by Karen Aldous
Nothing will ever be the same again…
Evie Grant has spent two years hidden away in a quiet French village, longing to escape her beautiful villa with its blue-shuttered windows. Maybe this summer, the father of her child will keep his broken promises and return to whisk her away to another life. One way or another, Evie’s determined to stop feeling like his dirty little secret…
Yet when a mysterious stranger almost knocks Evie off her bicycle early one morning, her world begins to change in ways she never expected. Embarking on a painful journey of self-discovery, Evie begins to face her darkest fears and rebuild her fragile dreams. But can she ever truly break free from her gilded cage and learn to love again?
Escape to the south of France with One Moment at Sunrise, an irresistibly compelling new story from Karen Aldous – the only book you’ll need this summer!
Also by Karen Aldous:
The Vineyard
The Chateau
The Riviera
One Moment at Sunrise
Karen Aldous
www.CarinaUK.com
KAREN ALDOUS
enjoys village life on the edge of the North Downs in Kent with easy access to the buzz of London. Not only does she love the passive pleasures of reading and writing but also craves the more active pursuits of walking, cycling and skiing – especially when they involve family, friends, food… and wine!
Much of Karen’s inspiration comes from her travels. The UK, France, Switzerland and the USA are just some of the places you’ll be transported to in her books, but wherever she goes, new characters invite themselves into ‘Karen’s World’ screaming at her to tell their stories; strong independent women who are capable of directing their own lives – but struggle to control them… especially when temptation strikes!
As a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association and The Write Place, Karen feels she owes so much of her success to the love and support of her fellow writers.
You can follow Karen on Twitter at: @KarenAldous_
From a few simple words on the internet, the obsession grew to tell the French-Pyrenean peasant women’s story and how they became involved in Pierre-Paul Riquet’s vision for the beauty that is now the Canal du Midi. For all her meticulous research, I heartily thank Chandra Mukerji for her academic work Impossible Engineering; a theoretically significant study which provided such insight and knowledge so as to allow me to spread further recognition for the peasant women’s genius and involvement in such a monumental project.
For Mike and George Slee, a special mention and thanks for kindly taking time out to read and offer expertise. I’m just sorry you didn’t get the whisky before having to suffer that first draft.
And of course, to my lovely editor, Charlotte Mursell, and the team at Carina UK, HarperCollins – a huge, huge thanks for all your patience and support.
With love Macy, Hayden, Spencer and Penelope
Contents
Cover
Blurb
Book List
Title Page
Author Bio
Acknowledgement
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Excerpt
Endpages
Copyright
Chapter 1
Evie Grant stamped her foot on the pedal, the wheels of her bicycle whirring through the silence of the Canal du Midi dawn.
‘Why do I always let Seb Wilde call the shots?’ she muttered through gritted teeth. Canal boats slumbered as she approached the Capestang Bridge, even the calm waters reflecting gold-crimson hues from the early morning sky failed to comfort her. She swiped another tear and, stretching out a leg to balance, almost kicked over a plastic bollard. She groaned, thinking how many times he had broken promises before, and as she thrust her foot again on the pedal, a vision of Seb’s face screamed beneath.
She clicked down two gears and sped up the bank, gaining momentum as she mounted the bank. As she reached the bridge, she peered up. But too late. In front of her appeared enormous black shire horses. Two of them were hurtling straight into her path, their hooves deafening as they struck the surface of the bridge. Instinctively, she squeezed on the brakes and steered her handlebars to the edge. The low stone wall offered little support but was all there was between her and a drop into the canal.
‘Oh God. No. Charlotte!’ she screeched her daughter’s name as a beast neared. His heavy chest was now feet away.
Fear ripped through her as she scrambled one leg across the wall gripping for life whilst forcing her body forward to balance and the other leg squeezing against the base of the wall as the bicycle tipped towards the canal. Panicked and helpless, she shrieked.
‘No, please no. Charlotte.’ Evie gripped the handlebars with every ounce of strength she could as she buried her head, the giant body mass and hooves thundering beside her with no room to move. With the thrust, her knee jerked, scrapping down into the wall whilst she tried to maintain the grip. Her body remained rigid, inertly taking the full brutality of the momentum as the horse slammed past. Pain took her breath as the frame shook between her legs.
‘Aaargh… Char…lo…tte…’ With her teeth clenched so hard, she could barely say her child’s name. What would happen to her child? Aware that the horses were pulling a carriage, Evie retained her position, fearing its enormity as it approached. The wheels ground towards her. She was going to fall and drown. Tightening her grip with her legs, she dared to keep one hand compressing the handlebar whilst reaching with the other for the solidness of the stone wall. Taking a deep breath, she squeezed every muscle, and closed her eyes as the thud of the hooves petered, but the roar of the carriage wheels grew louder. Evie pressed her weight once more into the parapet, gritting her teeth and maintaining a grip on the bike but bracing herself for a final push. This was it, it was sure to hurl her over what was no more than a foot of stone. Who knew what was in that water? She must grip the wall, let the bike fall. She couldn’t panic. She won’t panic. Keep calm, keep calm. In her head, she rehearsed a flip of her body to free the bike. She had to lift and kick… let the bike go but grab the wall. Stay calm. The carriage lurched past.
