Читать книгу French Escape: From Daredevil to Devoted Daddy / One Week with the French Tycoon / It Happened in Paris... - Barbara McMahon - Страница 8

JEANNE-MARIE rose early the next morning to prepare breakfast for her guests—starting with Matthieu Sommer, millionaire extraordinaire and daredevil climber. She knew enough about the wine business, and the Sommer name, to know the normal circles he traveled in were far removed from her family inn. If there was anything further to prove that she needed to keep her distance from this guest, learning that about him provided it.

She’d felt vaguely sad all evening, due to learning about his own wife and son’s deaths. How horrible to lose a wife, but even more devastating to lose his son. She didn’t know how she’d go on if something happened to Alexandre. Poor man. Truly all the money in the world couldn’t bring back a loved one.

The fresh warm croissants waited in a basket, and she pulled the pain de raisin from the oven, taking in the delicious cinnamony fragrance as she turned it out onto a cooling rack. Cooking soothed her and brought her joy. She was glad her guests liked her offerings.

“It smells as good as the bakery in here,” Matt said from the doorway.

She looked up and frowned. “If you sit at one of the tables in the dining area, I’ll bring your breakfast out in a moment.” She’d set the tables the night before to save one step in the morning. The two tables by the windows overlooked the garden. As he was first down, he’d have his choice of places in the dining area.

“This is fine.” He crossed the floor and sat at their small family table by the windows in the nook. She frowned at his presumption. This was family space. Still, it was early—maybe he didn’t want to sit alone in the dining room if she was working here. She could more easily make sure he had everything he needed.

Setting a basket of assorted warm breads and croissants on the table, she asked if he preferred coffee or hot chocolate, annoyed at her rationalization.

“Chocolate. Extra sugar and energy,” he said.

Jeanne-Marie brought an assortment of jams and jellies and placed them on the table. “I’ll have your drink ready in a moment.”

She returned to preparing more bread for her other guests, keeping an eye on the baguettes baking. Timing was not as easy with one guest eating well in advance of the others, but some of the breads would be just as good cold as hot, and she always had plenty left over to use for the box lunches.

She did her best to ignore her unwanted visitor. Normally she had the kitchen to herself. Alexandre didn’t waken until eight most mornings. She loved the quiet time preparing the breakfasts and enjoying her own cup of chocolate. Today she felt self-conscious with Matt’s dark eyes tracking her every move.

“The more I learn about you, the more I’m convinced you’re not making the most of your talent,” he said.

She flicked him a glance. “Like what?” she asked.

“Your meals are fantastic. You could make a fortune opening a restaurant.”

“I told you, I like my life the way it is. It’s not all about making money.”

“Money is always helpful.”

Stopping for a moment, she looked at him. “Money can buy things. If things are what you want. It can’t buy back a lost life.”

That was true. He’d give all his fortune for things to have turned out differently two years ago. Had he been driving, would his reflexes have been better than Marabelle’s? Could the accident have been avoided?

She couldn’t help flicking a glance his way from time to time. His eyes met hers each time. Didn’t he have someplace else to look? The view wasn’t as good as from the dining room window, but he could see the garden if he sat in another chair.

“So today you again risk life and limb,” she commented, wanting the topic to shift from her.

“Hardly. Merely a climb.” His eyes studied her speculatively.

Jeanne-Marie felt her heart skip a beat. Frowning, she turned slightly so looking up wouldn’t mean she’d instantly meet his gaze.

“If you climbed to the top yesterday, you saw the view. What drives you today? “

“Today I take on a different climb.”

She shrugged. “Same view from the top.”

“Have you ever seen it?”

She nodded. “Sure, many times. There’s an access road that winds along the top of Les Calanques. The scenery is spectacular. And that’s a much safer way to see it.”

“But not as challenging.”

“Perhaps men and women are wired differently. I have no desire to spend hours clinging to a sheer face of rock.”

“What do you like spending hours doing?” he asked.

She looked up, smiling shyly. “I love to bake. And so I indulge myself with homemade breads and rolls and sometimes a special dessert I can serve for special occasions like La Victoire de 1945 coming up.”

The buzzer sounded. The last of the breads was finished. She lined the bread baskets with fresh linen napkins and began dishing jellies and jams into individual serving bowls to place on each table. In twenty minutes, she’d begin brewing the coffee and make sure she had lots of chocolate ready for those who wished that.

