by L M Bee
When their empty bottle of wine was replaced with a fresh one, neither had any objection; equally enjoying each other’s company, tentatively feeling their way, and getting to know one another.
Oliver described how he had been born and brought up in the South of England. His parents were both theatrical actors, keen for their two children to perform on stage. Oliver and his sister had been in their mid-twenties when they relocated to France. Within a year he’d set up a small estate agency, that he now ran from offices in Monaco.
“And your sister?” enquired Mary. “Did she continue to work in the theatre?”
“Yes, but not on stage. Costumes and make-up were her métier. Then five years ago she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.”
He paused, a lump in his throat preventing him from going on, his eyes welling up with tears. Mary’s heart went out to him, reaching across the table and squeezing his hand.
“I understand,” she said sympathetically.
“Sorry,” said Oliver, taking a deep breath and trying to pull himself together.
“No need to say sorry.”
“I miss her so much. Three years since she died, and I still find it hard to talk about.”
“Do you have any other family?” Mary enquired gently.
“Not since our parents passed away, just the two of us, always very close …”
“Did neither of you marry or have children?”
“No, sadly. When I was young I imagined myself settling down and being happily married one day, but somewhere along the way other things took precedence. My focus was always on nurturing my business – I suppose you could say that work took over my life.”
“Didn’t your sister want to have children?”
“Complicated … she fell deeply in love in her teens, and never loved another man the rest of her life.”
“Sounds sad.”
“Not really. Maureen was very happy, lived exactly as she wanted to. That was her name, Maureen. She wouldn’t have changed her life for anything. I miss her so much, we were incredibly close.”
“I imagine the loss has left a big hole.”
“Huge. Also hammered home to me that I’m the only remaining member of my family, never felt as lonely as I do now. Makes me realise how selfish I’ve been, making sacrifices over the years to expand my business, at the expense of a family. Not wanting to sound like I’m blowing my own trumpet or anything, but I am aware of how incredibly lucky I’ve been – only nowadays I wish I had children to share my good fortune with.”
“Would you consider starting a family now, at this stage of your life?”
“Not for a millisecond. Far too selfish and set in my ways to go through the hell of sleepless nights and screaming babies at this age. That ship has sailed, definitely too late to have children of my own now.”
“I’ve got three teenagers, a boy and two girls. Arthur, Kitty and Tertia. They’re my world but sometimes I could throttle them! Push my patience to its limits, especially Kitty the bossy beauty queen. Tertia’s the opposite, very shy, especially in front of strangers. Arthur’s like his father, tall blonde and intelligent, hoping to get a place at Durham University.”
“They sound great; I envy you.”
“Who knows, maybe we could all meet for coffee one day if you pass through London.”
Oliver squeezed her hand back, before gently letting it go.
“Sounds a lovely idea. Actually I have to visit London fairly soon to check the work on my new house.”
“You’ve got a place in London?”
“Holland Park. Bought it recently and having major work done.”
“When it’s finished, will you spend more time in the UK?”
“That’s the idea, if all goes to plan.”
“So, with luck, we might meet again,” ventured Mary.
“Fingers crossed,” he replied, smiling back at her with a glint in his eye.
The waiter reappeared to top up their wine and water glasses. Mary took the opportunity to nip off to the loo, feeling mildly ashamed that she was tipsy again. Briefly reprimanding herself, Wicked woman, day-drunk twice in two days!, before changing her tune and thinking, what the hell! It was the first time in her life she’d been wined and dined by a handsome stranger, and to be honest, she was really rather enjoying it. Plus, being on holiday meant that her rules could be more relaxed.
As Mary washed her hands, she checked her reflection in the mirror, amazed to see how radiantly her face was glowing and leaning forward to examine more closely. Not bad for a middle-aged woman, she thought, delighted to see her eyes were sparkling for a change. Clearly a boozy lunch had been the right thing to do. Returning to the table with a slight spring in her step, her depression slowly evaporated as she started to feel happier.
When she sat down at the table, Oliver was still busy talking to the waiter. Mary picked up her glass and took a dainty sip, secretly toasting her good fortune and unexpected hot date.
“I’ve ordered us some black coffee and a pudding to share,” said Oliver, reaching across to stroke the back of her hand. Picking up the conversation where they’d left off, Oliver continued to describe his latest entrepreneurial venture, the takeover of a small airfield nearby with his American friend Chuck Taylor.
The waiter reappeared, effortlessly balancing a round tray laden with goodies, and placed two tiny espressos in front of them. Then a single glass pot of pure chocolate mousse drizzled with local olive oil and flakes of sea salt.
“You’ve got to try this!” exclaimed Oliver, picking up the one and only teaspoon and feeding her a tiny mouthful. The combination of pure chocolate, olive oil and tiny crunches of sea salt was simply mind-blowing. Loving the attention, Mary was experiencing a fantastic sensation like fireworks exploding inside her.
Oliver leant forwards until his face was only inches from hers and whispered,
“You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.”
She couldn't trust herself to speak. Every time his eyes locked onto hers a jolt of electricity ran right through her, and left her wanting more. Her mind already toying with naughty thoughts; she wished she could feel his touch on her bare skin. As if telepathic, he lifted her hand to his lips and placed little kisses on each fingertip.
