‘Why didn’t you tell me your girlfriend speaks French?’ François asked, with the irritating smile that never seemed to leave his face.
Jake gritted his teeth. ‘She’s not my girlfriend. And I didn’t know—’
But François wasn’t listening. He’d launched into another tirade of French directed at Evie, who listened carefully then replied.
Over the last few days he’d heard Evie say a few phrases – asking for a baguette or a glass of wine, that kind of thing – but he’d assumed that was the extent of her vocabulary. Jake didn’t speak French, which wasn’t a huge problem most of the time since many suppliers spoke enough English to make business possible, but right now it meant he was excluded from whatever the two of them were discussing.
He spat the last of the wine, and picked up the bottle, playing for time as he superficially studied the label. Really, he was keeping an eye on François. He didn’t understand what he was saying, but the guy’s body language was clear enough as he took Evie by the shoulder and led her through the cellar, pointing to the barrels, leaning close to speak to her, smiling, laughing. Her skirt swished around her knees, and her black tights and flat shoes showed off her legs. And she smiled and laughed with François too. In fact, she looked up at him with rather adoring eyes.
Jake’s fingers curled around the stem of his glass. She was tipsy. That was the only reason she was so taken with the man. He might be good-looking, but anyone could see he had an eye for the ladies. He probably thought that if he charmed her, they’d buy a lorryload of his wine. Jake’s jaw clenched.
Without warning, François hurried away, waving one hand in the air and saying, ‘I come back!’ and Jake and Evie found themselves alone in the cellar.
Evie glanced at him, then again, and her smile slipped. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. Why?’
‘You look angry.’
‘Why would I be angry?’ He nodded at the door through which François had disappeared. ‘Where’s he gone, anyway?’
‘He said he was going to fetch something.’
‘To fetch what?’
‘I don’t know. He speaks so fast it’s hard to follow.’
Jake’s eyes narrowed. ‘Bet he wants to show you his magnum,’ he muttered.
‘His what?’
François reappeared holding a huge bottle of red wine. ‘Un magnum!’ he announced triumphantly, and presented it to Evie. ‘Pour vous, Mademoiselle!’
‘For me?’ Evie’s eyes widened. Her dimples appeared. ‘Oh, but I couldn’t! It’s enormous!’
Jake rolled his eyes. ‘Please. Don’t encourage him.’
‘What’s wrong with you?’ asked Evie, as they got into the car.
Jake yanked it into reverse. ‘What do you mean?’
François stood by the entrance to his cellars, watching them leave. Evie waved politely, which made Jake scowl all the more as he thrust the car into gear and drove away.
‘You’ve gone all sulky and mean-looking. Even more mean-looking than normal,’ she added.
The car made a brief rattling noise, as if it, too, was irritable.
‘Thanks,’ he said sarcastically.
‘It’s true! And I have a right to know why.’ She sighed. ‘Tell me – what have I done?’
He glanced sideways at her, noticing the stiff upward tilt of her chin, as if she were bracing herself. It reminded him of that time in her shop when he’d witnessed her parents laying into her. ‘You haven’t done anything,’ he said finally.
‘Then why are you so cross?’
‘Because watching François come on to you like a hormonal teenager is not my idea of fun.’
Her cheeks flushed with indignation. ‘He didn’t come on to me like a—’
‘He did. He fancied you.’
‘Fancied me?’ She laughed. Then hiccuped. ‘Oops, that wasn’t me – it was the wine!’
‘He was like an octopus, putting his arm around you, taking your hand, telling you you’re beautiful …’
‘I’m not complaining. It’s quite nice to have the occasional admirer.’
‘Even one who’s so blatant about it?’
Her cheeks flushed. ‘He’s French! They’re famous for being more forthright than Englishmen. It’s a cultural thing.’
‘It’s a libido thing,’ he corrected. ‘But he should learn to control his forthrightness if he wants to do business with me.’
