A Winter's Dream

by Sophie Claire

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘It was a bad high side. I got thrown from the bike. Broke my back and a few ribs.’ He stroked her distractedly and the memories trickled in. Strangely, they weren’t bad ones. There’d been a little frustration, he supposed, because he was forced to take a break from racing, but he’d never doubted that he’d return. The doctors had operated, he’d recuperated and returned to training. Simple.

  ‘Was anyone else hurt?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about the second crash?’

  ‘A bad bend. I leaned in too much, lost traction.’ He waved a hand in the air. He’d made a mistake. What more was there to say?

  ‘What did it feel like? What were you thinking? Or was there no time to think because it happened so fast?’

  ‘There’s more time than you imagine. Everything kind of slows.’ He’d known the moment it happened that the bike had tipped too far. He could still feel himself spinning across the track, relaxing as he’d been trained to do, bouncing across the gravel, gradually slowing, thinking he was lucky this time and he’d got away lightly – then the hard smack. ‘That time my bike hit me.’

  ‘Is that what hurt your shoulder?’

  He nodded.

  She released a slow breath. ‘I can’t imagine having a job where each day you could get injured. Or worse.’

  ‘It was what I loved.’ He realised he’d used the past tense. And where was the anger, the frustration? Something had shifted in him. Perhaps he was finally beginning to put it behind him.

  He drew Liberty to him, not wanting to think. Just to feel. And when he kissed her, boy, did he feel. A rainbow of sensations filled his head, blotting out the past and the future, leaving only the present.

  She lifted his scarred wrist to her lips. He watched as she dropped feather-light kisses down the length of the scar. It was unbearably sexy. Her lips moved slowly to his palm, his fingers. His muscles tightened. He was certain he’d never wanted or needed anyone as much as this. His fingers brushed her face, and their mouths were just centimetres apart. Every nerve ending was alert and sharp. He hadn’t felt so alive in months – not since before the crash, in fact – and his heart soared like it used to when he crossed the finish line in pole position. Shivers of pleasure rolled through him until finally, with a ragged sigh, he drew her to him.

  He kissed her fiercely. Passionately. No holds barred. As he’d been wanting to do for so long now.

  ‘It’s wonderful to have you here,’ said Alex’s mum, Babette.

  ‘I’m so grateful to you for having me,’ Liberty replied.

  It was seven thirty on Christmas Eve and they were all seated at the wooden table in Babette’s spacious kitchen, Alex’s two brothers and their partners, his baby nephew, and of course Babette and her partner Bernard. Liberty was very grateful that they’d agreed to speak English for her benefit. The little snatches of French she’d heard were unintelligible to her.

  Babette waved away her words and smiled. ‘This strike is a real nuisance.’

  ‘Many people have been stranded because of it,’ agreed Bernard. He was filling everyone’s glass with red wine.

  Liberty hadn’t known him long, but she could already tell he was a modest man, as big and broad as a bear, but gentle and quietly spoken. Driving there, Liberty hadn’t been sure what to expect: Alex hadn’t really talked about his family much, and she remembered the stony look in his eyes when he’d spoken about his father. If he was always travelling, perhaps he didn’t see them often, perhaps they weren’t close.

  But the moment she’d arrived at Babette and Bernard’s house, she’d realised that wasn’t the case at all. Alex’s mum had enveloped him in a hug, then she’d done the same for Liberty. And Bernard had shaken their hands warmly.

  ‘It’s so sad,’ Babette went on. ‘Christmas is when families need to be together.’

  Alex brought the food to the table. ‘Here we are, everybody: gratin de courgettes.’

  He’d explained to Liberty that whereas most of France feasted on Christmas Eve, Provençal tradition was to eat seven courses of vegetables or fish, but no meat before Christmas Day. The gratin he and Babette had prepared smelt delicious, and he began to serve.

  ‘So tell me why you came to France,’ Babette said. ‘Alex said it was something to do with your work.’

  ‘I was delivering quilts for the festival in Tourmarin.’

  Babette’s eyes brightened. ‘So you quilt yourself? You must show me your work.’

  ‘Gladly. I have lots of pictures.’

