A Winter's Dream

by Sophie Claire

  ‘Oui.’ She heard the smile in his voice.

  The sun crept up from behind the hills and added a velvety rich red to Nature’s display.

  ‘It’s so beautiful,’ she murmured. The colours would make a gorgeous quilt: peach, gold and ruby spliced with dusky blue and grey.

  When the sun had risen and the jewel colours were replaced with blue, Alex pointed the phone at her and said, ‘Smile – to prove you were here.’

  She grinned. ‘That was amazing! And you were right – it was definitely worth getting up early for. How did you know it would be so spectacular?’

  He put the phone away. ‘It often is. As boys, we used to come here to see the sun set, then race down the hill in the dark. Ask Luc – he’ll remember.’

  High above them, a distant plane left a pink thread in its wake that slowly dissolved into the blue sky.

  She reached out and took his hand. ‘Thank you for sharing it with me.’

  ‘I knew you’d like it.’

  Alex bounced baby Maxence on his knee, hiding his face behind a muslin cloth, then whipping it away. Each time the baby roared with laughter and waved his chubby hands with delight.

  ‘He’s never going to tire of that game,’ Victor said, as he heated the baby’s bottle.

  ‘Who?’ Jules joined Alex at the kitchen table. ‘Alex or Max?’

  Alex rolled his eyes at his younger brother. ‘Very funny.’

  He covered his face again, and this time he let the baby pull the cloth away. Although he hadn’t thought it was possible, this delighted Max even more. The little guy’s helpless chortles would make anyone smile.

  ‘Right. Time for a bottle,’ said Victor. ‘Why don’t you feed him, big bro? He’s happy and you did it so well earlier.’

  Alex shrugged. He didn’t mind. Leaning back, he settled the baby in the crook of his arm and took the bottle Victor gave him. The baby sucked hungrily and the kitchen fell quiet. He heard the murmur of voices and the odd tinkle of laughter from upstairs. The four women were going through Babette’s old dresses. Laure, Caroline and Liberty had all been excited when Babette had mentioned the names of the French and Italian designer labels she was clearing out. Bernard had walked into the village on the pretext of buying groceries, but he’d stop at the café while he was there for a drink with his friends. It pleased Alex to see how quickly he and Babette had settled into village life.

  ‘All that slurping is making me thirsty,’ said Victor looking at his son. ‘Is it too early for an apéritif?’

  ‘You read my mind,’ said Jules.

  Victor brought over three beers and sat down. They chinked bottles.

  ‘So tell us more about your retirement,’ said Victor.

  Alex frowned. It had been a relief to get the news off his chest, but he didn’t want to talk about it. ‘I already told you. There’s not much else to say.’

  ‘You’re okay?’ Victor worked as a maths teacher in a secondary school, and Alex could picture him sitting down with a troubled pupil and adopting the same concerned expression.

  He found it unnerving. Normally, he was the one checking that his younger brothers were all right. ‘Course I am.’

  He almost missed the look Jules and Victor exchanged.

  ‘What?’ he protested. ‘I am.’

  Max’s noisy guzzling quietened a little as the milk drained, and his eyelids grew heavy.

  ‘Seems like you met Liberty at the perfect time,’ Jules observed.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, now you’re retired you’ll be able to settle down.’

  Alex laughed. ‘You’ve misunderstood. Lib’s just a friend.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  His brothers’ sniggers made his hackles rise. ‘She is.’

  ‘But you’re—’

  ‘Just a friend, Jules,’ he cut in firmly. ‘She got stuck here because of the strike and I didn’t want her to spend Christmas alone.’

  He tipped the bottle up, as Victor had shown him, so the baby could get the last of the milk without taking in air.

  Victor shook his head. ‘Maman said you drove all the way here from England, then the minute you arrived you left again to go to Tourmarin.’

  Irritation began to simmer inside him. What was it about little brothers that they pressed all his buttons? ‘Because I was concerned. She was alone.’

  The last of the milk disappeared and he set the empty bottle down.

