“Ha! It’s been suggested before, but I never gave it any consideration.”
“Pourquoi pas?” Katherine said, her head cocked to one side. “I could do the photography.”
“And you would have to do an English translation.”
“Fromage et Photographie,” Katherine tossed out.
“Photographie et Fromage,” countered Philippe.
“Fromagegraphie!” they said in chorus. Then they looked at each other in surprise and burst out laughing.
“C’est ça!”
“Seriously,” she replied, “I think that’s the one.”
They raised their glasses of water and toasted the new name.
Kat spoke excitedly. “We can highlight one cheese each week, and if they’re crafted nearby we could take a road trip, photograph the cows, goats, sheep, whatever. How much fun would that be? I’ll take scenic and artistic shots too. I am loving this idea!”
Philippe was just as enthusiastic. “We can list my inventory, and customers can place their orders online and just stop by the marché to pick it up. Yacht owners in particular would love that. They send their people over with lists to be made up and collected anyway.”
“There would be less congestion around your stall on busy days.”
Philippe picked Kat up and whirled her around.
“It’s falling into place already!” Kat exclaimed.
“We’ll need some tech help, but that won’t be a problem with all the IT companies around here.”
Laughing as Philippe set her down, Kat shook her head. “I’m going to get bruises from pinching myself so often.”
“Then stop! You’re not dreaming. I promise.”
Katherine’s thoughts turned to her mother frequently during these weeks of Christmas preparations. Her grief at her mother’s sudden death was still raw, in spite of all the good things that had come into Kat’s life since then. Time didn’t make the hurt of such a loss go away. She was learning to manage the pain but she knew she would always feel heartache mixed with love when she thought of Elisabeth.
Kat often stopped abruptly in the midst of what she was doing to consider the complete transition her life had undergone in the short space of six months: a new country, new home, new friends, and a love that was opening aspects of herself she never knew existed.
She now realized that the only planning James and she had done for most of their marriage concerned their bicycle trips. They’d never talked about their desires or what ambitions one of them might have had. From the beginning, communication was not a strong point between them, and when the passion they shared in the early days began to fade—and eventually disappear—they only had mundane conversations. Both of them had transferred that passion into their careers.
Even though she often felt unhappy in her marriage, she believed she was happy. Nothing was really wrong, but nothing was really right. She had accepted her situation as normal and never talked about it with anyone. Not even with Andrea. She saw Molly sporadically during all those years, and when they did get together, it was the ongoing drama in Molly’s life that needed attention.
The counselor she had finally seen months after James left had helped her realize that their marriage had been in a quietly destructive cycle for many years and quite probably was beyond help. That had helped her come to terms with James’ walking out, although it still didn’t erase the pain of his betrayal.
She could look at their relationship more clearly now and take some responsibility for the failure. One thing was certain: clear communication was now essential in her life. Lesson learned.
Thinking about the past inevitably led to memories of her family’s mouthwatering goulash and paprikash and the laughter that accompanied cooking and baking marathons in the kitchen.
Philippe loved the shortbread she baked recently, insisting on learning how to mix the dough by hand so he could make the cookies himself. “When I was working and studying in England, I tasted very good shortbread,” he said, “but none, I repeat, aucun matched your recipe.”
Recently they had been spending more time together in the kitchen. Kat wondered if this was related to the worries Philippe had since the explosion.
The atmosphere in the kitchen was relaxed when the work was shared and appreciated. Philippe declared that he ate enough sweets in December to last him the whole year; Kat thought that was probably the case with many people in France. She marveled at the over-the-top displays in the shops: fantastical chocolate creations and pastries she had not seen before. At the daily market and in the local supermarché, displays were packed to bursting with creatively stacked galette des rois, the cake of kings, served on January 6.
One evening, they met with others from the cycling club at a large tent at the market where live Christmas trees, les sapins de Noël, were for sale, many of them with roots so they could be replanted. The fragrance of pine, spruce, and cedar filled the air and momentarily swept Katherine back to her childhood, filling her with a deep melancholy.
Philippe noticed she was standing apart and moved quickly to her side.
“Is something wrong?”
Shaking her head, she said, “I was remembering happy times as a child. Choosing the Christmas tree was always a major event for my parents and me. Even though they’re both gone, vivid images remain.”
His hand on her cheek, Philippe said, “Noël can bring a mix of memories—some happy, some sad. We will make ours beautiful.”
“Let’s hope nothing interferes with it. I do wish the police would tell us what is happening with the investigation.”
“Be patient, Minou. These things take time, as they explained to us.”
There had been no trouble since the explosion, and most of the time in the days since their return from Lyon, it was easy for Kat to forget there was anything to worry about.
When they rejoined the rest of the group, Katherine said, “I’m glad to see artificial trees haven’t become as popular here as in North America.”
