Polly eyed the eldest child; he was no more than three, she thought, although children’s ages were a mystery to her. One she would soon be solving. Despite many longing glances at a football in the middle of the lawn he was sitting upright on his chair eating daintily. ‘He’s very good,’ she said. Maybe French children did have better manners.
Claire grinned. ‘He’s been bribed. Uncle Gabe will come and play trains with him if he eats all his lunch and behaves. Don’t let him fool you. He’s not usually this angelic.’
‘How do you do it?’ Polly looked from Claire to Natalie, both so laid-back, dressed simply but elegantly, not a hair out of place. ‘Raise them and run this place?’
‘With help!’ Claire said emphatically and Natalie nodded in laughing agreement.
‘I have an au pair, Maman is always on hand and my husband does a great deal.’
Polly smiled automatically but her mind was racing, calculating. She didn’t have a mother or a husband—but she could buy in help. After all, she paid people to clean her house, buy her groceries, mow her lawn. Why not to raise her child?
Polly put the bread she was holding back on her plate untasted. It sounded so cold. She looked over at the small boy trying so hard to be good and wished he were free to run free, to tear into his food with gusto. That her presence didn’t constrain him.
She didn’t want to recreate her childhood, to raise a perfectly behaved child painfully trying to live up to impossibly high expectations. She wanted...she wanted this. Loud, argumentative, affectionate and close. If she was going to have a child then she wanted a real family: wellies and mud and a big golden dog, the whole lot.
Well, maybe not a dog; Mr Simpkins would never cope.
Summoning up her best French, she leant over to the small boy. ‘Bonjour, Jean. I love trains,’ she said. ‘When you’ve finished eating do you think you could show me?’
Jean put his bread down and regarded her with solemn dark eyes. ‘I have cars too,’ he said after a pause. ‘Do you like cars too?’
‘I adore cars,’ Polly told him. ‘Especially old ones.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘YOUR FAMILY ARE LOVELY.’
It seemed odd to be alone with Gabe again after twenty-four hours of almost continuous company. After playing cars with Jean for a surprisingly enjoyable hour she had had a comprehensive tour of the vineyard and B&B accommodation followed by another long, laughter-filled family meal, this one enhanced by Claire and Natalie’s charming husbands.
Visiting a vineyard and refusing to sample any of the products might seem eccentric but nobody had commented. Thank goodness she was past the sickness stage, otherwise she might have disgraced herself as soon as she entered the bottling room and storage cellars with their strong, distinct, alcoholic odour.
Gabe slid her a sidelong look. ‘They like you.’
A glow spread through her at his words. She had been at the vineyard for such a short time, a stranger speaking a different language, but she felt a connection to the Beaufils family. It was nice to know it wasn’t one-sided.
‘Especially Jean,’ he added. ‘I think you’ve ousted me from number one. Luckily for me Mathilde still thinks I’m perfect.’
Polly rolled her eyes. ‘They all seem very blinkered where you’re concerned. Did I see your mother make your smoothie this morning?’
‘She likes to,’ he said with an annoying smirk, every inch the youngest child. ‘I even managed to drag Papa out for a run. Well, more of a jog but it was a start. He eats too much—drinks too much. It’s an occupational hazard.’
‘How does your father feel about Claire and Natalie’s innovations?’ Polly asked. There were no traces of the power struggles she had experienced with her grandfather—but they could be good at putting on a public face. She knew all about that; public solidarity was part of the Rafferty code.
‘He is overjoyed they are still at home, that they love the vineyard as much as he does.’ Gabe pulled an expressive face. ‘If he could keep us all there he would. I know he hopes Celine will come back and take over the wine production.’
‘And you?’
‘There’s no place for me there, not now. My horizons are wider. I return home for holidays, weekends. I don’t have the time to come back often.’
‘I don’t think there’s any lack of ambition at the vineyard.’ Polly had spent the morning with Natalie looking at all the digital innovations the Frenchwoman had introduced. It was impressive, a seamless interface between the physical world and the digital marketplace. ‘Natalie is far ahead of much bigger businesses. There’s an app for everything. And I think Claire plans to make it the premier events and hospitality venue in the country. She’ll do it too, if she has the capital.’
‘I can help out there.’
‘I think they’d rather have your input than your money. Oh, I don’t mean come back home to live. But they miss you.’ She grinned at him. ‘Talk about the prodigal son. If you get this kind of reaction after a few weeks in London I can’t imagine what your mother feeds Celine when she comes home.’
‘A full fatted calf.’ He looked over at her. ‘What did they say?’
A flush rose on her cheeks. She didn’t want Gabe to think she’d been talking about him, probing for secrets and tales. But his family had been all too eager to share stories with her.
Almost as if she were his girlfriend, not his boss.
A wave of longing swept through her as unexpected as it was unwelcome. What would it be like to be welcomed into the bosom of a family such as this? To be part of a large, loving, chaotic throng? To have a place around the enormous scrubbed pine table that dominated the kitchen? To know your steps in the carefully choreographed dance of a family meal. Even Mathilde and Jean had gone straight to a drawer to collect and fold napkins. The sons-in-law were kept busy fetching and carrying.
