French Escape. Barbara McMahon
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once they agreed on a time, Matt felt a spark of anticipation. Today’s climb would be challenging. But tomorrow’s might be more rewarding.
Much as he might like to stay for another cup of chocolate and talk to Jeanne-Marie, he had agreed to meet Paul early. He hoped his friend was ready to climb and not handicapped by a hangover.
Jeanne-Marie watched Matt leave with mixed feelings. He invaded her space, yet when he left it seemed emptier than before. She couldn’t figure out how to keep him out of the kitchen. She felt disturbed by his presence. The disruption to her carefully planned life, the extra excitement of being fully alive when he was around made her restless and agitated when he left. She didn’t want to come alive, to feel love and then loss. Better to stay in a state that didn’t allow strong emotional feelings. It would be safer.
Shaking off her feelings, she tried to draw contentment from her baking. Her life was full, satisfying and suited her and Alexandre perfectly.
As the day progressed, Jeanne-Marie went through her normal routines. Two couples checked out. Another two were due to arrive. When her friend Michelle called to see if they were attending La Fête de la Victoire de 1945, Jeanne-Marie was grateful for a break.
“I’d like that. Alexandre has seen the posters I put up and has been plaguing me about when we’re going.”
“The parade begins at eleven. I thought we could meet at the corner where we met last year.”
“Perfect. He’ll be thrilled.”
The celebration was a big deal in small St. Bart. Phillipe told her how often his parents had brought him to stay with his grandparents for the fete. He’d enjoyed it as a child, much as Alexandre loved it now. They’d only shared one fete here after they married. Now attending each year was special, doing something he’d done. She could tell her son about his father, and continue his memory as best she could.
Her thoughts went to Matthieu Sommer. What would he do that day, another climb? Holidays must be especially lonely for single people, she thought. And especially sad to remember them spent with loved ones now gone. The first without Phillipe had been hard—but she had Alexandre. Matt had no one.
She could invite him to join them.
She caught her breath at the thought. The last couple of years, she’d invited her guests to enjoy the fireworks from the veranda. But she’d never mingled with them during the day.
Late in the afternoon, Adrienne called.
“Antoine and I can come for Alexandre next Monday afternoon,” she offered.
“I’ll bring him up. I have some shopping I’d like to do in Marseilles. What time works best?”
“Of course we’d like him to come for as long as possible, so early morning, but I know you have things to do at the inn. Come when you can.”
“Let’s plan on early afternoon, then. Anything special going on I should make sure he has proper clothes for?”
“A swimsuit and sturdy shoes. We’ll take a ramble in the park,” Adrienne said.
The seaside park in Marseilles was a favorite of Alexandre’s.
“He’ll love that.”
She hung up, happy for Alexandre to have his grandparents so near. Yet she was already missing him for when he left to visit. Usually she let him stay a few days at a time. Every so often his grandparents asked for longer, but so far Alexandre hadn’t pushed for any longer visits. And she missed him too much when he was gone to agree.
She finished up her work and went to take Alexandre for a swim. He was going to be thrilled with all the plans.
It was after ten o’clock that night when Jeanne-Marie went to close up the French doors. Rene had left a half hour ago. All her guests except Matt had returned. The last couple had just gone up. How late was he planning to be? Had he decided to stay the night in Marseilles rather than drive back? If so, wouldn’t he have called to let her know?
Then she heard the sound of a car on the gravel of the parking area. He was back. She couldn’t help the sudden skip in her heart. Every inch of her went on alert and she waited impatiently for him to come in, holding the French door open wide.
He saw her the moment he stepped on the veranda. “I didn’t keep you up, did I? I know you rise early.”
“No, this is my usual closing time. Did you enjoy climbing with your friend?” She shut the door after he walked through and turned around to face him. He was growing more tanned each day he spent on the cliffs. He had a rugged masculinity that attracted like nothing else had. She wanted to check her hair and make sure she looked as good as she could. How silly was that? Matt hadn’t shown a speck of interest. He was still mourning.
“Paul’s driven to competition. Everything has to be a challenge. He made bets on who would reach the top first. Then he wanted to try a different climb down. Racing to be first in both treks, he made me tired just watching him. I didn’t come to make everything into a contest.”
“Have you climbed together before?”
“Once or twice. I know, I should have expected it. He’s always like that. Only this time, I was feeling differently about things. It’s the first time I’ve gone with him since Marabelle and Etienne’s deaths.”
“Your family?” she asked gently. She hadn’t known their names.
He nodded.
“Did they share your love of climbing? Your son must have, if he went with you.”
“As long as it was a gentle ramble around hills and lakes. Once serious rock climbing came into the picture, Marabelle always found other pursuits. I had hoped Etienne would like to climb when he got older.”
“Phillipe’s father taught him. They had lots of treks together. I think it was a bonding time; they were very close.”
“Any shared activity would draw parents and children closer. Etienne liked to walk around the vineyard with me. That’s what I miss most, I think.”
“Tell me about him. Would you like something to drink? Brandy? Coffee?”
He hesitated so long, she was sure he’d refuse. Then he nodded once and said, “I’ll take a brandy if you have it.”
Jeanne-Marie went back into the kitchen and drew out a bottle of fine brandy and two snifters. She carried them back to the lounge, pleased to see Matt standing near one of the comfortable sofas with a coffee table in front of it.
She set the glasses down and offered him the bottle. He poured them each a small portion of brandy and lowered himself beside her on the sofa once she sat.
“How old was Etienne?” she asked. She hoped he wanted to talk about his son. She often wanted to talk about Phillipe, to remember the good times, to share his life again with friends. It had been hard at first, but now it brought comfort.
“He was five. Alexandre’s age. His hair was blond and his eyes blue. Even if he was my own, I thought he was engaging. Funny. Inquisitive.”
“What was his favorite thing to do?”
“Follow me around.” Matt thought for a few moments, then told her about some of the daily trips around the vineyard, or about shopping at one of the local farmers’ markets. Once, he and Marabelle had lost him for a few seconds. He remembered the panic.
As he talked, Jeanne-Marie envisioned the happy family who had thought everything would go on forever. Much as she and Phillipe had done. Her heart ached at the loss of such a sweet little boy. How much more so must he feel?
Matt glanced at his watch. “It’s late. I’ve bored you enough.”
“I’m never bored hearing about children.” Now or never, she thought. They’d spent almost an hour together, and her interest was as strong as ever. She could