The Promise of Provence (Love in Provence Book 1)

by Patricia Sands

  Without hesitation, Katherine agreed, thinking she would cancel her bridge commitment in the evening just in case she was not back in time.

  “I will meet you at two o’clock at the statue in front of the market. Wear jeans and running shoes and bring a light jacket, even though it will be warm. And bring your camera.”

  Standing in the doorway, he leaned in and kissed her on each cheek. Katherine wondered if it was simply her imagination or whether there was something different about his touch this time.

  She was intrigued by his invitation, but he would offer no further details.

  “Thank you—for everything,” she said, her voice strangely full and throaty. “This weekend was an amazing experience in so many ways. It was great fun to see everyone and spend such a happy time together—exhausting but happy! Your daughter is a beautiful young woman, and I’m so pleased I had the opportunity to meet her.”

  She suddenly was aware she had taken his hand in hers, and she felt her face flush. Their eyes met as he told her how much he enjoyed her company, how easy she was to talk to. Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed it lightly, his eyes never leaving hers. Then he backed out the door and was gone.

  Katherine stood for a minute, still holding that hand in front of her, staring at it as her heart raced.

  Going straight to her computer, she sent Molly a message marked “Urgent” and hoped her friend would check her mail when she got up for work. Stunned by the change in the dynamics with Philippe, Kat felt like a lovesick schoolgirl who needed to confide in her best girlfriend.

  Her phone beeped again as she climbed into bed, and she remembered that Nick had been calling her. She let it go to voicemail. In the excitement of the weekend, she had completely forgotten about her phone. Listening to the messages—days ago he had left three—she was almost pleased to hear he was still in London with no firm return date, due to “complicating factors.” And he missed her.

  She didn’t miss him.

  Lulled by soothing sounds from the sea, she fell asleep, feeling fortunate to have shared another unique experience of plaisir.

  One month left. It’s not going to be easy to leave, but what memories I’ll be taking with me.

  Katherine was wakened the next morning by loud knocking on the front gate and her name being called through the open window.

  Grabbing her robe, she poked her head out to see Twig and Tim looking up.

  “Sorry! I guess we woke you?”

  Katherine dashed down to the courtyard and unlocked the gate.

  “Hey, come on in. What’s up?”

  “Nick asked us to come and let you know what is going on. He doesn’t want to call anyone now, as things suddenly are heating up.”

  Katherine offered coffee, but they said they wouldn’t stay long.

  “Nick wanted us to reassure you that he hasn’t done anything wrong, but he’s in a bit of a pickle,” Twig said in her delightful British accent that took the edge off any conversation.

  “He won’t be traveling anywhere for a while,” Tim said. “He has been warned he may be arrested if he sets foot back in France, and the boat is under a travel restriction until further notice.”

  “It’s all about an unfortunate association that has become extremely complicated.”

  “Here’s a different e-mail address for him. He would like it if you got in touch, and he sends his apologies for his rather abrupt disappearance.”

  Katherine assured them she would think about it. Her session with the gendarmes had left a sense of unease.

  “We’re going to be staying with the boat to take care of things here, but let’s get together for a drink before you leave.”

  Molly Skyped Katherine as soon as she read her “urgent” e-mail. She caught Katherine just after noon and listened as Katherine breathlessly recounted her weekend. There was a different timbre to her voice today.

  After the Saint-Tropez weekend, Molly had celebrated Katherine’s breaking through her “fling fear factor,” as she put it.

  “You stepped outside your comfort zone. Good for you,” she had congratulated her.

  Now Katherine’s voice was full of passion and excitement, combined with apprehension, as she described her feelings about the weekend with Philippe.

  “Something changed, Moll. I can’t precisely pinpoint what it was, but we both seemed to respond to each other in a more intimate manner. When he introduced me to his daughter, there was something different in his voice. I didn’t know who this beautiful young woman was when I first saw her with him, and I can’t begin to describe how jealous I felt!”

  Molly listened carefully. “It sounds to me like romance may be in the air, girlfriend! Perhaps that little roll in the hay with Nick opened you to other possibilities.”

  Katherine chuckled. “I don’t know about that, but I do know, whatever it is, it feels good. I have no idea where this is going, but I just had to tell you!”

  “Let the good times roll, Katski. I can hear the happiness in your voice, and that’s frickin’ wonderful. I’ve got to dash, but I’m glad I caught you.”

  “Me too! Let’s try to talk while Andrea and Terrence are here. By the way, I’m not telling Andrea what happened with Nick. I feel sort of embarrassed.”

  51

  Just before the bells in the Hôtel de Ville tolled 2:00 p.m., Katherine stood next to the statue in front of the market.

  The village seemed a little quiet for a Monday, and she wondered if everyone was recovering from the same type of vendanges weekend that she had. She had to admit, some muscles were still feeling rather stiff and sore.

  Sitting on the steps next to the statue, she watched a lively group of men, women, and children arriving for a civil wedding in the town hall. That procedure had become very familiar to her, living so close by. She had enjoyed many moments over a cool drink or a crème, feeling the happiness floating in the air as the wedding parties and their guests celebrated. In the beginning she had been reminded of her own small wedding and suffered pangs of sadness, but that had passed. Now it made her smile to join the applause with everyone else who happened to be walking around the area when the bride and groom exited the hall.