Several seconds later, as the thundering subsided, realisation dawned. Miraculously, thankfully, she wasn’t in the canal fighting for breath and life. She peered around, still bent at an angle, dangling mid-air over the canal, a bright shard of light blinding her. Letting go of her chest, she wailed, ‘I’m alive.’ A poignant mix of straw and leather punched her nose. She let her head drop down. A rush of saliva slid from her mouth as she exhaled and numbness turned to pain.
‘Aarghh…ch. Thank you God… or whoever’s on duty. I’m alive.’ Movement caught her eye. A white knuckle loosened its grasp on the back of her seat. Searching, she met d
eep brown eyes glistening back. A calmness swept through her.
Keeping the frame of the bike within control, she allowed her wounded leg to restore its weight to the ground. The stranger reached out to steady her, clutching her shoulder. As she levered the bike upright, the mass of the weight was lightened by the aid of the knuckle owner. The thumping in her chest slowed and she blew out a heavy breath as she found both her feet and steadied herself on the handlebars.
‘I can’t believe I’m still here,’ she muttered to the man as she smoothed her face with her hand to confirm her existence. Then her lips began to tremble with relief and, in a blink, her eyes stung and released uncontrollable tears.
Trying to choke them back, she swallowed. ‘Thank you, I…I… I’m sorry, I should have been paying more attention.’ Her hand reached her helmet. Her fingers ran to her chin and unclipped the clasp, removing the helmet from her head. ‘Phew, sorry, I’m a bit shaken, my daughter still has a mother.’
‘That was a close call. I hope you’re all right?’ the male figure holding the saddle of the bike finally said, as a small assembly gathered.
Turning, she swept a clammy hand over her forehead. ‘Relieved, oh, so relieved. I can only think you must have stopped me from tipping over the edge,’ she sniffed, glancing at the buckled wheel of her bike. The stranger leaned it towards him to take the weight and pulled a face looking down at her leg.
‘Are you ok? Your leg looks nasty. That was some grip,’ he clutched his collarbone. But, well done, you saved yourself. I didn’t do much. Didn’t need to… You’re shaking, I think we should sit you down and get that leg looked at, there’s a medic here – somewhere,’ he frowned as he scanned the crowd.
Feeling her knees wobble, she nodded. ‘Yes. I need to sit down.’
With an arm still gripping her shoulder, her helper signalled with his head of dark unruly curls, ‘Jamie, here. Where’s Carl?’
The lad leaped forward, reaching for the bicycle, and shrugged. ‘Gone to get his bag, maybe?’
‘Ok. Bring the bike and ask Trevor to check the warning boards.’ He waited for the lad to take the handlebars, then, steadying her at the waist, held out his other forearm to Evie. ‘Hold on to my arm. It’ll keep you steadier.’
‘Thanks.’ She took the arm gratefully and, sheltering her eyes from the low rising sun, insisted, ‘I don’t need a medic. It’s a graze that’s all.’ As she stepped forward she felt weightless after all the muscle power she’d used in the last few minutes. She certainly appreciated a strong arm to prevent her legs buckling though, and his was definitely that. But then her senses began to return. She frowned as she looked up to him. ‘What warning boards? There were no signs on the path. Oh, a bollard. There was a… What’s going on?’
‘There are signs up to warn the public that this is a working film set,’ he said leading her slowly across the remainder of the bridge and on to the road the other side of the canal bank.
Evie wiped her nose. ‘Too right there should. Those horses sprang up from nowhere. Jesus. At least cars have brakes!’ she burst, but then tried to recall. She hadn’t seen the signs, if she had, she wasn’t paying them any attention. She’d been thinking about bloody Seb. She squinted and lightly shook her head. All she could think was, she had never been so close to death, and she was desperate to sit down. She could cope with a throbbing in her leg.
As they neared a canal-side café, a shorter man with thinning hair came towards them whilst another man carrying a white case with a red cross ran up from behind. Evie clung to the stranger’s arm, leaning on him as he halted.
‘Trevor, could you check the warning boards around the set. I’m not convinced they’ve been displayed correctly. Check every entrance to the bridge, check that they’re up and in the right place. I don’t want them on film.’
‘Yeah, sure.’
He turned to the younger man with the case ‘Carl, we’ll just sit her down here.’ He pointed to the café.
Carl, who Evie assumed to be the medic, spoke quietly, his eyes a piercingly light grey. ‘I saw what happened. Ben was fast. Tell me about any pain you have?’
‘Only a graze and shaking. I’ll be fine. Bit shocked I suppose.’
‘Understandably.’ The medic’s voice was calm and trusting… unlike his eyes.
Evie frowned and peered back up at the darker, more handsome stranger the medic called Ben as they ambled towards the empty cafe. ‘So, what? You’re filming a period drama or film?’
