by Anne Fraser
‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,’ she said. ‘And you’re going to have to wait even longer while I shower and change. There’s no way I can eat without freshening up.’
‘De rien,’ he replied. ‘The apple will keep the animals from the door.’
‘Wolf from the door,’ Julie responded automatically.
‘Animals, wolves—whatever. My English expressions get mixed up sometimes.’ Removing a helmet tied onto the seat, he handed it to her. ‘I have learned always to have a spare one,’ he said.
I bet you have, Julie thought glumly. I bet you are always prepared for company. Especially the feminine kind.
Taking hold of the helmet, she pulled it on over her head and hopped up behind Pierre. Self-conscious at the sudden intimacy, she shrank away from him, letting her hands hang by her sides. Pierre reached behind him and pulled her arms around his waist. Accepting she had no choice, she slipped her hands under his jacket, acutely conscious of the feel of hard muscle under her fingertips.
‘Where to first?’ he asked.
‘Why don’t we go up Arthur’s Seat?’ she suggested. ‘It’s not far and you get great views of the city from there.’
‘Okay. But you need to hold on,’ he said. Julie was glad that the helmet hid the tell-tale blush that she could feel creeping into her cheeks. She really should have outgrown the childish habit by now, she thought, exasperated with herself.
He revved up the powerful machine and with a squeal of tyres pulled away. The impetus of the bike forced Julie to hold on tighter. For a moment she was tempted to lean her head against his back but, thank God, prevented herself just in time. It was one thing to have her arms wrapped around him, quite another to be cuddling into his back!
They sped through the early evening traffic. As she held on, Julie gave herself up to the moment. For a short while she let herself imagine that she was being driven away into the unknown with a man who wanted nothing more than to steal her away, and keep her all to himself. Somewhere isolated and romantic—the South of France would do for a start. The image was so startling she almost let go of Pierre. Now, where did that come from? she wondered. She had never been the type of woman to indulge in romantic daydreams. Was it because Pierre was French, exotic? Whatever the reason, that way of thinking had no place in her well-ordered, if boring life.
He turned up the road leading to the top of the hill. They sped to the top before Pierre pulled over at the highest point. They both climbed off the bike. Below them the lights of Edinburgh sparkled as far as the eye could see.
‘It is a beautiful city,’ Pierre said. ‘Almost as beautiful as Paris.’
‘I love it,’ Julie said. ‘Although it does get crowded in the summer with all the visitors.’
‘Have you ever visited my city?’ Pierre asked.
‘Once, when I was younger. But I thought your home was in the South of France.’
‘I work in Paris. That’s where the hospital is. I go south whenever I have time off. Which isn’t a lot.’
Up on the top of the hill the air was freezing. Julie shivered, pulling her jacket tighter.
‘I am sorry. You are cold,’ Pierre said, removing his jacket and wrapping it around Julie’s shoulders.
She snuggled into the leather, breathing in the now familiar smell of his scent.
‘That’s the castle over there,’ she said, pointing to her left, ‘and to the right is Scott’s monument. Have you visited them?’
‘I haven’t had time yet. One day, perhaps.’
They stood in silence for a few moments.
‘I thought you would have been here many times—to see your family,’ Julie said. Caroline had mentioned that he’d never been to visit, but perhaps in her anger she’d exaggerated?
She felt Pierre move way from her.
‘I should have come,’ he said tightly. ‘Of course I know that now. Had I known what was going to happen…’
‘Why didn’t you, then?’
He shrugged. ‘I left for America to train before Jacques and Iona’s wedding. I was there for five years. Somehow I never found the time to come to Scotland to see them.’ Something in his voice made Julie wonder if he was telling the whole truth. Was he really suggesting that in five years he couldn’t find a couple of weeks to visit his brother?
‘You weren’t close to Jacques, then?’ she said. ‘I guess not all families are.’
‘I loved Jacques,’ Pierre responded fiercely. ‘There was no man I was prouder to call my brother. All our lives we were together, until he got married.’