  ‘I love quilts. I have them in every bedroom, but they’re all shop bought, I’m afraid.’

  Liberty smiled. ‘Yes, I noticed them. The one in my room is beautiful.’

  It was made from traditional French fabrics with a floral pattern in shades of faded red and grey. She’d seen many cheap imitations of old-style French quilts, but looking at the tiny hand-stitching, Liberty wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that this one was a genuine antique. It suited her room perfectly. And she’d spotted more quilts when Alex had given her a quick tour of the rest of the house that afternoon.

  ‘Is your room all right?’ Babette asked warmly. ‘Do you have everything you need?’

  ‘It’s perfect.’ She and Alex had the two attic rooms. Painted white, hers was airy and the roof sloped steeply to a small window with stunning views over the vine-filled valley. She had a huge bed, and next door was a bathroom, which she shared with Alex, whose room was opposite hers. She hoped he wouldn’t spend much time in it.

  She thought of last night, and wanted to smile: it had been so different from any other relationship she’d had before, so … perfect.

  ‘This is such a beautiful place you have,’ she told Babette, and glanced at the French windows. It was dark now, but earlier she’d seen the big garden and forested hillside behind the house.

  The whole place was light and bright, tastefully decorated with lots of whitewashed wooden furniture and gold-edged antiques. The style spoke of good taste, and Liberty guessed it hadn’t been cheap.

  ‘Thank you. We had a lot of work done before we moved in so it’s exactly as we want it.’ Babette shared a smile with Bernard, and the love in their eyes made Liberty’s heart tug.

  Alex finished serving and sat down next to her. The basket of bread was passed round and everyone looked poised to tuck in when Babette cleared her throat.

  ‘While you’re all quiet,’ she said, addressing her family, ‘this is a good time to tell you our news.’ She smiled. ‘Bernard and I have set a date for our wedding.’

  ‘Your wedding?’ Alex’s eyes were wide with disbelief.

  Sensing the tension, Liberty glanced nervously at Babette, but she simply smiled and said, ‘Yes. In May next year.’

  Was he upset his mother was remarrying? His brothers appeared relaxed.

  Alex cleared his throat. ‘It’s very soon. Are you sure this is what you want, Maman?’

  Bernard raised an eyebrow. Babette placed a reassuring hand over his.

  ‘Yes,’ she told her son. ‘I’m very sure.’ She smiled at Bernard. ‘See? I told you he’d be overprotective.’

  Alex raised his hands in the air. ‘You know I like you, Bernard. I just don’t want you to rush into this and regret it.’

  ‘Like you did with Solange,’ said his younger brother, Jules, and rolled his eyes.

  His brother Victor shot him a hard look. There was a beat of silence. Liberty saw Babette glance at her, then quickly away.

  ‘I’ve thought about it long and hard,’ Babette assured Alex. ‘We both have, and we’re sure it’s what we want. You don’t need to worry.’

  Alex nodded, and seemed to relax. ‘Then I’m happy for you,’ he said, with a wide smile. He reached to shake Bernard’s hand. ‘Both of you.’

  ‘It’s great news, Maman,’ said Victor. ‘Where will the wedding be?’

  ‘Here. It will be a small affair, just family and a handful of close fri
ends in the village church, with a meal at the house after.’

  ‘Give us the date,’ said Jules, ‘and we’ll dust off our suits.’

  Alex was looking very thoughtful. Then he asked his mum quietly, ‘Would you like me to walk you down the aisle?’

  Liberty saw the sudden shine in Babette’s eyes. ‘Oh! I hadn’t thought of that. Yes, I would like it very much. Thank you, Alex.’

  Everyone smiled, and Liberty felt love settle around the room, like a warm blanket. It was particularly poignant knowing how unhappy Babette’s first marriage had been. She sipped her wine.

  ‘This house is the perfect setting,’ said Victor’s wife, Laure, as she bounced baby Maxence on her knee. He was around a year old, a happy little thing, eager to try the food on his mum’s plate, which made Liberty chuckle.

  ‘Yes, we love it here,’ said Babette. ‘The views and the forest behind, the village nearby, and everyone has been so welcoming. It’s as if I’d never left.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have left, Maman,’ said Alex.

