by L M Bee
Then suddenly remembering her mobile and hastily scrambling off the bed to rummage in her bag, she was relieved to find the familiar Robbie Williams phone case. Ignoring all missed calls from the children, she hastily swiped past everything to look for his text. Lying back against the pillows, grinning like a Cheshire Cat, she read the message.
See you tomorrow OX
Chapter 6
Sophia flopped into her car and winced; the seat was hot even though she’d carefully parked in the shade. She reached for her phone to call Mary.
“Hi, how was your day?”
“Amazing! Met a tall dark handsome stranger!”
“Yeah right, in your dreams!” laughed Sophia. “On my way back, see you in the bar.”
Dropping her phone onto the passenger seat, she smiled to herself, tickled by Mary’s sense of humour, knowing there was absolutely no way Mary would pick up a strange man on holiday, she just wasn’t the sort. It hadn’t escaped Sophia’s notice, over fifteen years of friendship, that men rarely gave Mary a second glance; she didn’t invite them to. But if Mary wanted to pretend she’d met some dashing charmer for a holiday romance, Sophia was happy to play along with it, delighted her mood had improved.
When Sophia walked into the bar, Mary, in dramatic contrast to her recent depression, looked like the cat that had got the cream. She was on a high stool, two glasses of champagne in front of her, with a huge grin across her face.
“Hey, something to celebrate?” teased Sophia with an exaggerated wink.
“Yes. I told you, I met the most gorgeous man today!” Mary passed a glass of champagne to Sophia and chinked glasses.
“Yeah right, pull the other one!” giggled Sophia, taking the first sip.. “Cheers!”
“No, seriously!” squealed Mary.
Sophia choked, nearly spitting out the champagne, as it instantly dawned on her. “Oh my god you’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Yup,” replied Mary with a smug grin.
Sophia shrieked, “Oh my god, tell me more, I want to know everything!”
“Shall we move to one of those tables outside?” suggested Mary. “Bit more private.”
“Good idea. But can we order some food first? I’m starving.”
“I fancy bouillabaisse,” proposed Mary, “especially since it was invented by the local fishermen of Marseille.”
“Me too, when in Rome …” agreed Sophia, catching the barman’s eye and ordering two bowls of fish stew.
The two friends wandered outside to a pretty little courtyard, decorated with box trees in terracotta pots and festooned with fairy lights. A waitress followed to light the candles on their table and pour some glasses of water.
Barely able to contain her enthusiasm, Mary fidgeted until they were alone, and then launched into her monologue about Oliver Harrison. How he had walked up to her sitting on that big rock at the end of the beach and started chatting. Friendly and good-looking. Gorgeous blue eyes, always twinkling. Said he was on his way to lunch at the little restaurant just over the rocks, and suggested she join him. Serendipity!
“Obviously had an amazing effect on you, you’re positively glowing!” remarked Sophia, delighted to see her friend looking so happy.
“Today’s been incredible, I can’t believe my luck! Honestly, he makes me feel so good – like really warm and tingly and special,” grinned Mary.
“I’m thrilled for you,” smiled Sophia, genuinely pleased to see Mary so lit up. Nothing better than seeing a friend who’s been through a tough time with a big grin on their face.
Their fish stews arrived, and Sophia tucked in whilst Mary barely drew breath, rabbiting on about how his eyes twinkled when he talked, how he flirted with her and made her feel so attractive. Bizarre how he has an instinctive knack for knowing what she likes and what’s missing from her life. And all the little things he does that make her feel so special, like feeding her tiny spoonfuls of chocolate mousse, and tenderly tucking stray wisps of hair behind her ear …
Despite being thrilled for Mary about her news, Sophia couldn't ignore the nagging feeling gnawing away in the back of her mind but was immediately ashamed that she might be feeling jealous, hackles bristling at a stranger waltzing into her friend’s life. Whatever it was, something didn’t feel right, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
Keen to avoid dampening Mary’s enthusiasm, knowing it would be wrong to voice any concern so soon, Sophia decided not to say anything – especially when the whole point of bringing Mary to France was to cheer her up.
