“Save the chèvre for tomorrow,” he suggested, as he placed a small, wrapped packet on the counter. “I have something else for us tonight.”
Katherine had mixed a salad of arugula and spinach with cherry tomatoes and green onion.
At the market that morning she had purchased plump, local white fish, which she planned to pop on the grill and serve with oil and lemon.
The peach tart at the boulangerie had been too tempting to pass up. The menu was complete.
The grill was in the intimate, stone-walled front courtyard. Bright flowers tumbled from the large earthenware pots that she religiously watered. With the massive purple bougainvillea cascading down one wall, Katherine felt it was her secret garden. She set the table with her bright Provençal tablecloth, Biot glasses, and warm light glowed from a Biot glass candleholder, a brilliant shade of blue, as the centerpiece.
“Magnifique,” Philippe commented, taking in the setting. As he opened the wine, Katherine felt proud of the warmth she was creating in her temporary home.
Philippe lifted his glass of rosé to Katherine’s, looking deeply into her eyes. “Here’s to a beautiful day with a beautiful woman. Thank you for going with me.”
Katherine flushed, feeling a flutter of emotion. “Thank you for asking me. That was such an adventure! There’s still so much for me to see.”
“Less than a month left. What will you do when you go home?” Philippe asked.
“Ohhh, I don’t want to think about leaving.”
“Then don’t.”
Katherine laughed. “Well, I have to face reality. I have a home to take care of and a new job to begin.”
Philippe nodded slowly, saying nothing for a few seconds. Then he asked about her new job.
Katherine described, in greater detail than ever before, the type of work she had been doing and what she would continue to do in her new research position with the hospital.
“Do you enjoy this?”
“I find it interesting and challenging. We are involved in interpreting studies, so there is always something new to consider. I work with nice people who I really didn’t get to know very well until this past year. Funny how we can live within a bit of a bubble sometimes.”
Philippe nodded. “I know that bubble. I stayed in it even when friends wanted to introduce me to women. They were just trying to be kind and thoughtful, but I wasn’t ready. In fact, I thought I would never be ready.”
This time Katherine nodded. She got it.
“Et bien, we should be laughing and smiling after our beautiful day. Let’s do that!”
“D’accord,” Katherine said with a grin.
Philippe offered to do the grill work, which took just a few minutes.
Katherine poured more wine.
“À ta santé,” Philippe toasted. Katherine smiled and raised her glass, as their eyes met once again.
Philippe continued, “It’s so important to look into the eyes of the person with whom you are toasting; otherwise, the sentiment is lost.”
“That makes so much sense, and yet many people don’t even think about it and just clink glasses. This will be another lesson from France.”
Philippe chuckled, turning back to the grill.
The meal was ready in minutes, but more than an hour later they were still at the table, slowly relishing each taste of the Reblochon Philippe had brought. He entertained her with the story of how the cheese was first invented by farmers in the thirteenth century. They would pay their rent in milk and then secretly milk their cows a second time, keeping the much richer product to make this cheese.
Kat laughed as he explained, a sly look in his eye, “This is what I call a sexy cheese. It creates stirrings of fromage passion that are almost inappropriate.”
Here’s another French lesson, Katherine thought as they lingered over the simple meal. Eating is such a social experience here, savoring the food as well as the conversation. They seem to know so much more about what they are eating than I have ever imagined. Even food has a colorful history here.
His voice took on a deeper tone of rapture as he described a tartiflette famous in the Alps consisting of potatoes, bacon, onion, and cream smothered in melted Reblochon.
“Riding up into the Alps on my Ducati is another experience you should put on your list,” Philippe suggested, his voice filled with a different type of desire.
Their eyes met in a gaze that seemed to surprise them both.
“I . . . I would like that,” Katherine finally sputtered, a bit awkwardly, before she stood and tried to look like she knew what she was doing. Her head was spinning.
“Those little fish were full of flavor, just delicious,” Katherine said as they cleared the table together.
“The trick is in the timing of the grilling, and the oil, always the oil—that’s it.”
“I’ve never eaten as much seafood as I have since I arrived here,” Kat said. “It’s all so good. My education in fish, bread, wine, and of course les fromages has been outstanding!”
Philippe laughed. “I hope I haven’t been . . . too pédant?”
Katherine reached for her dictionary, never far away. “Aha, pedantic, are you kidding? I never would have guessed in a million years what there was to learn about cheese, and somehow I feel we aren’t finished!”
Looking up at the moon from where they sat in the courtyard, Katherine suggested they go up to the terrace for dessert.
Standing at the railing, Katherine described her fondness for Le Grand Nomade.
“He looks so magical, especially bathed in moonlight, standing sentinel over the harbor.”
“It was a source of controversy at first,” Philippe said. “But then everyone seemed to fall in love with it.”
“I have heard the story behind it. Quite delightful,” Kat replied.
His voice softened. “And the artist, Jaume Plensa’s philosophy?”
“No, not that.”