  ‘I didn’t have much choice. Your father hated it. He used to say it was un petit trou perdu.’

  ‘In the middle of nowhere,’ Alex translated for Liberty.

  She wondered if he remembered that he’d used the same words to describe her cottage when he first arrived in Willlowbrook.

  He turned to his mum. ‘You should have stood up to him.’

  She tilted her head, indicating she agreed. ‘But at the time I thought it would make him happy to move to Paris.’

  ‘I like it here,’ said Laure. ‘It’s nice to get away from the city.’ She’d explained to Liberty that she and Victor lived on the outskirts of Paris. They’d moved from the city centre to the suburbs a year ago when Maxence was born.

  ‘And we’re not too far from Nice if we need the shops,’ said Bernard.

  ‘Will you use the Citroën for the wedding?’ asked Alex.

  Babette explained to Liberty, ‘Bernard has an old Citroën DS in the garage. He adores it, but it’s not usable.’

  ‘It will be,’ Bernard corrected. His eyes danced with good humour. ‘It just needs a few repairs.’

  Babette tutted. ‘The brakes are not working! That’s a major repair.’

  Bernard turned to Alex. ‘Your mother won’t let me use it until they’re fixed.’

  ‘Want me to take a look?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Your old Yamaha is in there, too,’ Babette told Alex. ‘Are you going to be racing at Le Castellet?’

  ‘Of course. It’s my favourite race.’

  Liberty tensed. When was he planning to tell his family he’d been forced to retire? It felt wrong that she knew something they didn’t.

  He turned to her and explained, ‘On the sixth of January there’s an event called the Moto Legends Cup. It’s for classic bikes. I have an old Yamaha I like to race – for fun.’

  ‘Not like your other races?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing like that. It’s for charity and to showcase the old bikes.’

  Even so, she felt a small shiver of worry at the thought of him racing. What if the weakness in his wrist caused him to get hurt?

  ‘I hope that old bike is safe to ride,’ said Babette. ‘You only use her once a year and you don’t have a team of engineers to look after her.’

  ‘I’ll check her over and take her for a test run. Anyway, that race isn’t about speed.’

  Babette laughed and said to Liberty, ‘He says that, but he’s not happy if he doesn’t win.’

  ‘Well, this year maybe it won’t matter as much if I don’t win,’ Alex said. He and Babette exchanged a look Liberty couldn’t fathom, until he explained to her in a quiet voice, ‘I used to enjoy beating my father in this race.’

  Babette tutted again. ‘And this was not a good reason for competing.’

  ‘Maybe, but it felt good,’ he said.

  At the other end of the table, the conversation broke off as Victor lifted his glass. ‘Let’s make a toast to Maman and Bernard,’ he said. ‘To your happy marriage.’

  ‘Babette and Bernard!’ Everyone chinked glasses.

  ‘So, Liberty and Alex, how did you two meet?’ asked Victor.

  ‘I stayed with Liberty while I was in England. She rented me a room in her house.’

  ‘Ah, yes, and how was your trip?’

  Bernard stopped eating and frowned.

  ‘Uneventful,’ Alex said.

  ‘You didn’t find her, then?’

  ‘No. Sadly.’

  ‘What are you going to do next?’ Victor asked.

  Liberty saw Bernard glance at Babette. She lowered her gaze and concentrated hard on spearing a slice of courgette.

  Alex didn’t seem to notice. ‘I don’t know. I could hire a private investigator, but I’m not hopeful I’ll ever find her.’

  Bernard cleared his throat and changed the subject. ‘Alors, who is coming to midnight mass with us tonight?’

  While the others answered, Liberty watched Babette discreetly leave the table to refill a jug of water. She didn’t need to understand French to have noticed the tension in the room, and she wondered what had caused it.

  After dinner, Victor and Laure got baby Maxence ready for bed while the rest of the family planned to walk to the village church for midnight mass.

  ‘Let’s go now,’ Alex suggested to Liberty. ‘There’s something I think you’ll want to see.’

  ‘What is it?’

  But he wouldn’t say.