Sophia giggled like a naughty schoolgirl. “So, come on spill the beans, has he snogged you yet?”
Mary threw her head back with laughter. “Yes and wow! First time in the pool.”
“What pool?”
“He asked me back to his place for a swim.”
“Where does he live?” quizzed Sophia, eager to know all about him.
“Walking distance from the restaurant, along a little footpath at the back. Massive house with terraced gardens overlooking the sea – must be worth a fortune! We swam and drank wine in the pool, that’s when he kissed me properly for the first time. Oh, my god, he makes me feel so alive! Then he dropped me back here in his classic sports car, after a little detour along the coast road so we could admire the views together. I have to say, I can’t believe my luck, what a day!”
Speechless at first, Sophia wasn’t sure how to respond, battling her common sense that wanted to warn Mary not to rush into anything. She’d never seen her behave this way before, like a teenager with a crush; any negative comments would go down like a lead balloon. Making a conscious effort to sound positive Sophia asked, “When will I get a chance to meet this gorgeous man of yours?”
“We’re going to Aix for the day tomorrow. Any chance you can escape work at lunchtime and join us?”
Sophia thought for a moment. “Yes, that should be okay.”
“Great! I’ll phone Oliver and ask him now,” said Mary, eagerly scrolling through her numbers. He answered straight away, sounding pleased to hear from her.
“Hello beautiful, just thinking about you, what are you up to?”
“Having a bite to eat with Sophia. She’s going to be in Aix tomorrow lunchtime, any chance we can all meet up?” Mary glanced at Sophia and crossed her fingers.
“Yes, definitely,” he replied. “Tell her to meet us at the mossy fountain in Cours Mirabeau, easy to find and surrounded by cafés. Hang on a minute, there’s another call coming in, let me just see who it is … it’s Chuck calling from the States, must take his call, sorry, darling. Tell Sophia I look forward to meeting her, see you tomorrow, beautiful.”
“See you tomorrow,” repeated Mary, grinning from ear to ear.
“How exciting,” squealed Sophia, “I’m going to meet your new man!”
“Hope you approve!” said Mary.
So do I, thought Sophia, secretly concerned it all sounded too good to be true.
Chapter 7
Awake since dawn, excited about the day ahead, Mary made a cup of tea. She smiled to herself as she wandered dreamily out onto the balcony, cup in hand, humming a little tune and gazing across the gardens. She couldn’t wait for Sophia to meet Oliver at lunchtime, certain they would get on and eager for her approval.
Deciding what to wear was simple, with only one outfit to choose from until she went shopping – a red floral sundress. It didn’t really go with her flat leopard print espadrilles, but somehow her large black sunglasses pulled the whole outfit together.
Cheerfully slinging Robbie into her basket with a purse containing two credit cards, some euros and a lipgloss, and with a final glance round the room, Mary skipped downstairs to wait for her man. Fifteen minutes early, she sat in the foyer watching everyone coming and going. On the dot of ten, Oliver pulled up in a brand new Range Rover and pushed open the passenger door for her to hop in.
“Hello, beautiful!” he said, leaning across for a kiss. “I’ve missed you.”
S
quashing her old basket into the footwell, Mary’s face radiated joy, delighted to see him again. Just like yesterday, chatting away easily, they discussed whatever came into their minds. With one hand on the steering wheel, Oliver looked across and gently stroked her arm. “Remember, Chuck rang from the States last night? Thought you’d like to know, he said I’m sounding so much happier since meeting you!”
“That’s nice of him,” replied Mary bashfully.
“Great guy, known him a long time, very big in Silicon Valley. Can’t make up my mind about where to park today. The traffic’s murder in Aix, almost every day is Market Day, but as a rule Wednesdays are particularly bad. We’ll struggle to find a parking spot anywhere near the centre of town. I suggest we leave the car in the multi-storey on the outskirts and walk from there.”
“You're the boss,” teased Mary, loving the way he always thought ahead.