‘Was it her, then? Iona? Did you not get on with her?’ Julie persisted. She didn’t know why she felt the need to go on with the conversation, but she sensed that the key to understanding Pierre lay in knowing about his family.
Pierre laughed shortly. ‘Iona! There is no one in this earth who wouldn’t want to spend at least some of their life in her company.’ He stopped abruptly. ‘I did see them in France, once, before that last trip. At my father’s funeral. They brought Caroline with them. She was about five years old. It was the first and last time I saw her until after the accident. She didn’t even remember me! I wanted her to come and live with me in France. But how could I ask that of her? She had lost everything, I couldn’t ask her to leave her home as well.’
‘So you came here to be with her? That was good of you.’
‘Good of me? Pah! I should have come sooner. It is too late now for me to make up for all the lost years,’ he said bitterly.
Julie had never seen this side of him before. Her heart ached for him. She would have given anything to have been able to put her arms around him and comfort him. But of course that wasn’t possible. She could imagine Pierre’s shock if she did.
‘Well, you’re here now, with her. That’s what matters,’ she said softly.
Changing the subject, Pierre pointed out a shooting star. Julie watched entranced as they followed its descent.
‘I would like to show you Paris,’ he said eventually. ‘The Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, the Seine. I have seen it before, many times of course, but I would like to see it through someone else’s—your—eyes.’
Julie felt a warmth suffuse her body. Was there a chance he was beginning to see her as a woman? Not just a colleague and a friend to his niece?
‘But now,’ he said, and laughed, breaking the moment, ‘I am hungry. Shall we go and eat?’
A short time later they drew up outside Julie’s flat. She almost leapt off the bike in her haste to put some physical distance between them. She needed to keep him at arm’s length to stop these unsettling, embarrassing fantasies.
‘Would you like to come up and wait?’ she asked, thinking that she would much prefer him not to be in her flat.
‘Mais oui,’ Pierre replied, looking puzzled. ‘I had not thought I would stay outside in the cold while you got changed. If you are like every other woman I know, that could mean a very long time.’
‘It won’t take me long to shower and change,’ Julie replied, cringing. He must think her a bit of an idiot. ‘Of course you should come up and wait.’
She opened the door, frantically thinking back to when she had left that morning. Had she tidied up? Put away the breakfast things? Picked up her clothes from the floor? Housekeeping wasn’t her strong point. She dashed inside, leaving Pierre to follow in her wake. Spotting a pair of discarded panties and T-shirt that she had slept in the night before, she quickly scooped them up and stuffed them under a cushion, hoping that Pierre didn’t notice.
Pierre remained standing just inside the doorway.
‘Please come in,’ Julie said flustered. ‘Make yourself at home.’
Pierre removed a pile of textbooks from a chair and sat down, just as Toto stalked into the room. The cat made a beeline for Pierre and jumped into his lap. ‘I think he remembers you,’ she said reaching over to remove the cat from Pierre’s lap.
‘Hey, it’s okay,’ Pierre said, stroking Toto, who had already settle
d himself down as if it had become his favourite spot. ‘I don’t mind.’
‘I found him outside a few months ago,’ Julie said. ‘The poor thing was half-starved. I took him to the animal shelter, but they said they might have to put him down if no one claimed him. He’s quite old, you see, and set in his ways. I thought it was unlikely he would find a new home, so I took him. I couldn’t risk it.’ Now what was she doing? Babbling on about her cat. She couldn’t imagine Pierre finding anything less interesting.
But to her surprise he nodded, as if he understood what she was saying. ‘The farm I grew up on always had plenty of animals.’ He said. ‘Dogs, cats, horses, chickens. My mother was always rescuing animals. I have no space in my Paris flat otherwise I would probably have two or three animals of my own.’
It was a different side to Pierre. Up until now Julie had only thought of him as being a sophisticated man of the world. It hadn’t occurred to her he had been brought up in the country, although if his father had owned a vineyard it was obvious really. The image of a small boy in short trousers running about the French countryside followed by a menagerie of animals flashed into her mind. The thought made her smile. Somehow she couldn’t see it. It was too far removed from the way the way he appeared now.