  ‘He says “concerned”,’ Jules said to Victor. ‘He means “in love”.’

  ‘I do not!’ Max opened his eyes, startled, and whimpered. Alex rocked him back to sleep, then finished more quietly, ‘I’m not ready for a relationship. I haven’t even figured out what I’m going to be doing next month, never mind next year.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s less important than who you’ll be doing it with,’ Victor suggested.

  Jules grinned.

  ‘That didn’t come out well,’ said Victor, ‘but you know what I mean.’

  Alex rolled his eyes. ‘Will you two ever grow up?’

  ‘I’m serious,’ said Victor. ‘Perhaps it’s time you did things differently, Alex.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ He took a swig of his beer.

  Victor grew serious. ‘You’ve always been there for us. You were more than a big brother, but …’ He hesitated.

  ‘What?’ Alex sighed.

  ‘… perhaps now it’s time you did something for yourself.’

  He frowned. ‘You don’t think I have already? My whole career has been about me. Winning races, coming first, getting all the glory – you can’t get more selfish than that.’

  ‘Or lonely,’ said Victor. The word echoed around the kitchen. ‘Perhaps it’s time you found a more … meaningful way of life.’

  Their eyes rested on Max asleep in his arms.

  Alex huffed. ‘You’re not going to tell me I should become a father, are you? Just because you—’

  ‘Actually, I was going to say you might enjoy a more rewarding career, like teaching. But having a family would suit you too. You’d be good at it. After all, you were like a father to us, making sure we didn’t go off the rails, keeping the family together.’

  ‘Yeah, you were bossy,’ Jules chipped in. He was picking the label off his beer bottle.

  Victor went on, ‘And Lib’s a great girl.’

  ‘She’s just a friend!’ Alex protested again.

  But guilt clawed at him because how could he say they were just friends when they were sleeping together? Maybe he shouldn’t have brought her here. Maybe it had been a mistake to let their relationship stray into this grey area. But he didn’t want to regret something that felt so good. Liberty wasn’t making any demands, she’d been open with him, and their relationship was straightforward.

  His brother ignored him. ‘She stands up to you. I like her. We all do. A lot.’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ he bit out.

  ‘Why not?’

  He sighed. Why wouldn’t they let this go? ‘Because she wants a family and I don’t do …’, he gestured to the child in his arms, ‘… all this. You know I don’t.’

  ‘Why not?’ Victor drained the last of his beer. ‘And please don’t tell me it’s because of Solange.’

  Alex threw him a dark look. It was easy for his family to say he should let go of the past, but they didn’t know how devastated Solange had been. They hadn’t been there to see her stricken expression. He couldn’t erase it from his mind. He’d hurt her in exactly the same way his father had hurt his mum – countless times. He hated himself for that.

  But, worse, he’d been relieved to break it off.

  Which proved just how much he was his father’s son. He couldn’t do commitment even if he tried. Which was why he’d vowed never to make another promise he couldn’t keep.

  Victor shook his head. ‘I knew it. How long are you going to beat yourself up about that?’

  ‘You know she’s married, don’t you?’ Jules said casual
ly.

  Alex stilled. ‘Is she?’

  His youngest brother nodded. He was still peeling the label off his beer and there was now a small pile of paper shreds on the table in front of him. ‘I bumped into her a couple of years ago. She has three kids and seemed happy.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  Victor turned to him. ‘Well, there you are. Her story ended well. Why shouldn’t yours?’ He got up. ‘Another beer?’

  Alex shook his head, and took in this news. Solange was married? He was glad. She’d moved on. Good.

  Did this change anything for him? Not really. Liberty had been quite clear that he wasn’t – what had she called it? – her Dream Guy. This was temporary. It would be over in a week. She’d return home and he’d go … Well, he didn’t know where yet.

  Saturday, 27 December

  ‘You’re not waking me up for another challenge, are you?’ Liberty asked sleepily.

  He kissed her slowly. Seductively. ‘Not for a challenge, no.’

