The Promise of Provence (Love in Provence Book 1)

by Patricia Sands

  “It just proves that people are friendly no matter what country,” said Terrence.

  “We’re always happy to go home, though,” Andrea said.

  “No place like it,” he agreed.

  Katherine was quiet for a moment. “Well, you know how much I love Toronto. And I’m proud to be a Canadian, but I have to tell you, I feel so at home in this country. There is something about the surroundings and the culture that speaks directly to my heart.”

  “Just from the little we’ve seen from the airport to here, I can understand—and of course, this house is a little piece of paradise. But perhaps it’s the novelty of it all too,” Andrea replied.

  As it had Molly, the town of Antibes captivated Andrea and Terrence.

  Their first stop, as Katherine had promised, was Félix Café, immortalized by author Graham Greene during the three decades he lived and wrote in a nearby apartment.

  “Hmm, somehow I thought it would be a more colorful place,” Andrea commented.

  “And didn’t he call it Chez Félix?”

  “Never mind,” Andrea continued. “I’m loving just sitting where he sat. He’s one of our all-time favorite authors. This is very cool, isn’t it, Terr!”

  Terrence smiled broadly.

  “Did I ever tell you that apparently Pablo Picasso swilled down more than a few beverages in Maison Beau Soleil?” Katherine asked them.

  “Wha-a-at?” squealed Andrea.

  “You’ll see that my place is just down the street from the Musée Picasso, a part of which was once his studio, and Bernadette says he partied with everyone in those days, often just dropping in unannounced.”

  “Those would have been amazing years to live in the South of France. The arts have always been such a vibrant part of the life here.”

  Finishing their beers, they continued exploring the village and fantasized about who had hung out there before them.

  “The old town has such an atmosphere, Kat, with this blend of shops, restaurants, and homes. It’s so inviting! All of these patios tempting us to sit and relax, eat, drink, talk. It doesn’t just feel like a tourist town,” Andrea said as they strolled.

  “Exactly. There is such a mix of residents, ex-pats, and locals who work in town. Some families have occupied these homes for generations. The town feels lived in and authentic to me.”

  “It reminds me of St. Jacobs in a way,” observed Terrence, adding with a chuckle, “in a French way, of course.”

  Dinner at Nounou was the fine evening Katherine knew it would be.

  Philippe gave them a short tour of Juan-les-Pins beforehand, showing them Jardin de la Pinède and the concert venue La Pinède Gould, as they were well aware of their importance in the jazz world. Then he drove the short distance into Cannes to see the famous walk along the sea, La Croisette, pointing out a few hot spots of the International Film Festival before doubling back to Golfe-Juan and pulling into the restaurant’s parking lot.

  As Katherine had done, her visitors gasped when they stepped into the unexpected elegance of the restaurant. Philippe had arranged the best beachfront table, and the evening was filled with comfortable conversation while they dined on seafood, blazing crêpes Suzette, and cheese that truly offered them a fine example of French cuisine.

  After Philippe dropped them at home, Andrea, eyebrows raised, looked at Katherine. “Now, there is a fine man!”

  “No question,” agreed Katherine, a little too hastily. “Now let’s get to sleep. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

  Andrea’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth, about to push on about the subject of Philippe, but Katherine was already on her way up to her room, giving a clear message the exchange was over.

  The four-day visit flew by. In Nice, Katherine had her very own tour organized after her day with Molly.

  After exploring the market and old town, they strolled the pedestrian area and had a pastis in the bar of the famous hotel Le Negresco before dinner. Katherine had chosen La Merenda, a shoebox-size restaurant on the edge of the old town with a celebrated chef, serving traditional Provençal cuisine. She had been taken there first by Philippe, and they had returned more than once.

  “No reservations. No credit cards. No cell phones,” Terrence read aloud from a sign outside where the simple menu was printed on a blackboard.

  “Yes,” Kat explained, “we just have to poke our heads in and see when they can take us.”