Daring to find out more about her guest, she took her own mug of hot chocolate and leaned against the kitchen island looking at him as she sipped the fragrant beverage. “Do you have family who wonders why you climb?” she asked.

“Of course I have family. And a cousin who often goes with me. Not everyone dies who climbs.”

“I know that. Phillipe’s father actually taught him. It was an activity they enjoyed together. But he wasn’t on the K2 climb that proved fatal.”

“Lots of people climb for the sheer exhilaration, not just men. And most never have a more serious mishap than scraped knuckles or at worst a broken bone,” he said. He rose and carried his mug across the kitchen, ending up close enough to invade her space. For a moment she felt her breath catch and hold. She wanted to move away, but she was hemmed in and didn’t want to show how nervous he made her. She was almost thirty years old, far too old to feel this way.

“I’d like the box lunch special,” he said, leaning almost close enough to kiss her.

Kiss her? Where had that thought come from?

For an instant the words didn’t register. Jeanne-Marie was mesmerized. She could smell his scent, fresh and clean like the forest after a rain. She saw the tiny lines radiating from the edge of his eyes, the smooth cheeks recently shaved. She could feel the leashed energy that was appealing and fascinating in the same instant. And still see that hurt in his eyes. Now she knew what caused it; she’d seen a similar pain in her own.

Suddenly aware of the seconds that had ticked by she slid a step to the side, breaking eye contact. “Of course,” she said, turning to take one of the fresh baguettes from the rack. Her hands trembled slightly and her breathing still felt off. Every inch of her skin quivered with awareness. He still stood too close. He unnerved her. Made her aware of her own femininity as she hadn’t felt it in years.

Quickly making a sandwich, she wrapped it. Then she assembled the cookies, apple and packaged juice, stashing them in one of her lunch boxes, with a picture of her inn and the sea wrapping around the edges. She turned and thrust it at him.

“Don’t litter,” she warned. “The conservationists will know exactly where it came from if you do.”

“Is that the reason for the picture?” he asked, studying the box a moment, then looking at her again.

“Some people like to take the boxes home and use them for keepsakes—a reminder of their stay here. I had one couple buy a dozen empty boxes to take home to use when giving gifts to family.”

“Good idea. I’ll see you later.” He turned and left without another word.

Jeanne-Marie felt a sudden relief. She was alone again. Quickly clearing his place and rinsing the dishes, she tried to get her mind in gear for the coming day, and erase all traces of her recent guest. But she lingered on the memory of his strong presence. She would make sure if he came tomorrow morning for breakfast to serve him in the dining room!

Matt returned to the inn earlier than the previous day. He’d climbed another ghost of a trail up a west-facing cliff with three others attempting it whom he’d met at the bottom. It was easier than yesterday’s climb had been and he’d not lingered as long at the top as the previous day. The lunch Jeanne-Marie Rousseau had made caused him to think about her bustling around her kitchen that morning. He had a cook at the château, but he rarely spent any time there now that he was grown. As a child, he’d loved to invade the kitchen anytime she was making cookies.

Parking his car in the graveled lot, he grabbed his gear—including the trash from lunch which he had packed out—and headed for his room. There were three women sitting in the shade of the veranda. In the middle, Jeanne-Marie. Laughter filled the air when the ladies raised their glasses in some kind of toast. Taking a sip, Jeanne-Marie spotted him.

She spoke softly and the other two women turned to watch him walk toward the wide-open French doors. Then he spotted four children playing in the doorway, Alexandre with his cars, another little boy wearing glasses and two girls—obviously twins. A domestic scene he’d once had at his own home.

“I see you made it through another day climbing,” Jeanne-Marie said. He nodded and headed inside. Halfway up the stairs he heard Alexandre following him. Turning, he looked as the little boy raced up the stairs to join him.

“Can I go with you?” he asked, tilting his back so far Matt was afraid the boy might lose his balance and tumble down the stairs.

“I’m going to shower and change.”

“When you go climbing. Can I go with you? I want to learn.”

“That’s something your mother has to decide.”

“I’m big.”

Matt nodded gravely. “I can see that.”

“She can’t take me. She doesn’t know how. But you could.”

Matt started to turn away, but the pleading look in those warm brown eyes held him. So different from Etienne’s bright blue eyes, yet the same trust and faith in adults. He didn’t know this child or the mother. But he could recognize yearning. “We’ll ask your mother later.” He expected Jeanne-Marie would refuse, so that let him off the hook.