‘What is so funny?’ Pierre asked.
‘Nothing,’ Julie said. ‘I just hadn’t thought of you as being brought up in the country.’
‘But, then, you don’t really know much about me, do you?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘And I don’t know very much about you either.’ He smiled lazily. ‘But I intend to find out more over dinner—if we ever get there,’ he said, glancing at his watch.
Julie’s heart missed a beat. Was he flirting with her?
‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ she said, bolting for the bathroom.
As she showered, she thought back to Pierre’s words. He wanted to find out more about her. Well, why not? the sensible side of her answered. His niece has formed an attachment to you—of course he is going to want to find out all he can about you. It doesn’t mean any more than that. So don’t get your hopes up. Finishing her shower, she stood in front of the mirror and surveyed herself critically. She supposed her figure wasn’t bad, although she couldn’t say she liked her small breasts all that much. Maybe she could ask Pierre to give her a breast augmentation. She rolled her eyes at her reflection. No, actually, she was happy with the size they were. If only she could say the same about her face. When she smiled, it exaggerated the scar. Perhaps that was why she felt embarrassed when she smiled. Looking at her face made her spirits drop. Who was she kidding? Pierre flirting with her? This mousy, unattractive woman? But perhaps he really didn’t notice her disfigurement? Maybe, being a plastic surgeon, he was more able to see behind superficial imperfection? Maybe he saw the real her. The one she had kept hidden for so long. The one, as Lexy had pointed out, who had so much to give.
She slipped into jeans and a roll-neck sweater, and blasted her hair briefly with a hairdryer. Finally she dabbed on a touch of foundation before adding a slick of lipstick and thickening her lashes with mascara. Fastening her watch back onto her wrist, she noticed that it had taken her just over fifteen minutes to shower and change. Not bad, she thought with some satisfaction. She’d told Pierre she wouldn’t be long.
By the time she returned to the sitting room Pierre was leaning back in the chair with his eyes closed. If it were not for the fact he was absent-mindedly stroking Toto, who had turned over on his back and seemed ecstatic with the attention he was receiving, Julie would have thought Pierre was asleep. Like most surgeons, he seemed to have the knack of finding a few moments to rest whenever he could. Once again the thought of those long fingers stroking her skin flashed through her mind. She could almost feel them touching her back, caressing her neck. What would it be like to be loved by this man? She shook her head impatiently. What was the use of thinking like that? She would never know. All of a sudden Pierre’s eyes flickered open. He looked at her through half-closed eyes. For a moment, as he stared deep into her eyes, she thought she saw a flicker of desire.
Just as quickly as the thought entered her head, she knew she was mistaken. Pierre uncoiled himself from the chair and stretched, his T-shirt riding above his jeans, and Julie caught a glimpse of bronzed lean muscle.
‘Ready? Alors. Allons-y,’ he said.
Julie suggested to Pierre that they walk to her favourite Italian restaurant, a short distance from her flat. She ate there often after work when she was too tired to cook or had simply not got around to shopping for food. The manageress, a flamboyant curly-headed Italian called Isobella, knew her well, and as soon as she noticed Julie’s arrival she came up to greet her, depositing two wet kisses on each of Julie’s cheeks.
‘My favourite doctor,’ she said in a voice that echoed around the dining room, much to Julie’s embarrassment. She had entirely forgotten about Isobella and her complete disregard for British rectitude. ‘I haven’t seen you for a long time. Where have you been hiding?’ Then, before Julie had a chance to reply, she turned her attention to Pierre. ‘And who is this? Your young man? Good. It is about time you brought someone in to meet us.’
For the umpteenth time Julie felt herself cringe in Pierre’s company. Now he would think she was trying to pass him off as her boyfriend or, at the very least, realise that she was never in the company of a man. But Pierre seemed unfazed by Isobella. Instead, he took her hand and pressed it to his lips. On anyone else the gesture would have seemed theatrical, almost effeminate, but from Pierre it just seemed perfectly natural. Pierre spoke to the proprietor in rapid Italian. Julie had no idea what he said, but it was enough to make the older woman blush and smile coyly. ‘Ah, I think you are a lucky woman,’ she said to Julie as she showed them to their table.