Polly alone had had no role. The guest, set apart.
‘They said you don’t come home enough but they understand that you’re busy.’ Polly chose her words carefully. ‘That as they look at expanding it would be good to have your input, only they know how it’s hard for you to get away.’
Their eyes followed him everywhere, their need echoing out. They adored him, would absorb him back in if he gave them the chance. Polly could see how it smothered him, why he stayed away even as she wondered what it would be like, to be loved so comprehensively.
‘Papa often talks about expanding.’ Gabe was dismissive. ‘Yet, he never does.’
‘He might do if you were there to talk it through with him.’ Polly could hear the tart note in her voice but didn’t try to rein it in. ‘Your sisters are specialists, great at what they do but very focused. You however are trained in managing the bigger picture. You should give him some time beyond a morning jog.’
There was a pained silence. ‘One day here and you’re the expert on my family.’
Words of apology rose to her lips but she swallowed them back. ‘I don’t need to be an expert. It’s completely plain to anyone with eyes. I’m not saying move back home, but you could talk his plans through with him, advise him.’
‘Maybe.’
‘I know you needed to get away—and you did, you created a life away from them. Well...’ she considered him ‘...you created a career away from them.’
Gabe’s mouth was set tight, a muscle pulsing in his jaw. ‘I don’t see the distinction.’
‘I know,’ she said sadly. ‘You and I are birds of a feather. We think success at work, achieving career goals is all that matters, all that defines us. But, Gabe, I had nothing else. The only approval I ever got was work-related—and I begrudged it. But you? You could announce you were giving it all up tomorrow to go back and, I don’t know, create art out of vine leaves and they would still welcome you home and support you all the way.’
His mouth twitched. ‘Art out of vine leaves?’
‘It might be a thing.’
He didn’t say anything for a few minutes, his eyes set on the road ahead. Polly sat back in her seat, losing herself in the vibrant scenery. What must it be like to grow up surrounded by so much colourful beauty?
‘Why does it matter to you?’ His words were so unexpected it took a moment for Polly to comprehend them.
‘Why does what matter?’ But she knew what he meant.
‘My family, my place there.’
Her cheeks heated. ‘It doesn’t mean a thing to me personally,’ she said. ‘But I like your parents, your sisters. It seems a shame, that’s all. I like you...’ Her words hung there. Polly wanted to grab them, take them back.
But they were out there. So she might as well be completely honest. ‘I like you,’ she said again. In for a penny, she thought.
‘I’m not keen on the workaholic who flirts with my assistant, the smell of those smoothies would turn my stomach even if I wasn’t pregnant and I have very strong, negative views on people who turn up to work in Lycra cycling shorts.’ Even if they did look as good as on Gabe. You had to have good legs to pull off the tightly fitting shorts. Gabe rocked them.
Some staff members had taken to standing near the staff entrance when he came back from his lunch time bike ride.
‘Don’t spare my feelings.’ But there was a quirk at the side of his mouth as he tried to hide a reluctant smile.
‘I really dislike the way you take one girl out for a drink and another the next day. I know you don’t cross any lines or break promises, but it creates discord and I won’t have that in my store. But...’ she took a deep breath ‘...I do admire the way you remember everyone’s name and what they do. I am a little envious of the rapport you have with my staff already. I don’t doubt you’ll be a CEO by thirty because you’re focused and innovative and put the hours in.’
‘Should I be blushing?’
‘And I don’t know what I would have done without you last week.’ There, she had said it.
‘Oh, Polly.’ He shook his head, the smile gone. ‘You would have been absolutely fine.’
‘Maybe,’ she agreed. ‘I am used to doing things alone. I would have coped. I’d have had to. But it was nice not having to. Maybe it’s the time I had away, maybe it’s the hormones whooshing around turning everything upside down, but I am actually glad, glad that there is going to be something in my life apart from work. It may not be planned, the circumstances aren’t ideal but I think the baby is a good thing for me.’
She smiled ruefully. ‘Of course if you repeat that to anyone I will kill you.’
‘I’d expect nothing less.’
‘But you already have things outside work. Nieces and nephews and a family—and you keep yourself apart. I know why, I understand why. I just wonder...’ She paused, trying to pick her words carefully. ‘I just think maybe it’s time you open yourself back up to them. Don’t you think you’ve punished them enough?’
‘I’m not punishing them.’
‘Aren’t you?’ She pulled at her hair, twisting it round in her hand as she looked at him, at the set of his jaw, the line of his mouth. The dark chill in his eyes. ‘Punishment? Atonement? Proving something? Whatever it is you’re doing it’s been ten years. I think it’s time you gave them a break. I think you should give yourself a break. Before it’s too late.’
* * *
Polly’s words echoed round and round in Gabe’s head despite his attempts to push them away, far away out of his subconscious.
Punishment.
She was right, damn her. But not as right as she thought she was. He wasn’t punishing them.
He was punishing himself. For falling ill, for causing them such pain and anxiety.
For all the petty, nasty resentment he had allowed to build up during that long year of pain. Resentment towards his parents for their need and worry. Towards his sisters for their health.