“Okay. Do you want to go swimming with me now?” Alexandre asked. “You can change and then you can come play with me in the sand. Mama won’t let me go out on the beach by myself. I need a grown-up. I want to play by the water.”

“Your mother knows best,” Matt said. The little boy looked so earnest. He resumed walking up the stairs.

“She would let me go with a grown-up. Can you be the grown-up? Please?”

Matt hesitated. Children required so little to make their worlds happy. What would Etienne have done had the situation been reversed and Matt had lost his life, leaving his son behind? Who would have spared some time for his son?

“I’ll be good and not go into the water unless you tell me I can,” Alexandre said, running up three more steps.

Matt looked at the beseeching face and considered the possibility. He’d want someone to be there for his son. A swim in the sea sounded good. He could shower afterward.

“I’ll take a quick swim and then if it’s okay with your mother, you can come on the sand with me,” he said.

Alexandre beamed his smile and raced down the stairs to go ask his mother.

Matt continued to his room wondering if he were losing it. He was here to forget the constant pain; now he was subjecting himself to more? Seeing Alexandre play on the sand would remind him of Etienne. Yet, oddly enough, the ache he normally felt when thinking of his son was not as strong. He was convinced Etienne was in a better place. Another man’s son needed some attention. How odd Alexandre had chosen him.

Matt entered his room and quickly exchanged climbing clothes for swimming attire, pulled on a T-shirt and grabbed one of the large fluffy bath towels from the rack before heading back outside. He could hear the women as he descended the stairs but they hadn’t heard his bare feet on the wooden steps.

“Honestly, Jeanne-Marie, if you don’t explore possibilities, I’ll disown you.”

“He’s just a guest.” Matt recognized his hostess’s voice.

“If he’s taking Alexandre for a swim, I’d say he was looking to make points,” the second woman said.

“No, he’s only a guest being polite. You know I don’t socialize with my guests,” Jeanne-Marie protested.

He continued walking closer, unabashedly eavesdropping. So she didn’t socialize with her guests. He wondered why. Some might demand more, like dinner in the evening, he thought. Seems as if he had been lucky she’d spent time with him last evening, even though her son was there as well.

Sidestepping around the children, Matt walked out to the veranda. Alexandre spotted him immediately and rushed over. “Mama says I’m not to bother you. I won’t be a bother, will I?”

“No. I would not have agreed if I hadn’t meant it,” he told Jeanne-Marie. Glancing at the other two women, he saw them look first at him and then at their friend, smiles showing.

Feeling like he was on some kind of stage, he walked out to the sand and to the water’s edge. He wished he’d heard more about Jeanne-Marie. What was she to do lest her friend disown her?

He pulled off the T-shirt, dropping it and his towel near the water, and plunged into the sea, trying to drive away the thoughts that were coming to mind. He had been happily married. Then torn by tragedy. Less involvement in everything would keep further pain at bay. He went to work, avoiding the long evening walks in the vineyards that reminded him of the times Marabelle and Etienne had accompanied him.

He dutifully checked in with his aunt and uncle and cousins. More to keep them from driving over to check in on him than because he wanted to keep in contact. It was easier to cocoon himself in work and ignore the rest. He would not willingly give his heart as hostage to fate again.

The water was cool and buoyant. He swam some distance from the shore. When he paused to tread water, he studied the village from his vantage point. Fishing boats bobbed in the marina to his far right. There were several establishments that had patios dotted with tables facing the sea, with tourists enjoying the afternoon sun.

It was good to swim after the climb. Later he’d eat in the village and see what activities were planned for La Fête de la Victoire de 1945 this weekend. He expected the small village to celebrate in a big way. Not that he planned to celebrate. He remembered—then banished the memory from his mind. He would not think of other fetes and how he and his family had celebrated. The year before last had been the worst. The first of every holiday without Marabelle and Etienne had been the hardest, at least that’s what everyone told him when he’d growled like a bear in pain if anyone in the family wished him happy. He felt all holidays proved hard now.

Refreshed by his swim, Matt headed for the shore. He had no sooner stepped from the water than Alexandre raced across the sand to join him. Toweling off, he was touched by the child’s trust and desire to spend time with him. His cousin candidly told him he was a bear to be around.

If anyone had told him a week ago that he’d be entertained by a small boy at the side of the sea, he’d have called the person crazy. But sitting beside Alexandre listening to him talk was as enjoyable as anything he’d done lately. The child didn’t need encouragement; his running monologue continued with only an occasional hmm from Matt.