‘You mean you’re not going to buy his wine because he flirted with me?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You implied it.’ She laughed, but at the same time reached for her ponytail and wound it rapidly round her finger.
Would he really be so petty as to pass by a business opportunity because the guy had annoyed him? And why had it irritated him so much to see François flirt with her? She was perfectly entitled to flirt with whomever she wanted.
Jake’s fingers gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white.
The car engine made another rattling noise, louder this time.
‘What’s that?’ asked Evie.
He glanced at the bonnet. ‘I don’t know.’
There was a slight pause before the rattling began again.
‘Why are you slowing down?’ asked Evie.
‘I’m not.’ His foot was pressed down flat on the accelerator, but still the car slowed. ‘We’re losing power.’
He glanced at the hill ahead and muttered a curse. The car coasted to a stop. Jake put the hazard lights on. There was only the dusty road, fields of vineyards and pine forest for as far as he could see.
He tried to restart the engine. Nothing. ‘Great,’ he muttered. ‘That’s just what we need – to break down in the middle of nowhere.’
She looked at him cautiously. ‘You do have breakdown cover, don’t you?’
‘I do.’
‘Well, isn’t there a number you can call?’
He hunted around for the paperwork, but his pockets were empty. ‘Damn! I must have left it in my other jacket!’
‘Maybe there’s something here.’ She opened the glovebox but it was empty. ‘Have you got the number for the rental company? They’ll be able to help.’
Colour streaked his cheekbones. ‘All the paperwork is back at the villa,’ he confessed.
‘Ah.’
He cursed again. ‘I’m sorry, Evie. Hiring a classic car was self-indulgent of me.’ It had been a selfish whim.
‘It’s not your fault. And we’re not in a rush to get somewhere. Look on the bright side – what a beautiful place to break down! It beats the M4 any day.’
‘I’ll walk to the nearest place and ask for a car mechanic’s number. You can wait here, if you like.’
‘Why? I’ll come with you.’
He glanced at her shoes. They were flat and delicate, the kind of things ballerinas wore. They didn’t look sturdy enough to walk any distance. ‘It could be miles to the nearest town.’
‘I’ll be fine. I like walking. Besides, the sun’s shining and it’s a lovely day.’
He shook his head. ‘Fine. Come on, Pollyanna. Let’s head this way,’ he said, pointing to the road ahead. ‘If my geography’s correct, there should be a village soon.’
They walked in silence. He was still ruminating on why François’ flirting had enraged him so much. The conclusions he drew were unsettling. Perhaps he should be relieved that the car had broken down: it had cut short a conversation he wasn’t ready for.
‘This is a much better way to enjoy the scenery, don’t you think?’ asked Evie, after they’d walked a mile or so.
‘Personally, I’d rather enjoy it from the comfort of a moving vehicle.’
‘But then it all flashes past so fast you can’t appreciate it properly. Listen – can you hear those doves calling? And that woodpecker? You wouldn’t have heard those over the noise of the car engine.’
‘True. But I would have felt cooler.’ He wiped his forehead. The temperature was supposed to be around
eighteen degrees, but it felt much hotter walking in full sun.
Evie smiled. ‘You can’t complain about the sunshine when that’s exactly why we came here – to get away from a cold English Christmas.’
He shrugged. ‘I suppose. At least here there isn’t a carol singer or a snowman in sight.’
‘For now, anyway.’ She grinned.
He threw her a flicker of a smile in return.
They crested the hill and rooftops came into view, gradually revealing a huddle of houses ahead.
‘Aha,’ he said. ‘Not far to go now.’ Which was a relief because it was getting late in the afternoon and the sun would be going down before they knew it.
When they reached the village, he tried to explain in English that they’d broken down, but the lady at the petrol station didn’t understand so Evie stepped forward and translated. Immediately, the lady’s face broke into a smile and understanding dawned. She replied in rapid French, picking up the telephone and making a call.
A stream of more French followed, then Evie turned to him. ‘A mechanic’s on his way,’ she translated. ‘He’s going to tow the car back to his garage. If we leave the keys here, he’ll collect it.’