  Some couples would then go around the corner to the cathedral to follow up with a religious ceremony. Kat had noted most did not.

  A vintage white Rolls-Royce was parked in front with the traditional large and beautiful floral arrangement attached to the hood. The bride and groom would be driven around town, followed by the guests, horns honking incessantly. She noticed too that guests dressed far more casually, and there was much less attention to extravagance. On Saturdays in particular, the bells of the Hôtel de Ville and the cathedral rang their joyful songs as one wedding after another moved through the process.

  Directly in front of her was a small parking lot for motorcycles, a popular and sensible means of transportation on the narrow twisting roadways all along the coast and in these cramped villages. Katherine watched as an immaculately polished vintage Ducati pulled into a spot. The driver—looking very seductive in those leather chaps, she thought—removed his helmet.

  Philippe grinned and beckoned her to come.

  Greeting him with a look of astonishment, he spoke before she could ask. “Yes, we are going for a ride on this, my other bike! If you don’t object.”

  Katherine was speechless for a moment and simply shook her head.

  He handed her a helmet.

  “In all the time you have been here, you haven’t been up in the hills yet. I want to take you there—that is, if you want to go.”

  “Let’s do it,” Katherine said, not even trying to conceal her excitement. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle!”

  He explained there were communication headsets built into the helmets so they could talk to each other in normal voices. No shouting necessary. They talked for a few minutes about safety—how to hold on, how to respond to his movements on corners, how to trust him.

  “Put your arms arou
nd my rib cage and grab onto your wrist. If you feel comfortable, lean against my back and I will lean slightly into you. It makes us more aerodynamic. Be sure to hold even more tightly when we accelerate from a stop. But if you are uncomfortable with that, I can put on a bar for you to hold.”

  Assuring him she felt perfectly comfortable holding on to him, she climbed on behind him. A sudden surge of pleasure rose from the pit of her stomach as she slipped her arms around him.

  Where did that come from?

  Reminding herself he was ten years her junior, she tried to focus on not falling off, but his closeness kept intruding on her thoughts. Her face was so close to his neck she couldn’t help but breathe in his clean smell, a smell that made the backs of her knees tingle. He smelled strong, safe, sexy—as if he had just stepped out of a shower.

  His dark hair curled out under the back of his helmet, mesmerizing her.

  Watch the scenery . . .

  Leaving town was a slow process with many stops and starts, but within fifteen minutes they were out in the countryside and climbing.

  The switchbacks were exciting and terrifying and Katherine felt all her senses firing. Looking down, the views became increasingly stunning, and she drew a sharp breath as images of perched villages presented themselves, dotting the hills.

  As they rode, Philippe spoke to her about their surroundings. Not in the voice of a tour guide, as had Nick, but in a thoughtful and philosophical way, mentioning the artists and writers who had fallen in love with the places they were passing. He had stories of the lives they lived there and the legacies they left.

  She could feel his passion for the land.

  Pointing to one of the first spectacular hilltop villages, he said, “Saint-Paul de Vence is very special. I don’t want to stop there today, as it will be full of tourists, but I will bring you back if you like. La Colombe d’Or is now a fancy inn and restaurant, but it was once a hangout before and after World War II for Picasso and other broke young artists, who paid their bills to the owner with paintings and sketches and original written work. Imagine! He eventually owned one of the most comprehensive art collections in the world, and of course, inevitably, celebrities took over. Now a reservation in the summer is essential.”

  “I’ll look forward to that,” Katherine said, trying not to acknowledge the carnal thoughts she was having as she listened to his sensuous voice with her arms wrapped around his taut body and the power of the motorcycle vibrating between her legs.

  They continued to climb and settled into an exciting rhythm on the switchbacks, with little traffic interrupting the flow of the ride. As much as she loved to ride her bike, she had to admit this was an altogether pleasing alternative. She had always thought motorcycles such loud, intrusive annoyances, but now she could feel how the rider becomes one with the machine in a powerful, thrilling ride. The noise fades into the whole sensation.

  Slowing down as they rode into a typical scenic square shaded by plane trees, Philippe suggested they stop for a stretch and a cold beer.

  “This is Tourrettes-sur-Loup, famous for growing violets for the perfume makers in Grasse for hundreds of years,” he said. “The ice cream maker in the village serves violet ice cream, if you want to try it.”

  They decided to have a cone and save the beer for later.

  Strolling the village, they savored the mellow coolness of the pale-mauve ice cream. Katherine was again taken by the ancient stone houses and the contrast of the restoration of one next to another that was crumbling in disrepair. Both displayed their own unique beauty. And then, of course, there were the doors.

  “I love, love, love it,” she repeated as she kept working her camera shutter. “It’s such a buzz knowing that these same dwellings have been inhabited for hundreds of years. I’m absolutely fascinated by it, as you know from Provence—the history, the atmosphere . . .”