The self-imposed exile from all things familiar meant he had more time to think than he normally had. Spending time with Alexandre kept thoughts away—except about the child’s mother. He looked back, but the women were gone from the veranda. It surprised him she trusted a stranger with her son. Then she stepped out and looked toward them, waving once. So she was keeping an eye on them.

Matt turned back to face the sea. This was a one-off deal. Tomorrow he’d make sure not to return to the inn until too late to be beguiled by a little boy.

“About ready to head back?” Matt asked the boy as the afternoon waned. A quick shower and he’d be back downstairs seeking a good restaurant for dinner.

“Do we have to?” Alexandre asked, looking up at Matt. “This is fun.”

“I need to shower and get ready for dinner,” he said, pulling his T-shirt back on. He wanted to rinse off the salt water and get into clean clothes. Standing, he looked out at the sea. This trip had been a good idea. While he’d hoped the intense concentration required for climbing would cause his focus to change, being with this boy surprisingly also helped. How unexpected!

Alexandre rose and trotted along beside Matt as they headed back to the inn. When they drew closer, Matt saw Jeanne-Marie with an older couple on the veranda. The woman had brown hair and wore expensive slacks. The older man was dressed casually.

Alexandre stopped when he saw them and grinned. “It’s my grand-mère and grand-père! Come on.” He began running toward the veranda.

Jeanne-Marie glanced over her mother-in-law’s shoulder and saw Matt walking toward them, Alexandre racing ahead. The unexpected arrival of Adrienne and Antoine Rousseau surprised her. They hadn’t called, just driven over from Marseilles. Her son had seen them and was running to greet them. Every time she saw them together reaffirmed the wisdom of her staying in France even when her parents urged her to return home.

Adrienne saw her glance for she turned. Spotting Alexandre she smiled, then faltered when she saw a stranger.

“Who’s that man?” she asked.

Antoine turned, frowning.

Jeanne-Marie waited a moment until the two were closer. “This is one of my guests, Matthieu Sommer. He graciously agreed to watch Alexandre play by the water.”

“Hi,” Alexandre said, reaching the older couple. Both reached out to hug him.

By the time Matt stepped on the cool tiles of the veranda, he was close enough for introductions.

“Matthieu Sommer, my in-laws, Adrienne and Antoine Rousseau.”

Antoine offered his hand.

Matt shook it, greeted Madame Rousseau and then headed into the inn.

Jeanne-Marie knew she would be questioned by Adrienne. Turning, she smiled brightly.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” she asked.

“I’ll take us all out to dinner,” Antoine said, “so you don’t have to cook. We wanted to talk about summer plans. We hope Alexandre can come visit sometimes, and give you a break.”

“The summer months are always so busy. I remember from when I was a girl and lived here,” Adrienne said.

“I’ll clean up Alexandre and we’d be delighted to join you. Perhaps you’d like a glass of lemonade while you wait?”

“We’ll be fine. We’ll sit here on the veranda. Hurry, Alexandre,” Adrienne said. “We want to hear all about what you’ve been doing.”

He grinned and raced into the lounge. Jeanne-Marie caught up with him when they entered their private quarters.

“Can Matt eat with us?” he asked when she took him into the bathroom to give him a quick wash.

“We don’t eat with guests as a rule,” she murmured. She hoped he wouldn’t mention the meal she’d given Matt last night. She also hoped Adrienne and Antoine didn’t read more into Matt’s watching Alexandre than was there. There was nothing to talk about, and she didn’t want her in-laws to get the wrong impression.

Forty minutes later Jeanne-Marie and the Rousseaus entered the town’s most elegant restaurant, Les Trois Filles en Pierre. They were soon seated at a round table with a view of the sea. When Jeanne-Marie looked up from her menu, her gaze was caught by Matthieu Sommer sitting directly in her line of sight. She blinked. How had he chosen the same restaurant as they? And beat them here to boot?

“There’s Matt. Can he eat with us?” Alexandre asked, waving at the man. “He’s my friend. He’ll be lonely eating by himself.”

“I’m sure he can manage,” Antoine said, studying the menu. He glanced up at Jeanne-Marie. “Unless you think he should join us for some reason.”

She shook her head. “He’s a guest at the inn, nothing more.” Good heavens, she did not want her in-laws to think she was seeing the man.