  The next day featured a stop at the market to visit Philippe. When they dined at Restaurant Nounou, Terrence had been intrigued by his conversation with Philippe and wanted to see his business.

  Philippe took them to Biot in the afternoon to see the glassblowers and then up into the hills. A late afternoon drink on the bar terrace in Eze, hanging over the spectacular view, was a must before they ended up at a funky beachside bar in Eze-sur-Mer, drinking beer and snacking on la friture du jour, tiny fried fish.

  Up early on the last day, Andrea was in full tourist mode. “Let’s go! Kat says we can squeeze in Monaco. I love how so much is so close!”

  Arriving home midafternoon, they packed their carry-on bags and then sipped rosé on the rooftop terrace one last time. Later, Philippe and Katherine were going to drive Andrea and Terrence to the airport and carry on to a concert at the Nice Opera House.

  “I can’t believe how much we’ve packed into our stay,” Andrea exclaimed. “I never imagined it would be so easy to get around and that there would be so much to see so close by. This has been heaven—a very busy heaven!”

  “Philippe is a great guy, Kat,” Terrence said. “I like him very much.”

  Andrea gave Katherine a narrow-eyed stare. “I like him very much too. Do you like him very much, my darling cousin?”

  Katherine laughed, her color changing to the brightest shade of crimson. “I’ve been wondering when this question would come up from you two. Yes, I like him very much too, but I’m coming home very soon. Plus, he is ten years younger than I am, and there’s nothing going on beyond some semi-serious flirting.”

  “Methinks she doth protest too much,” countered Terrence, chuckling gently.

  “Seriously,” Andrea added.

  “Another time, another place,” said Kat. “It’s an unrealistic scenario here.”

  “You don’t have to come home, you know,” said Andrea. “You could stay if you wanted. The electricity between the two of you is almost dangerous to anyone in the vicinity!”

  “Well, let’s get real here. Now you’re being the romantic,” Kat exclaimed. “I’ve got the house to take care of, a new job to begin, and . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “And, nothing—my point exactly!”

  “Andie, dear Andie, I love it here, as you can see. I’m sure I will return on another exchange or whatever, but the fact is that I came for three months and my exchange is almost over. It’s time to get back to reality. I need to earn some money again, for starters.”

  Andrea looked at her and smiled. “Your mother would have loved to see what you’re doing and how you’re doing.”

  Nodding, Kat told her how much Elisabeth had been in her thoughts during the two exchanges, especially this one with her visit to the Ukraine. “If nothing else, that trip with Andrew—brief as it turned out to be—brought her words back to me loud and clear. I do believe I have lived this trip waking up every day appreciating what a gift it is.”

  “Yup,” said Andrea, “an attitude of gratitude is what it’s all about.”

  The talk turned to reminiscences of childhood days and the long history they shared.

  “I wish we could stay here longer! But we have another week left in our Austrian exchange, and then it’s back to the farm for us. We’ll only be back a week or so, and then you’ll be home.”

  Saying good-bye at the airport was easy, since they knew they would see each other in just a few weeks.

  Shaking his hand, Terrence couldn’t stop exclaiming how their visit had been unforgettable, and they both thanked Phil
ippe sincerely for all he had done.

  Philippe stepped forward to bise Andrea.

  “I do believe that’s my favorite French custom,” she announced.

  54

  From the airport it was just minutes to the old town. Parking in the underground garage below Cours Saleya, the pink-toned ornate belle époque opera house was a block away.

  Puccini’s La Bohème was opening the season, and Katherine was excited to hear it. James had hated opera, saying the voices spoiled the sound of the orchestra.

  Settling into elegant chairs in a small balcony framed with silken drapes, the red and gold decor evoked images of a golden age. The costumes, sets, and performances—especially Mimi’s classic death scene—did not disappoint.

  This was the first time they had been alone since the night they were in each other’s arms at the beach. Both were aware of the intense connection between them whenever they inadvertently brushed against each other.