He didn’t speak for the rest of the journey. Polly didn’t try to engage him in conversation, scribbling notes in her ever-present notebook instead but occasionally shooting him concerned glances.
Glances he pretended not to see. If he didn’t engage then he didn’t need to speak and he could lock it all back up, deep inside.
Where it needed to be.
It took a while to find a parking space in the small riverside town of Vignonel. Sleepy for fifty weeks of the year, it was transformed into an international hub by the annual food and drink festival held there every summer. Over the years it had grown to include culture, local crafts and music, and every year thousands of people descended there from all over the world to dance, drink and eat.
They had all descended today, it seemed.
‘This is where we’ve been going wrong,’ Polly said after they were finally parked and had begun to thread their way through the main thoroughfare that led towards the main town square. ‘We don’t go out and find our suppliers any more. People come and pitch to us. Chris and the rest of his team should be here, searching out the best local producers and stocking them.’
‘Yes.’ But he barely heard her words, his attention snagged by the large church dominating the town square. His heart began to speed up and despite the heat of the day a cold sweat covered his hands.
He swallowed, a bitter taste coating his mouth. ‘There’s a lot to see,’ he managed to say in as normal a tone as possible. ‘We’ll cover more ground if we split up.’
A fleeting expression flashed in Polly’s blue eyes. For a moment Gabe wondered if he had hurt her feelings but dismissed the arrogant notion as her head snapped up and she became her usual focused self.
‘Good idea.’ She pulled out her notebook and pen. ‘We’ll compare notes when we meet up. Look out for suppliers but I am more interested in what makes a stall successful, what draws people in. The look, the branding, the offer.’
‘The technology?’ Gabe couldn’t help giving the leather-bound book a pointed look and Polly hugged it to her chest protectively.
‘What? I don’t have to worry about the battery running out or a system relapse wiping everything.’
‘No, you just have to keep it dry and hope you don’t lose it.’ They had reached an information point and he picked up a map and guide, handing it to Polly. Her hand was cool, soft. Comforting. A sudden urge to take it in his, to stroll through the streets together, no notebooks, no reports, no memories, hit him but he pushed it aside. It took more effort than he cared for to refocus.
‘I promised Claire I’d call in at her tourism and marketing pavilion.’ Was she really so oblivious to his momentary inner struggle? Evidently so. She was frowning at the map in utter concentration. ‘If I look at that part of the market why don’t you go into the wine quarter to start? Your father’s there on the regional wine stand this afternoon. And no...’ her eyes met his clearly ‘...I’m not interfering, just being polite.’
She held his gaze, cool and self-possessed before inclining her head, a curiously old-fashioned gesture. ‘I’ll see you back here, then.’
Gabe watched as she swivelled and walked away, her head held high, the dark gold sweep of hair still loose, covering the slim line of her back. It was odd to see her hair down, not in the customary loose knot, for her to leave it unfettered. It made her seem younger, relaxed.
What would it be like to tangle his hand in that hair? Let the silken tresses fold around his fingers?
She was wearing the pink dress she’d bought at the vintage fair and as Gabe followed the proud, straight figure as she disappeared into the crowd he had a curious sense of being out of time.
Okay, time to push such fanciful thoughts out of his head, time to get on. To find his father, say hello, compliment him on the stall and the vintage just as Polly suggested.
As for the rest? It was ridiculous. He wasn’t punishing them. He was protecting them.
Protecting himself.
If you had no ties then you couldn’t get hurt. It was that simple.
The food and drink quarter was situated on one of the several windy streets that led off the square, opposite the church. Just a few minutes’ walk up there and he would be among old friends and neighbours, watching his father do what he did best—enthusing about wine.
A smile curved his lips as he pictured the scene: a laughing group of tourists pulled in by his father’s practised patter, sipping and tasting before parting with what would no doubt be a considerable amount of money.
Just a few minutes’ walk. He should go, say hi.
He could even offer to help.
Gabe stood for a moment and then slowly turned to face the church.
A deep breath shuddered through him as if an icy fist had clenched his heart.
He hadn’t set foot in that church for ten years and yet he could clearly picture the aged, wooden beams, see the sunlight dancing through the coloured glass in the ancient windows, the expression on the faces of the cold marble statues. He could smell the incense as it burned hot and heavy.
He could see the coffin.
Without conscious thought, without decision, he walked across the tree-lined square, away from the festival, past the church, to the narrow street that led out of town. Towards the old walled cemetery.
To Marie’s grave.
Was it really ten years since he had stood by the open grave, pale faced and dry eyed as the white coffin had been slowly and solemnly lowered in?
White! She would have been horrified! Demanded black and velvet with silver clasps—or nothing at all, a quiet spot in a wooded glade. No X to mark the spot.
But burials weren’t for the dead, they were for those left behind and her parents had needed every last trimming to get them through the day.
His mouth tightened. He hadn’t written or contacted the Declors for years, unable to face another visit down memory lane. Not wanting to sit in the claustrophobic salon, sipping wine while looking through photo albums preserving the memory of a dead girl, pink cheeked and full of health. He had never known that girl. The Marie he had known had been like him, clad with a hospital pallor.
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