  ‘Mm. That’s a relief.’ He felt a thrill as she arched against him, and his hand slipped under her, shaping the hollow at the base of her spine and the back of her thigh that wrapped around him. She sighed with pleasure. ‘What is today’s challenge, then?’

  He smiled against her lips. ‘Can’t tell you.’

  ‘When will it happen, then?’

  He pretended to give this serious consideration.

  She idly ran her fingers over his jaw, and slipped one into his mouth. He kissed it and closed his eyes in pleasure, wondering how she did this. Every time he thought he was in control, she flipped it. A touch or a look were all it took to bring him to his knees.

  ‘This morning?’ she asked.

  He shook his head and took her hand, feeding one fingertip after another into his lips.

  Her eyes became dark. ‘This afternoon?’

  ‘No.’ He smiled. His plans meant they could stay in bed as long as they liked.

  ‘This evening, then?’

  He nodded, and moved over her, caught in a contradiction. Emotionally, he didn’t want to get any closer than the friendship they already shared, yet physically he couldn’t get close enough. He wanted to hold her all night, wake up with that glorious red hair pressed against his cheek. He wanted to make her smile and laugh or frown in concentration as she mastered yet another challenge for her book.

  ‘Tell me what it is,’ she said. Her eyes were closed, her head tipped back.

  He kissed the hollow of her neck.

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Can’t.’

  ‘You can.’

  ‘It’ll spoil the surprise.’ He wanted to make her stay here as exciting as possible. He wanted her to love Provence as much as he did, though he couldn’t explain why. He told himself he wanted to support her in her challenge and for her to take away good memories of her Christmas here, yet he wasn’t sure that was the whole truth. He brushed it aside as yet another contradictory emotion he didn’t want to understand and focused instead on the physical. That was simple and straightforward. Perfect.

  ‘It won’t.’

  ‘Not knowing will create anticipation.’ He kissed her. ‘Tension.’ He kissed her again. ‘Promise.’ With each kiss he felt his body wind tighter. The need was almost overwhelming, but he held out.

  ‘I’d still like to know.’ She smiled.

  He settled himself between her legs. He nudged a little, and she breathed a sigh of pleasure. ‘Okay. I’ll tell you, but no more questions and I won’t give you any more clues or explanations.’ His body rubbed gently against hers. Every nerve was fraught, every sense on high alert.

  She opened her eyes. They gleamed like polished wood. ‘Agreed.’

  He kissed her one more time before telling her, ‘I’m taking you to visit a Christmas village.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  He held a finger to her lips. ‘No questions, remember?’

  She smiled and nodded. Then her lashes fluttered shut as they finally succumbed to the pull of desire.

  Even driving there, Alex still wouldn’t tell her what a Christmas village was or give her any clues. Liberty wasn’t sure what to expect, but when they parked at the bottom of a steep hill, she could see coloured lights stretching all the way up to the top.

  ‘Is this going to involve another climb?’ she asked, as he slipped his hand into hers and they set off. He’d advised her to dress warmly so she’d borrowed a stylish hat from Babette, and wore her warm winter coat.

  ‘It is, but it’ll be so gradual you won’t notice.’

  It turned out that the residents of this tiny Provençal village opened their homes to the public once a year, with each house giving over a room to an artist or artisan who welcomed visitors and brought a touch of Christmas magic to the place. Some sold local crafts or foods, others provided entertainment, while restaurants and the little bakery opened their doors too. Everyone was invited to visit them as they followed the trail to the top of the hill where children would find Father Christmas in his grotto.

  Alex was right: Liberty hardly noticed the climb as they went from one stall to the next, listening to a flautist, watching someone throw clay on a pottery wheel and shape a tall vase, pausing to inspect the miniature figurines called santons, which had originated in Provence.

  ‘Want to have your palm read?’ Alex asked Liberty. He pointed to a woman in a turquoise headscarf sitting behind a curtain.

  ‘Nah. They just tell you what you want to hear.’