Having parked the car, Oliver was keen to get some coffee before embarking on the chaos of the food and flower markets. Stopping at the first place they came to, they settled at a small table in the corner and ordered coffee and croissants. Mary rummaged in her basket for her phone.
“Would you like to see some photos of my children and life back home?”
“Yes of course, I’d love to.”
Together they crouched over the small screen, accompanied by a running commentary from Mary, as she slowly swiped through loads of images of her children and their house in Kensington.
"Let’s add a photo of us to your collection,” suggested Oliver, catching the attention of a passing waiter and asking him to take their picture. As they posed, Oliver put his arm round her shoulders and moved his head closer to hers. Mary loved his easy way of being affectionate. Radiating happiness, she looked straight into the lens and smiled for the camera. When the waiter passed the phone back she couldn’t help enlarging the image with her fingertips, smiling to herself as she admired the happy couple. Great photo, she thought; can’t wait to show Sophia.
When Mary looked up, Oliver was busy scrolling through his own photos and stopped when he found the one he was looking for.
“Here, this is my favourite of Maureen,” he said, holding it up for her to see.
“Golly, she was glamorous,” cooed Mary, admiring the leggy blonde with big hair who reminded her of Farrah Fawcett.
“Mmm,” he murmured in agreement, “always looked her best. I miss her more than words can say …”
Mary felt her phone vibrating. Glancing quickly at the screen, it was Kitty. Oops, not a good moment, and with a tiny twinge of guilt she sent Kitty’s call straight to voicemail, convincing herself it wasn’t a good time, not here right now, especially as Oliver was sounding emotional about his sister.
The market stalls in Aix sprawled across the town as far as the eye could see, laden with mounds of freshly harvested glossy fruit and vegetables, crusty artisan breads, salamis from local farms and handmade cheeses, even a large area dedicated to antiques and a flea market. A full spectrum of amazing technicolour. Piles of shiny red peppers, buckets of bright yellow sunflowers, brightly glazed Provençal pottery, jars of local honey with colourful fabric lids, hessian sacks rolled down to reveal their spices, locally grown lavender handcrafted into soap. A different smell, scent or fragrance emanated from every stall, adding to the captivating atmosphere.
Mary was enjoying being anonymous, not knowing anyone in Aix, and completely relaxed as they wandered hand in hand admiring the local produce.
“Look at those baskets,” she said, her face lighting up at a table littered with brightly-coloured wicker baskets.
“Yours looks tatty compared to those. Let me buy you a new one as a present,” he offered. “Which one do you want?”
Mary pointed to the one with bright blue stripes, the same colour as his eyes. Thrilled to bits with her new basket, she promptly discarded the old one and left it leaning against a litter bin on the pavement.
Together they moved easily through the dense crowd, perfectly in sync with one another. Mary couldn’t resist christening her new basket by buying lots of little bits and pieces to put in it: a warm loaf of bread made with black olives, a soft round goats’ cheese and a stalk of plump red vine tomatoes that smelt heavenly.
“All we need now is something to drink,” said Oliver, “and we’ve got enough for a picnic!”
When he stopped to speak to a local lavender farmer, Mary stood and breathed in the heady scent of the stall, so intoxicating it briefly mesmerised her sense of smell. Oliver returned to her side and picked up a small bottle of lavender fragrance, holding it towards her.
“Here, try this.” Spraying it onto her wrist and a quick spritz under each ear. “Let me smell … ” He playfully nuzzled his nose into her neck, until she was giggling so uncontrollably she had to wriggle away from him.
“Behave, or you’ll get us into trouble!”
Oliver eyed some pretty little lavender bags on the table beside them. Tiny pristine white linen sacks, delicately embroidered and tied with lilac ribbons.
“Let’s get a present for Sophia,” he suggested.
“They’re cute – and these handmade soaps smell so real too!”
“Let’s get both,” he concluded, paying for them and impressing Mary with the kind gesture.
By midday the hustle and bustle had increased even more, making it virtually impossible to walk in a straight line through the crowded streets.