‘I didn’t realise you spoke Italian too! What did you say to her?’ Julie asked, taking her seat as Isobella hurried away to find them some menus.
‘I told her it was me who was lucky to have you as a dinner companion. And, yes, I speak Italian. Most of my countrymen do.’
‘You said a damn sight more than that,’ Julie retorted, but Pierre just smiled. ‘Ah, well. You’ll just have to learn to speak Italian and French if you truly want to know what is being said,’ Pierre responded.
‘Touché. It is a bit of a disgrace I can’t manage more than a little French and a smattering of Spanish. I keep promising I’ll go to evening classes to learn, but there never seem to be enough hours in the day.’
When Isobella returned with the menus, they ordered their meals. Julie chose Carbonara and Pierre decided on a pizza. ‘In fact, make that two,’ he called out as their waiter was leaving.
‘I don’t want pizza as well as pasta,’ Julie protested.
‘Good,’ Pierre replied. ‘Because they are both for me.’ Remembering the feel of the hard muscle of his chest and abdomen under her fingers when they had been on the bike, Julie marvelled at his appetite. But Pierre wolfed down his meal as if the food was just an appetiser. As they ate they chatted. Pierre ordered a bottle of wine and as she sipped her first glass, she felt herself relax. He was an amusing and charming dinner companion. He told her about his upbringing on the farm where his family had been growing grapes for generations.
‘I look forward to showing it to you,’ he told Julie.
‘And I look forward to seeing it,’ she replied, taking another sip of her wine. The warmth of the alcohol was spreading through her body. She rarely drank, but the wine was dissipating the discomfort she felt in Pierre’s presence. My goodness, she thought, is it getting warm in here?
‘Now tell me about you,’ he said, looking interested. ‘What was growing up like for you?’
‘I’ve always lived in Edinburgh—when I wasn’t away, skiing,’ Julie said. ‘I started going away with the club when I was about eight years old.’
Pierre looked at her, his eyes holding her gaze.
‘That must have been hard for a young girl. To be away fr
om her family.’
‘I suppose I got used to it.’ Julie said lightly. But she was recalling, only too vividly, the awful feelings of homesickness she had suffered from almost as soon as her parents had waved her off. The adults who had travelled with them had tried to be supportive, but it hadn’t been the same as having your own family around. For the first time Julie wondered whether it was part of the reason she had never really felt as if she belonged anywhere.
Encouraged by Pierre, she told him about her parents, the fact she was an only child, how shocked and desperately worried they had been when she’d had her accident and finally how understanding they had been throughout everything.
‘I guess I was angry with the world for a while,’ she admitted. ‘For so many years I had thought of nothing else but skiing. I had set my sights on the Olympics and really believed I had a chance.’
‘But after you recovered?’ Pierre probed gently, ‘Couldn’t you have gone back? Made a comeback?’
‘I had missed too much training time. Every week counts at that level, and I was out for almost four months. Then my boyfriend—Luke—left me.’ She stared into her wineglass.
Pierre must have seen something of the anguish of those few months in her eyes. He stretched a hand across the table and grasped her fingers in his.
‘Pauvre petite,’ he said. ‘You had a bad time.’
Julie felt her hand tremble under his. ‘The worst thing was, when I first got out of hospital, I went a bit mad. I neglected my studies. I wouldn’t go anywhere or see anyone, or even come out of my room. I must have driven Mum and Dad mad with worry.’ She took another sip of wine. She was beginning to feel pleasantly sleepy.
‘My parents eventually made me realise that I needed to set my sights somewhere—that I needed something else to strive for. They suggested medicine, and the minute I thought about it I knew they were right. During the months I spent in hospital I drove the nurses and doctors crazy. First of all with my questions about my injuries, then I started following them about, demanding to know what was wrong with everyone else. Eventually, to shut me up they brought me medical journals and textbooks and told me to find out myself.’ She paused once again, suddenly realising that she must be boring Pierre.
