As they set off down the drive, Flick took in the vehicle’s interior. She’d never seen the inside of an old Citroën van before, not that there was much to look at. The dashboard, if you could call it that, consisted of nothing more than a speedometer and a petrol gauge. Next to that was a shelf from which the gearstick poked out, an odd positioning that Flick knew she’d find confusing were she the driver. And the steering wheel was ginormous. In fact, from the seating to the pedals to the windscreen wipers, everything about the vehicle appeared basic. A continuous detail that, no doubt, included the van’s tyres.
Passing through the chateau’s large iron gates and under the canopy of tree branches, the Citroën bumped in and out of every pothole going, causing Flick to bounce around equally as uncontrollably.Something else I need to add to my renovation list, she told herself, gripping the sides of her seat.Resurfacing the chateau entrance.
“You okay?” Nate asked.
Flick nodded, choosing to ignore the smile written across his face.
As they pulled out onto the main road, Flick could, at last, relax. She still felt every loose-lying bit of tarmac under the vehicle’s wheels, but at least she could travel hands free.
As they continued on their way, she decided that meandering along lots of French country lanes in a vintage van was actually quite nice, romantic even. Romantic in the broader sense of the word, of course. “Are you ready to tell me where it is we’re going?”
“What? And spoil the surprise?”
She gave him her best puppy-dog eyes. If it worked for Matthew, why shouldn’t it for her?
“If you must know,” Nate said. “I thought as a fellow artist you might like to seeLa Vallée des Saints.”
Her eyes went from puppy-dog to questioning.
“It’s a feudal moundlinked tothe priests and monks who came here from the UK hundreds of years ago. Be it in celebration or out of respect, sculptorsbegan creating giant granite statues. A gathering of saints, if you will. They all look down on the valley.”
“Really?”
“Yep. It’s a practice that continues to this day.”
“How interesting.” Flick tried to imagine the oversized effigies and she looked forward to seeing them. “Mum said that you’re a sculptor yourself.”
“A chainsaw artist, yes.”
“I’d love to see some of your work. Mum also said what you do is amazing, by the way. How did you get into it? Did you have to train? It’s not exactly something anyone can do, is it?”
“I don’t see why not,” Nate replied. “All I did was watch a tonne of YouTube videos and then give it a go.”
Flick laughed, thinking about her own artistic endeavours. “Like it’s that easy.”
“I didn’t say I was any good back then. Like everything else, practice makes perfect.”
“Maybe when I get my art school up and running you could teach a course?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Or you could do some sort of demonstration?” She pictured him with his broad chest and flexed muscles, expertly wielding a chainsaw as he attacked a huge trunk of wood. She smiled, further imagining a sea of appreciative students. “That would certainly pack in the ladies.”
“Would it now?” Nate asked, eyebrows raised.
Flick flushed red, wondering how she could think something like that, let alone say it out loud. “I’m talking from a purely business point of view, of course.”
“Of course.” Nate grinned.
He obviously didn’t believe her and looking out of the passenger window, Flick focused on the woods that lined the roadside until her blushes waned.
“So, what brought you to Brittany?” she finally asked, ready to move on the conversation. “We all know why I’m here. But why are you?”
Nate appeared to think for a moment. “I fancied a change of scenery.”
Flick turned in her seat to face him. “Meaning?”
“Meaning just that.”