“Let’s make our way towards the mossy fountain and wait for Sophia,” shouted Oliver over the din, grabbing Mary’s hand and leading her through the throng. Emerging in Cours Mirabeau, they headed straight to the fountain – a large lump of rock, completely covered in thick green mosses and minuscule plants.
Leaning against the stone rim of the fountain basin, Oliver put his arm round Mary’s shoulders and snuggled his face into her hair, kissing the little patch of bare skin behind her ear.
“Feel the water,” he suggested.
Putting out her hand to catch some of the drips seeping down the moss, Mary gasped, “It’s hot!”
Oliver laughed knowingly. “Spa water! 350 years old, and nobody knows what lies underneath all the different varieties of moss.”
Mary beamed, once again impressed by his encyclopaedic knowledge; there was seemingly nothing he didn’t know about.
“Great backdrop,” she murmured, holding up her phone to take a selfie of them both leaning together against the background of vibrant green moss.
Enlarging the image to admire their expressions, Mary noticed she’d missed a call from Sophia. She clicked on the message and listened carefully, before relaying the gist to Oliver.
“Message from Sophia, she’s really sorry she can’t make lunch, problem on site and can’t get away. She’s suggesting a drink at Hôtel d’Eau Bleue after work instead.”
“I’m sure that’ll be fine,” agreed Oliver, sounding very laid back.
Quickly typing a reply, agreeing to drinks, Mary couldn’t resist attaching the new photo of them both standing together against the mossy fountain.
“So, I have you all to myself now,” declared Oliver, putting his arms round her waist with a wicked grin and kissing her. “Let’s get some lunch, and then explore the countryside.”
“Where do you suggest we go for lunch?”
“There’s only one place to go, if we can get a table, the legendary 2Gs.”
“2Gs?”
“Les Deux Garçons, favourite haunt of Cézanne and Picasso, the best brasserie in town since the 19th century.”
Managing to get a tiny table outside, crammed into limited space on the pavement, they huddled amongst the chaotic crush of wicker chairs and casual diners, the hubbub even greater than its reputation.
Not surprisingly Oliver appeared to know the menu off by heart, and ordered an enormous platter of fresh seafood for them to share. The waiter placed a large silver salver on a raised frame in the centre of table, arranged to look attractive on a bed of crushed ic
e with lemon wedges, a delicious array of lobster, oysters, mussels, clams, langoustines and prawns caught locally.
In a perfect position to people-watch, Mary sat captivated by the multitude of different characters passing by and pointed to something that caught her eye.
“What are all the little posters advertising?”
“Which ones?”
“All over the place. Look, there’s one just here,” she said, pointing to a coloured sheet of paper stuck to the window of their restaurant.
“Oh, that’s La Fête de la Musique on Sunday.”
“Here in Aix?”
“Yes. A massive street party all day and all night. People come from far and wide to celebrate the summer solstice, with music and dancing in the streets – a great excuse to drink and party like mad things!”
“What fun!” exclaimed Mary.
“Aix really comes alive with thousands of people and music playing from every building – shops, bars, cafés, even churches. Free concerts with musicians playing all genres, modern, classical, jazz, opera – the energy’s amazing!“
“Sounds fantastic, can we come to it?”
“If you’re free on Sunday …”
“I am!” she replied, tilting her head coquettishly to one side and giving him a naughty little pout.
“Then it would be my pleasure, consider it a date!”
Another hot date, thought Mary gleefully to herself, how lucky am I?
Enjoying the warmth of the sun on her back, savouring every moment, Mary reached out for his hand.
“Thank you,” she said, giving him big doe eyes.
“What for?” he replied.
“For making me so very happy.”
After a delicious lunch, and some tiny espressos, they decided they were feeling too lazy to fight their way through the masses again. A leisurely drive through the scenic countryside appealed much more, especially on such a gloriously sunny day.
Avenues of tall trees lined poker-straight roads bordered by green fields, villages of honey coloured stone, acres of sunflowers and lavender in agricultural rows; the prettiest rural landscape imaginable. Eventually they spotted the perfect place to stop, pulling off a quiet back road onto the verge, beside a field of vibrant sunflowers.