Laughing and joking, the group took their time choosing perfect trees and then carried them home through the narrow streets.
“No vehicles needed here,” Kat said.
She and Philippe had bought bundles of boughs to make a door wreath, branches of holly, and a hand-tied bunch of mistletoe, as well as a tree.
Kat’s spirits rose as she and Philippe began decorating the apartment and the aromatic scent of the boughs wafted into each room. She paused occasionally to watch him work, admiring and appreciating his involvement. James had only ever permitted minimal decorations and had never lifted a finger to help her.
“Next week let’s make a wreath for the door of the villa on the Cap. This will help it look beautiful in spite of its condition,” Katherine suggested.
Philippe’s voice was full of emotion as he drew her to him. “Bonne idée. After all the years it has sat neglected . . .”
“Perhaps we will be able to celebrate Christmas there next year,” she said. A ripple of desire moved through her as it always did when he held her like that, and she was surprised to feel his body stiffen. He turned away abruptly to fasten another bough, giving her only an unconvincing nod.
He’s more worried than he lets on, she realized.
18
A sharp rap on the door late in the afternoon startled Katherine.
The building security required a visitor to buzz from the gate to the courtyard and then again in the lobby before gaining access to the elevator or the broad marble staircase that wound up to the apartments on the upper levels. The French were very good at security.
Kat climbed down from the stepladder where she had been draping boughs over the mirror and had almost reached the door when she heard a key turn in the lock.
For a second, she thought it must be Philippe. But that made no sense. He’d said he was going to be back late toda
y, as he and Gilles were going to visit a supplier. Besides, he wouldn’t have knocked.
The door opened. An odd couple walked into the entrance hall.
First was a disheveled-looking middle-aged man wearing a shiny, rumpled suit that was at least one size too small and an equally ill-fitting toupée. Bushy eyebrows shaded squinty eyes, and his face was overpowered by a large, red-veined nose. From his uneven stubble and a strong smell of garlic emanating from every pore, Kat gathered that personal hygiene was not a priority for him.
The steely gaze of the white-haired older woman slightly behind him belied her fragile stature and gave Katherine an immediate chill. Her perfectly coifed hair and relatively unlined face spoke of one who spent a great deal of money on her appearance. Still, there was something about her pointed features and icy pale eyes that made her look sinister. She was wearing an expensive-looking, severe black suit that fitted her body as perfectly as her pinched expression.
“Oui?” asked Katherine, more confused than alarmed.
The man spoke in a language she could not understand, but realized later was French with a heavy Russian accent.
“I’m sorry?” Katherine said in English.
“Vee look for Philippe,” hissed the man, a gold front tooth glistening as he switched to broken English not much more than a whisper. The woman glared at Katherine.
“Philippe will not be home until this evening. Who are you? Why do you have a key to this apartment?”
The woman whispered urgently into his ear as the man looked sideways at Katherine, and then he continued, “Vee vish to speak to Philippe. He is not here?”
“Normally he is. But not today. Who are you?”
Katherine stiffened as the unpleasant man approached closer than was socially acceptable, let alone polite, enveloping her in a cloud of foul breath and cheap cologne. He grabbed her arm and pushed her onto the couch.
“I vill look!”
Katherine began to object and get up but stopped when the woman stepped forward, reaching into her handbag and shouting “Non!” Her eyes narrowed with hostility.
Her imagination racing about what the woman was holding, Katherine stayed where she was as the man searched the apartment. The woman stared, keeping her hand hidden, a tic in her jaw accelerating.
After a minute, the man returned. “Tell him vee not wait longer for answer. He knows!” he snarled. Then he leaned in and poked her sharply on the shoulder. Kat recoiled in revulsion.
“Don’t touch me! Who are you?” she demanded.
“Pas important. You tell him vee return,” the man snapped.
They turned and strode down the corridor.
Kat was so dumbfounded, she couldn’t move for a few minutes. Then she brushed her hair from her eyes and rose to close the heavy door. Adrenaline was rushing through her, making her face flush and her heart pound. She walked back to the couch and slowly sank into it, then burst into tears. What the hell just happened, she wondered. That disgusting worm had actually assaulted her. How did they have a key and just walk in? Who would do that?
The more she thought about it, the angrier she grew. She came up with all the things she might have said but didn’t think of at the moment. One thing she soon knew for certain was that she had just met Idelle.
“Non!” Philippe shouted minutes later when she called him. “Are you all right?”
“Oui! I’m still shaking, though, and I can’t stop crying. One minute I’m terrified and the next I’m furious.”
He let loose a string of French curses, then said, “I’ll be right home. Don’t open the door to anyone.”
After they hung up, Kat thought, I don’t need to open the door for them. They can do it themselves.
Philippe arrived in record time and Kat flew to him for a hug. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Are you okay?”
