He gets out and walks to me, his wet, strong body glistening under the moonlight and I can’t help but give a shy smile at the sight of him in his shorts, which cling to him in all the right places. He is noticing me too and he shows his appreciation by taking my two hands and kissing me full on the mouth as we stand by the poolside. His kisses are electric. My head starts to spin.
‘It’s beautiful,’ he whispers into my ear and then runs his finger down the line of my faint scar and kisses me again, lightly this time. His eyes widen when he looks into mine.
‘Come and swim with me.’
I step into the water and I glide my body into the warm water and make my way through the smooth ripples in a breast stroke with Gerard by my side.
We glance at each other every now and then and I feel the sexual energy vibrate through the water and into my very bones as we move in synchronised glory until we reach the other side. I push my damp hair off my eyes, realising for the first time that it will no doubt look a frizzy mess by the time we are going home, but with Gerard it doesn’t feel like I should care about such things. He rubs his eyes and then kicks back and floats along the water in a backstroke, which I silently mirror, and as I look up into the stars, gliding along the surface of the water, I know that I will never feel so full up inside for as long as I live.
‘Thank you for all of this,’ I say, out of breath, when we reach the end of the swimming pool again. ‘I don’t want this to end, not yet.’
He puts his hand on the nape of my neck and kisses me on the forehead.
‘Neither do I,’ he says and within twenty minutes we are in a taxi on our way back towards the Viaduct and I feel like I am in heaven.
Chapter 29
The taxi drops us at Gerard’s place and we walk side by side in silence down the riverbank to his studio home, where he leads me inside to find a tidy, white-walled workspace with a bed in the middle, a TV and a makeshift kitchen with a kettle, toaster and all the usual basics.
A radio plays softly in the background and I stare in wonder at the paintings that are hung so gracefully and with such pride around the walls. It is like a mini gallery, so perfectly thought out and not the messy hovel I had anticipated of someone mid- exhibition.
‘I will leave you to it,’ he says. ‘I get embarrassed when I show my work, so if you don’t mind, I’ll disappear outside and hopefully when I come back you will have seen as much as you want to.’
I nod, still in awe at the arrangement of masterpieces, and he makes his way out a side door that leads onto a deck with a view of the river, similar to the decking patio at the gîte.
Les Personnes – the people who have touched his life are like ghosts around me and I cannot wait to take it all in.
The first painting is of his father, Benoit, and there is a mixture of sadness and strength in the portrait, which has been created in oil on canvas. A brief description in Gerard’s handwriting is pinned to the wall beside it but it is in French so I cannot translate.
I move on to the next one, which is of his younger self on a little blue tractor and the hope and joy in his innocent eyes makes me want to learn even more about his early life here in France.
The unmistakeable vision that is the late David Bowie is next and I move on around the room to see portraits of a boxer, the fisherman Pierre, an old teacher of his, his niece, his sister and then I come to the final piece, which I notice hasn’t quite dried properly yet and I step back to get a proper look.
It is a woman – a red-haired woman on a boat, smiling with her head back like she is looking at the stars.
I gulp as the picture takes life before my eyes – the girl in the denim shorts and grey vest top looks all too familiar and then I look at the caption for confirmation.
It is me. It is unmistakeably me. The caption reads just ‘Maggie’.
I am dizzy. I need to sit down.
‘Why? Why did you choose me? Why did you paint me?’ I go outside to Gerard when my heart has stopped racing.
He doesn’t answer me at first.
‘I mean, you could have at least warned me. I have a very lustful look on my face right there. Is that really how I looked out on the boat? Jeez. Sorry, I am just in a bit of shock right now. You really could have warned me.’
He laughs and I can tell he is nervous.
‘That was the moment just before we kissed,’ he says and he takes my hand to sit beside him. ‘It was a moment I just had to capture. I hope you like it.’
I can smell his freshness, a mixture of cologne and soap and… of man.
