“You could have been killed.”
“At the time, I was more concerned about whether or not the full story would get out at school. I was only fourteen, remember. Fortunately, the girl didn’t figure out why I’d run away like that. In fact,” said Cherry, suddenly realizing, “I’ve never told anyone before now.”
Daniel took her hand and squeezed it and she smiled. Occasionally these stories that had haunted her childhood were useful; and unlike some of the things she’d said, they were actually true. Daniel was pulling her across the street.
“What?” she said, bemused, and then looked up and saw they had wandered into the narrow streets of the Old Village, where all the boutiques were, and they seemed to be heading straight for Dior. Her heart fluttered; he was intent on something, but she couldn’t quite work out what. Then they were inside. She looked around at the pristine decor with its select wares, items that seemed to mock her with their superiority, and she grew nervous. It was all well and good, that hard-times story prompting him to suggest a shopping trip, but she couldn’t afford anywhere near these prices.
“It’s too nice to be inside shop—”
“On me,” he said quietly.
She stared at him, wide-eyed.
“Anything you want. In fact, let’s try on loads. I like that yellow shirt—what do you think?”
She looked at where he was pointing, then back at him again; it still hadn’t sunk in.
“You’d better hurry up, because we’ve got the others to do yet.”
“Others?” she managed to croak.
“Don’t ask me what they’re all called. I never remember all the names, but they do have some nice clothes.” He smiled apologetically, indicating his modest attire. “So I’m told.”
Cherry couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. “I can’t . . . ,” she started halfheartedly.
“It’s my birthday present to you,” he said firmly.
And that made it okay. He seemed to be as keen as she was, taking garments off racks and holding them up against her, waiting patiently outside changing rooms and giving constructive comments that proved he was actually looking at the clothing. He also paid for everything. Cherry didn’t go mad; she didn’t want to look greedy or take advantage of his wealth. A couple of items she turned down, saying she had too many, but she still acquired five or six pieces of designer clothing. After the last shop, with just one to go, Daniel seemed to flag, but gamely kept up his offer.
“Do you want to do the last one?” he said, nodding across the street.
Cherry sensed he’d had enough. She kissed him on the lips. “No, thank you. This has already been the perfect morning.”
He looked relieved and she realized he’d made quite a sacrifice.
“You don’t like shopping, do you?”
Guilt flashed across his face; then he saw her laughing.
“Can’t stand it. Now you sit here”—he indicated a bench in the shade—“and I’m going across to theboulangerieto get us some lunch.”
Cherry was happy to rest and watch him stroll up one of the streets. She looked lovingly down at her bags, still glowing with the blissfulness of it all. A stupid smile adorned her face as she ran through her head all the new clothes she had. Maybe she could wear one of the dresses tonight. The smile suddenly faltered. Laura would likely have an opinion about this lavish spending spree. Things had been decidedly distant between them the last few days—nothing that Daniel would particularly notice, but she was very aware that the liberal welcome when she’d first arrived had disappeared. Never mind that all these clothes were a gift—and one that Daniel had instigated through no conscious prompting of hers—the fact was he’d just spent nearly two thousand euros on her.
Cherry sat up uncomfortably. She didn’t want to arouse any suspicion as to why she was with Daniel. It would just complicate things. As she was gazing around distractedly, she saw in a shop window across the street a painting that looked familiar; then she recognized it as being by the artist that Laura had at the villa. Gathering her bags, she walked over to the gallery and peered in. It was displayed on a small wooden easel, an oil of Saint-Tropez harbor. It cost thirty-five hundred euros and it had asoldsticker on it.
The bell tinkled as she walked in and she knew she didn’t have long. Daniel would be back any minute. She scanned the gallery quickly and found more paintings by the same artist displayed on the back wall.Sold, sold, sold,she saw, and then a smaller one, an oil of Place des Lices, the dappled shade of the dozens of plane trees casting a lacelike pattern on the sandy ground.Miraculously, it seemed to be available. She would be in debt on her credit card for months, but she knew instinctively it was worth it. The gallery manager wrapped the painting, she paid, and then quickly left the shop, returning to her spot on the bench, hiding the package in one of the clothing bags. Daniel was barely a couple of minutes later and arrived slightly red-faced as if he had been running. He apologized for taking so long, but he had a baguette and atarte au citronfor lunch.
They sat in the square and ate, watching theboulesplayers and then headed on back to the villa. Isabella’s car was in the drive when they pulled up, and as they walked in, they could hear numerous voices. Brigitte was there too, along with Nicole.
“Here they are!” said Isabella, who’d obviously had a couple of glasses of wine. “Did you have a nice day?”
“Lovely, thanks,” said Cherry.
“So I can see,” said Isabella, smiling down at her bags.
“Do we get a fashion show?” asked Brigitte.
Cherry blushed. “No.”