She held him tightly, even though she was trembling. “I’m okay. I just can’t believe what happened. It’s like something from a movie now, but I was terrified at the time. My imagination was going crazy, and I thought the woman had a gun in her purse.”
“Tell me everything. Don’t leave out any details.”
He nodded as she described the woman. “Zut! Idelle, for sure. A gun? She may well have had one.”
The accomplice was unknown to him. “Sounds like one of Dimitri’s henchmen. Apparently he has a few.”
They sat side by side on the sofa, Philippe’s arm around her.
“This may be getting out of hand, Minou,” he said, his voice trembling in anger. “I’m furious that they had any contact with you. It should not have happened.”
“How did they have a key to get in?”
“I was thinking about that on the way home. Idelle had a key when Viv was ill. I never thought about that after, and I never considered changing the locks. Why would I?”
“That makes sense, but you better do it now.”
“I called le serrurier on the way here, and he will arrive shortly to do just that. I don’t want to say this but, as I’ve suggested before, perhaps you should go to Toronto for a while until this whole matter is resolved.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Please think about it.”
“I’m fine. I will be fine. Surely these people are not that crazy.”
“You have no idea,” he said, and Kat heard fear in his voice. “I may have to insist.”
Within an hour the lock had been replaced with the most secure model available.
With the new lock in place and the security people stationed at the market since the explosion, Kat felt safe as they drove that evening to NouNou restaurant on the beach en route to Cannes. Philippe had said they would counteract this horrible incident by going somewhere extraordinary and meaningful. “We are not going to let these bastards beat us down.”
The police had insisted on calling the incident a home invasion, and had made it clear to Katherine that it could have ended very differently. She got the impression they wanted her to be scared, and Philippe continued to fret about her safety.
“I’m not sure about anything now,” Philippe said. He was rather dejected in spite of the exceptional dinner they were enjoying. “We will see what Paris has to say. I’m back to thinking it might be better for all of us if I just walk away and not take these criminals on.”
“Please do not do that, I beg you,” Kat pleaded. “That property has been in your family for generations. It’s your birthright. You’ve got to fight for it. For the dream we share for it.”
“I promise I will do everything in my power to make sure the right thing happens, but we don’t know what we are up against just yet. I still think you should leave until it’s over.”
“How can I leave you now? I want to be by your side, and I will be. Now let’s share a crème brûlée and talk about something happy. Before we know it, Adorée will be home and we will all be on our way to Joy’s for Christmas. I’m so excited about that.”
Philippe look at her adoringly. “I am a lucky man.”
“Works both ways, Chouchou.”
19
The next day, two police officers came to the apartment to report that their undercover colleagues had noticed Idelle and her companion leaving the apartment building and to apologize for having missed the couple’s arrival. The police had followed the car to a gated villa on Cap Ferrat, and surveillance was continuing.
Closed-circuit television cameras had been placed down in the cove area in the hope that they’d catch some concrete evidence of smuggling. Plans were in place for a sting operation, when the time was right, and the investigators would tell Katherine and Philippe when it was over.
“It would not be wise for you to know any details of this operation, particularly the date and time. Try to carry on as usual.”
Kat and Philippe were determined to do just that. And, s
o, Kat decided that she would keep her promise to meet up with her expat women’s group for lunch in Nice that Wednesday. Then Véronique e-mailed her an invitation for her and Philippe to dine with her and her husband, David, that same evening at their apartment in Nice. “Do you have skates?” she asked. “There’s une patinoire in Massena for the holidays.”
“I do, but in Toronto, and Philippe doesn’t.” Katherine wrote back, accepting the invitation.
Véronique told her that they could rent skates at the rink and they would all teach Philippe. “It will be great fun!”
“It will be good to have dinner with Véronique and meet her husband,” Philippe said when he heard the plan. “I’m not so sure about the skating lesson. It could be painful.”
“Yes, it could. You’re a good sport for agreeing to try it.”
Philippe muttered something about being crazy rather than a good sport as they fell asleep.
When she kissed Philippe good-bye that morning, they arranged to meet at a bar near Place Massena later in the afternoon, before dinner. He hadn’t decided whether he would drive in or take the train, as Kat was doing. The closer she got to the Nice station, the more Kat looked forward to strolling with her camera through this town, which she loved almost as much as Antibes.
She had left early enough to amble down to the sea before meeting the group, and as she walked, she reveled in the play of light and color in the streets around her, which never failed to entrance her. Sunlight, angling down into the narrow streets, washed over elegant multihued facades, which combined the colors of Italy with the grace of France. Pink, ecru, teal, olive, terra-cotta, peach, turquoise, amber: all caught her eye, and from time to time, she stopped to take a photo of a fading pastel shutter or a bold shade of wall. The luminosity of the sea and sky created shades of blue, turquoise, and azure unique to this jewel on the coast, Kat noticed. Their magic has attracted artists for centuries, and it’s so easy to see why.
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