‘I… I… of course I like it. I am just shocked. Honoured, but shocked. I had no idea…’
He doesn’t respond and when I look at him, I want him so badly right here, right now. Oh God help me. Oh good God and Lucy Harte and all the angels and saints who I pray to, please help me because he is such a beautiful creature. His eyes are so full of longing that they could almost speak for themselves and his jawline is strong and firm.
‘You look… like a dream,’ I tell him and I am not sure if I am actually breathing any more. I lift my hand and take a moment to touch his face and just look at him, properly, for what feels like the first time.
Then I run my fingers across his chin, then his lips and up onto his dark, damp wavy hair and my eyes follow my hand as I run my fingers through his hair and then back down past his eyes, his jaw and then his lips again, which I part and he lets me touch him so closely, then he wets his lips slowly with his tongue when my fingers let go.
I don’t have to say another word because he pulls me closer towards him and brushes my hair off my shoulder. His breath is on my face and his lips when he kisses me make me catch my own breath again. Then he lets his hands do the talking as he leans me back onto the soft cushions, cups my breast firmly and urgently in his hand and moves against me to let me know exactly what he wants from me.
And I really, really want it too. I want this more than anything I may have ever wanted in my life. This man… this gorgeous, eccentric, moody son of a bitch, who has captured me in so many ways has got me exactly where we both want to be.
I lie back as he lifts my white lace-and-linen dress over my hips and shows me, in no uncertain terms, that this is what he has wanted all along.
He moves in me and I gasp.
‘Don’t close your eyes, Maggie,’ he says to me in a breathy whisper. ‘Don’t close them. Look at me. I don’t want you to miss a thing.’
‘Do you think you might ever come back here?’ asks Gerard as we lie in post-coital bliss, his strong arms enveloping my body against his. Our love-making began outside, but we moved into the studio and finished in perfect ecstasy on his bed. ‘My exhibition opens in Toulouse on July the first. It would be fun if you could come to the launch and celebrate with me.’
I lean up on my elbow and cannot resist the urge to touch his face as I look into his beautiful eyes.
‘I do think that if I ever return here, I will never go back to Ireland,’ I say to him. ‘You said it and so did Starling on the first day I arrived here. She warned me about this place. She said it gets under your skin – the food, the wine, the sun, the men…’
Gerard laughs and kisses my shoulder.
He makes some juice and toast and we sit on the bed to have it, then I lie down on his chest, cursing the crumbs that have found their way everywhere and I fall into a deep slumber, waking at six in the morning to see him at work on my painting, touching up dots of colour.
He is magnificent to watch, playing the knives like a musical instrument, totally focused, totally not here and I am afraid to make a noise in case it takes him out of his zone.
‘You awake?’ he asks. ‘I was going to suggest some breakfast? And don’t say you aren’t hungry.’
He puts down the painting knife and comes towards me on the bed and he climbs across it to kiss me, lightly biting my lip as he does so. I have had worse ways to wake up, I must admit…
‘I take it you aren’t meani
ng food?’ I say, but he is already on top of me and we are on our way again.
Chapter 30
Starling wakes me around eleven am back at the gîte with her persistent knocking on the door and calling through the letterbox.
My night with Gerard has exhausted me, unsurprisingly, and I crawled into bed for a morning snooze the moment I got back here.
‘Mademoiselle Maggie! Are you there? It’s Starling. Good morning!’
I have been looking forward to seeing Starling again, but right now, I am so cosy and she has taken me from a wonderful state of slumber, where I was back in Gerard’s arms again and the world as I know it had stopped, leaving just the two of us alone together.
‘Hello, darling!’ I say to the contrary, shuffling through the gîte while trying to disguise that my t-shirt is on back to front and I haven’t zipped up my shorts properly in my haste to answer the door.
‘Oh I am ever so sorry!’ She puts her hand over her mouth when she sees me. ‘Were you asleep? I do apologise! I can come back later!’