  A half hour later they were back on the road and climbing again.

  Philippe told her to look up, way up, where she could see a medieval village clinging to the top of the highest peak.

  His words brought alive a love story between a noble who once lived in the castle that hung off the cliff and the daughter of a shepherd who tended his flock in the fields below. Fable or fact, no one really knew any longer, but it was a passionate tale that brought the countryside to life as the hills flashed by.

  “I am constantly astonished at how these perched villages were ever built on such remote rocky crags,” Katherine gasped.

  When they stopped in Gourdon, their beer was refreshing, with the late afternoon still hot without the cooling breeze from the ride. They were seated in a quaint square, surrounded by fairy tale–type architecture and a panorama that stretched down across the hills to the coast. It was easy to pick out the iconic Baie des Anges Marina. The multitiered design of the massive condo development gave the appearance of an ocean liner. That controversial landmark signaled Nice to the east, Antibes to the west. The Mediterranean glistened beyond.

  Katherine felt on top of the world.

  She had endless questions about the communities in the area, and Philippe explained how recent development was creating great change but the history of towns such as Gourdon would always remain alive. The government was putting in strict controls to ensure such treasured heritage was not lost.

  Watching his face, Katherine allowed herself to appreciate what she had noticed about him at their first meeting at Joy’s family lunch. His deep-set, intense dark eyes flashed with emotion as he spoke. Damp curls fell across his strong, high forehead, released as they were now from the restrictive helmet. The strong profile of his nose caused her to fleetingly fantasize of Roman ancestry, and when she got to his lips she gave herself a shake and attempted to focus back on the conversation.

  Back on the road, the talk became more personal. Their physical closeness combined with the inability to have eye contact somehow offered the right combination for disclosure.

  Katherine spoke about the feelings of independence her trips to France had given her.

  She confided how the breakup of her marriage had caused her to worry about being alone and how she had come to realize she had been alone in her marriage.

  “My two weeks in Sainte-Mathilde were the best thing that could have happened to me. I had never done anything like that on my own—never done anything alone, really! This may sound strange, but the more time I spent on my own there, the more alive I felt.”

  Katherine could feel Philippe’s response as he put a hand on her clasped fingers across his chest.

  “I had a bit of a relapse just before I came to Antibes. I almost canceled.”

  “I’m glad you did not,” he said softly. She tightened her grasp ever so slightly.

  “So am I.”

  Philippe spoke again about the overwhelming grief he had battled for several years after the death of his wife. “Had it not been for Adorée, I don’t know how I would have survived. Grief is so raw, so consuming and painful. It turns light into dark and strangles hope . . .”

  Katherine gulped back tears at the depth of his sadness. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Time has helped me to come to terms with everything. I owed it to both Adorée and Geneviève to be the best father I could, and that is what I became. The rest of my life really didn’t matter. Gradually my love for my work came to the surface again. So that was good for me when Adorée became older and then went off to school.”

  They could feel each other’s pain.

  “It’s good to be able to talk to you about it,” he said. “Really, to be honest, I resisted all these years in opening this door to anyone.”

  Katherine felt herself lean more deeply against him and sensed the response of his body to hers.

  “This is the first time I have taken anyone except Adorée on this bike in six years,” he said softly.

  Her eyes filled again as she swallowed hard.

  The ride down was even more thrilling. By the time they arrived back in An
tibes, Katherine was beaming. The only negative is that I have to unwrap my arms from his strong body that feels so very, very good.

  She shook her head and ran her hands through her hair, trying to eliminate some of what she was certain was unattractive helmet head.

  “You look just fine, Katherine. Don’t worry.”

  From the first time she met Philippe, the way he said her name sounded special, beautiful even. She had never thought of her name that way before him. In fact, she had preferred being called Kat or Katica. Katherine, from Philippe’s lips, sounded quite wonderful to her.

  And now this afternoon, bringing them so physically close, creating an intimacy that surprised and excited her. She tried to hide her confusion with enthusiasm.

  “I loved this, Philippe. Thank you! The motorcycle ride was truly thrilling and the villages, the views—magnifique!”

  “If you have time, we will go to back Saint-Paul another day.”

  “Definitely!”

  “If you like we can also go to one of the goat farms that supplies my chèvres. That ride is different, much farther into the hills, to where it becomes rocky and rugged. A different world again. They serve a hearty lunch with everything from their own farm.”

  “I would love that too!”

  He laughed, giving her a perplexed look. “Is there anything here you don’t love to do? I’ve met many excitable tourists, but you are a different breed altogether.”

  Blushing, Katherine said, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “I meant it as one,” he said with a smile, his eyes holding hers hostage.

  She invited him for a light dinner, and he promised to come over after he slipped home to shower and change.

  Katherine found herself thinking how she would like it if he showered and changed at her place. Her fantasies were suddenly expanding when it came to her fromager.

  52

  Philippe arrived an hour later with a fresh baguette, a block of delicious-looking chèvre sitting in golden olive oil and herbs in a container, and a bottle of Bandol rosé, which he knew was Katherine’s favorite.