French Escape. Barbara McMahon
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she eased her weight on it. It held. Whooshing a breath, she held on with her hands and stretched her other foot lower, moving it back and forth, trying to find a rock.
“Try a bit lower,” he called.
She found the rock.
It was slow going and her arms and legs were trembling by the time she reached the bottom. But she’d made it, thanks to Matt’s prompting the entire way.
Sitting down on a nearby rock, she wrapped her arms across her chest, hoping they’d feel normal in a bit.
“Wow. It’s lots harder going down,” she said.
“You did fine. So did Alexandre.”
“But only because you were here. I might have made it up okay, but I don’t think I ever would have made it down on my own.”
“Sure you would. It takes practice.”
“And a lot of strength. My arms and legs feel like wet noodles.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that.” He grinned.
Jeanne-Marie stared at him. He looked ten years younger. It was the first time she’d seen him amused and it made her heart flip over. He was gorgeous. Sadness had robbed him of joy, she knew. But today, going with them, perhaps he’d forgotten for a short time and could enjoy the moment. His eyes crinkled slightly, his teeth shone white against his tan. She could stare at him all day long!
“It was fun, Mama,” Alexandre said, jumping up and down. “Can we do it again?”
“Another day. If I live through this one,” she murmured.
“We’ll walk back to the car and you can rest there.”
“Smart move, bringing the car. I don’t think I could have made it all the way home otherwise,” she said, struggling to stand.
Matt offered his hand and she took it. He pulled her to her feet and gave her hand a quick squeeze. Another flip-flop of her heart. She looked away lest he think she was an idiot. Slowly she started walking to the car. This had been a special day. She had learned more about herself and about the patience some men had. Not that it changed the way she felt about Phillipe, but it did raise questions she’d never thought about. He’d been a man with foibles and drawbacks like any other. Dying young didn’t confer perfection.
Saturday dawned a beautiful day. The sky was crystal clear, the temperature moderate and the light breeze steady from the sea. Jeanne-Marie felt a sense of excitement and anticipation she had not experienced in years. She tried to downplay the climb, but it was all she could think about. She shouldn’t become involved with anyone, especially a guest who was only staying a couple more days. There was no future in that. But she was still struck by his kindness to her son, and his care of her on the face of the rock.
She’d put the thought of his kiss firmly away. It had been a grateful father’s gesture for listening to him talk about his son. Nothing romantic about it. At least not on his part. She would not embarrass herself by making more of it than he had intended.
Today she and Alexandre would spend the day with Michelle and her family, exploring all the booths of the fete, enjoying the parade and ending up in the evening sitting on the veranda to watch the fireworks that exploded over the sea, doubling the enjoyment with the reflections on the water.
Busy in the kitchen, she hoped to finish everything including cleaning up before nine. She’d left notes for her guests saying she would only serve breakfast until eight-thirty. If they didn’t come down by then, she would place a cold collection of continental breakfast rolls and biscuits and hot coffee on a serve yourself basis on the buffet.
So far everyone but the couple in room three and Matt had been served. Just as she carried a bin of used dishes toward the kitchen, Matt came down the stairs.
“I’ll bring you chocolate in a moment,” she said, motioning for him to take a seat at an empty table. Glad for the busy tasks facing her, she hurried to the kitchen. Dumping the plates in the sink, she placed the silverware into a soaking pan and then dried her hands. She made a new pot of hot chocolate and placed it on a tray with the hot breakfast strata, a basket of rolls and jams. Lifting it easily, she carried it out.
He’d taken a seat at one of the tables by the window. She smiled brightly and placed the edge of the tray on the table while she unloaded his breakfast. “I have strata for breakfast today. And assorted rolls and breads. Anything else I can get you?” She did not let her gaze linger. He seemed to be avoiding her eyes as well.
“This looks like all I need. Thank you.” He reached for the hot chocolate. “How are you feeling today?”
She brushed her hands over her apron, trying to rein in her racing heart. A quick glance around showed everyone was eating. She wanted to escape. “The bath helped. I feel a bit stiff today, but not sore. Let me know if you need anything further,” she said, tilting the tray sideways and walking back to the kitchen. She felt as if she’d run a mile.
Alexandre came running in. “Hi, Mama, is it time to go to the parade?”
“Not yet. I have to get the kitchen cleared first. Our guests are still eating.”
“Is Matt there?”
“Don’t bother him,” Jeanne-Marie warned. She plunged into the soapy water and began washing the silverware.
When she looked up a moment later she was alone in the kitchen. Quickly drying her hands, she went to the door. Alexandre was standing beside Matt, talking earnestly.
Jeanne-Marie hurried across to them.
“Come away, Alexandre. I’ll make your breakfast.”
“I want to eat with Matt,” he said. “Don’t you want me to eat with you? If you eat alone you’ll be lonely.”
“He’ll be fine here,” Matt said.
“He can eat in the kitchen.”
“He’ll be fine.” Matt looked at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Unless there’s a reason you don’t want him here.”
“You’d probably like peace and quiet.”
He looked at the little boy. “I think conversation would be best this morning.”
Alexandre beamed. He pulled out the chair across from Matt and sat down. “I can eat here, Mama.” He looked at Matt. “We’re going to La Fête de la Victoire de 1945 together. There’ll be lots to see. Did you want to come with us? “
“No,” Jeanne-Marie said. “We’re meeting Michelle and Marc and Pierre, remember?”
“But Matt would like them. Marc is big like him. Then we would all have a friend at the parade. Michelle and Marc, me and Pierre, and you and Matt. It’ll be good, Mama.”
“I’m sure Matt has already made plans for the day,” she said. “I’ll get your breakfast. Don’t be pestering him.”
“Did you make plans?” Alexandre asked when his mother walked away.
“I was going for a climb,” Matt said. Truth be told, he had planned to do another climb not as challenging as he’d been doing. He was getting a later start than he wanted, due to a sleepless night.
But as he ate and listened to Alexandre’s chatter, he thought more about changing plans and going with the Rousseaus to the fete. Would Jeanne-Marie be amenable? Or would she rather not mingle her guests and friends? She’d gone quickly to her quarters yesterday after they’d returned to the inn, saying she needed to soak in a hot bath.
He’d gone to town to eat and hadn’t seen her again until this morning.
Alexandre bounced on his chair. “I love fetes. I like the food and the parades. And all the people. Sometimes I can’t see everything because I’m little, but then Mama picks me up to see better. Pierre’s dad picks him up really high.