‘Come in, come in!’ I tell her. ‘It’s lovely to see you!’
She is carrying a picnic basket and we go into the living room, where I feel the need to tidy the cushions on the sofa, stack up my novels and take empty coffee cups over to the kitchen area.
‘Sorry, the place is very… lived in, let’s say. I will clean it all properly before I go tomorrow.’
‘Relax, Maggie,’ says Starling, making herself at ease on an armchair. ‘I haven’t come to inspect! I know you are due to go home soon, so I just wanted to make sure you do not want to stay longer?’
There is a twinkle in her eye when she says it. There is something about Starling that makes her always look like she is up to something and I love it.
‘I should really get back, but just for now,’ I tell her. ‘This place has stolen a piece of my heart and I will definitely come back.’
‘And a good heart it is too, Mademoiselle.’
That look again… she has said that once before.
‘So, how have you been?’ I ask her. I need to redirect the conversation because sometimes when Starling looks at me like that, it’s like she knows stuff that she cannot possibly know.
‘I am sorry I haven’t come to see you earlier to show you around a little, but we have been so busy at the café, but today we are closed, so it’s the only day I could come here.’
‘Honestly, I have been absolutely fine,’ I assure her. ‘I am having such a wonderful time just… well, just getting to know your wonderful town, and today I plan to totally relax and make the most of the sunshine, then clean up, pack up and make my way home to Ireland early in the morning.’
Starling hands me the picnic basket, which is neatly covered in red-and-white gingham.
‘A gift for you before you go.’
‘Ah, thank you so much, Starling. That’s so kind!’
I can’t resist a peep, so I lift back the gingham and find a note from Anton.
‘I hope you enjoyed your time here, Mademoiselle Maggie. Here is some local produce to enjoy on your last day. Bon appetit!’
‘My goodness.’
I am growing to love the Florval family more and more and not just because of Gerard. Their kindness from my first moments here has been like a warm, snuggly blanket of comfort and is making me have second thoughts about going home tomorrow, but my six weeks of time out from work is almost up and I have some major decisions to make now that Lucy’s list is almost complete.
‘It’s just a few things from the restaurant – I hope you enjoy them!’ says Starling.
My tummy rumbles at the sight of such elegant delicacies, which will make up the perfect lunch. A selection of pâté, a fresh baguette, some Emmental, Brie and Camembert and a hearty bottle of Beaujolais to wash it down… delicieux!
I so don’t to leave here, but something tells me that it is time. I have done so much in Lucy’s name lately and I feel totally fulfilled and happier than ever, but I also remember that there is one more thing on her list for me to do.
‘Starling, I know this is incredibly short notice,’ I say to her, ‘but would you and your family like to come here tonight for dinner before I go. Say at 8.30 or so? No pressure if you have other plans, but I’d honestly love to give something back for all your kindness to me.’
Starling’s face lights up at the invitation.
‘Oh thank you, Maggie! Yes, count me in!’ she says with a bright smile. ‘I’ll check with Anton and Bernard and maybe we could also invite Gerard? He has been given an extension on his exhibition, so he is much less grumpy these days. In fact, he seems very happy for a change! Would you mind?’
I feel the corners of my mouth twitch at the suggestion that Gerard has changed lately for the better.
‘The more the merrier,’ I tell her. I was hoping she would suggest him. ‘I will set the table for five people, then. Let me know when you can if they all can come.’
Starling almost skips to the door and I walk with her to see her off.
‘This is such a treat for us to be invited out for food as we always seem to be serving our customers! I’ll bring dessert!’ she says to me. ‘À bientôt, Maggie. I’m so glad you came here to our town and I hope your friend is happy that you saw the bridge.’
I open the door for her and we walk outside and the bridge, as always, catches my eye.
‘I bet she is happy, yes,’ I reply. ‘She will never know how much she changed my life by bringing me here and in the weeks that have led up to this.’
Starling blinks in the sunshine.
