by Mandy Baggot
‘Thank you. Here, I got some wine,’ she said, passing him the bag.
‘Merlot,’ he said, looking at the label.
‘I don’t know much about wine and Dad only gave me five Euros,’ Emma said.
‘It will be… bien.’
‘Open it. Let’s have some with dinner,’ she urged. ‘I got a screw top just in case.’
He smiled. He opened the bottle and poured wine into both their glasses. Then he whipped the cloth off another bottle stood on the side of the table. It was exactly the same wine Emma had bought. She let out a laugh.
‘Great minds think alike,’ she said, sipping some of her wine.
‘What?’
‘It’s a quote. No one knows who first said it.’
‘Is it the Chaucer?’ Guy inquired.
‘Oh no. It’s far too straightforward for him,’ she said.
‘You like pâté?’ Guy asked.
‘Oh yes. Did you make all this?’
She took some bread and covered it with a thick spread of pâté. She sunk her teeth into it and savoured every sense as it travelled over her tongue.
‘Non. I have a… friend?’ he tested.
Emma nodded her head.
‘He is chef at the restaurant,’ Guy explained.
‘This is gorgeous.’ She swallowed her mouthful and had a large swig of wine.
‘Demain… I have to… essai de football,’ he started.
‘Your trial. With the football team in Nice,’ Emma guessed.
‘Oui.’ He drank some wine and looked across the table at her.
‘Are you nervous?’ Emma guessed.
He nodded and reached for her hand.
‘But you’re brilliant. I don’t know much about football but you play so well and they’ll see that,’ she said, squeezing his hand.
‘There are many people. Many people are good,’ he told her.
‘But you really want to play for them. You’re passionate about the game. The children here love it when you teach them,’ she continued.
‘I have to be good. I have to get place in the… équipe.’
‘You will. I know you will,’ Emma said with confidence. She could see from his expression that this trial was a big deal to him. He was hanging all his hopes on it.
‘But if you don’t…’ she started.
‘I have to, Emma. I need to… for Luc,’ he said. He withdrew his hand to take hold of his wine glass.
‘I know you want to look after your brother but your mother… it’s her responsibility and—’
‘She cannot. She does not…’ He shook his head hard and distracted himself by buttering some bread. He was upset. She didn’t want him to be upset. Not when he had arranged this perfect meal in such a beautiful setting for her. She cleared her throat and held her wine glass up.
‘I believe in you. And if this football team can’t see the best player in the world standing in front of them tomorrow then they’re idiots… on skis,’ Emma stated.
He raised his head to look at her. His eyes brightened.
‘To Guy Duval,’ Emma toasted. ‘Bonne chance pour demain.’
He raised his glass, leaning forward to touch hers.
‘Salut!’
‘To us,’ Emma translated.
As their glasses met she felt her whole body fill up with a warm, tingling sensation. It struck her like a thunderbolt. She’d never been this happy. He really understood her despite the language barrier. She’d told him all about her life, her mother, her books and he got it all.
She looked up. She watched him eat his bread, wiping his long fingers on the napkin. He was perfect. But could it last?
Chapter Twenty-One
Present Day
He’d been watching the door and every time it opened he’d held his breath. When she finally walked in it felt as if his heart had stopped beating. She was here. He was stunned. Had he really thought she wouldn’t come? He’d wanted to believe but… his heart kicked back in. The thudding, drumming, slightly-out-of-sync beating moved from his chest up into his throat as he watched Emma shake her arms, ridding her skin of the rain.
She lifted her head, scanning the restaurant as the manager approached her. She looked unbelievable. So beautiful. She was still every inch the girl he fell in love with in La Baume. He stood up.
‘Bonsoir, madame. Do you have a reservation?’ the restaurant manager asked her.
‘Yes… well, no… I’m meeting someone. Duval. He will have booked under the name “Duval”,’ Emma said. She shook the bottom of her blouse and droplets of water fell onto the tiled floor.
She lifted her head and it was then she saw him. He was standing at the very rear of the restaurant, gazing over the other tables and diners, directly at her.
*
‘This way, madam,’ the manager said, holding his hand out in direction.
She wasn’t ready. She was here, he was here but she wasn’t ready for this. Her stomach rotated and she sucked in a breath. Her feet wouldn’t move. The manager was looking at her. She needed to do something. She tightened her grip on her bag and mentally gave herself a talking to. You are not seventeen. You are a mother, a teacher, and a grown-up. He means nothing to you. He hurt you. You will not be taken in again no matter how good he looks.
‘Madam?’ the manager asked for the second time.
‘Yes. Sorry,’ Emma said. She fixed a smile on her face and finally shifted her feet.
She followed the manager. Mimicking his step, she ducked her head slightly to avoid Guy’s eyes. This was like a form of torture. She knew she was going to be sitting opposite him but she wanted to leave actually looking at him until the last possible moment.