Philippe continued, his voice becoming quietly intimate. “I read an interview with him that touched me deeply. The feeling he expresses through this work is that letters are like bricks. They help us to construct our thoughts. He described his belief that our skin is permanently and invisibly tattooed with the text of our life experiences, and then someone comes along—a friend, a lover—who is able to decipher these tattoos.”
Biting her lip, Kat looked out over the calm sea. “The text of this year of my life would call for quite the tattoo.”
Philippe gazed at her, his eyes soft. A nuance of a smile hovered at their corners. His arms slipped around her and she responded instinctively, sinking into his embrace. She knew she had missed that, and suddenly she was feeling vulnerable.
After leaving lingering kisses on each of her cheeks, Philippe pulled his head back, keeping his arms around her. Once their eyes met, Katherine was unable to look away.
He kissed her lips gently. Feeling a long-forgotten quickening deep inside her, Katherine lost herself in the moment.
They remained embracing, as if each was wondering what would come next.
Gently pulling away, Katherine moved clumsily and began to clear the dishes.
Consumed by the wave of emotion, she felt almost in a trance.
I’ve felt this before, and it was never with James . . . Villefranche . . . Marc-André . . . a desire I’ve not known since, until now . . .
Philippe gathered the wineglasses. As he handed them to Katherine, he held her gaze with a warmth and intensity she allowed to wash through her before he spoke again. “It’s a beautiful night. Let’s walk down to the beach.”
Katherine felt the pulse in her neck beating madly as they walked out the door.
Is his heart pounding like mine?
The old town had a slower feel to it these evenings as the crowds of August had gradually filtered away. The warm evening air was less humid now, inviting lingering strolls.
Stopping to listen, faint singing and music could be heard.
“I’ll bet
that’s the tavern in Safranier! Do you want to pass by?”
There always seemed to be a festival of some sort in this special community just a few twists and turns through the maze of streets from the market. Traditions and ancient customs were celebrated with gusto.
Stopping by the tavern terrace that bordered the flower-lined square, they were engulfed by the high-spirited atmosphere. Singers and dancers were performing in colorful folk costumes while children of all ages ran around or bounced on knees.
Philippe was hailed by friends to join the table. The conversation and ambiance were pure good fun. People sang along with the entertainers, who laughed and encouraged their participation.
Katherine felt Philippe’s eyes on her through much of this time, and after a glass of wine and a polite time visiting, they said goodnight to the rowdy group and carried on to the beach.
When she stumbled slightly on a crumbling curb, Philippe caught Katherine by the hand. Their eyes met briefly when neither let go, continuing to walk hand in hand until they reached a secluded bench by the sea.
As the tranquil moonlit waves gently lapped at the shore, Katherine spoke of the thrill she felt having the opportunity to live right on the sea. “The smells, the sounds, the movement of the sky and water . . . I look out and can’t help thinking of the history that has crossed these waters . . . the ancient Greeks, the Romans, the Moors. I see billowing sails, tall masts, the wooden ships transporting their goods, warships coming to resupply, Napoleon’s armies. Somehow my fantasies stop short of thinking about more modern times and the bad history.”
“You see all that in among the luxury yachts?” Philippe teased. “You’re a romantic, Katherine, une vraie femme romantique. This sea can be cruel and dangerous at times, especially to our fishermen. People who make their living from her do not necessarily share such romantic notions. Violent storms appear out of nowhere and rage for days.”
Katherine nodded.
“I’m going to miss the Med.”
Still holding her hand, Philippe continued, “And I’m going to miss you. You have helped open my soul again in so many ways, to see a side to life I had stopped appreciating.”
Katherine bowed her head, feeling much the same without voicing it, and then turned slowly to look at him.
Philippe’s voice had stilled. His eyes studied hers in a way she could not remember experiencing. The feeling was strangely powerful and extraordinary.
It seemed there was no thought, but rather simple reflex, that brought their lips together for a very long time, tender and loving. A kiss that touched Katherine so deeply that she could barely keep from bursting into tears.
They pulled back briefly, eyes meeting as their arms slipped around each other into a gently passionate embrace, their lips saying everything once more.
“Katherine, sweet, sweet Katherine,” whispered Philippe, brushing his cheek in her hair. “What are we doing? Where are we going with this?”
“I haven’t allowed myself to think about it. I never thought you saw me this way,” she answered softly.
They held each other in that embrace for several minutes.
“I have only a little over three weeks left,” Katherine murmured, pulling her protective forces around her ever so slightly. “We don’t know what this is and don’t really have the time to find out.”
She was hearing Molly’s comments about flings echoing in her head and wondered if this was the one she was meant to have.
What if I’m wrong, and this is nothing more? Perhaps the interlude with Nick was just a warm-up. I mean, what do I know about all this?
Arms around each other, they walked back to her place, each knowing precisely how they wanted this night to continue, each unsure of where it would go from there.
Philippe opened the door for her. They stepped inside and were immediately caught up in slow, deep kisses full of erotic desire. Their lips and bodies moved together in a sensuous dance, responding naturally to each other.
Finally they leaned against the wall in an embrace that conveyed all the emotion they were feeling.