Sitting quietly holding hands, admiring the view, Mary realised she hadn’t felt this content in ages. Oliver definitely made her feel fabulous, better than she’d felt in a long time.
As he gazed out to sea, Mary took the opportunity to furtively study his profile. Neatly groomed, with more grey hairs than she’d noticed at first. Where it was greying near his temples, almost white in fact, salt and pepper streaks then blended back into the sides. A strong straight nose, and a healthy tan from a lifetime in the Mediterranean sun. While she was admiring the soft curve of his lips, he suddenly turned and caught her in the act; it was blatantly obvious what was going through her mind. She tried to conceal her embarrassment by instantly looking out to sea, pretending to focus on something far away.
As if to deflect from her awkward moment, swiftly changing the subject, Oliver pressed the palm of her hand against his chest. Looking up coyly through her lashes, Mary felt a flutter as he confided endearingly, “My heart’s beating like crazy. Can you feel it? That’s the effect you have on me.” She daren’t say a word, her heart beating like crazy too.
“Do you think our souls met in a previous life?” he teased.
“No idea,” giggled Mary, blushing.
“Feels like we’ve known each other a lifetime!” he declared.
Everything inside her agreed with him. She was loving every minute of being discreetly seduced, and secretly imagining a long slow kiss from him.
How unexpected life can be. That old saying’s so true, you never know what’s round the next corner. Yesterday, drowning in misery and despair, as though the end of the world was nigh. Today, wined and dined by a handsome admirer, feeling like a truly desirable woman.
Normally
Mary would be much more circumspect, but today she just wanted to lap it up. Why not? She was in need of something to lift her spirits, and this seemed to be doing the trick – and besides, it wasn’t like she behaved like this every day.
Selectively deaf to her own conscience, Mary was revelling in every coquettish moment, and believing every word he said. She couldn’t be bothered to be cautious or evaluate the situation right now. Why bother if it was making her feel so good?
She loved the way he instinctively seemed to know what she liked, and guessed what was missing from her life. Plus he knew what food to order for her, which she loved; so nice to feel looked after again. He guessed she liked to drink rosé, without even having to ask. Everything he did was making her feel special, and she quickly reached the conclusion that this was her moment to be enjoyed. He was providing everything she needed right now.
Everything she was missing.
Everything she craved.
Before paying the bill, Oliver asked the restaurateur if they could have one more bottle of rosé to take home with them, having already persuaded Mary to come back to his place nearby for a dip in the pool, promising to drop her back at Hôtel d’Eau Bleue afterwards in time to meet Sophia in the evening as planned.
Mary didn’t want the afternoon to end.
Floating on air, she walked beside him along the short footpath back to his place. What a stunning property, must be worth a fortune! A large period mansion over terraced gardens, above a pale jade green pool, with majestic views along the Riviera.
“We’ve got the place to ourselves, the staff have got the afternoon off. Could you get us a couple of glasses please?” he asked, indicating towards the pool house. Taking off his shirt and placing it on a chair, Oliver walked down the wide stone steps into the water carrying their bottle of wine.
Mary nipped across to the pool house and pushed open the door, impressed to see everything immaculately laid out ready and waiting: fluffy towels, robes, suncreams and a tray of wine glasses at the far end of the bar. Hastily grabbing two glasses, she hurried outside, eager to get back to him. She was excited about what might happen next, fingers crossed, the atmosphere between them electric.
Standing in the shallow end he called, “Hurry up, it’s so refreshing!”
Mary hesitated for a moment; all she had on underneath her kaftan was the ugly wedgie swimsuit. Craving his affection, she hastily put the glasses beside the edge of the pool and hurried down the steps, pulling the kaftan over her head as she went, and hurling it to one side as she waded eagerly into the water. Swiftly submerging her body underwater, she made a lame attempt at playing hard to get by swimming slowly to the far end and back; but far from fit, it left her panting so hard she had to hold onto the stone edge to catch her breath.
Oliver moved towards her holding up two glasses of wine. Smiling giddily at him, she took her glass and surreptitiously gulped down a massive slug for Dutch courage.
When she’d finished, he gently removed the glass from her hand, and placed it beside his on the side. Mary suddenly felt gauche, overcome with shyness, and didn’t know what to do next. Standing perfectly still, she sensed him moving through the water behind her and getting closer.
He placed a gentle kiss on one shoulder. Then another kiss on the other shoulder. As he touched the straps of her swimsuit, she gasped, fizzy blood rushing through her veins. He pushed the straps very slowly down her arms, kissing the back of her neck with long lingering kisses, slowly sliding her costume down and spooning his body against hers, making her tremble from head to foot.
Excited by skin to skin, wet and warm, every little thing he did turned her on more and more. Overwhelmed with sensations she hadn’t experienced in a long time, and already certain, she was willing to surrender to him with every atom of her being.
Chapter 5
True to his word, like a gentleman, Oliver drove Mary back to Hôtel d’Eau Bleue at the end of the afternoon, promising a special detour along the coast road on the way, so they could both admire the spectacular scenery together.