She frowned and bent her head as if she were studying the menu. What would they think if she ever did become interested in another man? It didn’t mean she loved Phillipe any less. Still, in all likelihood, they’d feel threatened that someone else was trying to take their son’s place.

“Ready to order?” Antoine asked.

She focused on the listings and blotted out all thoughts of falling for anyone. It was unlikely. She thought she was over Phillipe’s death, but to make a life with someone else would be too strange.

“Why can’t Matt eat with us?” Alexandre asked.

“Really, Alexandre. The man’s a paying guest at your mother’s establishment. Not a friend,” Adrienne said, scolding.

“He is, too, my friend, isn’t he, Mama?”

“An acquaintance, at least,” Jeanne-Marie said. “But your grandparents want to spend the dinner with you and me, not someone they don’t know.”

Alexandre got a mulish look to his face and slumped down in his chair, kicking his foot against one of the legs.

“Sit up, Alexandre,” Antoine ordered sharply.

“I don’t have to,” he replied, not looking at his grandfather.

Not wanting to cause a scene, Jeanne-Marie leaned over and spoke softly into Alexandre’s ear. After only a moment, he sat up and smiled at his mother. “I’ll be the bestest boy in the restaurant!”

Adrienne narrowed her eyes. “What did you tell him?”

“That he’s to behave. He’ll be fine. I believe I’ll have the pasta Alfredo,” she said calmly, refusing to admit to bribing him to get good behavior. She wasn’t sure how his grandparents would view her tactics. Or even if she could bring about the promised treat if he was good.

She hoped Alexandre didn’t give away the secret that she’d said he could ask to walk home with Matt Sommer and not ride back with his grandparents. She hoped she could catch Matt before he left and implore his help. There was no reason for him to do so, but he’d had a son. Maybe he’d take pity on her dilemma and make Alexandre’s day.

By the time Jeanne-Marie noticed Matt had called for his bill, she was growing more and more annoyed at her in-laws. They had spent the entire meal trying to talk her into letting Alexandre come for an extended visit and discussing options as if he were not sitting right there watching them with growing dismay. She smiled at him, trying to reassure him with her look, without challenging his grandparents over the meal. She knew they meant well, but he was too young to spend the entire summer away from her.

Feeling a moment of panic at the thought of Matt leaving without her even asking her favor, she jumped up. Both Antoine and Adrienne stared at her in startled surprise.

“Sorry. I’ll be right back.” She wound her way through the tables and reached the door just as Matthieu Sommer did.

“Monsieur, please, I need a huge favor. I’d so appreciate it if you’d walk back to the inn with Alexandre along the beach. I told him I’d ask if he could walk back with you if he behaved during dinner. He ended up acting like an angel. Would you please do that for me? I’ll be coming as soon as we settle the bill.” She was afraid to turn around, to turn her eyes anywhere but on his.

He looked beyond her at the table she just left.

“You trust your son to me?” he asked softly.

“Aren’t you going back to the inn?”

He nodded.

“Then if you wouldn’t mind too much, I’d be in your debt.”

He looked thoughtful. “Very well. We’ll walk along the beach.”

“I really appreciate this. I know it’s a lot to ask, but he’s really taken to you.”

“Then perhaps I can ask a favor in return,” he said.

“Yes.”

He almost smiled. “You haven’t heard it yet.”

“Anything. I appreciate your help.”

“Early breakfast in the morning. I’d like to try another trail that’s farther away from St. Bartholomeus, so I want to get an early start.”

“That’s no problem. I’ll be home as soon as I can get there. Once you reach the inn, Rene at the front desk can watch him.”

The Rousseaus looked curiously at Jeanne-Marie when she returned to the table. Alexandre looked hopeful.

“Are we leaving?” he asked, looking beyond his mother at Matt.

“After you bid your grandparents good-night,” she said.

“Goodbye,” Alexandre said with enthusiasm, jumping from the table and giving them each a quick hug. Then he raced across the restaurant and smiled up at Matt with trusting eyes.

“I’m ready,” he said.

“So I see.” Matt took the boy’s hand in his and nodded toward Jeanne-Marie. Then the two of them left the restaurant.

“Whatever is going on?” Adrienne said, annoyance evident. “Why is Alexandre going off with him? Are you seeing that man?”

“No. I told you he’s a guest at the hotel. He agreed to walk Alexandre back home,” Jeanne-Marie said, resuming her seat. “This gives us some time to talk about Alexandre without him being around. I appreciate your wanting him to visit this summer, and I do think he’d love it. But short visits spaced over the summer, I think.”