‘Well that was a rehearsal. We have to re-surface the bridge for authenticity but yes.’ The man smiled down at her, the proximity of his luscious full lips – revealing beautiful teeth – unleashed a gasp from her own, now numb and parched. She wanted to look away but found herself mesmerised. Unlike the cold of the medic’s eyes, Ben had the warmest seductive eyes which, she could hardly believe, stirred dormant flutters inside her. Something Seb Wilde rarely did nowadays on his sporadic visits.
Evie felt her cheeks glow.
He broke the stare and looked ahead, seemingly ignoring her reaction. ‘I’ll tell you all about it when we sit down. That was our production co-ordinator, Trevor, who I hope will now ensure it doesn’t happen again.’
‘It shouldn’t have happened a first time. I could have been killed.’ Evie’s senses were becoming clearer and her tone rattled. She was sure no signs were at the bridge entrance. She remembered a bollard. Of course, this wasn’t a normal occurrence on the bridge. Since when did horses and a coach rumble over it?
‘So, are you in charge here?’
He scooped his fingers through heavy locks. ‘I know it shouldn’t have happened. I agree. I’m extremely concerned. I suppose the producer takes overall responsibility but I can’t apologise enough, believe me.’
Then Ben stopped under a canopy on the café terrace. She was surprised it was open so early He pointed to a front table.
‘There’s a good spot. Let’s get you seated.’
The medic raced ahead towards the table.
As piqued as Evie felt, it was hard to be angry with him. He was hardly to blame, when she was the one not paying enough attention and, not only had he helped save her but he was surprisingly attentive. She gazed at him as he took her elbow, he had soothingly seductive eyes. Oh, but… hadn’t she fallen for that surface charm before. Of course, he was being polite out of guilt, to sweeten her, just as Seb… exactly like Seb. She swallowed and stood firm.
Now feeling embarrassed, she loosened her grip and shuffled in front of him and, feeling her legs re-align, she decided she was capable.
‘Look, it is only minor damage. I think, I’ll head straight back.’
He pressed his hand lightly on her other arm. ‘Please, I suggest you sit down and recover from the shock, besides, that bike isn’t rideable. I’ll take you home. Let me at least get you a drink and make you comfortable, it’s important that you are ok. The bike I can replace.’
Evie’s eyes turned from his gaze to the table again. She stepped back to let him lead. ‘Five minutes then,’ she said, scraping back her hair with one hand and toying with her thoughts. She followed, noting his wide shoulders as they weaved through empty dining tables. His navy polo shirt hung loose but she imagined his spine curving to his trim, belted waist… her eyes trailed downwards to his sexy taut behind and perfectly proportioned legs. What was she thinking? Evie scolded herself as she approved the designer watch on a strong forearm; she’d just experienced the nastiest drama of her life, so how was it possible she could even think about a man in this way?
‘I’m Ben by the way,’ he announced as they came to a stop at a table. The waiter laid serviettes, while the medic arranged the chairs.
‘Sit down here,’ the medic instructed with a long pointed finger.
Ben swung round and as she lifted her gaze, dark-lashed eyes roved her face then fastened on her own eyes for several seconds, firing rapturous ripples through her veins. Belatedly she took his hand and shook it.
‘
I’m Evie,’ she managed, clearing her throat, the sun glinting between them.
‘Delighted to meet you, Evie,’ he said, his lip curling up at the edge. ‘Tell me what you would like to drink?’
‘A cool orange juice, please. I feel in need of sugar.’ Evie said, sitting back to savour the view. The trembling began to subside. Wasn’t it bizarre that just moments ago, she’d been staring death in the face and now, suddenly, here she was, on a beautiful dawn, in a café she had longed to visit, with a very handsome stranger who was making a film. Surreal came to mind. This was a somewhat fortuitous treat. She had never sat at this beautiful canal-side café before. Perhaps she was dead; witnessing herself being seated in a sumptuous chair, admiring the enchanting Capestang Bridge and the Canal du Midi from this angle, rather than perched on a rough-grass bank with a sandwich, gazing enviously at the diners.
Carl laid his bag on a chair and reaching in, lifted out a small box.
‘Is it ok if I take a look at that injury?’
‘It’s just a little sore. Bruised maybe?’
‘I’ll clean it up and have a look. Put your leg up here.’ He tapped a chair opposite her, took out a small packet and, tearing off the top, slid an antiseptic wipe between his fingers and knelt down, dabbing her wound.
‘It’ll be fine.’ Evie couldn’t decide if a doctor was really necessary. Painful and bloody as it was, the damage was nothing more than grazing, she was sure.
She felt Ben’s eyes resting on her as Carl tended to the side of her calf.
‘I’m really sorry about all this,’ Ben reaffirmed with sincerity.
Evie met his gaze. ‘Don’t apologise. I’m so glad you caught me.’
As Carl washed over the wound, she gritted her teeth. It was more painful than she thought. Ben’s face screwed up a little and Evie found herself increasingly uncomfortable at all the fuss. Whilst Carl appeared detached and duty-like, Ben seemed genuinely concerned – possibly responsible, she thought as he scratched his chin. Perhaps it was harsh comparing him to Seb. Not once had she seen that look of concern in her partner’s eyes.