  Partway through the second act, during a particularly moving aria, Philippe took Katherine’s hand and kissed it before tucking it into his for the remainder of the performance.

  Afterward they walked hand in hand to the car, having decided to have a nightcap back in Antibes. The night was unusually warm and muggy as September, and now October, were turning out to be the hottest on record.

  “Let’s go and sit on my little beach,” Katherine suggested, assuming ownership of La Gravette, as they finished their drinks at La César Café.

  “It will be cooler there, for certain. I have towels in the car, so I’ll get them as we pass by.”

  “I guess everyone who lives in this part of the world is prepared for a dip in the Med at any time.”

  “Exactement!”

  Slipping their shoes off, they walked barefoot in the sand. Philippe spread the large towels close to the water’s edge. The moon was a mere sliver, allowing the darkness to wrap around them. It was still hot, even by the sea.

  Katherine began wading, holding up her dress and struggling to maintain her balance on the pebbled bottom. Philippe rolled up his slacks to join her. Suddenly she lost her footing, and Philippe quickly reached to help her. Pulling her up by her hands, he slipped in the shallow water as well, and they both sat laughing.

  “Well,” she said, “we might as well go for a swim now.” Pulling off her simple linen sheath, now soaking, Katherine threw it onto the sand before diving underwater toward the center of the cove. Philippe stripped off his shirt and trousers, tossing them on a towel before he followed.

  The calm sea was refreshing as they swam to the large rocks that formed a breakwater at the mouth of the cove. Treading water and floating on their backs, they studied the night sky, picking out constellations and outdoing each other as they made some up.

  Soft lighting fell across the water from some of the luxury yachts anchored nearby, and a few small fishing boats out for a night catch could be seen, red rigging lights bobbing in the distance.

  When their feet could touch bottom, Philippe pulled Katherine into his arms, and they made love with their lips. Long, slow kisses that were at the same time, tender, romantic, intense. Katherine’s heart raced as the seductive kisses seemed to touch her soul.

  Something prevented her from pulling him out of the water and onto the towels to make love right there.

  She recognized what was stopping her. Fear. Falling in love was not on her agenda, but what she was feeling did not fit into the category of a fling.

  Catching their breath as they stumbled back onto the sand, Philippe wrapped a towel around Katherine’s wet body and another around his.

  Scooping up their clothes, he took her hand and they ran back to the house, trying not to make too much noise with their laughter.

  “Let’s get the salt water off,” he said, and Kat led him to the shower on the guest-room level. She leaned in to turn on the water and turned back to where he was standing. Undoing her towel, all resolve vanished. She stripped off her soaking-wet underwear and stepped into the stall, leaving the door open and not taking her eyes from him.

  Philippe dropped his towel to the floor and joined her.

  Naked, they pressed together as the warm water washed over them. Reaching for the soap, he ran it over her neck, her back, her shoulders, her arms, her breasts, her stomach, and on down. His lips followed, kissing her body as the soap ran off.

  Katherine did the same, her fears banished by the sheer intensity of the moment. A fire burned up her limbs and into her very core. Their lips found each other again.

  No words were spoken as Philippe picked her up and carried her to the bed. Pulling back the duvet, he laid Katherine softly on the bed. Their wet bodies fused as she wrapped her legs around him. Nothing existed but the sensation of being loved.

  Taking their sweet time, the lovemaking was cautious at first—a slow sensual symphony as she moaned, softly urging him on. Philippe gently nibbled her ear and neck. Discovering how to excite each other, there was no rush to reach the peak of that pleasure . . . le plaisir.

  His touch felt like he was reading her body by braille, interpreting the messages it was telling him. His fingertips traced lightly at first before his strong hands pressed slowly up to her face and into her hair.

  Looking into each other’s eyes, Katherine had only one thought as she gasped with anticipation. Desire—this truly is desire.

  Touching him, Kat was drowning in the response of her hands on his smooth skin, his strong body, his tight buttocks.