“You don’t even know that man. How can you let Alexandre go off with him? He could kidnap him and we’d never see him again,” Adrienne said with concern.

“I have his home address and I doubt he’s planning to kidnap my son. He watched him this afternoon by the sea. He lost his own son two years ago. I think being with Alexandre reminds him of his son.”

“Alexandre might not understand the attention of a stranger. He could hope for more from a guest passing through,” Adrienne said quietly.

“He’s used to the transient nature of our guests. It won’t hurt him to spend some time with people from different areas.”

“He needs a father,” Adrienne said sadly.

“He had a father, a wonderful man,” Jeanne-Marie said softly.

“Have him come visit us soon. We love having him,” Antoine said. “And if not for the entire summer, then for as long as you can let him.”

“He’d like that,” Jeanne-Marie said. She wanted to get back to the inn. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Matthieu Sommer. She did. But she also felt she’d imposed upon him to placate her son.

She refused a lift back to the inn, saying she wanted the walk after dinner. Once she said goodbye to her inlaws, Jeanne-Marie was grateful for the few moments alone as she hurried back home. She’d have to arrange for Alexandre to visit, but right now she was more concerned with how the walk back had gone.

When she reached the inn, she was surprised to see both Matthieu Sommer and her son sitting in chairs on the veranda in the darkness—out of the light spilling from the open French doors.

“Are you solving the world’s problems?” she asked, taking one of the chairs nearby. She looked at him, then her son. She was pleased Matt had not gone directly to his room.

“Did you know Matt has horses, Mama? He rides almost every day when he’s at home.”

“I didn’t know that. How amazing.” She gave him a look of gratitude.

“Can we go visit? Then I could ride a horse,” Alexandre said.

“Oh, no, honey. We live here. Monsieur Sommer is our guest. We’re not his.”

“I’d like to ride a horse, Mama,” Alexandre persisted.

“Maybe we’ll find a horse to go riding one day when you’re older.”

Alexandre thought about it a moment, his face scrunched up. Then he brightened and gave a brilliant smile to the man next to him. “It’s later. Now can we ask Mama?”

“Ask me what?” Jeanne-Marie asked.

“Can I go climbing? He can show me how.”

Jeanne-Marie frowned. “Monsieur Sommer is here to do serious climbing, not spend time teaching you how to climb.”

Matt shrugged. “One afternoon wouldn’t hurt. If you’d allow it. There’re some very easy climbs he could probably handle. I know what a small boy can do. My son loved it.”

Jeanne-Marie looked between the man and the boy. She could see the hope dancing in Alexandre’s eyes.

“Mmm, we’ll see. Now it’s time for bed. We’ll discuss climbing another time.” She rose and held out her hand. The little boy slid off the chair and reached for her, looking earnestly at their guest.

“We can talk more tomorrow.”

“Perhaps.” Jeanne-Marie did not want her son pestering the guests. Even though Matt had been kind enough to escort her son home, she was not in the habit of imposing on people at the inn.

After Alexandre was in bed, Jeanne-Marie caught up on some household chores, then went to sit on the veranda. It was nice to relax in the darkness and wait for the last of her guests to return for the night. Sometimes she almost could imagine she was waiting for Phillipe to return from a walk.

Though tonight her thoughts were of Matthieu Sommer. She wished he wanted a last bit of fresh air and would join her on the veranda.

The evening was cool. Settling in the shadows, she gazed toward the sea, dark and mysterious this late. Reviewing her in-laws’ visit, she wished they’d spoken about Phillipe more. She missed him. Missed all the family traditions they’d just begun. Like La Victoire de 1945. Last year she and Alexandre had gone with her friend Michelle and her family. Alexandre had enjoyed the activities, but she’d felt out of place every time Michelle’s husband had swung his son up onto his shoulders so he could see better. Alexandre should have had a father to do the same thing! He was growing so big, it was hard for her to pick him up. Not that her holding him gave him that much extra height.

The last fete she’d attended with Phillipe, Alexandre had been an infant in arms. She remembered the day with a soft smile, startled to realize that the achy pain that normally came when she remembered something done with her late husband was missing. She hoped she’d reach the stage to remember their time with nostalgia and a poignant feeling of days gone by. But for the first time she didn’t feel crushed with the weight of grief. Was she at last moving on, as so many had told her she would?

Did meeting Matthieu Sommer have anything to do with that? She almost gasped at the thought.