The lady was speaking on the phone again.
‘We can go with him,’ said Jake. ‘In the tow-truck.’
‘No need,’ smiled Evie. ‘She said there’s a really nice hotel up the road where we can stay the night. The car probably won’t be ready before tomorrow lunchtime at the earliest.’
Jake opened his mouth to speak, but the lady was beckoning them to follow her to the back of the building where a car was parked. She spoke in rapid French again as she opened the door for them. From the driver’s seat, the lady added something else. Evie laughed, then translated for his benefit: ‘She said no one wants to be stranded without a bed for the night – especially at Christmas.’
Evie stared as they drew up outside a breathtakingly beautiful old château. ‘Is this the hotel?’ she checked.
The lady from the petrol station assured her it was. They thanked her for the lift and got out of the car. She drove away, and Evie and Jake blinked, wide-eyed, at the spiky turrets and multi-coloured roof tiles that glinted in the sun and made her think of storybook dragons.
Inside, their footsteps echoed in the big entrance hall and, through a stone archway, Evie could see what looked like a reception desk.
‘Ah, vous voilà!’
They both turned as a woman in her fifties hurried down the stairs, exclaiming, ‘Bonjour!’
She shook their hands, introduced herself as Christine, and told them she’d given them the best room in the place; it had views over the fields and hills behind.
‘Just one room?’ asked Evie, forgetting to speak French. ‘Oh, no, we need two, please. We’re not – we’re not, em …’ Her cheeks heated and she glanced at Jake.
Thankfully, Christine nodded. ‘J’ai compris. Vous voulez deux chambres. Pas de problème.’
Christine showed them the dining room and explained that, strictly speaking, the hotel was closed for the holiday. She could cook them a meal tonight, but it would have to be something simple like steak-frites. Was that all right?
‘Perfect,’ said Evie.
Christine led them to the sitting room with a television and shelves lined with old books. ‘And after dinner,’ she explained, ‘feel free to use this room to relax. There’s a fire so you won’t be cold,’ she said, pointing to the pile of logs ready to be lit.
‘That’s wonderful,’ said Evie. ‘Thanks.’
‘Now I need to take payment for your rooms,’ she said.
‘Oh – yes.’ Evie got out her purse and followed Christine back towards the reception desk. A place as nice as this would be expensive, she was certain, but since Jake had refused to accept any money for the car hire or other costs, this was the least she could do.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Jake. Their footsteps echoed in the corridor.
‘Paying.’
‘Put your purse away.’
‘Why? I want to pay. You’ve been so generous.’
‘I won’t hear of it,’ he growled. ‘This is all my fault – I chose to hire that car. I will pay.’
She took in his fierce expression and backed down. ‘Fine. Have it your way.’
Christine showed them upstairs. The exposed stonework and wooden beams were a reminder of the château’s age and history, but they blended beautifully with the cream modern décor and a luxurious bathroom boasting all the mod-cons. Evie had no change of clothes, but Christine had supplied them with all the toiletries they needed and it was nice to have a shower and wash the dust out of her hair before dinner. She left it loose to dry and put her tights and skirt back on, and her peach-coloured sweater.
When it was time for dinner, Jake knocked on her door. He had tucked her scarf into his shirt, like a cravat, and the effect was both quaint and smart.
‘Your hair looks nice,’ he said, as they made their way down to the dining room. Their footsteps echoed on the empty staircase.
‘It’s a bit knotted,’ she said, running her fingers through it. ‘I don’t have a hairbrush with me.’
‘It suits you like that.’
She glanced at him and noticed a strange look in his eyes that she couldn’t decipher. Perhaps she should leave it loose more often. She always tied it back because it got in the way when she was sewing.
The dining room was at the base of one of the large turrets, so it was circular and had been furnished with small tables, all of which were bare except one, where a white tablecloth, cutlery and napkins had been laid out ready for them.