  Giving themselves to each other with total abandon, desire drifted from lingering rapture to urgent hunger and back again through the night, until finally they lay entangled in each other.

  His warm tears mingled with hers as the realization surfaced of all they were sharing, still without words. His hands brushed her hair. Her fingertips gently wiped his tears as he kissed hers away. Then they slept.

  Katherine awoke alone. She had been carefully covered with a light sheet and lay with the sun streaming in, feeling fulfilled and confused.

  What the hell have I done?

  But she knew what she had done. What they had done. The question was, what would they do with it now?

  Stretching slowly, she closed her eyes and luxuriated in the lingering memory of their lovemaking. A light smile played across her face. It’s still there. I’m not too old. That spark of excitement that ignited the fire . . . She felt her body move sensuously into the sheet as she recalled the bursts of pure pleasure that had surged right to her toes . . . time after time . . .

  She thought about Andrea’s words at the airport, about not having to go home.

  Trust Andrea to see past what is holding me back. She’s so calm and logical and willing to take risks. Everything she said is what I feel but can’t give myself permission to accept.

  Philippe appeared in the doorway with fresh croissants. She could see he had even gone to Choopy’s to pick up her special caffe mocha.

  Wearing a slightly abashed expression, he placed the tray on a side table and sat on the edge of the bed. Taking Katherine’s hand, he kissed it lightly on the back and the palm. With the back of her other hand, she softly rubbed the light stubble on his cheek before pulling him to her for a brief but tender kiss.

  “It was a beautiful night,” he murmured, his eyes and voice full of emotion. He spoke slowly, as if hearing the echo of each word and confirming his voice was expressing what his heart was feeling. “You are a most special woman, Katherine. I never thought I would meet someone like you.”

  She put her fingers to his lips, as if afraid of what he might say next, while she responded in close to a whisper, “It was so beautiful. Oh yes, it was. And you are special to me too. We have so much to think about, so much to work through—in our hearts, in our heads.”

  Philippe nodded. “Oui, c’est vrai. It’s true . . .”

  “I don’t want this to change the friendship we share. I’m leaving in just over two weeks—that’s the reality here. Can we just ke
ep going and see where this takes us?”

  “I want you to know I have not been with anyone since Geneviève. It’s important to me that you know this. You know there is nothing to worry about. We did not take precautions . . .”

  Kat had not even considered that aspect, she realized with an internal admonition, and appreciated his concern that she might worry.

  She assured him that he too had nothing to fear.

  “It’s okay. Let’s not talk about it anymore now. Let’s just be.”

  “Oui . . . let’s just be.”

  He brought her a robe that was hanging by the shower. “I’ll take the tray to the rooftop and we can have a quick bite. Désolé, I must get back to work, but I will come back after we close up—if you like.”

  “Of course I would like that.”

  As she reached for the robe, their hands touched. It took only a second for Katherine to pull him to her, wordlessly stripping off his T-shirt as he unzipped his jeans and kicked them aside. Their kisses were strong and fiery. Quickly he straddled her and felt her hips rise to meet him as they both groaned with pleasure. He hungrily kissed her neck, her hair. Katherine felt a hot streak course deep into her pelvis and she pushed him back, this time climbing on top of him.

  All reserve was gone. She felt strong, sexy, desired, knowing what she wanted to give and to get.

  Later, Philippe held her face for a long time as they lay together. Then he drew it to him. “You are beautiful,” he whispered, covering her cheeks, her nose, and her forehead with small kisses. “You are such a gift.”

  Breakfast could wait.

  55

  He did come back after work. Katherine had been counting the minutes.

  “You have never seen where I live, Katherine. Did you not think it odd that I never invited you to my place?”

  “To be honest, I never really thought about it because we were always going off to somewhere interesting or out of town. But now that you mention it, where do you live, anyway?”

  “Two places,” he answered. “Let’s go on our bikes.”