‘I’m sure you cannot wait to tell her all about it,’ she says in earnest and her words surprise me at first.
‘Yes, I hope I get to tell her all about it one day,’ I whisper. ‘But I have a feeling she already knows. I think she sees it all already.’
The reality of hosting the Florval family for dinner hits me like a ton of bricks when I reach the supermarket later that afternoon. What on earth was I thinking? They cook for a living and are experts at French cuisine, while the most people I ever cooked for was my Mum, Dad and Jeff and that was two years ago when they visited for Sunday lunch shortly after our wedding.
Throw a dinner party for strangers is what Lucy said on her list, so I think I’ve well and truly hit that one on the head by setting myself up with this challenge. Apart from Gerard, I really don’t know these people at all. What do they like to eat? Or drink? More importantly, what do they not like to eat or drink?
I try to think of a suitable menu but the layout of the supermarket and its foreign brands baffle me, so I text Flo for advice.
‘Dinner-party food suggestions. Five people. Quickly.’
Like any best friend should, she messages me back at the speed of lightning.
‘Keep it simple. Roast a chicken, mash some potatoes, steam some good old veg and add gravy. Voilà.’
I get a second message from her right away.
‘And lots of wine, of course, but I don’t need to tell you that, do I?’
I am not going to complicate matters. I will do exactly what Flo says so I grab the ingredients and get back to the gîte as quickly as I can to start my preparations, all the while trying to ignore the herd of elephants that dance in my stomach.
I am so nervous I could cry. I am planning to cook for restaurateurs. I am about to finish the last thing from Lucy’s list.
And I really cannot wait to see Gerard again.
‘Bon soir!’ Starling chirps in a high-pitched voice when my visitors arrive later that evening. The table is set to perfection, the candles are lit, the red wine is breathing and the white wine is chilled. Even the food has obeyed me so far and I am very, very proud of myself. Once I got settled into the cooking I actually enjoyed it and even managed enough time to change into some fresh clothes, spray some perfume, tidy my hair and add a bit of lippy. As the French would say, parfait!
‘You remember Anton,’ says Starling, as her future fathe
r-in-law crosses the threshold.
Anton greets me with a warm hug and the customary kiss on each cheek, looking like a different person than the stressed-out, perspiring restaurateur I met on my arrival here. He wears a grey suit with a white shirt and pink tie and I can see a resemblance between him and his younger brother.
‘You look very dapper,’ I tell him. ‘Please make yourself at home.’
It is practically his home, or one of them, I realise, once I’ve said it.
‘And my fiancé, Bernard,’ says Starling proudly as Anton’s son, Bernard, greets me politely and makes his way inside.
‘So you are the magnificent Maggie!’ he says, air-kissing me as Starling looks on with her hands clasped in delight.
‘And Gerard?’ I ask, trying to hide my enthusiasm.
‘Non, sorry, no Gerard,’ she says.
What? I don’t have Gerard’s phone number and I hadn’t heard from him all day so I was really relying on Starling to let him know about tonight.
‘Really? He isn’t coming?’ I feel a weight hit the bottom of my stomach.
‘He isn’t coming, no,’ says Starling flippantly. ‘It looks like he is back to his usual grumpy self so we’ll have more fun without him as always, won’t we?’
What? No, please God, no. I really wanted him to be here! I let out a deep sigh but Starling doesn’t even notice. She has no idea. I was sure earlier when she called here that she knew something about Gerard and me. I’d thought that maybe the nosey checkout girl had filled her in, or that Gerard had told her himself, or that we had been spotted together, but no. It seems the Florvals know nothing of our recent romancing, so it is no big deal to them that he is not here.
But it is to me.
‘Are you sure he can’t make it?’ I ask, trying to twitch my mouth to form a casual smile. ‘I have set the table for five and there’s plenty of food to go round? Maybe you could call him to be sure?’
The Legacy of Lucy Harte Page 23