  The village was at the top of the hill, and as they climbed, she looked up. ‘Wow,’ she said, pointing. ‘There are so many stars. Even more than we can see in Willowbrook.’

  Alex stopped beside her. Together, they examined the expanse of purple studded with a million stars, which shone like tiny beads. ‘This area is known for its lack of light pollution,’ he told her. ‘There’s an observatory not far from here.’

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ But beautiful didn’t really do it justice.

  They followed the road as it wound up the hill. It was quiet and still. Occasionally, they caught the delicious smells of cooking or baking.

  ‘How are you finding it so far?’ Alex asked. ‘It’s not too bad being away from home? My family can be very blunt at times.’

  She smiled. ‘They’re lovely, and don’t worry about me, I’m fine.’

  But there was one thing playing on her mind, and although she tried to restrain her curiosity, she couldn’t quite manage it. ‘Alex?’

  ‘Mm?’

  ‘Who is Solange?’

  ‘Ah.’ His smile vanished and a moment passed before he answered. Their footsteps echoed in the empty street. ‘She was my fiancée.’

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Alex kept his gaze down and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as they climbed the hill. Their breath left small clouds in the air. It was going to be a cold night.

  ‘The ex you mentioned before?’ Liberty persisted. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I got cold feet. Called it off.’ He hoped his clipped reply would be enough, but he should have known better. Liberty didn’t shirk from examining emotions, whether they were uncomfortable or not.

  ‘Go on,’ she said.

  ‘It was just before the wedding.’ He shook his head. ‘I should have realised sooner that I couldn’t go through with it.’

  He’d never forget Solange’s stricken expression. Now? she’d asked. Two days before the wedding?

  ‘Why couldn’t you?’ Liberty asked.

  He lifted his shoulders. Wasn’t it obvious? ‘I wasn’t sure I loved her enough.’

  ‘How can anyone ever know that?’

  ‘Exactly. I preferred not to risk her happiness and mine for something that felt like a gamble.’

  ‘Is that how you view love and relationships? As a gamble?’

  He shrugged, but didn’t answer. He supposed he did. His parents’ marriage had hardly been inspiring.

  ‘How did you f
eel afterwards?’ Liberty went on. ‘Did you have any regrets?’

  ‘I regretted all of it. It was terrible for Solange, and I should never have asked her to marry me in the first place. But I was young, and I rushed into it.’

  The faint croon of an owl carried in the air.

  Liberty watched him curiously. ‘Don’t you think you’re being too hard on yourself? I mean, these things can happen to anyone. We all make mistakes.’

  He shook his head fiercely. ‘I hurt her. Badly.’

  ‘But imagine how much more hurt she would have been if you’d married her knowing you didn’t love her.’

  He glanced at her, sidelong, and felt something shift. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘I think you did the right thing. You were honest with her.’

  They turned the corner and the church and village square came into view.

  ‘So since Solange you haven’t had a serious relationship?’

  ‘No. My career has been pretty full-on. Travelling all the time didn’t make it easy for relationships to develop.’

  It was simpler to live without the complications of emotions. It was easier to keep everyone away and focus on being the fastest, the best. With racing, he’d been in control. He could live without the unpredictability of emotions.

  Liberty gazed around her as they reached the village centre. It wasn’t as fairy-tale pretty as Tourmarin, but it was charming nonetheless, and seemed more authentic, populated by locals rather than tourists. The church and the village square were decorated with lights for Christmas, but she wasn’t really paying attention: her mind was still on all Alex had told her.

  She was glad he’d confided in her about this crucial event in his past. It all fell into place now, his warning to her: Don’t get attached. I never stick around. After growing up with his father’s infidelities and the pain they had caused, Alex must have hated being the one who’d hurt and humiliated his fiancée.

  But everyone made mistakes. Surely it was time to stop being so hard on himself. Liberty had seen for herself how protective he was of his mum and how he looked out for his younger brothers. And that didn’t fit with the image he’d built of a free spirit who cared only about winning. She puzzled over this. He’d made it sound like he was unreliable, but what she’d seen today contradicted this completely. His family was important to him. He was the best brother and son.