“I’m going home,” he whispered in her ear, his voice deep and low.
“Go home,” she whispered back, unconvincingly.
“I don’t want to.”
“I don’t want you to either, but I don’t want our beautiful friendship to change. I’m afraid.”
She felt him nod his head.
They parted slightly, their eyes locked. Seeing the same depth of feeling, the same desire, the same connection.
Nick might have been the warm-up, but this doesn’t feel like just a fling.
Pulling her close, he kissed her forehead.
“I’ll see you tomorrow for dinner then at Nounou, right?”
Katherine sighed, feeling confused but sensing they were doing the right thing. Her body was screaming otherwise.
“Yes, I’ll pick up my cousins at the airport tomorrow morning. They are just flying from Vienna, so no jet lag to deal with! I’m looking forward to dinner.”
They laughed awkwardly, knowing what they really wanted at this moment, and with a determined nod, he turned and left.
Katherine remained leaning against the wall of the narrow entranceway. Her entire body throbbed with desire. She could not recall feeling anything so intensely—not even in Villefranche.
This is so completely different from what I felt with Nick. When Nick got started with me, I wanted what he would do to me. This time I want what Philippe and I will do to each other.
Feeling happiness and surprise mixed with confusion and apprehension, she climbed up the stairs, stripping her clothes along the way.
Stepping into the shower, she closed her eyes and felt Philippe’s soft, strong lips on hers. The water matched his tender touch, making her entire body feel alive and sensuous. She arched her back and felt something of the pleasure she now suspected they had the power to give to each other.
Where did I put those gifts Molly left me . . .
It was a while before she could even think about sleep. Eyes wide open, she lay looking at the ceiling, realizing it would take some time to sort out her emotions.
At length, her excitement over Andrea and Terrence’s arrival for a quick three-night visit replaced all other thoughts as sleep found her.
53
Katherine spent the morning cleaning Maison Beau Soleil from top to bottom. She knew her burst of energy was directly linked to the sexual exhilaration of the night before. Philippe had ignited fires that were refusing to go out.
The iPod speakers had been on full blast while she worked, and much of the time she put one song on repeat. Molly had gifted it to her from iTunes earlier in the week, and she couldn’t stop listening to it.
“Stronger,” by Kelly Clarkson, seemed to have been written just for Katherine, Molly said in her e-mail. It was quite remarkable, Kat had to agree. The chorus began, “What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger . . .”
Go figure.
The song was about a breakup in a relationship and how the woman was now much stronger, feeling liberated and a great deal happier. This was Katherine today. No question about it.
Bernadette picked her up at noon. Depositing Katherine at “Arrivals” at the Nice airport, she indicated where she would be waiting with the car.
There were shrieks of delight as Andrea and Katherine leaped into each other’s arms and bounced around. Terrence grinned broadly before scooping Kat into a bear hug.
“I can’t believe you’re here!” she cried with joy.
Katherine was entertained watching their reactions as Bernadette delivered her standard routine driving along the Bord de Mer. Like most first-time visitors to the Côte d’Azur, they marveled at the scenery.
Terrence exclaimed, “You certainly weren’t exaggerating!”
They told Katherine how they were enjoying their exchange at a small farm property just outside Vienna. The house was an ultramodern contemporary style, completely different f
rom their farmhouse in St. Jacobs.
The farm was a hobby for the retired owners. The manager who helped oversee the work had taken a shine to Andrea and Terrence, and he and his wife had invited them to dinner and spent another day touring them around.
“So we have a good source of support if we need help with anything, and they are great folks. Our communication is mostly smiles and hand gestures, but it works,” Andrea commented with a grin.
They compared how this exchange of Katherine’s was quite different from the one at the Lallibert farmhouse in Provence.
“This time I haven’t had the same kind of family involvement. Bernadette was my contact person, and she has been terrific, but I’ve hardly needed to bother her except for driving at times—and that’s her business. I’ve really been on my own, but of course Molly was with me at the beginning, and we met Nick then. Then it turned out Philippe lives here, which was a huge surprise, and of course Mirella, from the last exchange, put me onto the International Women’s Club in Nice, and before I knew it, I had a life here!”
“It’s surprising how easy it is to slip into a different world, isn’t it?”
“Truly an eye-opener for me,” admitted Katherine. “Life changing, really. Speaking the language a little bit definitely makes it easier, though. I even found a hairdresser here, through the ladies in my bridge group, and I like her better than the one I go to at home.”
“I guess they speak English?” Andrea asked.
“As a matter of fact, not much! But listen—I love how this happened. The first time I went, there was one other customer, very friendly and just so much fun. Her name is Christiane and she does speak some English. She is a longtime friend of the proprietor and the other sweet young stylist. I had such a good time in their company that when Christiane said she had an appointment every Saturday, I made all my appointments on Saturday too. I can’t tell you how much I learned from the three of them about living here and French attitudes and humor and things like that. I’ll never forget those women, and we plan to keep in touch!”
The Promise of Provence (Love in Provence Book 1) Page 39