Within seconds he was a few feet away. He was smiling at her, his napkin gripped in his hands. He was wearing a crisp white shirt and black trousers. As she looked at him a section of his hair fell across his forehead. He pushed it back behind his ear.
‘Madam,’ the manager said. He pulled the chair out for her.
‘Thank you.’ She sat down, moving her eyes to look at her plate.
‘The menu for you, madam. I will give you a few moments,’ the manager said. He handed the menu to Emma, smiled at Guy and then backed away leaving them alone.
She had to lift her head. Looking at the crockery wasn’t going to achieve anything. But she knew what she would see. She wouldn’t see the boy who had broken her. She would see the man she was still attracted to. She could already feel pinpricks creeping up her bare arms and it wasn’t due to the rain she’d experienced.
‘I have Merlot. Would you like—’
‘Yes… please,’ she interrupted. To get through this conversation she needed alcohol.
He poured some wine into her glass and put the bottle back on the table. It was then, as the bottle went down, she noticed the yellow flowers. Guy was watching her. Meeting his gaze, it was if he knew what she was thinking.
‘I was going to have the Camembert to start,’ Guy said. He cleared his throat and took another mouthful of wine.
‘Right. The menu,’ Emma said, realising she was still holding it in her hand.
‘Emma…’ Guy began.
‘Not yet… please.’ Her voice was faltering and there were tears on the verge already.
‘I was just going to say… can we start again? Can we have dinner like old friends catching up, maybe?’
‘Old friends.’
‘I don’t want to upset you. I think I upset you yesterday and I am sorry. I should not have spoken that way, with Dominic near. His ankle is OK?’ he asked.
She nodded her head, reached for her wineglass.
‘I have missed you.’ His words were said in little more than a whisper. They waved over the table so soft and smooth but they hit her with full force. How could she respond to that?
‘I’ll have… the moules marinières.’ She barely got the words out of her mouth. It seemed as if there was a rock between her lips, pent up emotion forming a real physical b
arrier. She cleared her throat.
‘Emma…’ he began again.
‘What do you want me to say?’ She swallowed down the threatening tears and replaced it with anger.
‘I do not want to fight. I want to find out what has happened with you. It has been so long and—’
‘It’s been eight years.’
‘I know.’
‘We’ve changed.’
‘Circumstances have changed maybe but—’
‘I’ve changed.’
‘Not to me.’
It was a dart to her heart. She couldn’t avoid looking at him. This time she didn’t want to avoid looking at him. Despite what he’d done to her, the depth of feeling she had for him engulfed everything she’d felt for anyone before or since. Sat just across the table was the love of her life. What could she do? What should she do?
‘Are you ready to order?’
A waiter was at their table, intruding on the conversation, waiting for a response to his question.
‘Oui. Camembert to start and the chicken tagine. Moules marinières and…’ Guy started.
‘The lemon sole,’ Emma filled in.
Chapter Twenty-Two
He desperately wanted to make her feel at ease. Every time she reached for her glass her fingers were shaking. This was all his fault. What had he done all those years ago? The answer was simple. Not enough. He should have stood up for what he wanted. He should have dealt with the consequences of his actions and then pursued his dream. The dream he’d had since he met her. He wasn’t supposed to be living his life with Madeleine. He had envisaged everything happening with Emma. His reality had got skewed and he’d stood by and let it happen. Was it too late to put things right? Was putting things right the proper thing to do? He pushed away his starter plate.
‘I want to know about your teaching,’ he said, pouring her another glass of wine.
*
She'd barely eaten. She’d watched him. They’d said very little. He’d commented on the weather and she’d asked ridiculous questions about football. She still didn’t know anything about it and she didn’t really want to. They were both circling around each other, avoiding the important questions.
‘I’ve been at the school for four years now. I teach English,’ she answered.
‘Chaucer?’ he queried. A smile flickered over his mouth and heady memories were forced into her mind.
‘Sometimes. Not this year. This year we have Othello and Jane Austen… with a rousing rendition of Copacabana if Councillor Martin gets his way.’
‘I meant what I said about the money. I would like to give something to the school,’ Guy told her.
‘Why?’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you know nothing about the school,’ she challenged.
‘I know you work there. I know how passionate you were about reading and literature. I would like to help. Is it wrong to want to give something?’
‘I…’
He threw his napkin on the table and put a hand through his hair. He looked frustrated. She chewed her lip. She knew that she was making him like this because she was scared to say anything that mattered. She could have been having this conversation with her hairdresser.
‘You say I am not Dominic’s father. OK. If that is what you say then that is what I believe,’ he stated.
Did he believe it? Did he believe it really? His tone sounded honest but his chest rose with hampered breaths that told another story.
‘Where is he? The father.’
‘Not around,’ Emma answered.
She watched him take a long breath in. He held it there for what felt like a long time and then let it go through his nostrils.
‘You and he were…’ he began.
‘It’s a long story, Guy. You know my mother died. It happened then, before I met you.’
‘But when we were together. You were…’
‘I don’t really want to talk about it.’
