone wall was full of the bursts of white flowers that were nowhere near becoming fruit but Fi could imagine glasses of wine being raised in a toast like the one she had shared with Christophe. A cat was dozing on an overhead windowsill but from the corner of her eye, Fi could almost see the tail of a small donkey with baskets on its back disappearing through one of the archways to deliver groceries or carry a workman’s tools.
These streets had seen all facets of human existence. Children playing, a funeral procession, women gossiping, lovers meeting each other in secluded corners. They had been the backdrop for births, deaths, marriages, drama, misery and joy and, like every other medieval village Fi had visited, this one had that unique peacefulness engrained in its stones.
A silent whisper that time did, indeed, heal all things.
That the world would continue turning.
They found the remains of medieval ramparts, fountains, ancient chapels and the site of water-driven mills used to make flour and nut oils in the fifteenth century.
‘It reminds me of Menton,’ Fi said. ‘With the alleyways and arches, steps and flower baskets. Without the pretty colours, of course. Or the sea.’
‘Which do you prefer?’ Christophe asked. ‘The mountains or the sea?’
‘I love them both,’ Fi said. ‘And the forests. I love this part of France, because it has everything, doesn’t it? Even trains that look like they came out of a giant’s toybox.’ Impulsively, Fi stood on tiptoes to plant a kiss on Christophe’s cheek. ‘Thank you so much for arranging this. It’s been thebestday.’ She let her breath out in a happy sigh.
She wanted to have fairy tale days like this forever, but they could only continue if Christophe felt like he could trust her. That he wasn’t at any risk of getting entangled in the last thing in the world he wanted. Not that Fi was a risk, because she couldn’t give him what he needed in a long-term relationship, like marriage and babies, but if that wasn’t stopping the fantasy for her, maybe there was also the possibility that it was enough to make Christophe nervous and want to stop spending time like this with her.
So she gave him her brightest, lightest smile. ‘Getting photos for Nonna is the most fun I think I’ve ever had,’ she said.
She couldn’t interpret the look on his face as she stepped far enough away to see it. Was he about to smile and agree about how much fun it was to be out together? Or frown because that kiss had somehow changed the mood of their day?
Or was he thinking about kissing her back, but not on her cheek?
Fi was holding her breath when they heard it a heartbeat later. The whistle from the train. The signal that all passengers needed to head back to the station for their return journey.
The moment was gone.
Maybe that was just as well, given the way the butterflies had started dancing in her belly at the thought that Christophe might want to kiss her again. Had he been waiting all this time for her to make the first move?
That would make sense if he’d been aware of how and why she had frozen the first time. But what if she had that same reaction again? What if she was never, ever going to experience even a kiss without becoming paralysed with fear? That she would never be able to replace the nightmare with something joyous that other people – like her sisters – were lucky enough to have in their lives. Could she live without even trying to experience that for the rest of her life?
Fi found herself walking a little faster as they headed back to the station. A determined sort of walk.
She wasn’t quite sure what to do about it but, no, she didn’t want to live with that for the rest of her life.
* * *
Fi was a little ahead of Christophe as they walked back to the station, which was a good thing, he decided. Because she wouldn’t be able to see what he was thinking about.
How close he’d come to kissing her again, and it wouldn’t have been a merebiseon her cheek. He would have kissed her on her lips. Just softly. For just long enough to let her know she could trust him not to go any further than she was ready for.
At least he had the reassurance that she didn’t know how he was feeling about her. That her trust was being built on this being nothing deeper than the game of keeping Nonna happy. She would have no idea at all of his more meaningful agenda of makingherhappy and giving her the chance of a new future. Perhaps he didn’t need to worry that she was hoping for anything more from him, and he didn’t need to rush into giving up the pleasure of times like this in her company. Maybe he was the only one in danger of being hurt because he’d made the mistake of letting himself daydream about things being different. He could deal with that. Starting by shaking off what he’d imagined he’d seen in Fi’s eyes. It was trust, not love, and that was exactly what they both needed to take the next step.
The bustle of getting everyone back on the train and being in a crowded carriage helped him step back into reality. Along with others, he leaned as far as he could from the window to get photographs of the train as it chugged around a curve in the track.
It was when he was looking at the images he’d captured, as the train was slowing as it came to the end of the journey, that he found a text message from Didier. His chest tightened painfully at the thought that something had happened to Heidi, but his friend was passing on a message from his brother.
‘We need to get to the forest as soon as we can,’ he told Fi as they hurried to get back to the car. ‘Something terrible has happened to one of the donkeys.’