  ‘You’re right. I can do that for free.’ He pulled her to one side and cupped her face in his hands, pretending to channel telepathic waves or whatever it was that supposedly made them psychic. ‘Let me see now … In ten years’ time you will be married with a baby or two.’

  ‘Just two?’ She grinned. ‘Four, actually. I’d like a big family.’

  He frowned. ‘But Damselfly Cottage is too small. You’d have to move.’

  ‘You said it right!’ she gasped.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Damselfly.’

  He smiled. ‘Why is it called that by the way?’

  ‘Because there are damselflies, of course. In summer. They like the pond nearby. And to answer your question, I’d convert my sewing room into a bedroom with bunkbeds and move my sewing things into my bedroom. They’d just about fit.’ Although, now she thought about it, it wasn’t impossible to picture herself in a different house, one with French shutters, still rural but perhaps near a forest of pine trees and a night sky thick with stars …

  She hurriedly brushed aside the thought.

  He laughed and released her face. ‘You have it all planned out.’

  They walked on, leaving the fortune-teller behind and heading for a restaurant. But his light-hearted talk had made her curious. ‘Where do you hope to be in ten years’ time?’

  ‘I don’t know …’ He thought about it. ‘I hope I’ll have found a new passion to replace racing. A new challenge.’

  She looked at him. ‘You don’t think there’ll be more to your life than just your job?’

  ‘I need adventure of one kind or another. You know that.’

  She nodded quickly and turned away so he wouldn’t see her disappointment. They stopped outside a restaurant.

  ‘Fancy this place for dinner?’ he asked, and pointed to the chalkboard. ‘I’m afraid the menu is fixed – soup, stew and a crème caramel for dessert – but it will all be homemade.’

  She forced a bright smile. ‘Sounds delicious.’

  As they were served bowls of creamy leek soup and a basket of bread, Liberty silently mulled over his words. He’d always said he didn’t do commitment, he didn’t stay still, yet something didn’t add up.

  She broke off a piece of bread and puzzled over it. She’d seen him with his family and he was close to his mum, protective and supportive of his brothers. So what drove him to avoid commitment? It couldn’t just be his bad experience with Solange, surely? He’d said he was scared of hur
ting others, but she wasn’t so sure. She was curious to know more.

  When they’d finished their soup, she asked him softly, ‘Tell me about your dad.’

  His expression hardened, as she’d anticipated it would. ‘What do you want to know?’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  ‘What was it like growing up with him?’ Liberty asked.

  Alex tensed. He didn’t discuss his father. He deflected questions, changed the subject or closed it down, irrespective of how brusque that made him seem.

  But tonight he felt the crack of a tiny fissure opening, and Liberty squeezed past his defences with her inquisitive brown eyes and her warm, interested tone. Many people were hungry for information about the famous racer, but she was the first to ask how it had felt to be his son. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I grew up without him – most of the time, anyway. He lived his own life. He wasn’t home much, and when he was it was … difficult.’

  ‘Difficult? How?’

  ‘He was a selfish man. He had no sense of duty or responsibility. Actually, no, that’s not fair. He made sure we were provided for very well financially – but emotionally, he wasn’t how a father should be.’

  ‘He wasn’t hands-on?’

  He gave a dry laugh. ‘That makes it sound like he didn’t change nappies or play with his children.’ It had been so much more than that.

  A complete lack of interest in his family. Even in Alex, who’d followed in his footsteps professionally and been even more successful. World champion. But that hadn’t been enough. ‘He didn’t care about us. When he came home, which was rare, he wanted no part in our lives. It was clear that he felt nothing for us. He couldn’t wait to get away.’

  ‘Yet he kept coming back? Why?’

  Alex had no answer. Except perhaps that his parents’ relationship had been more complicated than he, as a child, could understand.

  Her eyes were dark, deep pools filled with pity. Alex bristled. He didn’t want pity. He hated his father, and his death hadn’t changed that. He’d always hate him.