‘So the things you say to me back then…’
‘I was only seventeen. I needed someone… I said I didn’t want to talk about it.’
She wanted to leave. She wanted to get in a taxi and go back to her dad, Dominic and a cup of coffee. That was her life. That was where she belonged. Not here with this guy from her past.
‘I would have understood,’ he said.
She could feel his eyes on her. So intense, so full of feeling. Just being near him stirred all those sentiments up again. It was dangerous to be here. She was flirting with disaster just by seeing him again, for so many reasons.
‘Tell me about your career. Dominic tells me you’re quite the international celebrity.’
She’d had to change the subject. His scrutiny was giving her goose bumps where she didn’t even know you could get goose bumps. She needed to be mature. She had to be the adult here. Everything from their time together had been banished to the back of her memory and locked up for very good reasons.
‘Celebrity. Yes, so it seems.’ He took a swig of his wine and sat back a little in his chair.
‘Finnerham have paid an awful lot of money for you to play for them. It must be very flattering,’ Emma continued. She had to stride on with the questions or the spotlight would be back on her.
‘Flattering? Non. Embarrassing, perhaps. I do not know if I am capable of being the player they deserve. The way we play football in France is very different to how the game is played here. I have taken the opportunity and I will be trying to learn as much as I can,’ he explained.
‘But you’ve played for your country and OGC Nice.’
‘I had to make it there. I had to get there for Luc,’ he stated.
She saw his fingers tighten around the wineglass and his gaze travel out to the mid-distance. Emma wiped at her mouth with her napkin and waited for him to continue.
‘Luc died, Emma,’ he stated.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, putting down her napkin.
There were tears in his eyes now. He was swallowing, trying to keep himself in check but she could see what was trying to break out from under the surface. Sorrow. Deep sadness over the loss of his brother.
He shook his head and took another drink. He paused before he spoke again.
‘For a long time after you left I didn’t know what to do. After Luc, my mother was drinking more and more. Then there were other… circumstances I felt I could not control. I had to try and pick myself up. I had to realise what was important and how to go forward.’
Emma managed a nod. His words were making her ache to reach out for him but she held back. It wasn’t right to comfort him.
‘I went to the local semi-professional team and I earned a place in the team. It was starting from the bottom but I needed to do that. Wherever it took me, if it took me anywhere at all, I had to make it because I’d worked hard and honestly. Money can sometimes fall into your lap but money earned the right way is the only type worth having,’ he told her.
‘And you have a girlfriend.’ She didn’t know why that particular sentence had fallen out of her mouth.
‘I suppose,’ he responded with a shrug.
‘What does that mean?’
‘Madeleine and I… we don’t have the right sort of relationship. It isn’t the type of relationship I want. Do you remember?’
Did she remember? Of course she did. She could deny it all she liked but she remembered every detail of every moment they’d spent together.
‘Then why be together?’
‘Why are you with that man?’
‘That man? His name’s Chris. I’m with Chris because…’ She had to stop. The truth was, she couldn’t give him an answer. This was ridiculous. Why was she with Chris? Were they good together? Not especially. They were very different but they managed to pull off the family unit when they went out with Dominic. But that shouldn’t be the answer. She should be saying something much more appropriate. Like he was her soul mate.
‘He’s kind. He’s hard-working and he
loves Dominic. Anyway, I don’t need to justify how I’m living my life to you,’ she snapped.
‘You ask me about Madeleine and I told you the truth. I would believe it if you tell me you love this man, but you do not say that and I do not see it in your eyes,’ Guy told her.
‘It’s none of your business what I feel for him.’ She looked at the tablecloth and started to pick at one of the stitches on the hem.
‘I want to see you,’ Guy continued.
‘What are you talking about? I came here tonight to…’ She paused, facing him.
‘To what?’
The air was so charged she couldn’t breathe. All she could see were his green eyes, looking at her, beckoning her back to a time when she didn’t know better. A time when she felt free, young, wrapped up in a dream of love and happy-ever-afters. She opened her mouth to speak but shut it again. She didn’t know what to say.
‘I know things are complicated, Emma. But the moment I saw you again… My feelings are the same. I know what you think I did to you… to us… but I’m asking for another chance.’
This couldn’t be happening. All those years alone with Dominic. Struggling to get by. Begging the university to defer her place. Getting the teaching job she’d always wanted. Learning to give her heart again. And here he was, the man that broke her in so many ways, asking for a second chance. He was too late… wasn’t he?
‘Remember the story you read to me? Those two people who loved each other so much. She married someone else and he married someone else and…’
‘Don’t romanticise it. We’re not Cathy and Heathcliff.’
‘OK, maybe that was a stupid thing to say. I am trying to say how I feel but—’
‘The lemon sole, madam and the chicken tagine, sir,’ the waiter interrupted.
‘Thank you. Could I please have a glass of water?’ Emma asked. Her throat being dry was the least of her worries. Her heart was on fire.
Chapter Twenty-Three
August 2005