Christine brought them a bottle of wine. ‘This is complimentary,’ she explained. ‘It’s a good one – made locally.’
Jake examined the bottle and tasted it, then nodded his approval. Christine filled their glasses.
When she’d gone, Evie asked him, ‘You’re drinking?’
‘Just a glass. It would be rude not to when she’s offered it to us as a gift.’
As she took a sip, Evie twisted the bottle to look at the label. ‘Château Blanc? Wait a minute – isn’t that François’ vineyard?’
Jake nodded, tight-lipped.
She laughed at the withering glare he cast the bottle. ‘I don’t know why he upset you so much.’
‘I told you why.’
‘You didn’t like him flirting with me when he should have been doing business with you.’ She sighed. ‘But it’s not as if there’s anything going on between you and me.’
Jake looked at her. ‘Isn’t there?’ he asked quietly.
His words made her still. She put her glass down. His blue-eyed gaze held hers in what felt like a look of challenge. Evie frowned.
Isn’t there? She thought of how her heart did a small flip each time he walked into the room, of how she lay awake at night thinking about him in the next room. How her skin tingled in response to his deep voice. She could deny that there was anything between them, but the truth was, she did feel something. Did he feel it too?
‘What are you saying?’ she asked.
‘What we both know. That there’s … a connection between us. And it isn’t going away, despite our best efforts to ignore it.’
His expression was earnest. Intent. And he was watching her closely for her response.
She shook her head, remembering the painfully awkward conversation in her cottage the morning after the ball. The memory of his rejection was still vivid and still hurt. ‘Jake, if you’re talking about when we kissed, you regretted it straight away.’
‘It took me by surprise, that’s all. And – and I was worried you might think it meant more than it did.’
She stared at him. She’d been so sure that he’d regretted it.
But, then, she’d been quick to brush it off too, pretending it hadn’t meant anything.
‘The truth is, Evie, I didn’t enjoy watching François flirt with you because …’ he fiddled with the stem of his
wine glass, then looked up and his gaze locked with hers ‘… because I was jealous.’
She blinked. So the attraction wasn’t one-sided, after all.
Christine arrived with their food, cutting short the conversation, and Evie had to admit the interruption was welcome. She was stunned by his admission. She’d been so sure he didn’t want anything from her but friendship. Christine laid down their plates of food and wished them bon appétit, then left.
In silence, they picked up their cutlery and began to eat.
There’s a … connection between us. And it isn’t going away … Her mind kept returning to his words, mulling them over. They made her temperature rise. Heat rippled through her, making her muscles tighten in discreet places. She stole secret glances at him, remembering how he’d spoken about his wife. How he’d said he’d always love her, and his feelings would never change. And Evie understood. Her heart was still fragile, and she wasn’t ready to open it again either.
But she missed being intimate with a man.
Jake put his knife and fork down and reached for his wine. Her gaze drifted to his long fingers as they delicately held the stem of the glass.
She longed for the warm touch of hands on her skin, for the closeness of bodies nestled together in the night, and limbs intertwined in sleep. She ached for relief from the pent-up need she felt whenever he was near. It had only intensified since they’d arrived in France.
He sipped his wine and she watched surreptitiously, her eyes drawn to his lips. She ducked her gaze away, but the image of them burned in her mind. When he’d kissed her in the snow it had felt magical. His touch had been gentle yet sure. Her body, pressed against his, had felt molten. Her muscles tightened just thinking about it. Her throat dried.
She took a swig of wine. Perhaps Jake was the perfect man for her just now. With him there could be no emotional complications because his heart was off limits too. She could trust him. She wanted him.
‘Not like you to be so quiet, Pollyanna.’
She looked up and his blue eyes were fixed on her. Had he read her thoughts? Her cheeks reddened. She hoped not. ‘I was just thinking that things don’t always turn out how we plan,’ she said quietly.
‘You can say that again.’
The Christmas Holiday: The perfect heart-warming read full of festive magic Page 22
