French Escape. Barbara McMahon
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No one understood. They offered platitudes, but no one had experienced the same kind of loss. The kind that ripped a heart into shreds and never relented.
The woman downstairs might understand. To a degree. How did she cope?
He wondered if the innkeeper’s family had offered the same platitudes when her husband had died. Had it helped? Or had she just wanted everyone to go away and leave her alone with her grief?
Not that he cared. So she was pretty. Marabelle had been beautiful. Love had come swiftly and ended in an instant.
He was here to try the kind of activities he’d once loved—and to forget, if only for a few hours at a time.
“Time to get ready for dinner,” Jeanne-Marie called to Alexandre later in the afternoon.
“I don’t want to,” he said, scuffing along at the water’s edge. His small footprints on the wet sand made her smile. One day he’d be taller than her and his footprint would be larger, too.
She joined him and ruffled his hair. “Too bad. We need to eat soon or you’ll be finishing dessert in your jammies.”
He laughed, clutching his cars close. “We can’t eat in our jammies. Can we eat at Le Chat Noir? I’m hungry for some of their food.”
“I had planned salad and soup for dinner.” Jeanne-Marie gathered their towels, slipping on the cover-up over her bathing suit for modesty’s sake. She didn’t bother with her shoes; they’d brush their feet off on the veranda and scoot to their quarters.
“Please, Mama. It’s a special day. The inn is full, I heard you say. And that’s always a good thing.”
It was her turn to laugh at his mimicking what she’d said to her friend Madeline. “Yes, it is a good thing. So perhaps we could celebrate with dinner out. But not until you wash that sand off your feet and change into dry clothes!” He didn’t even know it was the anniversary of his father’s death. She was glad in one way, but mourned how little Alexandre would ever remember about his father. Phillipe had loved him so.
With a yell of glee, he took off running toward the inn. Jeanne-Marie followed, keeping enough behind to let him win. They stomped on the veranda and brushed the worst of the sand from their feet. Alexandre scampered into the lounge and through to the back where their quarters were. She wished she could motivate him this way all the time. She nodded to the student staffing the front desk. Jeanne-Marie relished the few free hours each day Rene’s being here gave her.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Quiet as ever,” Rene responded. He was a bit of a bookworm and always had some book in his hand. Yet he could handle requests with efficiency and expediency. Probably to keep time away from reading to a minimum.
“We’re going out for an early dinner,” she said.
He nodded, returning to his book.
By the time Alexandre had had a quick rinse and was into fresh clothes and she’d showered, it was after six. Most people in town didn’t eat this early, but she liked him in bed by eight, so an early dinner was their norm. Walking down the sidewalk to the heart of the village, the sea to their right, she relished the lingering warmth of the afternoon. It was only early May, but warm enough to swim or lie in the sun as the tourists did. Their little town would fill up before the end of the month. Then for the rest of the summer the town would be transformed from the sleepy fishing village to a fast and furious tourist spot as it expanded to its limit with visitors from all over.
When they reached Le Chat Noir, Jeanne-Marie reached for the door handle just as Alex yelled, “There’s one of our guests!”
Glancing up, she saw Matthieu Sommer almost upon them. She caught her breath again at the sight of him. He was definitely walking their way. Tentatively she smiled as she pulled on the door. He’d obviously taken Alexandre’s recommendation.
He reached around her, put out his hand to catch the door and gestured for them to enter ahead of him.
“I’m taking your advice and trying this place for dinner,” he said as they stepped into the restaurant.
After the sunshine, it took a minute for her eyes to become used to the dimmer illumination. She nodded while holding on to Alexandre’s hand. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“Are you going to eat with us?” her son piped up.
“No,” she said quickly. Then realizing how rude it sounded, she gave Monsieur Sommer a shaky smile. “I’m sure Monsieur Sommer would not be interested in sharing a table with a five-year-old.”
He inclined his head slightly. “I’m not the best company,” he said.
Jeanne-Marie nodded and turned to the maître d’ as he greeted her.
“Just you and Alexandre?” he asked.
“Oui.” She glanced at her guest. “Enjoy your dinner.” She was not disappointed he chose not to eat with her. She and her guests rarely mixed. And a businessman here to climb would not be interested in the chatter of a little boy. Still, she wished he’d overridden her comment and said he’d like to eat with her, with them. Though, she’d have been a nervous wreck before the first course.
She and Alexandre were seated at one of the best tables on the patio, the place almost empty. Only two other tables were occupied and far enough away that Jeanne-Marie couldn’t hear the occupants, who were talking quietly.
Opening the menu, she took a moment to study the items, already knowing what she and Alexandre always ordered, but looking anyway.
A moment later Matthieu Sommer was seated at a table nearby. Suddenly aware of his presence she tried to keep her eyes on the menu. Fortunately he’d been seated with his back toward her, so she wouldn’t have to look up and find him watching her. But she couldn’t help taking a glance his way now and then. What was it about him that intrigued her so much? He wasn’t particularly friendly. Keep your distance was more like the vibe he sent out. Granted, he was a handsome man, but arrogant. She didn’t know if she liked him or not, but he certainly had captured her interest.
“I want the chicken,” Alex said, kicking his feet against his chair.
“As always. And I’ll have the quiche.”
“As always,” he mimicked, grinning up at his mother.
Jeanne-Marie closed the menu and put it on the table. She glanced at Matthieu Sommer studying his menu. Wistfully she wished she’d asked him to join them. Not that he’d want to spend his meal with strangers. But during the meal she might have discovered more about him. And even realized they had nothing in common so this aberration of interest would fade.
Had he joined them she would probably have ended up as tongue-tied as a teenager facing a major crush. Yet, it must be lonely to eat alone. She debated asking him to join them now, but in the end decided to leave things as they were.
When their order had been taken, Alexandre brought out his small cars and began playing with them on the table. Jeanne-Marie was glad of the distraction. She had to stop staring at her newest guest. Once his order had been taken, he began to look at brochures he’d brought with him. She suspected they were the ones offered at the inn. One touted the shopping in the little fishing village, tourist places all. Another gave an overview of Les Calanques. And a third was one from a local sport shop that catered to climbers.
Alexandre looked up. “Will I be able to take my cars when I go to school in September?” he asked.
“Probably not. You’ll need to pay attention in class so you learn all you can.”
And she needed to pay attention to her son, and ignore the man sitting so enticingly close.
When their meal arrived, Jeanne-Marie devoted her attention to helping Alexandre with his food and eating her own. She couldn’t help notice when Matt’s dinner was served. And that he finished at the same time they did. The place was