“Wait here while I’ll get the car,” he called. “It’s round the back in the stable yard, won’t be a minute,” and he blew her a kiss as he disappeared round the corner.
Mary stood beside a raised flowerbed, admiring the riot of colour. The entire garden had been manicured to perfection; in every direction there were beautiful flowerbeds, imaginative planting, and impressive rows of perfectly pruned trees. This is a dream, she thought, how lucky am I to bump into a man like Oliver Harrison? Unable to believe her luck, and completely out of the blue too, she couldn’t wait for Sophia to get back from work so she could tell her all about her extraordinary day and unexpected hot date.
Throaty twin exhausts announced his arrival long before he appeared, in a classic sports car that was clearly a collector’s item. Immaculately restored dark grey bodywork and cherry red leather interior. Obviously cherished, and wrapped in cotton wool when it wasn’t being used.
Before setting off, he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a brightly-coloured silk headscarf.
“Maureen’s,” he explained bashfully. “I haven’t had the heart to throw it away.”
“Fabulous colours,” remarked Mary.
“It’ll be breezy once we’re speeding along, you might want something to protect your hair from getting blown all over the place.”
Grateful for the kind and considerate thought, Mary accepted the silk scarf and tied it elegantly with a large knot under her chin.
As promised, the scenery was breathtaking. Sitting side by side in a pretty little sports car, surrounded by awesome scenery, felt so romantic. Well and truly swept off her feet, Mary couldn’t stop smiling and laughing at everything he said. At one point, as they raced along the coast road, Mary imagined she was Grace Kelly with the wind whipping stray strands of hair escaping the silk scarf.
Oliver was the perfect chaperone, constantly impressing her with his intricate knowledge of the region and its history, taking time to point out famous landmarks and explaining the heritage. Mary's heart swelled with pride and admiration. He was an excellent driver, too, as good as any professional, further endorsing her opinion that there seemed no end to his talents.
Whenever the road ahead was clear, despite a sheer drop on one side straight down to the sea, Oliver would floor the accelerator and drive at breakneck speed. To Mary’s horror, as they hurtled round blind corners, he would take his eyes off the road to search for her hand, holding it tightly, to make her feel safe, and not letting go until they were out of the bend. Each time her common sense wanted to shout at him, keep your eyes on the road and your hands on the wheel! But caught up in the moment, too spellbound to bother, she smiled beatifically while thanking her lucky stars for delivering this gorgeous man.
Praying this wouldn’t be their last time together, not wanting the day to end, Mary wondered how to say something before they parted company at her hotel. She didn’t have a number for him yet or any way of contacting one another. But as usual, no need to worry, he had thought of everything.
When they pulled up to the main entrance, he switched off the engine and turned in his seat to face her, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he reached out and took her hand.
Thinking it might be the right moment to play hard to get again, especially since her earlier attempt had gone unnoticed, Mary eased her hand out of his and busied herself untying the knot of the headscarf, very slowly folding it into a tidy square on her lap, and placing it gently back in the glove compartment. Still pretending to ignore him she reached down to retrieve her sunhat, securely trapped by its brim under her bare feet.
“If you haven’t any plans for tomorrow, would you like to spend the day together?” he asked. “I could show you round Aix, it’s market day, you’ll love it.”
“But it’s a weekday, don’t you have to be at work?” challenged Mary, pretending not to be too eager.
“Yes, but as the boss, I’ve
decided to declare myself unemployed for the entire day in order to spend it with you.”
Mary giggled, trying to wipe the giveaway grin off her face.
Rummaging in a pocket for his phone, he held it towards her.
“What’s your number? I’ll put it in here and send you a text – then you’ve got mine.”
A brief frisson of guilt swept over Mary as she realised she’d been off radar all day. It was something she never did, as a rule, usually always available for her children’s calls. But the guilt passed in a flash, as she enjoyed watching his long fingers type her name and number into his phone and send her a text.
Oliver stepped out of the car and walked round to open Mary’s door for her. As she stood up, he jokingly pretended to bar her way and then slowly bent his head down to kiss her on the lips, stepping back to look at her as if trying to memorise every detail, then reluctantly getting back into his car, starting the engine, and looking up with a big smile before blowing a kiss.
“I’ll pick you up at ten tomorrow,” he called cheerily, and waved as he sped off. Mary blew a kiss back and waved until he was out of sight. What an incredible day, she thought, never in my wildest dreams …
She felt rebellious, walking through the foyer in bare feet and a kaftan, the free spirit inside her now wide awake and rearing to go. The receptionist, a ditzy blonde called Pernilla, garbled something unintelligible and waved cheerfully. Mary waved back, deliriously happy, trying to pinpoint the last time she’d felt this high on life.
Calmly holding it together until she was back in the privacy of her own room and hurling her enormous sunhat into the air, she rushed over to the bed and flung herself onto it like a starfish, thrashing and kicking with wild exuberance and burying her face in the pillows to muffle her excited screams.
“Oh my god, I’m so happy. Oliver Harrison thinks I’m beautiful …”